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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 6 months

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Have you never heard of such a thing, darling?

There is an abrupt cut to a classic YouTube channel intro. It’s the name ‘The Gotham Files, with Tim Drake’ in a metallic font, bouncing around to royalty-free, terrible dubstep music while fake strobe lights dance in the background. It is impossible to tell whether this is ironic or not. Assumedly yes, though, because then it cuts to a blank title card that seemed to have been ripped right off of a PowerPoint presentation that reads ‘Also Marinette is here’.

(The Timari Buzzfeed Unsolved Au)

Chapter 1: The Mysterious Case of Wayne Manor

A boy sits in a nondescript white room, on a white sofa, in a white shirt and black slacks. This could have all been controlled, of course, however, even the boy himself is not the most colorful – his skin is pale, his hair jet black, and even his eyes are a seemingly lifeless grey. He smiles at the camera, but there’s something unsettling about it. He shows off way too many teeth.

He waves jerkily. “Hello, everyone! I’ve gotten a lot of new subscribers since my last video hunting down the demon known as Poison Ivy –.”

There is an abrupt cut to a new bit of footage, in black and white to signify that it was from the past:

“If you’re a demon then you have to curse me,” the boy is saying from behind a camera.

A seemingly normal woman, though admittedly she is covered in enough dirt to make you wonder if she had just come back from digging up a grave, gives him a blank look. “Why would I do that?”

“You gotta.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Lame.”

The woman’s face drops into the annoyance that had clearly been threatening to appear for a while, and she starts to stand. The boy makes a squeaking noise and immediately runs in the opposite direction.

“– who was not a demon, she was just a regular lady who was really obsessed with poisoning rich people. Which is perfectly understandable and could happen to anyone.”

He nods sagely. There is no reason for this. He simply does. And does it for too long. It gets uncomfortable very quickly.

“But, this does not necessarily mean that ghosts and demons do not exist!”

He smiles.

“Now, in this episode, I am going to solve the mystery of whether Wayne Manor is truly hauhahaha–!”

He breaks character abruptly, bursting into laughter, covering his mouth with his fist in an attempt to smother it. A flush spreads across his cheeks, finally adding much-needed color to the room. “Sorry, I can’t – I can’t do my usual intro with you there.”

A person behind the camera giggles. “Aw, am I distracting you?”

“You were looking at me like you thought I was possessed, of course it was distracting.”

“You looked possessed, I don’t know what to tell you –!”

He laughs at her and makes a spinning motion with his pointer finger. “Oh my god, Editor!Me, just roll the intro here.”

On cue, there is an abrupt cut to a classic YouTube channel intro. It’s the words ‘The Gotham Files, with Tim Drake’ in a metallic font, bouncing around to royalty-free, terrible dubstep music while fake strobe lights dance in the background. It is impossible to tell whether this is ironic or not.

Assumedly yes, though, because then it cuts to a blank title card that seemed to have been ripped right off of a PowerPoint presentation that reads ‘Also Marinette is here’.

When the white screen disappears, the viewers find Tim standing alone in front of a wrought iron fence. The plants at the fence’s feet are overgrown, weaving intricately around the poles and climbing up the sides.

Tim had also climbed up the fence, evidently, seeing as he was still breathing a little heavily. The boy looks more normal now, wearing an old hoodie and jeans and smiling in a way that shows off his dimples. His cheeks have far more color in them now, but that just might be due to overexertion.

“Hey, so, GCPD – I know you watch my videos because Poison Ivy got arrested like a week after I posted – I would like you to know that I’m not actually trespassing. In order to trespass, there have to be people living in the place you’re supposedly trespassing in. Probably. I don’t know the law. But you guys don’t, either, so!”

He flashes a finger gun with the hand not holding the camera and attempts a wink. Unfortunately, Tim is unable to wink, so he just ends up blinking aggressively at a camera lens.

But that’s beside the point! He turns the camera around to point it at what one would, politely, call an abandoned mansion.

Less politely, it would be called a safety hazard. Half of the building looked like it had caved in on itself, graffiti covered the previously pristine white walls, and plants climbed in and out of every window. The back door hangs half off its hinge, and Tim doesn’t even want to imagine what has taken residence in the place since the Wayne family’s unfortunate passing.

“Everyone ready for another day of probably getting tetanus?”

There is no answer. He is talking to a camera.

Said camera speeds through the next few minutes of Tim exploring. Stagnant water and mold, dust bunny families and spiderwebs, a raccoon that Tim runs from immediately, rusting cookware still left out on the counter for a family that would never get to eat it, a moment to linger on Tim when he stubs his toe on a loose floorboard and heaves a deep sigh, a portrait that was peeling out of its frame, a broken grandfather clock, Tim posing in front every graffitied penis he could find, ransacked closets and cabinets…

He stops in the middle of the mansion, smiling widely when the camera is spun back to look at him. “Well, no ghosts yet, but we can’t rule them out. I guess.”

He takes off his backpack and begins rifling through it until he finds his Spirit Box.

“Now, I’m sure that most of you know what this is, but just in case you don’t: a Spirit Box will cycle through local radio frequencies at a rapid speed. The theory is that ghosts can string together these snippets of words to speak or answer questions.”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Or, at least, that’s what people say. I’ll believe it when I see it. Until then, I’m going with a healthy mix of the ‘lucky coincidences’ and ‘confirmation bias’ theories.”

He flicks the nob to turn it on, and the radio immediately begins to cycle through vague sounds, the box crackling.

Tim shuffles a little, letting the box run as he shrugs off his jacket and sets it down so he can have a clean spot to sit for a while. He props up the camera on his knee and angles it up to show his face as he lifts the Spirit Box to his lips.

“Is anyone there?”

“Ye –!”

Tim looks unperturbed. “You said there’s someone there?”

The box sputters out an indecipherable string of sounds. A fluke, then.

He gives a small hum. “I see, I see.”

There is another moment as the box continues to make sounds. They’re deeper in tone now, but no closer to human language.

“Well,” he says. “If there is anyone in the room with me, I’d like to ask you to show yourself in some way. Possess something nearby, move something, make a sound –.”

The door slams open, and Tim instantly jumps to his feet, the camera catching a terrible view of the underside of his chin for a moment when he hugs it to his chest. Don’t worry, though, dear viewer, for he soon remembers that he is a YouTuber and quickly readjusts, pointing the camera at the door.

There is no one there, but a brilliant light illuminates the door opposite the room they are in.

“Wha…?” Tim says, his voice a whisper, only barely caught by his mic.

There is a person talking just outside the room. They are speaking in tongues.

Or perhaps in French, it is often hard to tell.

Regardless, the captions at the bottom of the video say that it is French and that she is apparently saying a vast quantity of demonetizable words that Editor!Tim could not write out.

The gist, though, is that she is apparently there because of a bet and not happy about it. Hence the many demonetizable words.

After a few seconds, Editor!Tim apparently gives up on censoring individual words, and instead chooses to bleep out the entirety of what she was saying. For the sake of monetization, not because he’s a stickler for rules or anything.

You might think that demonetizable words should be allowed when you are hunting ghosts and demons and the like, and Tim might agree, but he actually likes money, so...

What was the point here?

Oh, right.

Slowly, a girl makes her way into the room, her phone out in front of her like a pitifully tiny shield, the flashlight nearly blinding Tim.

She stares at him for a long few moments. She mumbles something to herself, but even in editing Tim had been unable to decipher it. So, yellow question marks litter the screen.

“Uh… hi,” Tim says, lifting his hand in an awkward wave.

[Ew, an American.]

Tim’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. [You realize that you’re in America, right? Most people here are going to be Americans.]

Her eyes widen. “You… you speak French?!” she asks in heavily accented English, seeming mortified. Not because she felt bad about insulting him, but instead that she had been caught doing it.

[Obviously.]

Her face reddens, and she tries, unsuccessfully, to hide it with her free hand. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Are you really?”

She seems to consider this for a few moments, before shrugging. “I guess not.”

Tim should probably be offended. He isn’t, though. At least she was honest. Eventually.

She sticks a hand out. “I’m Marinette.”

He shakes it, smiling. “Tim.”

There were a few moments as they looked at each other, unsure what to do.

“I think your radio is broken,” she says finally, pointing at the Spirit Box. It lay on the floor, abandoned, just barely vibrating from the force of its own sounds. “Or, at least, it’s not getting any reception way out here. Keeps saying ‘Hi’.”

Tim frowns. “What time is it?”

“Like…” she looks at her phone. “About seventeen…”

She catches on to his blank stare. She glances behind herself, further into the house, as if considering braving the ghosts.

She is not brave.

She closes the door behind herself, smiling. “Right. American. Five in the afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s because everyone is getting off work and they’re greeting the sudden influx of viewers.”

“I have literally no clue how that correlates.”

“It’s ghosts,” he says, rolling his eyes.

She either does not understand sarcasm or simply does not want to risk it, because her shoulders hike up to her ears and she looks around quickly. “I’m going to kill Alya,” she hisses.

“If you hate ghosts that much, I don’t think that’s in your best interest. Because killing someone would lead to more ghosts, you know,” Tim points out.

Despite the fact that he keeps his tone as gentle as he can while breaking this news to her, she looks absolutely devastated.

Slowly, Tim picks himself up off of the floor, turning off the Spirit Box as he goes. The Spirit Box gives a high whine before sputtering out, but he pays it no mind, so this must not be important. He stuffs it in his bag and heads over to Marinette, slinging an arm over her shoulders and starting to lead her away, out of the room and through the many, winding hallways.

“Know what will calm you down? I’m going to tell you all about the family that once owned this place, and their unfortunate demises.”

“Are you streaming?” she asks, eyeing his camera warily.

“... does the way that I answer this affect whether I’ll die here or not?”

She giggles and does not answer. He does not seem assured by this.

Still, he points the camera at themselves and begins to explain: “The Waynes were a lovely family of philanthropists, and the town lost quite a lot when they were tragically shot after their family outing to the theater. To this day, twenty years after that tragic night, Gotham has yet to recover.”

A few moments of silence swallow them.

Text at the bottom of the screen says that this is not an editing mistake, and instead a choice made to respect the dead. There is also a timestamp where a person can skip to the next bit of ‘content’ if they so wish, and they would go on with their day none the wiser of the fact that Editor!Tim had called them a ‘limp noodle of a person who would not know morality if it walked up, introduced itself, and then punched them in the face’.

But, again, those people would be none the wiser, so…

Tim smiles charmingly at the camera, as if he had not just insulted a large portion of them without their knowledge. “Now their house is a prime hangout spot for dumb teens, such as Marinette and me.”

“I’m not dumb,” she huffs halfheartedly.

“You believe in ghosts.”

“Well, yeah, duh, I’d be stupid not to, seeing as my house is haunted.”

“You’ve seen ghosts?” Tim says, skeptical.

“You don’t see ghosts,” she sniffs, in that tone people use when they are offended by the stupidity they are being presented with. Tim gets this a lot, but never has he ever felt it was so unwarranted. “You just know they’re there. Like when they knock over your cups for no reason.”

Briefly, the image of a cat flickers on the screen. Because that is what she is describing. A cat.

“Okay. Unrelated question, is belief in ghosts common in your culture? Because they won’t treat you if it is.”

She shoots him an annoyed scowl, but there is something amused tugging at the corners of her lips regardless. “You’re the absolute worst.”

He grins. “Glad you think so. I put lots of effort into making people hate me, you know. It’s nice to have my efforts appreciated for once.”

“I wouldn’t say appreciated…”

“No no. I’m appreciated.”

“Okay,” she says easily.

They reach the front doors, and Marinette raises an eyebrow.

“You know, if you wanted me to leave, you could have just told me. I would have left.”

“I couldn’t just leave a woman in need alone,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest.

She looks unimpressed.

“... and, besides, I was pretty much done here, so…” he shrugs. “Figured I’d escort you out.”

She looks at her phone for a moment before shaking her head. “I appreciate it, but I can’t leave for another… twenty-three minutes.”

He thinks this over for a few moments, frowning. He glances back the way they came, as if considering hanging around for longer. And then he decides against it with a tiny shake of his head.

“You know, it’s illegal to be here,” he says.

“You’re here. And filming yourself doing the illegal thing. I think that makes what you’re doing way worse.”

Tim’s eyebrows knit together. “I mean, touche and all, but I was just saying that you could tell your friend that to get out of this.”

“... oh.”

He snorts into his hand. “Oh my god, did you really not realize?”

“Shut up! I hate you!” she whined. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, you know!”

“Yeah. Like cups falling off of tables, apparently.”

She punches him in the shoulder lightly, and he only laughs more openly.

Still, ever the gentleman (even while laughing at her misfortune), he opens the door for her. Still, despite her supposed hatred of him, she rushes through all too eagerly with a murmured thank you.

He only gets a second to follow after her before the door slams shut behind them, so close to hitting Tim in the back that the force of it makes his hair blow in his face.

Marinette throws him behind herself immediately, her hands up in a fighting position as if she intends to fight the ghost for him. Not that it would help, probably, but the thought was still there.

Tim looks a little touched as he rests a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“Don’t worry about it, the place is old, and the loss of weight is probably just throwing everything off balance.”

“... is that supposed to make me feel better? Because all I’m hearing is that this building is super unstable.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re outside now, isn’t it?” he says, grinning cheekily.

And, despite herself, she smiles back.

His expression drops immediately as something hits him to make up for the door’s near miss. He groans and falls to his knees in utter devastation. “I left my jacket inside…”

“It’s the ghosts’ jacket now,” she says, patting him on the back in a way that really isn’t as consoling as she seems to think it is.

Tim starts to fake cry.

There is a hard cut. Tim is back on the couch he had been on at the beginning, but his posture is more relaxed this time and his smile is actually normal.

“Well, as usual, there was no ghost to be found. Because they don’t exist.”

A pillow sails across the screen, very intent on hitting him, but he bats it away easily. Because it’s a pillow.

“But maybe the real ghosts are the friends we made along the way!”

Marinette groans off-screen. “Don’t do this to me. You’re going to make me have an existential crisis.”

He hums a little, his eyes gleaming as he leans back, letting himself sink into the plush couch. “So, as usual, there isn’t much to go over…” He smiles. “I guess I can talk about meeting Mari, though. My first thought when meeting Mari was…” He trails off, visibly mulling it over in his mind with pursed lips. “Well, my first thought was that she looked scared and it would probably help her if she had someone to do this with.”

Someone behind the camera coos, not noticing the way his lips begin to tug upwards into a smirk.

“My second thought was ‘The people like it when I have guests on. I can capitalize on this’.”

Marinette makes a sound incomprehensible to human ears and rushes into frame, a new pillow raised. Tim screams.

The scene cuts. Marinette and Tim are sitting on the couch together, now. Their hair is a little messy from the unshown pillow fight. Marinette is lazing across the sofa, her legs thrown over Tim’s lap, so it was safe to assume she had won.

“You want to know what I thought when I first met you?” Marinette wears a slightly sheepish grin. “I thought ‘Oh my god, why is the ghost so tiny? He needs soup.’”

Tim snorts. “No way.”

She nods, trying and failing to keep her expression neutral. She turns to look at the camera dead on. “And, if you guys at home don’t want to be mistaken for skinny little ghosts, then you should hop on over to the website of our sponsor, Hello Fresh!”

Tim rests his arm over the top of the couch, smiling openly. “We’re actually sponsored by Raid: Shadow Legends.”

Marinette snaps her fingers in her best overdramatic ‘awwwww man’ gesture, shaking her head. “God dang it. It was worth a shot.”

“Eh, I’ll still use it as an excuse to do my ad read now.” He turns to grin at the camera, opening his mouth –.

As one, everyone watching leaves the video.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

#maribat #timari #timinettte #timmari #this was supposed to come out on Halloween but shut up #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #tim drake

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

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Spare Room

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: On a lazy Sunday morning, you and Draco paint your spare room.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mild angst, self doubt, fluff, kissing

You awoke to the clock chiming far too close to ear shot for your liking, laying in a position that was rather uncomfortable if you must admit it. Rather, you were more so in a tangled heap as you lay crammed in the tattered leather recliner with the very love of your life. That was more like it.

When you peek open an eye, you open them completely with a sigh at the sight before you. Sitting crooked and near broken on the very tip of Draco’s nose were the glasses he so rarely wore to read, said book on the brink of slipping and falling from his fingertips. You swiped it from his hand before it could clatter to the floor unceremoniously, tossing it on the couch not far from you. The lamp just behind you had yet to be turned off from its use the night before, it’s glowing light a bit too bright in the windows reflection as the clock rang a seventh and final time for the next hour.

Despite the lack of space to allow such things, he engulfed you in his embrace nonetheless, his chest rising and falling against you. His fingers remain loosely entwined with yours as they had been all night you assumed, his breath puffing warmly just under your ear in a way that tickled if you thought too long on it. His hair was an absolute mess of platinum that stuck every which way it had pleased, dark lashes splayed across pale skin as his legs dangled over the arm of the chair. The flannel blanket once laying over you both had just about fallen on the floor completely by that point. You can’t imagine he’d slept for long, not with the way he’d been caught up in his own mind for quite some time. For that reason, you hated to do this, but you felt as though you might just remain permanently in that dreadful position if you don’t stretch.

You release his hand and do so, a soft hum of utter relief leaving your lips at the ever so blissful feeling pulling at the tension in your body. A hum that sure enough caused him to stir from his light sleep; that, paired with your obvious jostling. His grip on you tightened then, his newly book-less hand coming up to rest just under the sweater of his that hung from your shoulders in ruffled heaps of black yarn.

“Good morning,” he mumbles half-heartedly, the coldness of his hand seeping into your skin as it rests further up on your hip.

“Good morning,” you start, squirming at the undesirable shiver it gave you, a frown on your lips, “And just where do you think you’re putting your hands?”

“I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about, darling ,” he murmurs just behind your ear with closed eyes, though his hand splays and lays flat across your stomach now as his laugh tickles against your cheek, any traces of warmth quickly leaving you.

“Draco!”

When you try and wriggle from his grasp your attempts rapidly become futile as you fall back to his chest, trying desperately to stifle your giggles because he most certainly did not deserve the satisfaction. His sleepy smile was immediate as he looked at you, blue eyes tired but full of adoration nonetheless. It was then that you give in and laugh, shaking your head at him.

“What?” He asks, brows furrowed slightly.

“You know, for being twenty-four, you’d think you would remember to take your glasses off before you go to sleep on the very rare occasion you decide to actually wear them,” you say, plucking the brown tortoise colored frames from the tip of his nose. You toss them on the couch to join the book laying there. “How very irresponsible of you.”

He narrows his tired stare at you and your wit, a frown tugging on his lips. Lips you immediately kiss with a soft smile, his halfhearted frown disappearing instantly. A sleepy hum sounded against your parted lips, his hand settling on your cheek. When you pull away all too soon his lips press to the corner of your mouth, finding himself chasing after you for more.

He sighs in dramatic exasperation, tugging you closer and tangling his legs with yours in an effort to get you to stay, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he lays his head back against the chair. You bite the inside of your cheek, holding your laughter at his antics.

“Dray, we’ve got plans today,” you say, tracing your fingertips over his chest. His brows furrowed as he continued to try and sleep.

“Do remind me, darling, just what would they be?”

“We’re painting the spare room, remember?” You kindly inform him, sitting up a bit more in your haphazard position. “You promised you’d help.”

He peeks an eye open as he stills your hand from dancing across his chest any longer, enveloping it in his own as he drops his head to the crook of your neck. You knew what was coming.

“Can’t we just enchant some paint brushes? It’s quite easy really,” he suggests in a groan, his lips pressing tenderly and tiredly up the skin of your neck, the warmth of his breath ironically giving you shivers. “I’ve got much better plans of my own.”

“To what, go to bed?” You counter, laughing softly.

“Precisely,” he agrees, the single word pressing into your skin just below your ear. “With you, might I add.”

You find yourself melting into his embrace, into the kisses proving to be far more intoxicating than you had hoped they’d be. Kisses that moved warmly from your neck to your jaw, from your jaw to your cheek, and perhaps the most delicately to your lips. They were soft and languid, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek. The feel of his lips paired with the warmth of his arms was nearly far too comfortable and spell binding for you to want to do anything other than what you had been doing. But the excitement of your plans quickly overshadowed that in that very moment.

You break from him with another peck, his lips kiss swollen and pink, dropping to a slight frown at the action. More so when you reluctantly make your leave from his arms. “This room isn’t going to paint itself.”

“Love, it most certainly can!”

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him once more. “Get up, Dray.”

—

With a lot of complaining and yawning on Draco’s end, you’d finally gotten him to get up and help with the promise of kisses. That always works. He’d tried to enchant his paint roller on more than one occasion but you had insisted to do it by hand, it was far more meaningful that way.

Over the course of the hours you spent, the hardwood floors had since been covered in every piece of newspaper you could find in your home, scattered haphazardly and crinkled. After the first hour, you were convinced there was more paint on yourselves, on anything other than where it should be. Countless spells were used when it inevitably seeped through the paper beneath your feet and smeared over the floor. The record in the player Draco had pulled in the room had spun every song on it at least two times over, and a good thirty minutes had been lost when Draco had taken you by the hand for just one dance, as he put it. One turned to two, and two turned to three with the addition of a myriad of paint smudged kisses pressed on flushed skin and breathless laughter.

The room now smelled of fresh paint and the chilly spring breeze that had filtered in through the open window. Nearly the entirety of the four walls were painted a soft sage green, as well as the splotches smeared across Draco’s cheek in payback for the ones on yours.

You swept the paint across the last bare patch of the wall, turning to Draco with a beaming smile as you set the brush down in the tray.

“What do you think?” You ask with a triumphant yet defeated sigh, twirling in the near empty room with open arms.

You hadn’t twirled so much as twice before his hand grabbed a hold yours, tugging you close to him. He had yet to change from his pajamas, miscellaneous smudges of green mingling with the pale freckles smattering sparsely across his chest.

“I don’t think it’s quite green enough,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear with a playful smirk. “Not the right shade.”

You roll your eyes and turn away from his touch, fighting to stifle your laughter and contain your smile. But the moment you looked at him again, at the softening smile gracing his lips and the hair falling down in his eyes, you knew you couldn’t possibly refrain. “You’re terrible sometimes, you know that?”

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, soft and tender as his laugh puffs against your skin.

“I do know that,” he starts, fingertips trailing down your arms before interlocking with your own. A softer smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his blue gaze bounced around the room. “It’s perfect.”

It truly is. It may have just been a simple matter of painting four walls of a spare room a color that you’d been dreaming of since the day you’d moved in. It may have been a simple moment on a lazy Sunday morning. But it was perfect and something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to have.

He knows he wasn’t the best person, he knows he wasn’t even remotely so as a child and the teenager he once was. He knows he’s not even the best person now either, not with the memories still taunting and weighing heavily on him. What he also knows is that he hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps, nor had he done what was expected of the only Malfoy heir. There were no intentions of living in the Manor and throwing fancy soirées, no desire to live within a larger than necessary estate composed of the same gray walls and dust covered shelves, sparsely decorated with expensive furniture and paintings. As much as Narcissa wanted him to continue on the family inheritance, and as much as he loved her dearly—he did not want that for himself.

Now, he’s got a wonderfully sweet cottage tucked away in a neighborhood where no two homes are the same. He lives in a home where every room is painted a different color that didn’t necessarily match from one to the next, where every room feels cozier than the last. He lives in a home that feels lived in, that radiates a kind of warmth and love he could have only ever dreamed of his entire life. One that houses a culmination of each of the things that matter the most to the both of you.

He lives with the love of his life, someone who he felt he didn’t deserve the affections of but received them regardless. He lives a life of matching coffee mugs and 2 am slow dances to a melody unheard. With bookshelves lined with shared tastes in literature crammed together and the occasional picture frame with the two of you captured within it. In a home surrounded by untamed wildflowers and borderline unkempt lawns with deep maroon shutters by each little window. All of it encompassed by a matching wooden fence with an iron latch, the numbers of your address engraved in an old metal slab.

His parents might have frowned upon his choice in living arrangements in noticeable comparison to the luxury of their own, but he no longer cared about their opinion. It was merely that; an opinion.

“What are you thinking of?” You ask after a little while, your voice pulling him back to the current moment as you brushed the platinum strands away from his eyes.

His gaze shifts to you, smile soft and beaming as the breeze sweeping into the open window sifts through your hair. As the late afternoon sunshine glimmers across your skin. "Stay here with me. For the rest of our lives. Stay with me.”

He watched as your expression filled with a delighted confusion, one so adorably curious he wanted nothing more than to kiss you for the rest of the day. You laugh softly, smile bright and eyes sparkling as you took in the loving sincerity of his words spoken so freely, so meaningfully. What he hadn’t known, however, was the butterflies fluttering around relentlessly in your stomach and the racing of your heart. You had known of such things already, but to hear them spoken was something else entirely.

“Painting our spare room really has made you sentimental, hasn’t it?” You jest, your squeal ringing out when he lifts you in his arms and twirls you in retaliation.

Your hands settle on his shoulders as your laughter fills the room, his lips pressing to the column of your throat. He knew you’d say something along those lines, he absolutely knew it. He sets you down but keeps you just as close, his lips continuing to press upon your neck as you continue to giggle at his mercy. He moves to your cheek and bumps his nose against yours, foreheads resting on one another as your dwindling laughter mingles in the space.

“I mean it, darling,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at your expression fully. He looked at you carefully in the close proximity, hopeful of your answer as his heart beat wildly in his chest.

It was then that the corner of your mouth quirks up into a grin. You bring your arms up to rest on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the very tip of his nose. “For the rest of our lives,” you repeat softly with a widening smile, just to hear how it sounds. “I quite like the idea of that.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh, kissing you again and again, his arms tightening around you as he engulfs you in his embrace so much so he nearly lifts you off your feet once more. But soon there was muffled laughter and a gasp, your gazes traveling to the floor as you’re met with adorably large blue eyes and ever so sweet purring. Ivory.

Her once clean paws were doused in paint after walking freely through the tray without a care for much else, tracking it across the newspaper set across the floor, perfectly tiny paws pressed upon your feet in little sage-colored prints as she walked on you both. You sigh as you bend down and scoop her up, a delighted meow escaping her at the attention she was aiming to receive. It was immediate that she nudged Draco’s nose rather roughly, the action aggressively affectionate as she stood her front paws on his chest. He scrunched his nose at your laughter of the footprints left behind on his skin.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” He says lightheartedly to the feline, using your earlier words as he scratched under her chin. She responded with another nudge, whiskers brushing over his lips.

He smiled fondly, one that was soft and true.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes shifting to you once you set her down, a gust of the spring breeze blowing his hair back in his eyes, a shimmering blonde in the sunlight. “I love you in every possible way.”

You smile, cheeks staining a soft pink as your arms wrap around his neck once more. “And I love you,” you whisper, leaning on your toes to kiss him, gentle and sweet. “In every possible way.”

Draco Malfoy lived a life entirely decided by himself for once, and he was destined to make better of it than it once was. He was perfectly content with the one he made for himself now; one with the love of his entire life and the precious little kitty he’s come to love. The three of you stood there, enjoying the simplicity of just merely basking in each other’s company.

He found himself excited to decorate yet another room with your things and his combined. It was more than just a spare room; it was a piece of your home, of a life your own.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @anchoeritic @hahee154hq @amourtentiaa @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @lunalovecroft

#draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco fluff

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

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Hi. You said in your Jon and women meta that Lyanna is a combination of both Sansa and Arya. Can you give her parallels with both girls?

Hello Anon,

Yes this past week I’ve said that Lyanna Stark was a mixture of the Stark Sisters.

I also said that I always thought that the Sansa from the original outline was very similar to Lyanna Stark:

Now ¿How marrying the heir of the Iron Throne/King of the 7K is supposed to be an act of dubious loyalty? Because GRRM has stated that in high nobility there is no marriage without the Lord Father of the bride’s blessing. Furthermore, from the wedding the bride belongs to her husband’s house, that’s all the fuzz with the cloaking ceremony, going from the maiden’s cloak to your husband’s cloak. You left your paternal house to belong with your husbands house. Sansa’s loyalty was with her husband, and more important, Sansa’s love and loyalty was with her baby boy. So, how choosing his baby over her paternal house could be seem as an act of dubious loyalty then? And even if she wanted to come back to her paternal family, does she really get a chance without the risk of being captured, separated from her baby, accused of treason and executed, leaving her baby boy motherless?

Oh I get it, there was an enmity between Starks and Lannisters. So, Or Joffrey abducted Sansa? Or Sansa eloped to marry Joffrey? How very Shakespearean of you George! This is Romeo and Juliet all over again. Or even better, this is Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark oll over again.

Original Outline Sansa was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and mother of the heir to the Iron Throne.

It is implied by the fandom that this Sansa dies because the outline says that Jaime dethrones and kills Joffrey and “everyone ahead of him in the line of succession” (Sansa’s baby). Well, Sansa was not in the line of succession, but it’s probable that Jaime had to kill her to get to her baby boy, which reminds me of Elia Martell & her babies’ tragic and devastating deaths.

And landing more on the subject, I said that: Arya and Sansa play different roles in Jon’s life: Sansa is the distant half sister, the archetype of the princess in the tower, that he thinks he would never get. While Arya is the closest sister, the comfortable presence of a girl with less feminine inclinations. And both of them resemblance different aspects of Lyanna Stark. While Arya got Lyanna’s spirit and physical features, Sansa Stark got the less known romantic nature of Lyanna, after all, Lyanna cried while listening Rhaegar playing the harp, eloped with him, bore him a son, found herself trapped in a tower, and unwillingly caused the death of her father and older brother. Like a Lady in a sad and beautiful song.

We can draw parallels between Lyanna and her two nieces, but there are also parallels shared by the three of these She-wolves of Winterfell. Let’s see:

LYANNA & ARYA

Appearance:

“You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her." "Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya. "She was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

Carrying a sword:

"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. —AGOT - Arya II

The wolf-blood:

“Arya, you have a wildness in you, child. The wolf blood, my father would call it. Lyanna had a touch of it."—AGOT - Arya II

"She was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience … at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up." —AGOT - Arya II

Punching annoying brothers & friends:

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone. — ADWD - Bran III

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. "You stupid," she told him, "you scared the baby," but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too. —AGOT - Arya IV

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle, but when her pup brother teased her for crying she poured wine over his head. —ASOS - Bran II

"My lady?" Ned looked embarrassed. "I'm Edric Dayne, the . . . the Lord of Starfall." Behind them, Gendry groaned. "Lords and ladies," he proclaimed in a disgusted tone. Arya plucked a withered crabapple off a passing branch and whipped it at him, bouncing it off his thick bull head. "Ow," he said. "That hurt." He felt the skin above his eye. "What kind of lady throws crabapples at people?" "The bad kind," said Arya, suddenly contrite. She turned back to Ned. "I'm sorry I didn't know who you were. My lord." —ASOS - Arya VIII

Half-horses:

"You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember." —ASOS - Arya III

Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself. —ADWD - Reek III

"Brandon was fostered at Barrowton with old Lord Dustin, the father of the one I'd later wed, but he spent most of his time riding the Rills. He loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two. —ADWD - The Turncloak

This is a contrast with Sansa: "I hate riding," Sansa said fervently. "All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore." —AGOT - Sansa I

LYANNA & SANSA

Beauty:

Both Lyanna and Sansa are considered beautiful:

Lyanna:

"She [Lyanna] was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride. —AGOT - Eddard I

"The maid's a fair one," Osha said. —AGOT - Bran VII

The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he recalled. —ADWD - Epilogue

Sansa:

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is.”

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily.

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

“I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were.”

Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was.

“You are very beautiful, my lady,” the seamstress said when she was dressed.

Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy.

"Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown,” Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.

Inner Strength:

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert," Ned told him. "You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath”. —AGOT - Eddard VII

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. —ASOS - Sansa V

Pleading Ned to protect part of themselves:

He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once. —AGOT - Eddard IV

Lyanna was pleading to her brother Ned to protect her son, while Sansa was pleading to her father Ned to protect her direwolf, Lady, part of Sansa’s soul. Later, Ned regretted failing Sansa...

Knights & Queens of Love and Beauty:

Lyanna was a Mystery Knight AND was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhal.

Lyanna as the Knight of the Laughing Tree:

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists. Bran nodded sagely. [...] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.” “No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.” [...] “Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.” —ASOS - Bran II

Lyanna as the Queen of love and beauty. Rhaegar wearing rubies (red) gave her a crown of winter roses (blue):

The Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. —AGOT - Eddard I

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. —AGOT - Eddard XV

Sansa attended the Tourney of the Hand at Kings Landing, met Petyr Baelish who told her that Catelyn was his Queen of Love and Beauty, and received a (red) rose from Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, who was wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue). During the second day of the tourney, Sansa wore the red rose in her hair:

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once," the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. "You have her hair." His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away. —AGOT - Sansa II

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa's fervent whisper, "Oh, he's so beautiful." Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires; a gasp went up from a thousand throats. Across the boy's shoulders his cloak hung heavy. It was woven of forget-me-nots, real ones, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to a heavy woolen cape. —AGOT - Eddard VII

Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst. To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes like liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off. —AGOT - Sansa II

The boy from Highgarden did something with his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa clutched at his arm. "Father, don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," she said. Ned saw she was wearing the rose that Ser Loras had given her yesterday. Jory had told him about that as well. —AGOT - Eddard VII

At this point in the Books, Sansa, as Alayne Stone, is organizing a Tourney to elect the members of Robert Arryn personal guard, named the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights. As the daughter of Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale, Alayne Stone could be crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty.

This is a contrast with Arya who thinks tourneys are stupid: "I don't care about their stupid tourney." —AGOT - Arya II

Failed betrothal to a Baratheon:

Both Lyanna and Sansa were betrothed with a Baratheon, Lyanna with Robert and Sansa with Joffrey:

If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done. —AGOT - Eddard I

There is also this parallel between Jenny of Oldstones, Lyanna & Sansa [I wrote about it here]:

Note the parallels between Duncan Targaryen, his betrothed Baratheon and Jenny of Oldstones & Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark and her betrothed Robert Baratheon: A Targaryen prince breaking an engagement with a member of House Baratheon that then originates a rebellion.

And this: Sansa was betrothed with Joffrey “Baratheon” and the engagement was broken in the middle of a war with Robb Stark leading an army against King Joffrey, and Jon almost breaking his vows to join Robb’s army to avenge Ned’s death and rescue their sisters. All of which makes me think about these parallels: Sansa being a hostage in King’s Landing & Lyanna’s “abduction”, Ned’s death & Rickard’s death, Robb’s death & Brandon’s death. And that leaves Jon to possibly play the role of Ned Stark in the future.

Basically if Jon and Sansa happens, they will parallel two stories: Rhaegar and Lyanna, a Targaryen/Stark couple; and Ned and Cat, a Stark/Tully couple.

And right now in the Books, Sansa Stark, under the disguise of Alayne Stone, is betrothed with a Robert-like young man: Harry Hardyn.

The Rose of Winterfell:

This is the tale:

According to free folk legend, Lord Brandon Stark, the liege of the north, once called Bael a coward. To take revenge for this affront and prove his courage, Bael climbed the Wall, took the kingsroad, and entered Winterfell under the guise of a singer named Sygerrik of Skagos. ("Sygerrik" means "deceiver" in the Old Tongue.) There, he sang until midnight for the lord.

Impressed by his skills as a singer, Lord Stark asked Bael what he wanted as a reward, but he requested only the most beautiful flower blooming in Winterfell's gardens. As the blue winter roses were just blooming, Brandon Stark presented him with one. The following morning, the maiden daughter of Lord Stark had disappeared, his only child, and in her bed was the blue winter rose.

Lord Brandon sent the members of the Night's Watch looking for them beyond the Wall, but they never found Bael or the girl. The Stark line was on the verge of extinction, when one day the girl was back in her room, holding in her arms an infant: they had actually never left Winterfell, staying hidden in the crypts. Bael's bastard with Brandon's daughter became the new Lord Stark.

Thirty years later, Bael was King-Beyond-the-Wall and led the wildlings' army south, and he had to fight his own son at the Frozen Ford. There, incapable of killing his own blood, he let himself be killed by Lord Stark. His son brought back Bael's head to Winterfell, and his mother who had loved the bard, seeing the trophy, killed herself by leaping from the top of a tower. The son was eventually slain by the Boltons.

[Source]

Ygritte told this story to Jon in ACOK - Jon VI, and it resembles Jon’s own story: Bael/Rhaegar (both harp players/bards) abducting/eloping Brandon's daughter/Lyanna, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell’. Immediately after this chapter, comes ACOK - Sansa IV, where she flowered for the first time, next chapter is Jon again. (Jon-Sansa-Jon).

Also take note that Sansa was “abducted” by Petyr Baelish, a known deceiver, whose surname has a resemblance with the name Bael.

Ladies of Winterfell

Lyanna’s and Lady’s bones are buried at Winterfell, what makes them literally Ladies of Winterfell:

"She was more beautiful than that," the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna's face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. "Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. "She deserved more than darkness …" "She was a Stark of Winterfell," Ned said quietly. "This is her place." —AGOT - Eddard I

Shortly, Jory brought him Ice. When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.” “All that way?” Jory said, astonished. “All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.” —AGOT - Eddard III

Bran felt all cold inside. "She lost her wolf," he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his father's guardsmen had returned from the south with Lady's bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid their faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned. —AGOT - Bran VI

I wrote about this before:

Now, back to Lady’s death. We know that this event is a turning point in Sansa’s arc, but other than that, the paragraphs leading to the direwolf’s execution are laden with symbolism and foreshadowing, not only for Sansa, but for Ned as well.

During the “trial”, Ned decides that he will take Lady’s life himself, in order to avoid having a butcher like Ilyn Payne do the execution. Then, before he struck, he pronounced her name in the same fashion Robb and Jon called the name of their direwolves before they both died. This for me foreshadows Ned’s own death. Also, before Lady’s death, Ned pleads King Robert to change his decision on putting down the direwolf, appealing to the memory of Lyanna, the woman Robert loved. Similarly, before Ned’s execution at the steps of the Sept of Baelor, Sansa pleads King Joffrey to spare her father’s life, appealing to the love he has for her. As we know, both pleas fell on deaf ears and both Lady and Ned lost their lives; bringing the story full circle, as Ilyn Payne himself cut off Ned’s head.

Another interesting thing is that before Lady’s death we have direct and indirect references to Lyanna Stark. We have the direct reference when Ned appealed to the love Robert Baratheon bore Lyanna, in order to save Lady’s life, and the indirect one when he ordered Jory to choose four men to return Lady’s body to the north, to bury her in Winterfell. This order Ned gave to his men alludes to his own decision to take Lyanna’s body to Winterfell to be buried in the crypts, after her demise, brought on by her doomed love affair with Rhaegar Targaryen.

Dubious Loyalty?

Both Lyanna and Sansa got infatuated by Golden Princes: Rhaegar Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon, and because of that they both unintentionally played a part in the deaths of their fathers and older brothers, Rickard and Brandon & Ned and Robb. They both also ended trapped in towers regretting their doomed romances.

As I mentioned before, I always thought that the Sansa from the original outline was very similar to Lyanna Stark. That Sansa was described as member of dubious loyalty for her family; but while Lyanna is glorified by the fandom, both Outline Sansa and Asoiaf Sansa are unfairly vilified for committing the same actions that Lyanna did.

Also, as it was pointed out before, Rickard Stark and Catelyn Stark both saw their firstborn sons murdered in front of them, while convinced that their daughters were far away being raped and abused by cruel princes, and then were brutally murdered themselves.

Dead before their time:

"She [Lyanna] was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time." —AGOT - Arya II

And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time. —A Game Of Thrones, Sansa V

Lyanna and Lady (part of Sansa’s soul) both died in the south, before their time.

Lyanna’s ghost has haunted Cersei: Cersei wanted to marry Rhaegar but ended married with Robert. Both Rhaegar and Robert loved Lyanna.

Lady is mentioned in the Books as a “shade”, a synonym for ghost. And after Ned’s death, Sansa became a ghost at the Red Keep’s court.

And to finish this section, here some gifsets that illustrate some of the Lyanna & Sansa parallels that were mentioned:

Sansa Stark and Lyanna Stark + parallels

Pleading

She-wolves of Winterfell

Beautiful, Captivating Child-Women

Hidden Metal ft. hair parallels

Broken ‘Baratheon’ Engagements ft. more hair parallels

Fair Maidens

LYANNA & ARYA & SANSA

The wolf-blood:

I have already mentioned this aspect of Lyanna and Arya above, but Sansa has the wolf-blood too. It’s subtle, but it’s there:

"I've never seen an aurochs," Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen. Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. "A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table," she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread. "She's not a dog, she's a direwolf," Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. "Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want." The septa was not appeased. "You're a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you're as willful as your sister Arya." She scowled. "And where is Arya this morning?" —AGOT - Sansa I

"It won't be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest." She touched her on the arm. "Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her. —AGOT - Sansa III

Jeyne yawned. "Are there any lemon cakes?" Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. "Let's see," she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya. —AGOT - Sansa III

After my name day feast, I'm going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That's what I'll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother's head." A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, "Maybe my brother will give me your head." —AGOT - Sansa VI

Knights protect the innocent:

Lyanna, as herself and as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, defended Howland Reed, a bannerman of House Stark:

"None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. 'That's my father's man you're kicking,' howled the she-wolf." "A wolf on four legs, or two?" "Two," said Meera. "The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. There he met her pack brothers: the wild wolf who led them, the quiet wolf beside him, and the pup who was youngest of the four.

(...)

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.” —ASOS - Bran II

Arya defended Mycah, the butcher’s boy:

Mycah shook his head. "It's only a stick, m'lord. It's not no sword, it's only a stick." "And you're only a butcher's boy, and no knight." Joffrey lifted Lion's Tooth and laid its point on Mycah's cheek below the eye, as the butcher's boy stood trembling. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?" A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah's flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy's cheek. "Stop it!" Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick. Sansa was afraid. "Arya, you stay out of this." "I won't hurt him … much," Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher's boy. Arya went for him. Sansa slid off her mare, but she was too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince's head, and then everything happened at once before Sansa's horrified eyes. — AGOT - Sansa I

Sansa, as a lady armored with her courtesy and wits, defended a defenestrated knight turned fool:

The king stood. "A cask from the cellars! I'll see him drowned in it." Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't." Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?" Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn't meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm. "Did you say I can't? Did you?" "Please," Sansa said, "I only meant . . . it would be ill luck, Your Grace . . . to, to kill a man on your name day." "You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much." "I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . ." Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this. "The girl speaks truly," the Hound rasped. "What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year." His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she'd said, desperate to avoid punishment. Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool." "He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death." The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley." —ACOK - Sansa I

She-Wolves of Winterfell:

Lyanna and Arya are often referred as She-Wolves in the Books, but in a very subtle and poetical way, Sansa is referred as a She-Wolf too:

He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand's daughter." —AGOT - Sansa I

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head." —ASOS - Arya XIII

"May the Father judge him justly," murmured a septon. "The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws." —ASOS - Jaime VII

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle. The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf." She refused to say the girl's name. "I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son. —AFFC - Cersei IV

What a kick-ass reputation: Sansa, the wolf that killed King Joffrey!

Fond of Flowers:

Lyanna, Arya and Sansa are linked with flowers:

Ned could recall none of it. "I bring her flowers when I can," he said. "Lyanna was … fond of flowers." —A Game Of Thrones - Eddard I

None of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse. Then it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on her arms. —AGOT - Sansa I

It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella's garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods. —AGOT - Sansa V

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." — ASOS - Sansa VII

Songs:

While Arya likes songs about heroes and adventures:

Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs. —Bran II - AGOT

She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs. —ASOS - Arya XII

Lyanna and Sansa are linked with singers and romantic songs and stories that move them to cry.

As I said before, the story about Bael the Bard and the Rose of Winterfell resembles Jon’s own story: Bael/Rhaegar (both harp players/bards) abducting/eloping Brandon's daughter/Lyanna, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell’. Sansa is also linked with this story, as was explained above.

The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle. —ASOS - Bran II

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [sung in High Valyrian] Ned inspected the bruise himself. “I hope Forel is not being too hard on you,” he said. —AGOT - Eddard VII

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen. —AGOT - Sansa IV

After the meal had been cleared away, many of the guests asked leave to go to the sept. Cersei graciously granted their request. Lady Tanda and her daughters were among those who fled. For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist. —ACOK - Sansa VI

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. “The man has played us every song he knows thrice over,” Lord Eddard told her gently. “I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come.” They hadn’t, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent. But that was when she was a little girl, and foolish. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence. —A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

This is a contrast with Arya who thinks love songs are stupid: Another stupid love song. Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. —AFFC - Cat Of The Canals

So there you have it. There is more to say, but I think I covered the basics.

Thanks for your message.

#anon ask #sansa stark #arya stark #lyanna stark

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 3 years

Text

some original nonsense

“I’m so glad I get to be here for this,” Eve practically flung herself onto the couch, bouncing slightly before settling. She’d just gotten dropped off after rehearsal and was miraculously still teeming with energy.

Clara pursed her lips, an obvious attempt to cover up a smile. They’d spent the day helping Eli and Ann track down paperwork and somewhere between the borough hall and stopping at the deli for lunch had been seen by Oliver’s parents. Who forced him to introduce them to Clara and insisted she come for dinner. Ann managed to talk her way out of it by vague statements of “being with her family right now” that had the McNally’s cooing in understanding. Clara couldn’t manage the same without raising too many questions. At least not that quickly.

So, she’d spent the evening at the farmhouse and then had herself talked into spending the night. The whole experience was odd, Clara settling somewhere between her true sharp self and the doe-eyed charming he’s seen her present herself as. Oliver had the sense that it was strange for her too and that Clara was navigating uncharted waters as she ate his mom’s chicken alfredo.

But after dinner his parents retreated to the office that used to be the dining room, claiming to be going over paperwork but probably watching House Hunters or something. Leaving the living room to “the kids” which fit when Eve came barging in.

“I was so worried you would be gone when I got home,” she told Clara, having latched on to the older girl a few days before.

“I was somehow convinced to spend the night.” Clara narrowed her eyes, brows drawn low as she tried to puzzle out exactly how that had happened. It made her freckles scrunch up into an indistinguishable blur.

Eve nodded sagely and began wrapping herself up in one of the afghans from over the back of the couch. “Yeah, they do that. It’s a weird quirk of being the ‘cool parents.’” Oliver knew by her tone that she was using air quotes but from the cocoon his sister had made herself it was hard to tell.

Oliver finished tweaking the playlist he’d made, deciding to kill as many birds with one stone as possible, and pressed play. Rising from his crouch next to their entertainment center to go sit on the couch on Clara’s other side. The music began to play through the living room’s speakers and Eve giggled madly.

Clara turned to give him the most suspicious look he’d ever seen, and that was saying a lot based on the past week’s events. “I know this song. Maybe. It sounds familiar.”

Shaking his head, Oliver barely managed to contain his laughter. “Nope.”

The lyrics started and the look of baffled confusion that overcame Clara was the best thing he’d ever witnessed. She froze, shook her head slightly, narrowed her eyes, and then finally turned to him in betrayal. “When did this happen? I was just in Constantinople... When was I in Constantinople?”

Eve squeaked, high and long as she inhaled. Unable to hold in her own laughter any longer. Oliver managed to remain silent though he was shaking and his stomach ached at the strain.

“This isn’t funny,” Clara insisted. Her glare wasn’t that harsh though so Oliver didn’t relent. “Oliver!” she scolded. “It’s not funny!”

“No, it’s hilarious,” he said between gasps of breath. “And it only gets better.”

“Russia’s favorite love machine?” Clara looked like she was going to be sick. “I mean, I might have actually met Rasputin but honestly he was disgusting. And smelt terrible.”

It was Oliver’s turn to look on in horror. “Of all the things you managed to miss, you met Rasputin?”

“Possibly,” Clara said sheepishly. “It could’ve just been a drunk.”

One day, Oliver would stop being shocked by things Clara said. But apparently not today.

“Ok,” Eve interrupted, “but thoughts on the song?”

“It’s... good?”

The look of pure offense Eve gave her made Oliver want to whither and he was mostly immune at that point. Eve took a deep breath, seeming to recenter herself. “It’s a certified bop, Clara.”

“Ok, I’m not an idiot. I know about the Battle of Waterloo. And I’ve read Les Misérables.” Clara was unimpressed by Abba.

“You actually read Les Mis?” Eve clearly had her own priorities.

Oliver might not really be into theater but Eve was and he managed to pick some things up. “Ok, hold on.” He tried to do some quick math, but just asking Clara would really be easier. “When did you just... stop following cultural events?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, some point after the second Great War?”

Eve and Oliver shared a look, leaning forward so that they could do so. Eve’s expression said that either Oliver handle this or she would. And also, what the heck was he planning?

“Ok, so World War II, not second Great War. Where did you even get that one?” he tried to be gentle. But honestly, what the heck?

Clara wrinkled her nose. “I’ve outlasted entire civilizations, Oliver,” she hissed. “Cut me some slack for forgetting some terms. English isn’t even my second or third language. And you people keep changing it.”

Oliver lifted his hand in defense. “Ok, ok. Point taken. Still, did you not pay attention to the Broadway or West End theater scenes in the 1980s?”

“No?” Clara turned to see if Eve might be any help. Her slightly manic look meant that probably not.

“So, you didn’t know that Les Mis is a musical?” She gasped.

Clara slowly shook her head.

“Ollie!” Eve screeched, but he was already standing, going to shift through the many DVDs Eve had of various performances.

“Bed,” their mom said, emerging from the office. Their dad had already headed upstairs sometime during One Day More and she was currently in her pajamas.

Eve tilted her head up, shaking off the hand that Mom was combing through her hair. “But, it’s not over!” she whined. The drums of the finale refrain of Do You Hear the People Sing were starting up meaning that it would be over very shortly.

“And you’ve seen it a million times and have school tomorrow. Bed,” she countered.

“Clara’s never even seen Phantom!” Eve tried to counter, which they’d discovered when Eve began rambling about actors sometime during ABC Cafe. Oliver loved his sister, he hated that he knew the names of every song in Les Mis.

“Clara can stay up and watch it with Oliver then. Or just visit another day,” Mom glanced to Oliver with an almost apologetic tilt to her smile.

“I can come back,” Clara offered softly. The effect was immediate. Eve and his mom both had twin smiles of pure glee. Much like Ann a few years earlier, Oliver’s friend had been officially deemed another extension of the family. Well neither girl seemed to mind so far.

Eve launched herself onto Clara in a hug, throwing her blankets to the floor and startling the blonde. Over Eve’s shoulder, he could see Clara’s pale eyes widen and it looked like she was trying very hard not to let her shock get the best of her. They’d managed to keep his parents in the dark about the whole “technically dead” bit but Eve passing right through Clara would kind of ruin the careful charade.

“I’ll wait until next time for Phantom,” Oliver made it sound like a chore, but he knew Eve would be pissed not to be included. And the whole experience would be more enjoyable for Clara because the two girls had talked through the entirety of Les Mis about the characters and changes from the book. He was positive watching Phantom of the Opera would be the same.

“You’re not a terrible human,” Eve said by way of thanks.

Oliver shrugged and their mom rolled her eyes. She started ushering Eve towards the stairs as she said her goodnights. When it became clear that Eve was still occupied squeezing the unneeded air from Clara’s lungs, she gave up. “Don’t stay up too late you two. And Eve, your butt better be in bed by the time those credits stop.”

Clara laughed and finally began to peel Eve’s arms off her. “You should listen to your mother,” she said kindly.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“If you don’t leave now I will introduce Clara to Drunk Space Pirate without you,” Oliver threatened.

Eve gasped and leapt to her feet. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

The two stared each other down as Eve began backing towards the stairs, almost stumbling over the coffee table in the process. “I knew you like The Mechanisms.”

Oliver smirked. “Space operas, Eve.”

His sister huffed and ran upstairs. Clara started laughing softly. “What was that about?”

“I’ll explain later. I think the novelty of being a ghost would be ruined if I became one too, which would happen if I explained without Eve.”

“Your sister does seem capable of murder,” Clara agreed.

“I feel like all the women in my life are?”

“Yes.”

Oliver started cracking up at that. Clara joined him. It felt cathartic in light of... everything. Then they remembered that the rest of the house had been going to sleep so they tried to hush each other. Only to laugh more.

Finally, they sobered and Oliver went to go get his laptop. “Do you know literally anything about the band Nirvana?”

Clara blinked. “Do you enjoy asking questions you know the answer to?”

Barking a short laugh, Oliver came back over to sit next to her again. “Ok, fair. But I’m going to play an ironic critic of how people respond to the lead singer’s death for you now.”

“Why?” Clara asked incredulously.

“I really just want to see what someone so totally removed from the situation thinks of this song.” Oliver shrugged.

“You are very strange.”

“And you shouldn’t throw stones.”

#hitch hiker #own writing #original writing

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

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Chapter 15 is up! The penultimate chapter of Can’t Find My Way Home. Thank you all for your support of this fic--the comments, the private messages, the kudos. I appreciate it so very much.

Just one more chapter after this. . .

Chapter 15

Baz

I don’t know how they expect us to actually open the office in London if all we do in these planning meetings is rehash everything we discussed at the last meeting. The agenda may as well be rubbish; it’s not as if we ever follow it.

I don’t say much. I can’t be bothered anymore. I’m tired of trying to keep people on track when most of them only want to hear the sound of their own voices.

Philippa gave me a blistering after the last meeting. She seemed to think I’d cut her off and stifled her opportunity to “voice her opinion.” Bollocks. She’d nattered on for almost ten minutes about the décor, which is literally the least important issue facing us at the moment.

I’m certainly not one to shun tastefully chosen interior design, but when we haven’t even finalized a transition team and we’re barely three months away from said transition, I find discussions on the merits of sage and taupe versus silver and charcoal grey quite maddening.

I find everything about this vexing. I’m part of these meetings, perforce, but no one has officially named me to the actual on-site transition team. The staff composition for the London office is still a mystery.

I don’t even think we’re going to make the May target date.

It’s even more unbearable being here in New York now. It was barely tolerable before the holiday but now, with Simon in London, it’s absolutely excruciating.

I really don’t know why I even bothered to come back. I should give my notice and go home. I’ve got contacts in the industry, references and credentials that are impeccable. I could find a job in London and Simon and I could take up where we left off. Which would make life infinitely better.

But I’m a Pitch and we don’t give up, even in the direst of circumstances.

I committed to this transition and I am a man of my word.

Fuck it all.

Simon

I do my best not to ask Baz about work anymore. I’m curious of course, because I’m me, but I try to restrain myself. Talking about work drags on him. He looks pale and wan when we Facetime as it is.

Last time we spoke he reluctantly admitted that the London transition was a bit of mess. Didn’t say much more than that, but his expression said it all. He’s worried they won’t make the May date.

Which means he won’t be coming to London then.

I don’t know what that means for him overall. I know he’s talked about leaving, finding another position here, with another firm.

I’d like that. But I don’t want him to do that for me. He’s got to do it for himself, not for us.

So I do my best to distract him when we talk. Tell stories about work, the boys in the home. How I totally bollocksed up the art class and spilled half the paint on my shirt. The day I managed to get free tickets to a football match for the older boys. The way the little ‘uns like to hear my stories of the scrapes I got into at Watford.

The grim details of how the older boys completely thrashed me when we played football on the green. I am shit at goal.

It makes Baz smile and that means the world to me.

Baz

It’s finally set. The transition team has been named and I’m on it. The London office tentative opening date has been pushed back to late June, but the team is scheduled to be there starting in May.

I’m in charge of operations. I finally have some fucking control of this disaster. I live for this kind of thing—bringing organization to chaos. It’s in my blood.

The whole thing is a fucking wreck and I’m sure to be driven mad before the end.

But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Two months. I’ll be back in London in two months.

Simon

He’s still pale but Baz is far more animated when we Facetime now. He’s drilling the team in preparation for the move. He’s in his element when he’s in charge like this; his eye on all the moving parts, relieved to finally have some control.

Not that he’s clear of the dark days. Plenty of those still. His coworkers all sound like berks.

I’m just glad he’s going to be back here in May.

I miss him.

I know that might be a stupid thing to say, when we only had those few days together in December. I’ve got years of being with Baz, under less friendly circumstances mind you, but still. It was easy to let myself fall into the comfort of being in his company again.

Easier to admit some truths I’d been shoving away for far too long.

I can’t say there isn’t a tinge of apprehension. We’ve just gotten to know each other again, and I don’t know whether this blaze of affection that manifested months ago will continue to burn as bright when we’re together again or proximity and familiarity will quench the fire of it.

I’d like to think it won’t.

I’ve never fallen for someone in this way before, so completely and overwhelmingly. I mean I loved Agatha but I wasn’t in love with her. The idea of a happy ever after, even a bland and sedate one, was alluring for someone like me.

But settling is never in anyone’s best interest.

With Baz, even if it was only a matter of days, I felt like I’d found what I’d always been missing. The last piece of the puzzle. The place I fit.

Home. That’s what I mean. The idea that once you find home, that’s that. You keep that person, if they let you.

I think Baz will let me keep him.

Baz

I toss my keys on the table, toe off my shoes and collapse on the sofa.

I’m exhausted. Knackered. Utterly spent.

It’s been a fucking week. Friday couldn’t come soon enough. I glance at my watch. It’s almost eleven o’clock back home. Not too late to Facetime Simon.

I dial his number and wait. It takes a few rings for him to pick up but the wave of warmth that rushes through me at the sight of his face is frankly embarrassing.

Fuck, I miss him.

“Baz!” Simon’s face lights up as he stares into his screen. He’s holding it up close so I can see the pattern of moles and freckles on his face clearly.

“Hello, love.” I drink in the sight of him. His hair is drooping over his forehead, his cheeks are flushed, and he looks ridiculously pleased to see me.

The feeling is mutual.

He pulls back a bit and frowns at the screen. “You look tired. Another shit day?”

“They’re all shit days.”

It’s my turn to frown at my mobile. The background behind Simon looks awfully familiar, but it’s not the one I was expecting to see, not the one I’m used to viewing behind him when I call.

The reason manifests itself an instant later.

“Sod off, Baz. You’re fucking up our movie night.” Fiona’s face pops up, obscuring Simon completely.

“What the fuck is Simon doing at your flat?” No wonder it looked familiar. What the hell is going on?

Fiona raises an eyebrow and glares at me. “I just told you, you dolt. It’s movie night. Hurry the fuck up. We’re watching Lost Boys and Jason Patric just came on screen. I’m not about to forgive you for making me pause that.” She disappears but I can still hear her grumbling in the background.

“What the hell, Simon?”

“She rang me up a while back. We’ve met up at the pub a few times, for drinks and karaoke, but she wanted to do a movie night this time.”

“This time? How often do you and Fiona get together?” Why do I know nothing of this? What the actual fuck.

Her face pops back up, full-on glare this time. “Baz. Kiss the screen or do whatever the fuck you do when you Facetime Snow, but for the last time, wrap it the fuck up. We’ve got a movie to watch here.”

“Why is she glaring at me like that?” I ask Simon as he retakes his mobile from my wretched aunt.

He waggles his eyebrows at me and grins. “Oh, that’s just her fond glare.”

Fucking hell.

Simon

My mobile chimes from the table. I pull the roast all the way out of the oven and set it on the stovetop before I toss the potholders aside and focus on the screen.

Baz: May 17th.

Simon : what

Baz: We just finalized the dates. I fly home May 17th.

Simon: !!!!!

Simon: about bloody time they gave you an actual date

Simon: wankers

Baz: I convinced them to push back the opening to July 1st.

Baz: I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend your birthday stressed and working all hours.

Simon: you didn’t have to do that

Simon: but thank you

I glance at the calendar. Less than a month away.

Baz

My eyes sweep around the flat one last time, just to make sure I’ve got everything. I’ve already set my luggage by the door—the same two suitcases I arrived with almost a year ago. No more, no less.

The keys go in an envelope. I’ll drop it in the building manager’s mailbox on my way out.

There’s a ping from my mobile.

Ah. The Uber driver is waiting downstairs.

This is it. I’m finally done with this miserable chapter of my life. I’m not sure work is going to be any less miserable, just by virtue of it being in London, but I’ll be in London, which is really all that matters.

I’ll be near Simon again.

I can sort the rest of it later. The new office, the job, if I even want to stay employed at this firm.

I have time to figure that all out.

I look around once again. There’s no nostalgia. I’m well rid of this place. But I can be grateful for one thing: if I hadn’t been in New York I’d never have run into Simon. I’d never have found him again. It’s all been worth it, just for that chance encounter. Every sodding minute of it.

I can’t waste my time reminiscing. There’s a flight to catch. There damn well better not be any storms.

#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #travel au #my fics #My writing #one more chapter to go

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rhnuzlocke · 5 years

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Chapter Four: Child of the Moon

The car rumbled softly into a space behind the Petalburg Gym, and Senri climbed out of the driver’s side. Ren paused for a moment to marvel at the solar parking lot and scuff her new boot against its textured glass surface. They were still stiff, and she was not looking forward to how sore her feet would be by the end of the day, but she liked the look and weight of them.

Kenta emerged from his ball, and Tāraki bounced excitedly beside the Ursaring as they walked around to the front. The hulking pokemon yawned, then murmured some doubtless sage advice from his own journey with her father. Tāraki listed with unusually rapt attention, eyes glued to Kenta’s grizzled muzzle. She was going to miss him.

Ren wondered if everyone was in yet and how long this would take. Barry was already at the front desk settling in, and Lei walked out of the changing rooms with their Persian.

“It feels like you just got here, and you’re already on your way!” they complained, but they were smiling. “Are we finally gonna battle when you come back for the badge?”

“Depends how much you train,” Ren shot back with a grin.

Lei laughed. “She’s your daughter alright!”

“That she is.” Senri ruffled her hair. She almost threw him but shoved back the impulse and brushed him off instead. “I’ll go get your things.”

He went back, and a few of the other trainers offered her congratulations and goodbyes. Kenta nudged her when Barry left for the bathroom.

“I’ll be careful,” she told him.

“You are careful,” he said with a chuff.

There was a lot she wanted to say to him, but for a long moment nothing came to the surface. Then something old surged up from the depths, a memory she thought she had forgotten. “I—I’m sorry it took so long.”

“We evolve in our own time, little cub. I don’t hold you to the things you said when you were cave-bound. I’m just glad to see you smiling again—feel the warmth pour out of you like a campfire. I’m grateful for every day you live and every step I see you take. Doesn’t matter the direction.”

Ren dropped to her knees and slung her arms around his neck, burying her face in his soft, thick fur. He put an arm around her, and she was safe again.

“Watashi wa Kenta-sensei ni hibi to gyōseki karite iru subete.”

“I have no regrets,” he returned and hugged her tighter.

“Kenta talks even less than Otōsan but he always knows what to say. I was lucky to have so many parents.”

They have certainly been a formative—and positive—influence.

At last, she dried her eyes and let go of him. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Good. Ready to say goodbye to the others?”

Ren smiled. “Yeah.”

Tāraki climbed back up her shoulder, and she scratched under his chin as they went back to see the rest of her father’s team. The old Tauros nearly knocked her off her feet as she came in only to be snatched to safety by the Ambipom. The Blissey and Kangaskhan nearly smothered her between them. Even the Vigoroth gave her a fond pat with his claws, only to sulk away when the others poked fun at him. The rest of the crew didn’t know her as well, and she couldn’t understand them, but they wished her well just the same.

Then it was time to leave, and she returned to the lobby with her father.

“Senri, Mr. Scott is here to see you,” Barry called as they entered. A middle-aged man and green-haired teen were waiting with him by the front desk.

“Good morning, Charles! Wally, how are you?” Senri greeted them.

“Very well, thank you, sir,” the boy answered. He was almost eerily pale and didn’t look terribly well but held himself with a certain kind of poise. It made him seem taller than he actually was. He was small—only as tall as Ren—and slighter with delicate features to match.

“Oh! Introductions! This is my daughter, Ren.”

Mr. Scott shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, young lady.”

“I should have introduced you two a while ago,” said Senri while Ren shook Wally’s hand. “I wasn’t thinking. Ah, maybe it’s just as well. When’s the big move? Soon, no?”

“In a week, sir.”

“Excellent. So, what can I help you with today?”

“I got my trainer license.”

“Wonderful, let’s see it!” Senri beamed. Wally fished it out of his shoulder bag and handed it over. “Look at that photo! I’m jealous. My first made me look like a convict,” Senri chuckled as he returned it. “Well then, let’s go in and meet the greenhorns. I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable.”

“Actually, sir,” Wally stopped him, “I was hoping for a loan. I want to catch my first—my service pokemon.”

“Oh?” Senri said as his mind worked. Then something flickered over his face, and he tried not to grin. Ren knew that look. “Very Good! Now let me see, who can I give you…” He pretended to think it over for a moment, and Ren figured what he was up to before he opened his mouth again. “Actually, Ren, would you mind helping Wally with this?”

“Sure.”

That was surprisingly quick.

“I knew he had to have a good reason. He was more excited than I was for me to set out.”

“Great! Ren has already caught three pokemon so you’re in good hands, Wally. I’ll see you two later.”

Senri ushered Mr. Scott further inside, throwing Ren a wink over his shoulder. Once they were gone, Wally shifted and wrang the shoulder strap of his bag between his hands.

“Thank you for helping me. I hope this isn’t getting in the way of anything.”

“It’s no problem,” she reassured him as they walked out. “I don’t have a schedule to keep.” He accepted that, and she gestured towards Route 102 since it was closest. They walked in silence for a bit, and he pulled his cardigan sleeves down over his hands.

“So, why do you want to catch a wild to have as your service pokemon, if it’s okay to ask? Are they expensive here?”

He wrung his bag strap again before answering. “Um, the truth is I don’t want a service pokemon—well I do. I’m going to live with my aunt and uncle, and my cousin is a breeder, so I could have gotten one from her—and I still might—but I want to be a trainer. I always have. But, um, I’ve never really been healthy, and my parents wouldn’t let me try.”

“So we’re actually out here to get you a battler?”

“Yeah,” he responded meekly and twisted his bag strap even more.

“Hey, don’t worry. I won’t Rattata you out or anything. But why not just take one of Otōsan’s trainees or your cousin’s pokemon and battle them?”

He reached up and held the carved wood pendant hanging around his neck and rubbed at it with his thumb. “My parents have a point. I don’t know if I can be a real trainer, so I set myself a test of sorts. If I can get a wild pokemon to respect me, show enough potential that they decide they want to be my partner, then maybe I can do it.”

Ren nodded, and Wally looked taken aback by her acceptance. “It makes sense to me. I mean, it does feel like you're being a little hard on yourself, but you’ve clearly given this a lot of thought. And I don’t think it’s strange. I didn’t really ‘catch’ any of the pokemon on my team. I asked them—except for Panahi, who asked me.”

“Oh wow! Really?”

“I think it’s more common in some regions. After all, we didn’t always have pokeballs.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Ren pulled a ball of her belt and held it out to him. He accepted it reverently and cradled it in his hand for a minute. She bumped her eyebrows at him, and a look of determination settled over his features. He threw the ball, Akahana popped out in a flash of red, and he caught it again.

“Oh, what a cool Poochyena! I haven’t seen one like her before.”

“She’s a Striped variant. Akahana, this is Wally. We are going to help him get his first pokemon.” Akahana scrutinized him for a moment and nodded. “She knows Growl, Tackle, and Thunder Fang.”

“Whoa! Really?”

“Yep! And Thunder Fang is great because—

“It has a chance of causing paralysis!”

“Exactly. And Aka here is good at it.” Ren gave him an appraising look. He must have practiced to toss and catch a pokeball that naturally. She remembered doing the same with a rubber band ball when she was young. “You sure know your stuff.”

“I sorta have a library on pokemon training at home. And I watched every battle video I could get my hands on since I couldn’t…” He trailed off.

“That’s great! Whatever pokemon you catch will be super lucky.” He smiled, and Ren grinned back. “What species did you have in mind?”

“I would really like a Ralts.” Ren pulled out her nav and looked them up since it wasn’t a species she had bumped across out with Kai. When she saw the first image, her eyes flickered to Wally’s hair . The resemblance was too close to be a coincidence. She shook her head and turned her attention back to the data. “Hmm, DexNav says they’re elusive. We could be out here a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Wally apologized again, visibly wilting.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. This is super important. Besides, it’ll be fun.”

Wally’s lips parted slightly in surprise, then a wobbly but radiant smile took over his face, and his pale blue eyes shimmered. “Thank you.”

“He shattered my heart with that smile.”

That’s very sentimental of you.

“Something you have yet to learn about me is that I am extremely and unbearably sentimental.”

And was that the only reason you helped him?

“No. I was angry at his parents. Otōsan’s encouragement was a lot sometimes, but he never told me that I couldn’t do something. And Okāsan has been there to support me at every tournament and performance for my entire life. It wasn’t fair. So I was determined to give him at least a little of what he was owed.”

Wally and Ren wandered around for hours. Ren consulted the Littleroot Labs data on her nav, Akahana used her nose, Tāraki climbed every tree, Iki peered around from the safety of Ren’s head, and Panahi scanned from above with her keen eyes.

They slowly spread out to cover more ground, though not so far as to lose track of each other. But Ren had Akahana stay with Wally just in case.

Ren was looking through some bushes when she heard coughing so severe that she went running to find Wally, but by the time she was in sight again, he had an inhaler over his nose and had quieted. He put it casually back in his bag, barely looking at what he was doing.

So it was his lungs—probably asthma or some kind of birth defect. That seemed like a particularly frightening ailment to Ren—to at any moment be unable to breathe, suffocate on nothing. It couldn't have been easy for him to grow up knowing each breath could be his last. But then again, maybe that made things simple. It would be a terrible waste not to do what he wanted, so here he was, risking himself on a dream, letting passion drive him.

Ren turned around without making herself known and kept searching.

At long last, Wally gave a shout. “I found one!”

Ren tried not to run, so as not to scare it off only to gasp when she caught sight of it. The pokemon was indeed a Ralts, but with glittering feathers and a bright blue helmet instead of green.

“Nanda, is that a shiny?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed weakly, clearly still trying to process it himself.

“Ralts!” Akahana called out to it before anyone could gather themselves, “this human is a trainer without a pokemon. If he can demonstrate his ability in battle to your satisfaction, would you be interested in becoming his starter?”

The Ralts cocked its head and looked carefully up at Wally through its fringe, first with one eye and then the other. It chirped to Akahana in an odd ringing tone and she shook her head. Then it nodded, and Akahana settled lower to the ground, coiling herself and ready to spring.

“Oh!” Wally gasped. He took a deep breath and a look of determination spread over his face. “Akahana, use Thunder Fang!”

Akahana surged forward, bright tendrils of electricity trailing from her bared white fangs. The Ralts startled at the unexpected move, and its feathers ruffled as it lashed out instinctively with Confusion. The pulsing purple waves bounced harmlessly off of Akahana, and she sunk her teeth into its arm. The Ralts shuddered with the jolt of electricity but held steady. Pink, ringed sound waves erupted from its mouth and struck Akahana off. A close quarters fairy move was a lot for her, but she rolled right back to her feet.

“Hang in there, Akahana,” Wally cried. The Ralts fired off another Disarming Voice, but Akahana leapt to the side. The Ralts twitched stiffly, unable to course correct before the attack was spent. “It’s paralyzed! Get around back and Tackle!”

Ren nodded approvingly as Akahana dove under another attack, sprinted past, and whirled around. Her skull connected powerfully with the Ralts’s back and it fell forward in a heap. It tried to get up but wavered from the paralysis. Akahana pressed a paw between its shoulders and growled. It held stubbornly for a moment before letting its head loll, admitting defeat. Ren heard Wally gasp softly.

Akahana released it and walked back to Ren’s side. The Ralts righted itself and looked directly up at Wally, who started. They were both quiet for a minute and Wally’s lips moved, which meant it was probably using telepathy to speak to him. Finally, Wally pulled out a pokeball and kneeled down, offering it to the Ralts. It pushed the button and flowed inside. Wally clutched the ball tightly for a moment, and then it flashed green.

“YES!” he yelled, jumping up with the pokeball held aloft. “I can’t believe it!”

“Great job!” Ren congratulated him. “You really kept your cool. That’s a tough thing for most beginners.”

Wally was too elated to process her compliments and swept down on Akahana. “Thank you, Akahana!” he said, hugging her tightly. “You were so awesome! Thank you so much!”

Akahana was stiffened in shock at the display of affection, but remained still until he started coughing and had to let her go to use his inhaler.

“Thank you, Ren,” he said, a bit calmer and quieter so as not to upset his lungs again. “This means so, so much to me. I don’t think I could have done that without you here.”

“I’m happy to help, but don’t give me too much credit. That was a pretty even match, and you won it on your own.” He glanced away and she placed a hand on his shoulder to pull him back. “I want you to remember that.”

“Okay, but I still want to pay you back some day.”

She smiled wide enough to split her face. “Deal. Hey, why don’t we trade numbers? I’ll probably be going through Verdanturf in a few weeks. Maybe we can meet up?”

“Yeah, that sounds great!”

They swapped navs and filled in their contact information. Wally was still radiating joy like a Sunny Day and took the Ralts’s ball in his hands again to let his new pokemon back out. The Ralts looked up at him and smiled too.

“Let’s go to the Pokemon Center. We can heal these guys up and get your trainer card updated. Any idea what you’re going to call them?”

“Faris.”

“It was a lot of fun to go back and show Otōsan that catch. You should have seen his face. He couldn’t believe it!”

I did see it, and it was rather amusing.

“Oh, right. Well, I’m glad I hung around. And I think it was good for Akahana.”

You’ve accomplished a lot to be proud of. And needed me for so little of it.

“I—When you put it in that context, it makes it very hard to deny.”

One doesn’t live as long as I without learning a little trickery.

#ORAS #nuzlocke #storylocke #Wally #Senri #Mr. Scott #Ren #Taraki #Akahana #Iki #Panahi #Kenta #lgbtq #chapter

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mhysa-the-druidess · 5 years

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The Arcana: A Mystical Fanfic Chapter II - A New Family

„What's the matter, already had enough?“, I heard Morga mock me as I found my face in the dirt for so many times that I have already gotten used to tasting my own blood mixed with the ground under me.

„ I'll give up...when you finally end me“, my words mixed with heavy panting as I made myself rise once again, only driven by sheer will power, since my body was on the verge of falling apart.

Morga's face lit up with a bright grin, I swear I could see flames in her eyes. She was pleased. „I would expect nothing less“, she said almost kindly, as she came at me once again.

This has become a common practice for the two of us, ever since I've started living among her tribe. I've enjoyed our „sparrings“, I've enjoyed how she always pushed me to my limits and made me expand them, more and more every time. I was bold to believe that she enjoyed them as well, she admired my will and spirit. Ever since I've joined them, she's been treating me like her own offspring. Now, don't mistake that for something loving and nurturing, no, not from a woman like her, a warlord. Her love was rough, intense, but great. The tougher time she gave me, the more I knew I was growing on her. She would never express emotions, except through her steel. Most of the people would think her cold and stark, but I knew her better than that, I saw through her rough facade.

I came to her tribe as a sorceress, to serve their every need in exchange for leaving my family and our land alone, but I became more than just that. I was never the type to sit on the bench while the others have all the fun, I craved action, adventure, unknown. Besides, what better way to get to know better the people I'm living with and their culture, tradition, beliefs, souls, than to ride side by side with them into battle?

Few years ago I've made this request to Morga, to train me in the ways of the warrior, and she will have me, not just because of our agreement, but body and soul too. She said she knew that it would turn out like this, during our first battle, she saw the spirit of a warrior inside me, and that she would be glad to strengthen it and get me to realize my potential.

Being a warrior also helped me ensure my security among these wildlings. Even though Morga was fond of me, her men were vile and savage, a drunken moment alone with any of them could cost me more than I could ever afford to lose. At first, during my arrival, I came up with a perfect white lie to help me protect my purity from the possible defilers. I've announced that my mystical abilities come from my virginity, and should I ever lose my chastity, the powers would also be gone with it. Morga said she would personally gut anyone who dares to compromise her sorceress with his filthy paws. This was effective, but not completely reassuring, so I had to make sure I felt safe, or at least safer around the men. I've seen how they watch me with something beastly in their glares, as wolves would stare at their next catch. This was understandable and expected – I was different from their women, more gracious, delicate, almost royal as far as they were concerned. And I was an outsider.

There was one other thing that was threatening to compromise this whole charade I've created. Montag.

Montag, or Monty as everyone called him, was Morga's only son, and heir. In any other surrounding this would mean that he was probably extremely pampered and spoiled, but not here. This only meant that she was giving him the hardest time of us all. I knew this meant that she loved him most, but I was pretty sure he did not see it that way. Monty was different from all of them. While everyone's goal was just to raid, pillage, plunder and wreak havoc, Monty was above all that. He was destined for greater things, I felt that must be true. He was ambitious, he was a dreamer, he wanted more of life than what he had here, he just wasn't sure how and what exactly, because he knew little of the world outside his tribe. I've enjoyed telling him stories of kingdoms, cities, world beyond. About magic, about spiritual world, about everything I loved, I shared my world with him and we dreamed together of what life can be. He was kind of bubbly, loud, overly energetic. His emotions were as transparent as if they were written on his forehead. Those were all qualities I loved him for...and Morga scolded him for. She considered them to be a sign of weakness, of a weak future leader she never wanted him to become. She believed he would've never survived on his own, and she reminded him of that all too often. But I believed them to be virtues, to be his strengths, to be exactly the things that make him a great human being that I saw him for. I've tried many times to make him see it that way, but in vain. My word could never compare with his mother's, every letter cutting into his heart and soul like a tiny knife. He would've never showed it, though. To anyone except me, that is. I was his oasis, his escape from reality, from his fears, troubles, doubts. And he was mine.

Of course, we had to keep our little oasis a secret, because it could make people talk and compromise my safety, and neither one of us wanted that to happen. Regardless of our discretion, I was almost certain that Morga knew everything. There was just no hiding from her. She always knew...everything. Even so, she never disapproved. I wondered why at first, but the answer came to me one day, as we celebrated one of our many victories.

I held a little ceremony, semi-religious, thanking the great spirits and forces for giving our warriors the strength to subdue our targets and crush them under our feet. They loved these ceremonies, with the mystical forces gleaming and flowing all around, fire coming out of the great bonfire and embracing my figure, spirits rising from all around and dancing around them in the form of a ghastly fog, filling their hearts with courage and sense of higher purpose. My magic has gotten even stronger during my time with the tribe, and I have truly become their seer, their sage. I would contact the Arcana for omens of victory or defeat, before battle I would encourage and bless the warriors using not only my magic and herbalist mixtures to enhance their potentials, but also motivational speeches to fill their hearts and minds with greatness and flames of passion and bloodlust. They were an unstoppable force, thoughts of defeat never even crossing their minds.

After the ceremony, we all got drunk together, danced around, sang and just enjoyed life to the fullest. I felt content, I've managed to accomplish a lot during these few years, I've managed to become a lot, a lot more than I could've ever dared to dream of. It was a lot of gamble and hard work, but in the end it payed off. I've just watched them all being merry and ecstatic, feeling of bliss filling every inch of me. They weren't the savages they once were, they were more than that now, they have evolved so much. I couldn't help but feel partially responsible for that, and I was glad. Murdering and pillaging was very hard for me at first, but I knew I had to do it to prove myself as one of them, as equal, to ensure my position. With my role as a sage, I was able to direct their attacks and actions through „omens“ and such, and protect the innocent people they would've destroyed as much as I could without seeming suspicious. Luckily, no one ever suspected a thing.

„So, are you just going to watch from your pedestal, oh great seer, or are you going to enjoy your victory with the rest of us?“, Monty cut me from my thoughts. I didn't even notice him coming, I was too lost in my own thoughts. He came up to me, giving me his hand, teasing me with his smirk, as he usually does.

„OUR victory, Monty. I couldn't possibly take all the credit, now could I?“, I smirked back at him, staring him right in the eye as I put my hand in his.

He pulled me into his strong arms, so hard I almost lost my balance, his eyes never leaving mine: „You're just being modest, as usual“, he continued mockingly. Staring into his unusually gray eyes made me lose my words, which was not something that happened to me often. I just let him lead me into the dance. This caused curious looks from the rest, but in that moment we trully couldn't care less. He was the only one there at that moment, his golden hair glimmering under the light of the Moon, flickering lights of the bonfire dancing on his pale skin. He wasn't much of a dancer, he was a much better warrior, but he knew a dance or two. Everything he ever did, he did so confidently, as if he was a god, no matter if he was actually good at it or not. I loved that about him, another one of his qualities I cherished.

We were so lost in the moment, that we've barely noticed the dance has stopped. He made a little clumsy bow at me, something not characteristic for his people's customs, but as I've mentioned earlier – he was above all that. I responded with the same curtsy. I've desired him so much for so long, and if I could've taken him with my eyes at that moment, I would've. It was so hard keeping the whole chastity act together all of this time. I wanted to be his, I wanted him to defile every inch of me right there on that spot.

As we stared into each other’s eyes with such incredible passion, we were interrupted by a familiar voice: “Mhysa, a moment in private. Now. Follow me”. Morga. Both Monty and I were startled and froze like kids after making a mess and getting caught in act by a parent. ”Y-yes, of course”, was all I could muster, after which I followed in silence. Monty only stood there awkwardly, like a statue.

She led me away from the crowd, into an isolated part in the woods. We stopped when the party sounds got far enough. She didn’t turn to face me, she looked into some distant spot as if lost in her own thoughts. After some time of chilling silence, she spoke: “My son and you…are acting very friendly lately, spending every possible moment together, alone”. My heart skipped a beat. What if she thinks we were intimate? What if, by my foolish behavior, led by emotions, I have finally blown my cover and now she is going to expose me and this will be the end of me? I couldn’t breathe and the thoughts kept running through my head, I had no idea how much time has passed before Morga spoke again, it could’ve been seconds, years, it was all the same to me. “Look, I know I’ve always been…hard on him. It might seem like I don’t care for him, but that’s not how it is. I do it BECAUSE I care. This world is cruel, especially our world, and if you’re not the toughest dog around, the other dogs will devour you. And he…he is so delicate and carefree, it’s making him weak, he is weak. And I won’t always be around to protect him, and when I’m gone…” I swear, this is the first time I’ve seen Morga open up to anyone ever and show…feelings? I wasn’t even sure if she was able to do that at all. The unease and worry were clear in her tone, she stopped for a moment, like she was catching breath, letting out a loud sigh before turning up to face me for the first time since we came to this place. I now understood she must’ve been ashamed to look at me while showing her own weakness and fears. The fact that she was now facing me, staring me right in the eye, confirmed just how brave she actually was. It’s easy facing enemies in battle while wielding a spear and charging in a leather armor, but to show your naked feelings to someone, completely unarmed and open, to let them see the real you, your true self – that takes real courage. “I am well aware that he is vulnerable and weak, clueless even. Maybe one day he will change, maybe he will not. Either way, I don’t want to take that chance. He’s…he’s my only boy. I don’t want to see him devoured by rabid wolves that surround him. However, I will not always be able to protect him. So, what I’m saying is…I need to know that you are going to look after him. I need you to promise me that”, she finished, words still heavy on her tongue. The look in her eyes was…almost pleading. Underneath that cold and rough exterior was an actual caring mother, genuinely worried for her son’s well-being. “Morga, I swear to you, I swear on my life that I will never let anything bad happen to Monty while I still hold breath”. “Good”, she let the single word out with a sigh of relief. I could swear I saw something resembling a smile on her face. Second later, the mask was back on, as well as her standard grin: “Well then, we have a party to attend, let’s not keep the eager people waiting any longer”. As she passed me by, she slapped me on the back so hard it pumped the air from my lungs. I’ve let out a short chuckle and followed.

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raendown · 5 years

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A collaboration with the ever delight @sinyaru, though her art would definitely only get flagged here on tumblr. Follow the link to see the story with art!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6542 Summary: Madara rather enjoys going to this new 'gymnasium' that Hashirama insisted on building. He doesn't really work out very much but how is he supposed to concentrate on exercise with Tobirama walking around look like that?

Edit: my fingers wanted to press buttons and make that word count look reeeaaaaaally big. Oops.

Lift

“He’s doing it again.”

Izuna lifted his head with a very tired expression, refusing to look over at something he had seen a hundred times before. He knew exactly what he would find if he did. Why did his brother insist on dragging him along for this shit when he was only going to spend the whole time mooning over that albino asshole? And why was Tobirama always here when they came? Either Madara had memorized the man’s workout schedule or he just never went home after work.

Duly ignoring the fact that he was being ignored in turn, Madara dabbed at the corners of his mouth to make sure he hadn’t started drooling again. Last time he’d sat and watched like this Tobirama had almost turned around and caught him with drool on his face. If he had then Madara would have ended his life right then and there. Some things were just too embarrassing to live with.

He really hoped Izuna hadn’t figured out that the only reason he made the other come with him to the indoor workout center was so it wouldn’t be suspicious that he showed up every time Tobirama did and yet never actually got around to working out himself. Madara snuck his own workouts in on his lunch breaks and during the nights when he couldn’t sleep; he never got around to it here in the actual gym because getting anything done with such a gorgeous specimen walking around sweaty and sleeveless was impossible. It just wasn’t fair how hot he was. Hashirama should make it illegal.

No, Hashirama could never know how desperate Madara was to get his tongue on that body. Or to have that tongue on his own body. Either would be appreciated.

“Spot me, Romeo.” Izuna shoved at his shoulder as he moved to lie down on the bench press.

Madara moved in to position without taking his eyes off of where Tobirama was still going through his warmup stretches. He had just gotten to the good part at the end where he rolled effortlessly up in to a handstand and then did pushups from that position. It was like a religious experience every time he got to witness it.

“Can you take your eyes off him for two damn seconds? If I drop this on my own face I’m going to make SURE you stay at the hospital for every hour it takes to heal me.”

“Quiet!” Madara shrieked, glaring down at his brother. “Don’t let him hear you!”

“Then spot me, damn it!” Izuna glared right back with equal fire.

He did have a good point though. As hard as it was, Madara forced himself to tear his eyes away so he could be a proper workout partner for a few minutes. Obviously he wouldn’t last very long, they both knew he would get distracted and go back to staring in short order, but when he did he would brace his arms with chakra so he could at least deflect the weight bar should it fall. Not the best plan but it was better than potentially getting both of them hurt.

As compensation for the annoyance he heaped on the younger man every time they came here Madara very generously allowed Izuna to throw what snarky comments he could in-between heaving for breath as he lifted perhaps more weight than he should have. Without chakra to enhance their muscles they were only stronger than most civilians because of the sheer amount of time they spent on their bodies. None of his insults were anything too creative or new anyway so it wasn’t that hard to let them roll off like the sweat rolling down the sides of his neck. Madara smirked and nodded along, letting him have his moment.

“What rep are you on?” a familiar voice asked from just over his shoulder. Madara startled so badly he knocked his brother’s elbow and only just barely managed to catch the bar so it didn’t crush his head. Swallowing nervously, he peeked over to see Tobirama staring back with a judgmental expression.

“Shut up! None of your business!” While he did refrain from dropping his face in to both hands with shame, it was a close call. Why did he have to fail at communicating with this man so consistently?

“Those machines are for public use,” Tobirama ground out. “Which means you have to share, Uchiha. Ugh. Just let me know when you’re finished. Everyone else just started their reps and I have things to do, I can’t hang around all day waiting.”

“Why not?”

Izuna snickered and Madara glanced down with narrowed eyes, trying to project his willingness to let this stupid weight bar drop.

“Unlike you, apparently, I have important things to do. I can’t spend every damn evening at the gym just hanging out.” Tobirama huffed and turned away, heading over to scout out the other machines while he waited, and Madara very carefully set the bar down in its resting position before covering his face to muffle a frustrated scream.

Patting him mockingly on the leg, Izuna snickered again. “Why are you like this?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” Madara groaned in reply.

“You know you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Maybe you should try, oh I don’t know, not screaming in his face every time he gets near you?”

“I panic!” Scrubbing both hands down his face and dropping them, Madara sighed. “Every time he looks at me my stomach leaps up in to my throat and my brain falls out my ass and then I just start screaming so he won’t realize I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes wondering if he likes to hold hands.”

“Sweet Sage you’re hopeless. And a secret softy. I wonder what you might pay to stop me from marching over there and just telling him so I can end my own suffering.”

Madara slowed his movements just enough to give Izuna time to brace himself as he knocked the bar off its perch and stormed away in a huff. Dirty rotten no good brother. He could find a different spotter if he was going to be like that. Madara did a lap around the gym trying to figure out how to look busy before eventually settled on the floor mat Tobirama had just been using, pulling out some of the equipment to set the scene and then hunkering down to keep watch. He had to make sure Izuna didn’t actually follow up on that threat.

Fortune appeared to be smiling on him now, however, as Izuna had given up on the bench press without someone to spot him and moved away to quietly work with one of the rowing machines. Even better, Tobirama spotted the open bench and made his way over. Madara’s attention was immediately and completely given over to watching those glorious muscles and the way they shifted deliciously under all that pale skin while the other man loaded the bar with much more weight than Izuna had used. Those corded arms of his were far from just for show.

Built for speed and no stranger to training for it, Tobirama had recently been packing on quite a bit of muscle as well. As his favorite sparring partner Izuna had mentioned he was trying out a new combat style for no other reason than to see if his body could take it. Madara was of the opinion that you shouldn’t try to fix what wasn’t broken but he was far from stupid enough to say so, especially when he personally was getting the most out of this change in pace.

Had there ever been a more fuckable human being than Senju Tobirama? Madara was pretty sure there had not. The fact that such a perfect body came packaged with a brilliant mind, a family-oriented heart, and more biting wit than Madara could hope to parry in any given argument only served to make him more desirable.

If only Madara could close his dumb mouth for two seconds he might have even been able to finagle at least one date to soothe his stupid yearning heart.

So caught up in his admittedly creepy habit of staring, he failed to pay attention to anything else beyond those flexing arms until it was too late. When Tobirama suddenly paused in the middle of his third rep and Madara looked around to figure out what might have distracted him he happened to look in to the mirrors that lined one entire wall of the gym – Hashirama’s idea, something about providing visual encouragement for the people who used the facilities. In the mirror he found the image of Tobirama’s head tilted up and back to use the reflective surface. Using it to meet Madara’s hungry stare head on.

He’d been caught.

Tobirama gave him no time to escape, using the few moments when he was frozen in horror to narrow those pretty red eyes of his, set the bar down, and crook a finger in his direction. Madara swung his head from side to side just to make sure it was him the man was calling over. Not at all ready to face his doom, he stood up and shuffled over reluctantly. Hopefully Izuna wasn’t looking. He really didn’t want his only little brother to watch him die doing something embarrassing like saying “thank you” while Tobirama crushed his head between those glorious thighs.

When he shuffled over with his head bowed in childlike shame – more to hide his embarrassment than because he was actually sorry for looking – the other man curled himself in to a sitting position and indicated the weights that Madara was now standing next to.

“You get that side?” was all he said before he began removing the ones on his end.

After flustering for a moment Madara figured he might as well do as he’d been asked. Whatever was happening was definitely worth it for the chance to see those muscles from close up. Every time Tobirama lifted one of them to set it aside his arms flexed and Madara’s heart did a backflip inside his chest. For each one the other man pulled off Madara took away the corresponding weight in front of him, keeping the bar balanced so it wouldn’t fall on either of their innocent toes, until finally everything had been put away.

He was utterly confused to see Tobirama lay down on the bench and get in to position as though he intended to press the bar with nothing on it, even more confused when the man looked at him very pointedly without saying anything for a full minute.

“What?” he grumbled eventually.

“Get on,” Tobirama said.

“Um…huh?”

“Sit on the bar.”

“But I don’t – okay! Okay! Don’t give me that face, I’m doing it. Even if you’re being weird. I mean, you’re already on the part that you’re supposed to sit on. Am I going to get in trouble for this because I think this technically counts as abusing the equipme–WOAH!”

Cut off right in the middle of his anxious rambling, Madara had to windmill both arms just to keep his balance as Tobirama settled his grip and lifted the bar, human occupant and all. His body rose steadily in to the air, held for a moment, and then lowered back down just as steadily with nary a twitch. Underneath him Tobirama’s face was held in a grimace of concentration offset by the single bead of sweat dribbling down his temple. Despite their proximity and all the efforts he had put in to not being obvious Madara was helpless to do anything but crane his neck and stare below himself with awe. Those arms should be considered lethal weapons on visuals alone.

Worse was the fact that Tobirama refused to look away from him, holding his gaze like a challenge and quirking his lips up in that knowing smirk that had always driven the general populace mad. For most people it was an annoyingly smug look that meant they were about to be told exactly why and how their mistake had been the stupidest thing to ever happen within the bounds of Konoha. For Madara it meant he was going to spend the next half hour trying to conceal an erection while holding up his end of a screaming match, usually somewhere very public.

Still with no idea what Tobirama was actually up to or how this odd little scene was meant to play out, Madara only barely resisted the urge to squirm while he watched the impressive display of strength, sticking himself in place with a touch of chakra just in case the distraction was too much. And then, because apparently he hated himself, because he was a doomed individual who lacked any sort of brain filter, he spat out his thoughts without considering them first.

“Kami that’s hot. I bet you could hold me up against the wall for hours.”

The bar underneath him faltered, still not unsteady but pausing in the repetitive up and down. Madara burned from the inside out as his own words finally registered when he saw the staggered look on Tobirama’s face.

“Wait! No! I didn’t mean–! You heard nothing Senju! NOTHING!” In his panic he lost all semblance of concentration and the precaution he had taken with his chakra was immediately rendered pointless as he lost control and pitched over backwards.

Sending him, of course, straight down on top of the other man’s body. And when he managed to sit up he was, of course, straddled directly over Tobirama’s lap.

In his last life he must have done something horrible, terrible, despicable, utterly unforgivable. It was the only explanation. Karma hated him down to the roots. Madara very much wished he could reach back in to whatever previous life that had been and throttle himself for the trouble now. Clearly erasing his own existence would be less painful than whatever method by which death was about to find him, whether it be at Tobirama’s hand or choking on his own airways as he scrambled to swing one leg over and stand up. Doing so ground his ass against some very interesting parts of Tobirama that, no matter how hard he tried not to be, he was still very interested in.

His entire life flashed before his eyes when Tobirama caught his wrist. At full mental capacity he could wipe the floor with this man but conversely he knew that all Tobirama had to do was flex once and he would happily walk straight in to a blade aimed for his own heart. There were definitely some sort of blades in that sharp gaze pinning him in place.

“Did I hear you correctly?” Tobirama asked under the sound of the active gymnasium around them. Madara gurgled.

“Kami I hope not!” he shouted. When the fingers on his wrist loosened with surprise he wriggled free and bolted for the locker room.

Finally the gods appeared to be smiling on him because the entire room was empty. Not all that many people were at the gym right now, most of them having dinner with their families or still wrapped up in some duty or another. Madara, on the other hand, was scrabbling at the padlock barring him from the clothing he had worn on the way here, hoping that his fingers would remember the combination because his brain was a little too scrambled to think about anything other than how it felt to have his legs spread over Tobirama’s hips.

The sound of footsteps had him scrabbling harder, twisting the spinner on the lock in random directions as though he might stumble upon the code by accident. He stopped when a pale hand gently placed itself over his own. Madara wondered if it was possible for a human being to actually swallow their own tongue.

“You wouldn’t be trying to run away from me, now would you?” Tobirama’s voice murmured in his ear.

“No I’m running in defense of my own sanity,” Madara whimpered. He shivered when the other man chuckled darkly.

“Funny because it felt as though you were running from me. Could it be that you were embarrassed to reveal something you didn’t want me to know?” His chuckle deepened and his other hand came around to press against the lockers on the opposite side of Madara’s body, trapping him between cold metal and warm body.

His breath was hot and Madara could feel the rapid beating of Tobirama’s heart against his back, a rhythm his own heart seemed determined to outstrip. As two men who used to stand on opposite sides of the battlefield he thought it probably would have made sense if he were uncomfortable in this position, if being pinned face-first against the lockers had set off his instinct to fight. It was probably a bad sign that instead all he wanted to do was cant his hips backwards and beg for just a little bit of friction.

No one – no one – should have the power to make the Uchiha clan head beg. Kami but he was pathetic sometimes.

Madara did his best to clamp down on a whine as he took a quick peek on either side of himself, looking for a way out of this mess before he made an even bigger fool of himself than he already had. Unfortunately Tobirama had him fairly well pinned and the only way he could see himself getting free of this would be to either wrestle his way out, which would result in an even more embarrassing erection, or to cover himself in Sasunao’o, which would of course destroy a part of the building and Hashirama would give him another lecture on inappropriate levels of property damage. Neither sounded like an attractive option.

Tobirama leaned a bit further in to him and Madara was in the midst of desperately adding fainting to the list of things that might get him out of this situation when his body froze, eyes blowing wide, hardly able to believe he was feeling what he thought he was feeling.

“Are you…hard?” he choked out. Tobirama hummed and the sound was so close to his ear it might as well have been a lover’s whisper.

“How could I not be when you spread yourself over me so nicely just a moment ago? I can’t help but wonder what you would have looked like doing that with no clothes on.”

Madara squeezed his eyes tightly and prayed for strength. He wasn’t entirely sure what was about to happen to him but he did know that it would probably kill him. What a way to go, though. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t always thought he would die at the hands of a Senju but he’d always thought it would be a different Senju angry on a battlefield not a delicious sweaty beefcake who refused to wear sleeves for the health of the general public.

Somewhere in the frantic scrambling of his brain he realized he needed to say something. Ideally it would have been something cool and suave, something intelligent and smooth, a line or a quip that would let Tobirama know he was not only down for whatever this was but ready to make a good showing of himself. Instead all he said was–

“Why are you so hot!?”

“I…am not sure how to answer that question but I will gladly take it as consent to go on.” Tobirama’s chuckle was accompanied with the brush of his lips against the top of Madara’s shoulder, one hand pulling away from where it was braced to graze down the length of his side in an agonizingly slow glide.

Madara closed his eyes. There wasn’t much room for him to do anything, caught as he was between body and steel, so he did the only thing he could and squirmed helplessly while his mouth fell open to let out a soft moan. He didn’t want to think about how long he’d been fantasizing about having those hands on his body – partly because he would then have to think about how long he’d been wanting those hands woven in to his own and that was much too embarrassing to get in to right then. Now was the time for taking what he was being given.

Pressing his face against the metal locker helped cool his burning cheeks, a perfect counterpoint to how hot Tobirama’s hands were as they slipped under the hem of his work out shirt. Not having actually worked out paid off in an unexpected way when Madara sent a prayer of thanks that he wasn’t disgusting and sweaty where those hands were groping. It definitely would have ruined the moment if he smelled like trash from too many pushups, no matter how nice he thought his own arms were. Tobirama’s arms were definitely nicer, wrapped around him as they were, and Madara cracked his eyes back open to allow himself a moment to roam over the perfectly shaped biceps he’d been drooling over from afar. Then he rolled his hips back and grinned when he felt the hardness there rubbing between his ass cheeks.

Unsurprisingly, Tobirama felt the need to retaliate. That was pretty much the entirety of both their personal and professional relationships, constantly reacting to each other and struggling to gain the upper hand, though lately their squabbles had shifted away from violence and more towards silly pranks and half-hearted teasing. Now he did so by sliding his hand down to cup Madara through his loose pants even as his hips rolled forward to press the older man just a little bit father forward.

“You’re playing with fire,” Tobirama growled.

“I’m an Uchiha. I played with fire in my cradle.”

“Don’t bring your cradle in to this.” Tobirama paused to snicker against his back. “Picturing you as an infant is not sexy and I am trying very hard to be sexy right now.”

Madara whined and dropped his head lower. “Everything you do is sexy you stupid asshole.”

Laughing a little louder, Tobirama stepped back just enough that he had room to spin Madara around and push him back against the lockers again, stepping forward until their bodies were flush with each other and dipping his head for a kiss that curled the ends of Madara’s hair. This time when he rolled his hips it was to grind their lengths together, both of them hard enough to feel that sweet friction through the layers of clothing between them.

“Oh sweet Sage,” Madara whispered. His hand clenched around the biceps he had just been admiring, shudders rippling through his body to finally have them under his palms. Tobirama grinned and shuffled his weight to force one of his thighs between both of Madara’s while he trailed kisses along his jaw.

“I don’t suppose you happen to have any objections to our current location?”

“Don’t you dare stop,” Madara growled. “I don’t give a fuck who comes in here, you are not stopping!”

“Normally I would say ‘fuck you’ for ordering me around but I think actions speak louder than words.”

Tobirama smirked wider when the meaning of his words filtered in to Madara’s brain and made his knees go weak, eyes rolling back in his head as he prayed for guidance from his ancestors. Then he went in for another kiss and both of them forgot all about anything that wasn’t the writhing of their bodies against each other or the wandering of curious fingers.

Hands slipped inside each other’s clothing and pulled hair, mouths devoured and commanded in equal turns, and Madara tried to ignore how much sound he could hear spilling from his own throat. It was embarrassing to be so obvious about his enthusiasm but there wasn’t much he could do. He’d always been a passionate person; this was hardly going to be the one activity he approached with a calm demeanor and a clear head.

About the time he realized that his shirt had somehow been slid up to bunch around his collar bone without his notice Madara opened his eyes to see Tobirama lick his lips and bend to gently close his teeth around one nipple. A grunt escaped, fading quickly in to something like a gasp when Tobirama began to nip and suckle. He wanted very much to bow upwards and push farther in to the sensation but he was foiled by the large hands on his hips keeping him from moving around too much. Madara grumbled under his breath about cruel Senju but it had less effect when he followed his words with a demand for more.

Probably just to be an asshole, Tobirama pulled away from what he was doing, leaning over to lave his tongue over the other nipple for a quick tease and then straightening to pull Madara in for a slow, deep kiss.

“Jerk,” Madara gasped as soon as his mouth was free.

“Would you have me any other way?” Tobirama asked. The knowing in his eyes said there was no point in answering him, he already knew. “I thought so. Now, I don’t suppose you happened to bring lubricant to the gym with you?”

Gaping for a moment, Madara only just managed to lower his voice to a strangled shriek. “Why would I bring lube to the gym!?”

“You seemed quite involved in that staring contest you had going with my biceps. I thought perhaps you might have come prepared for certain eventualities.”

“I didn’t think this was an eventuality.”

“Ah. Well there’s something we’ll have to clear up. But not now, we’re a little busy now. Don’t move.” With a pointed look to ensure Madara stayed put, Tobirama took a half step back and reached over to another locker several feet down the line. He twisted the spinner until the padlocked popped open, pulled it out, then dropped it carelessly to the floor while he rummaged inside.

When his hand came back out he was holding a small tub of what Madara assumed to be cream. The lid spun off easily – also tossed unceremoniously to the floor – and the inside revealed a shiny lotion that gave off a pungent smell of herbs.

“For sore muscles,” Tobirama muttered as he dipped his fingers in and swiped out a generous dollop. “Drop ‘em Uchiha. I can’t give you sore muscles if I can’t get to them.”

Madara spluttered a little but he did scramble to undo his pants and shove them down, taking his underwear with them. As soon as he had kicked the garments away Tobirama was slotting their bodies together again and drawing one of Madara’s leg up over his hip to make room for his fingers to reach around and press against the puckered entrance there.

“Hng – bastard.” Madara closed his eyes and let his head fall back, breathing through the sensations, doing his best to have a quiet yet stern conversation with his cock about the difference between interested and overexcited.

“I thought you wanted this, hm?” Tobirama said in a teasing voice. He punctuated his words with the slow glide of his finger sinking in to the hole he’d just slathering with lotion.

“Just…just always a bastard…I don’t know, alright? Just don’t stop!”

“As you say.” Then, because he truly was a bastard, he slid another finger in so Madara could feel the stretch, making him writhe and press down on the invading digits as though he intended to ride them to his completion.

Which actually sounded like an excellent idea that he would need to bring up some other time.

For now he allowed himself to be distracted with filthy kisses as Tobirama worked him open with a maddeningly slow speed that said he was taking his time on purpose. Every time Madara tried to snarl at him to hurry up his words were interrupted with a sharp bite on his lower lip, the side of his neck, even his ear once. It was a disgustingly effective tactic. Having done this sort of thing only a handful of times before, Madara hadn’t realized until now that he seemed to have a fetish for biting. Perhaps that was something else they could explore together later.

Tobirama rolled his hips like an afterthought when he slid a third finger in, chuckling darkly when Madara spewed a litany of curse words, overwhelmed by the dual sensations. Rather than let up he continued the rhythm and shifted his arm until he could curl in to an angle to press against Madara’s prostate, swallowing the resulting shout with a heated kiss.

“Fucking fuck you fuck fucker fucking piece of fuck!” Not that it stopped him. He was grinding out more expletives as soon as his mouth was free.

“Bad language is the mark of an uncivilized beast,” Tobirama chided him.

Madara jerked his head down to glare at the man. “If you are not inside me in point five seconds I swear I’m going to set your head on that fire I’m supposedly playing with. Stop testing my patience you – oh! Shit, that. Do that again!”

His rant paused before he could truly get a good rhythm going, foiled by the extra pressure on the one spot guaranteed to shut him up. Madara supposed he would have been angry if it weren’t for the fact that it felt so damned good. It was almost worth the smugness in Tobirama’s grin – or it would have been if he hadn’t pulled his fingers away entirely a moment later. When Madara snarled he only hummed and kissed him briefly.

“You need to make up your mind. Is it stop or don’t stop? Fuck or fingers? If I’d known you were going to be this difficult about it I would have brought along a muzzle to keep you quiet.” He bent to swipe his fingers through the herbal cream again and opened his own pants to lather in on himself while Madara searched his mind for an acceptable comeback. Nothing came to mind.

“Just get on with it,” he settled for instead. “I don’t have all evening.”

“Oh? So you weren’t planning to come back to mine after, then? A pity. I was going to make soba noodles for dinner and I thought you might like to join me. But I suppose I won’t perish from sleeping alone tonight.”

“What the hell do soba noodles have to do with sleep– oh. Ooooh.” Madara swallowed thickly as he tried to wrestle his face in to more of an affronted look rather than the soppy expression trying to take over. “Look, don’t you dangle the dream and take it away. You’re going to fuck me, you’re going to feed me soba – I fucking love soba – and then you’re going to take me to bed and fuck me again. Got it!?”

Tobirama’s answer was to bend far enough to grasp under each of his thighs and lift him without warning, sending his bodyweight crashing backwards against the lockers since he was unprepared to support himself so suddenly. When he was through flailing he got with the program enough to wrap his legs around the other man’s waist and lift himself up for a better angle. Then he squirmed until he felt Tobirama’s cock line up in just the right spot and bore down carefully.

Both of them groaned when the head finally slid passed the first ring of muscle. Madara let gravity pull his weight down and closed his eyes at the sweet sensation of being gradually filled. He could admit that he’d seen bigger cocks but Tobirama was just the perfect size, big enough to feel the stretch yet not so thick that it hurt. Teeth nipped at his collarbones and he shuddered – doubly so when the movement slid him further down – and then he paused for a moment like he could memorize how it felt as he bottomed out. It seemed Tobirama did not need a moment.

His partner hiked him up against the locker door without warning, pulled his hips away, then pressed in again with a deliberately slow glide. Madara tightened his arms around whatever the hell he was currently gripping and gave up on the idea of staying quiet. At the very least Tobirama seemed to enjoy the sounds he made every time he was filled again, grinning in to his shoulder and fucking him just a little bit faster.

“Should have been”–Tobirama broke off with a hiss when Madara tightened around him–“doing this years ago.” He mouthed his way up Madara’s neck to take his lips in a kiss that almost erased any snarky reply from his mind. It took a few minutes for him to respond

“Maybe you should have been paying attention!” Madara growled after shaking his thoughts back in to working order. Tobirama huffed and retaliated with a particularly hard thrust.

“Well maybe you should have spoken up instead of staring at me like a lovesick puppy.” Tobirama bit his lip once before tilting his body away. It set them at such an angle that he was able to make a direct hit against Madara’s prostate and earned him a howl that choked off between clenched teeth, not wanting to draw attention from any of the idiots still exercising in the gym.

Too distracted for conversation after that, both of them descended in to animalistic grunts and frantic rutting. Metal rattled with every harsh movement and the heat between their bodies was only worsened by the florescent lights burning overhead. Every sound they made echoed in the otherwise empty room, fueling them both on with a chorus of lewd gasps and moans. They would have sounded right at home in the center of the red light district under the strict rule of a jaded Madame.

Madara dragged Tobirama closer for breathless, sloppy kisses as he wondered why all the filthy novels hidden under his bed were filled with heroes and lovely ladies who were never ready for things to end. The tension coiling in his gut wanted nothing more than to boil over, driving him to writhe and struggle, chasing his end as fast as he could. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. No toy or even his own clone had ever been able to turn him on half as much as just watching Tobirama could; being held up against the wall and fucked senseless was more than a dream come true.

It was pretty damn close to nirvana.

An actual sob of relief escaped when he slipped a hand between them and took himself in a light grasp just this side of not enough, taking up a rhythm that couldn’t hope to match the rocking of their hips with how caught up he was in the way his partner was falling apart beneath him. Clearly he was not the only one chasing something.

He had barely a handful of strokes to admire the bliss in Tobirama’s expression, the way his head had fallen back and his eye has fallen closed, jaw hanging loose to pant, unashamed of the pleasure he was taking from another. Then Madara’s thighs gave a telltale shake and his muscles tensed, his free hand slamming back against the metal supporting him as he cried out the intensity of his orgasm.

Tobirama followed half a dozen thrusts later, pulled along by the tight heat clenching around him, refusing to fall still as he continued to send white hot pleasure streaking through Madara’s veins. Yet even as he shook his way through his own ecstasy his stance never faltered and Madara’s weight never shifted once. Somehow that only made the entire thing hotter.

“Shit,” Tobirama muttered when he finally came to a stop. He leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together and their unsynchronized gasping drew hot breath back and forth between them. “Seriously. Should have been doing that ages ago.”

“Nnnggg.” Words seemed a little far away still for Madara.

“That was not quite the workout I had in mind when I came here tonight but I can’t say that I mind.”

“Hnn.” Madara blinked up at the ceiling and fished around in his brain for words to expression the only vague want left in him at the moment. After a minute he gave up and simply murmured, “Soba?”

When Tobirama laughed it made him look down just to watch the mirth twinkle in those pretty red eyes. “Yes, alright. Let’s get cleaned up and you can have your soba. You know, we’re lucky no one came in here. I don’t want to know what sort of lecture we’d get if we’d been walked in on during…that.”

Madara wasn’t sure if he was shuddering more for the sensation of Tobirama sliding out of his ass or for the thought of those lectures the other had mentioned. Whether it came from either of their brothers – or worse, from Mito – it would surely have been minimum an hour of screaming and embarrassment. He realized finally how reckless they had been and forced his trembling legs to bear his weight as he hastily wiped himself down with the unused gym clothes, opening his locker with the combination he finally remembered so he could dress in his usual clothing to leave.

“Come on,” Tobirama held out his hand. “I think I even have a little sake at home to make it a proper date.”

“Hmph. You’d better treat me proper. I deserve it.”

A hand caught his middle to pull him flush against a hard body once more and Madara flushed when Tobirama whispered in his ear, “Mm, that you do.”

“Shut up! Of course I do! Get off of me with your…with your…emotions!” It took batting at the arm around his belly with both hands for Tobirama to release him. Madara refused to look over at the other man for fear of the laughter he would see there; it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know what to do with his emotions! Just because he had them did not mean he was prepared to chat about them like a casual conversation.

Rather than answer Tobirama waited silently until Madara had everything he needed to bring with him before pouncing again. One arm slid back around his waist while the other lifted to make a hand sign and between one moment and the next they were gone from the room as though they’d never been there in the first place. The only evidence left behind to mark the beginning of something so momentous was a small tub of lotion meant for soothing sore muscles left unnoticed on the floor, cap tossed carelessly aside, and the pungent scent of herbs mixed with the heady scent of sex.

It was an unimportant detail, really. They could always get more cream. But there would only ever be one first time and Madara was already planning how he would gloat to Izuna about his success later. His persistence had paid off, after all.

That and his innate clumsiness but he certainly wouldn’t be including that in his dramatic retelling later.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction #collaboration

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Thirty-Six: An Issue You Care About ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

“How did you even come to care about all of this in the first place?”

Startled out of her thoughts as Sasuke’s question intrudes on the silence, Hinata blinks pale eyes a few times as her mind plays catch-up. “I...sorry, w-what?”

A single dark eye stares at her - somehow, he doesn’t look annoyed despite her fumbling. “The Uchiha. Why is this an issue you care about? Your clan wasn’t affected.”

...oh. “...no, but...we could have been.”

“You didn’t have ancestors that fought the Senju or tried to kill a Hokage.”

That earns a slight flinch. “...no, I...I don’t. Though...your and my bloodlines were the start of...well, all of this. The sons of the sage, and...all of that.” Hinata is still a bit unclear about history that far back, but she’s eager to learn. Hearing that the woman that nearly devoured their world sired her bloodline, well...made her curious.

“And...that’s n-not the point. The point is...that the council acted against an entire clan, w-without due process. It set a dangerous precedent. Would any other groups or clans that ever felt dissent be wiped out the same way? It was a horrible imbalance of power that had to be addressed and...and ensured to never be repeated.”

A dark brow perks. “...but you were already involved before all this. Itachi’s…” A pause, considering the right word. “...his, er...wife already knew you’d help keep the clans in line when we went to confront the council and reveal their actions. And she revived Neji. Are you two...friends?”

“...oh!” That earns a small laugh - had he really not heard? “Yes, she - she is. It, um...it started back during our first chūnin exams. She was the one that operated on me, and...saved my life. And took care of Lee-kun and I during our recoveries.”

“...I guess I remember her being there…”

“So, um...we just became friends after that. She’s very...mothering. I think she was worried about me like Kurenai-sensei was. But, um...when she found out she was with child, she...she asked me for help. And told me what she knew. A-about Itachi.”

“...she told you…?”

“She didn’t want to,” Hinata admits quietly. “...but it would have come out sooner or later, and...well, I was the closest person she had left, that she felt she could trust. And after, well...a-after you found out, there wasn’t as much point in hiding it. Especially since, if there was going to be any peace for you, and Itachi’s child - well, children as it turned out - then...it had to be addressed. And I just...wanted to help.”

“And then your whole clan got involved,” Sasuke can’t help but deadpan.

Hinata chuckles softly into a sleeve cuff. “Yes...I know that hasn’t been easy for you - any of you. But I promise, Hanabi is trying to temper them, and...herself. Neji-nīsan is helping, too. He, um...he has his own biases, but he’s better than he was. I think all of the changes in the clan are helping him change, too. And...it’s good we’re addressing our own issues, as well...”

“Yeah, I never understood the Hyūga branch system. Did anyone ever actually believe it was about protecting the Byakugan? That seal of yours? Because if it was...why didn’t the main branch get it, too? If anything, the ‘purer’ eyes should have been more adamantly protected, right?”

“They were,” Hinata murmurs, tone suddenly laced with something darker. “The branch clansmen were like cannon fodder...a main house clansmen was never supposed to fall, because we had dozens and dozens of branch house shinobi to d-defend us...whether they wanted to, or not.”

Sasuke can’t help but go quiet at that.

“...so, I’m glad we’re taking care of it,” she goes on. “Otōsama is working with my cousin to bring an end to new applications of the seal.”

“...is Neji ever going to get it back?”

“No. That was one of the medic’s conditions. She wouldn’t have attempted to revive him without knowing he wouldn’t ever be s-subjected to it again. Thankfully, otōsama agreed. After Neji gave his life to save mine...just like my uncle did for my father...he knew it had to stop. And it started with Neji, as it should have long a-ago.”

“...guess both our families have their problems.”

“Mhm...I suppose it c-comes with being in a big clan. I never hear Kiba-kun or Shino-kun complain about their clans or their policies, though.”

“Maybe ours just have flares for drama.”

In spite of herself, Hinata snorts...and then goes pink as Sasuke perks a brow at the sound. “S-sorry. That...that wasn’t funny. ‘Drama’ is a bit of an...understatement.”

“A bit, yeah.”

Silence falls between them.

“M...may I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Well, now that - now that Itachi-san is pardoned, and the council has been...replaced, what do you plan to do?”

“...do?”

“Are you going to stay in Konoha, Sasuke-kun?”

That prompts another silence, the Uchiha looking aside, clearly thoughtful. “...I am. If nothing else, then for my family. And...I had rather grandiose ideas of traveling the world and handling all of its problems on my own. But it’s been made more than clear that Konoha still has its share. So, I’ll stay...and try to rid it of a few.”

“Oh…?”

“Itachi has plans to rejoin the ANBU once he’s fully recovered. I...don’t know what I’ll do yet. But just because we rooted out some of the bad apples in the village doesn’t mean they’re all gone.” His gaze hardens slightly. “...and we haven’t exactly been welcomed back with open arms. There’s plenty of villagers who still distrust - if not hate - my brother and I. We’re going to have to work hard to bring the Uchiha name back into honor...and trust.”

A tinge of awe overcomes Hinata’s expression.

“...what about you?”

“M-me?”

“Yeah. You gave up being heiress, right?”

...oh. Her posture wilts a hair. “...I did. I realized that...I’m done chasing after other people’s expectations. I worked so hard for...my title. And Naruto-kun’s recognition. But in the end...I got neither. So, instead...I’ve decided to become strong for myself. And I’ll set my own goals.”

“Like what?”

“I...w-well, I...haven’t gotten that far yet. For now, I just...want to help my clan settle into their new system, and...keep working for Konoha. Beyond that...I guess I haven’t found a new long-term goal yet. I just...want to help people. Be of use. If being a shinobi until the end of my days is the right path, then I’ll walk it. If something else c-comes along, then...I’ll make a turn. But for now...I guess I’m fine where I am. I have time to...look around. See what I might want to do. When the right choice comes around...I’ll make it.”

That prompts another thoughtful look, this time in the form of a stare right at her. Hinata has to force herself not to fidget nervously.

“...I guess we’re both in the same boat, then. Wanting to help improve things, just...not sure how yet. But...we know what we care about. We know what issues need to be addressed. We just need a method.”

“And...we’ll find one. Soon.”

“...soon.”

Another day down, and another day very late - someday I'll manage to have a better schedule, eh heh. But for now, I suppose we'll just have to make due with me uploading at all wee hours of the morning, ahaha! This is just a theoretical conversation these two could have sometime after the Uchiha and Hyūga (and the rest of the clans, actually) come together in ALAS to expose the massacre, pardon Itachi, and oust the prior council for their crimes. But also before the pair of them become an item, Sasuke makes the new police force, and Hinata joins it. Also apologies for the heavy OC referencing in this one - I primarily base my SH plotting on a very long (unfinished) fic that includes a handful of original faces, based on many many RPs I've done over the years, ahaha. But it DOES help tie all of this together, I promise! Anywho, I'm bushed, so time to call it a night - thanks so much for reading!

#uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #sasuhina #a light amongst shadows [ canon verse ]#365daysofsasuhina

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four-loose-screws · 5 years

Text

FE5 Umemura Novel Translation - Chapter 12 Part 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

Pre-3DS FE Translations - FE Awakening Translations - FE Fates Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

Since we’ve reached the end of the story and major spoiler territory, I put all of the text under the cut.

Leif and his army traveled down to the lowest floor of the underground temple.

It felt like an entirely different world from their own.

The room before them was so large that it appeared endless. Inside it were six rooms spaced out in a rectangular shape, and in the middle of the space between the six rooms was a pillar of darkness larger than the rooms.

August looked at the darkness. “Veld is probably hiding in there.” He hissed.

“In the darkness? Then how do we fight him?” Leif asked, eyes as wide as saucers.

“It’s probably a giant wall. There’s no question that the magical power coming from within each of the rooms is what created it.”

“So how can we destroy it?”

“By destroying the summoning circles in each of the rooms at the same time, most likely.”

“Sounds difficult.” Leif frowned a little and nodded.

“Please be careful. Those rooms are Veld’s lifeline. They are probably being protected by foes he trusts to protect him.”

“Got it. Still, we have no choice but to fight them and win! We can’t afford to worry about the details. The bigger problem is, how do we destroy the six summoning circles all at once?” Leif crossed his arms and looked down.

“Please leave it that me!” Olwen said.

“What’s your plan?”

“I’ll unleash a thunder spell that will echo throughout this entire room. I’ll cast it once I’ve gotten a signal from each of the six small rooms. Then, my spell will signal everyone to destroy the summoning circles.”

“Perfect! Let’s go with that! Alright, I’m going to make the six groups that will break into the rooms.” Leif went round and divided his army up. “Everyone else, you’re on guard duty. Be on the lookout for enemy reinforcements.” He said, ending his orders.

Everyone nodded in unison.

“Okay, everyone! Move out!” On his order, they all ran off.

Leif dashed towards the closest room. Nanna and Asbel were right behind him.

The room’s guardians, a dark mage and two knights, attacked them

The dark mage chanted a spell, and the two knights swung their axes, one coming in from the left, and the other from the right.

Leif ducked and took a step towards the mage.

The axes swung right over his head, only cutting a few hairs from his head.

He thrust his sword faster than the dark mage could cast his spell, and stabbed the enemy in the chest, who then fell to the ground. Next, he turned around and pointed his sword at the knights. “Oh…” He gasped and lost all the strength in his body.

The two knights had already been taken out by Asbel’s magic and Nanna’s sword.

“That didn’t take as long as we thought it would, huh?” Asbel said.

They all laughed.

But then, something began to move from further within the room.

Leif whirled around in surprise.

He didn’t feel any murderous intent. Or anything, for that matter. But one thing was for sure, there was definitely an enemy standing there.

He held a wide sword and had a thick beard.

“Raydrik!” Leif unsheathed the Bragi Sword and took a fighting stance.

Raydrik started to slowly walk over towards him.

Leif didn’t move, but furrowed his eyebrows. He wanted to say that Raydrik’s skin was pale, but it was closer to green. It was clearly a different color than that of any living person. His eyes were a dull yellow and hollow. He appeared to be staring at something, yet Leif also sensed that he couldn’t see anything at all.

Raydrik exhaled, then laughed. “Die!” He said, his voice sounding as if it was muffled. He lunged at Leif.

The speed and might of his sword was far greater than it had ever been before.

Leif blocked the attack with his sword, but flew back and slammed into the wall.

“Lord Leif!” Nanna and Asbel ran over to him.

“I’m fine! Stand down!” Leif used his sword as a support and he stood up. He glared at Raydrik.

Raydrik slowly turned towards Leif and smiled so wide that he showed all his teeth. Cold breath leaked from his mouth.

“Is he even human anymore!?” Leif readied his sword and furrowed his brow once more. “He was so blinded by his greed that he allowed himself to be turned into a puppet…” He gripped his sword harder. “Doesn’t matter! This still ends here!” He took a step towards Raydrik.

Leif swung the Bragi sword, glittering with light, and clashed with Raydrik.

Raydrik’s head rolled across the floor. His body fell without spilling even a single drop of blood.

Leif fell to a crouch at the same time. He had a huge gash in his side. Blood gushed from it.

“Lord Leif!” Nanna’s face turned pale. She ran over to him and raised her staff.

The staff covered his body in light. He felt the pain begin to lessen.

“You okay, Lord Leif!?” Asbel looked down at him, worried.

Leif pushed himself to smile through the pain. “Yeah, I’ll make it, thanks to Nanna.”

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

“Really? Thank goodness.” Asbel smiled.

“But forget about me, Asbel. Send Olwen the signal.”

“Oh, yes! Of course!” He ran off towards the doorway.

Leif closed his eyes and took in the warm, healing light enveloping him.

“Let’s go!” Ced called out to Brighton and Machyua, who were behind him.

They both nodded.

Ced looked back to confirm that they had heard him, then slammed open the door to the small room.

Darkness immediately poured out at him.

He began to cast a spell to counter it, but he was too slow. The darkness pushed him and sent him flying. He rolled across the floor.

“Lord Ced!” Brighton started to run over to him.

“Don’t worry about me!” The darkness engulfed him, causing to cough so hard blood leaked out of his mouth. “You’ve got to win before he can cast another spell! Go!” He yelled, sending blood and spit flying through the air.

“Yes sir!” Brighton and Machyua replied while running into the room.

Ced forced his shaking limbs to move, and pushed himself up. “I can’t give up yet. I must keep fighting a little while longer, for Manster’s sake.” He muttered to himself, then spit out the blood that had collected in his mouth.

The moment Brighton and Machyua stepped into the room, a warrior faced them. He swung his axe.

Brighton and Machyua blocked the attack with their swords.

However, the man was so strong that their attempt to defend themselves meant nothing.

Both swords shattered into pieces.

They went flying.

“Graaaaahhhhhhh!!” The warrior shouted like a rabid beast and raised his axe.

He had his eyes on Brighton, who was lying on the floor, defenseless.

“Guh!” Ced raised both of his arms at the man and began to chant. His fingertips went numb. His hands twitched. His vision became hazy and the man before him became blurry.

He unleashed his spell.

A small tornado formed and assaulted the warrior.

Unable to withstand the backlash of his own spell, Ced fell on his back.

“Lord Ced! Lord Ced, are you alright!?”

Ced heard his name several times, then opened his eyes. He realized that had lost consciousness.

Before him were Brighton and Machyua. Behind them, he saw the lower half of the axe fighter, dead and stuck in a hole in the wall. “Yeah… I’m okay.” He tried to stand up, but neither his arms nor his legs had any strength in them.

“Please don’t push yourself. I’m going to go get a healer now.” Machyua said before rushing out of the room.

“Brighton?” Ced asked, his voice horse.

“Yes sir?”

“The signal.”

“We’ve already sent it. Now, we’re waiting for the signal to destroy the summoning circle.”

“Okay.” Ced nodded slowly. “Do you mind if I leave that to you?”

“Huh? Um, not at all. I’ll do it.” Brighton nodded, looking a bit shocked.

“Really? Sorry, but please let me rest for a bit.” Ced sighed deeply, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.

Galzus opened the door without looking back, and ran into the small room.

Mareeta and Eyvel frantically followed him.

The moment the two stepped in the doorway, they saw Galzus kill a swordfighter. Ignoring his surroundings, he viciously pressed forward, cutting down the enemies in the room, one after the other.

The enemy furthest in the back of the room, a thief, swung his sword.

Galzus glared at the thief and hit the enemy’s sword with his own.

The sound of the two blades clashing rang through the air.

Galzus clutched his ears and stumbled a few steps backwards before shaking his head a little and fixing his grip on his sword. “Is he still human?!” Galzus muttered with a chuckle.

The thief swung down his sword again.

Galzus jumped to the side.

The thief’s blade hit the floor.

Galzus swerved around behind the thief and stabbed him in the back. “It’s over!” He yelled before pulling his sword upwards and slicing diagonally, cutting through the thief’s body. He took one look the thief collapsing on the floor, before sheathing his sword and looking up at Eyvel and Mareeta. “Please send the signal.”

Eyvel, who had been staring at him dumbfounded, finally snapped to attention and nodded. Mareeta did the same. He heard her swallow.

“Oh, but, um, we should dress your wounds first!” Mareeta said.

Galzus looked down at his body and smiled a little. “I’m always like this. It’s nothing to me. Don’t worry.”

But Mareeta looked at him, very worried.

Eyvel stared at her, and took a long pause before saying, “I’ll send the signal.” She turned her back to them and left the room.

Finn and Glade nodded to each other, then burst into the small room at the same time. The two quickly jumped to the side, one to the left, and the other to the right.

The enemies reacted slowly, Confused because they didn’t know what the two were doing.

In that split second, Finn and Glade killed them all like it was nothing. Before anyone could even blink, only the sage guarding the summoning circle was left.

She had not been tricked by their odd movements, and immediately cast a spell.

Finn and Glade jumped in the opposite directions, switching positions.

However, the sage was still not fooled, and stuck her arm straight out in front of her.

“Dammit!” Glade yelled, and started to run.

The sage unleashed another spell, hurling a ball of light at Selfina, who was standing near the doorway.

Glade leapt in its path.

The light hit him dead-on, sending him flying. He landed on the ground, smoke billowing from his body.

The sage began to chant once more.

Finn ran straight at her, and stabbed a sword into her chest.

However, it didn’t even seem to bother her, much less stop her. She continued chanting.

Finn’s eyes opened wide with shock. He couldn’t hear a heartbeat, yet the sage kept chanting. “Grah!” Finn pulled his sword out of her chest and aimed for her face.

The blade stabbed through her mouth, finally stopping her chanting.

Finn swung the sword sideways.

It sliced through her mouth, and she toppled backwards.

―

“Glade, are you alright!?” Selfina picked him up and repeated his name over and over again.

Glade moaned and opened his eyes slightly. “Yeah, I am.”

“Thank goodness…” Her tears fell on his smiling face.

“I promised you that we would have children like Lord Leif and Lady Nanna once the war is over. I won’t die until we have.”

“I know.” Selfina smiled through her tears.

“You seem to be doing okay.” Finn walked over to the hugging couple and looked at Glade.

“Yeah, I am.” Glade answered with a smile.

“I’ll get a healer once I’ve sent the signal. Hang in there until then.”

“Sure. I would have even if you didn’t tell me anything, though.”

Finn replied with a nod, then headed for the doorway.

“Finn!” Glade called out to him.

“What is it?”

“Being married is amazing. You should hurry up and get hitched soon yourself.”

Finn didn’t respond, instead only frowning.

“Ready? I’m going to open the door now!” Carrion put a hand on it turned around.

He first confirmed that Conomor had nodded at him, then Miranda.

He ran into the room, with Conomor following soon after him, and Miranda coming in last.

By the time she stepped through the doorway, Carrion and Conomor had already taken out most of the enemies.

The only one left was the person standing atop the summoning circle, a sniper with an ominous air about her. She readied her bow without making a sound, and shot three arrows back-to-back. One was aimed at Carrion, the next at Conomor, and the last at Miranda.

Carrion and Conomor blocked the arrows with their swords.

Miranda chanted a spell.

The arrow was headed straight for her eyes.

She started to unleash a fireball, but Conomor jumped in front of her.

The arrow pierced through him and stuck out of his back.

“Ugh… gah…” He groaned quietly and his face twisted in pain.

Miranda looked up at his face and gasped. The magic that she had gathered in her hands dissipated.

“You aren’t hurt, are you, Princess?” He forced a smile.

Miranda ground her teeth. “Stop it already!” She spat out under her breath.

“Princess…?” His eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“I can defend myself!” She noticed the enemy sniper grab another arrow, and started running. “I at least need to be strong enough to do that much…”

The sniper pulled her bow’s string.

Miranda chanted.

The sniper shot the arrow. Then another, then a third.

Miranda unleashed a fireball. It burned the arrow to ashes and continued towards the sniper.

The sniper grabbed another arrow, but was too slow. The fireball hit her dead-on. It destroyed her bow and arrow before exploding with a loud bang. She panicked as Miranda came closer to her.

Miranda thrust both her arms out in front of her.

“Die!” Fire shot out from her outstretched hands.

The sniper’s entire body caught on fire, yet she didn’t writhe or seem affected by pain at all. She fell backwards to the ground.

Miranda let out a short sigh, turned her back to the fallen sniper, and began walking towards Conomor.

“I apologize, Princess. I went too far.” He said and bowed his head deeply.

“It’s fine. You put yourself in harm’s way for me. I’m grateful. The mage part of me was just being selfish.” She answered with a smile.

“Princess…” Conomor’s expression softened, finally feeling at ease.

“You must be in great pain. I’ll send the signal so you can rest for a bit. Carrion, take care of Conomor for me.”

Carrion nodded without saying anything.

After seeing him nod, Miranda started for the door. “Conomor!” She stopped in the doorway and turned back. “Please continue to serve Alster.”

“Of course.” Conomor bowed his head once again.

Fergus, Diarmuid, and Karin all rushed into the small room at once.

Diarmuid took down the knights, and Fergus killed the dark mage.

They looked at the mercenary guarding the summoning circle.

“Aaaaaaah!” Karin’s screech echoed throughout the room.

Fergus whirled around to see her lying on the floor and swinging her sword. In front of her was a knight raising his sword into the air. He clicked his tongue. “I told you to wait!” He threw his sword at the knight.

The sword landed in the knight’s back. He screamed and fell to the ground, dead.

“Th-Thank you…” Karen said, her voice shaky and her expression terrified.

Fergus frowned at her.

The mercenary started moving.

Fergus’ head snapped towards him.

He headed straight towards Fergus and raised his sword.

Fergus panicked.

He sliced diagonally.

Fergus jumped sideways to dodge the attack, but was unsuccessful. He felt the blade slice through his shoulder. He fell on the floor, pressed his bleeding shoulder, and stood up.

The mercenary slowly turned around.

Fergus glared at him and cringed. Because he had thrown his sword to save Karin, he no longer had a weapon to defend himself.

The mercenary was coming closer and closer. He stuck his sword out in front of him.

Fergus rolled backwards and felt his back hit someone.

“You okay!?” It was Diarmuid.

Fergus looked up at Diarmuid and grabbed the spare sword on his hip. “I’m borrowing this!” He unsheathed it and stood up.

“Hey, wait! That sword is…!” Diarmuid cried out.

Fergus ignored him and turned towards the mercenary, who was now swinging his sword. Fergus turned to the side, dodging the attack, and swung Diarmuid’s sword sideways, then downwards, cutting a cross-shape into the mercenary, who fell to the ground.

Fergus breathed a huge sigh of relief, then looked down at the sword in his hand. It had a very peculiar design: the blade was single-sided and curved. “Thanks. This thing saved my ass.” He handed it back to Diarmuid.

“N-No problem.” Diarmuid took it with a shocked expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Fergus asked.

Diarmuid shook his head. “Nothing. I just didn’t think anyone other than I could wield this sword.”

“Yeah, it sure is a weird one. But, somehow, it was easy to wield. Like… it was made for me.”

“Uh-huh…” Diarmuid said and tilted his head.

“Anyway, we can talk all we want about it later. For now, we gotta send the signal.” Fergus ran over to his sword, grabbed it, then exited the room.

Olwen received the last signal. She chanted a spell and unleashed it.

Thunder echoed throughout the entire large room.

#fire emblem #thracia 776 #fe #fe5 #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe5 umemura novel translation #nintendo #super nintendo #nes #famicom #super famicom

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avengers-nextgen · 5 years

Text

The Aftermath XV

“I’ll try and call again,” Siyanda sighed, pacing about her room.

“It’s alright,” Thalia replied, but Si could hear the slightest bit of disappointment in her voice. “You should focus on getting ready for the big day.”

“I want you to come,” Siyanda insisted, “I do. I just-I don’t know if I can convince them to let you. I-“

“Si, it’s okay. I know not everyone likes me. Besides, it’s your day. I don’t want it to fall apart just because of me,” Thalia interrupted.

“It’s not that, Thals, I just don’t know if it’s safe. I don’t trust everyone here. If something happened to you again I’d never be able to forgive myself. But, at the same time, I want you here. It’ll make things less frightening. I’m lying if I say I’m not losing my mind.” Siyanda paused to glance wearily at the clock. She’d have to leave soon.

“You’ll be fine. You’re always great at managing nerves, always poised, and you’ll look gorgeous too,” Thalia’s smile could be heard in her voice. “Chin up, okay?”

“Chin up,” The Princess, soon to be queen, sighed. “Hey, I love you. You know that right?”

“Of course, and I love you too.”

“Okay, I have to go now. Bye,” Siyanda sighed, ending the call. Running a hand down her face she tossed the phone onto her bed. She wanted nothing more than to go back to New York. At least there, things would be a manageable level of stress.

“Si, rehearsals-“ Shuri knocked lightly on the door before entering.

“I know,” came the sharp remark.

“Did you get a chance to call?” Shuri arched a brow.

“Yes, but it only makes me more frustrated. She sounds so sad,” Siyanda swallowed tightly feeling the prick of tears in her eyes,” and I worry she thinks I’m abandoning her. It’s been weeks and I’m used to seeing her everyday.”

Shuri’s expression softened as she sat beside her niece, “Hey. Look at me.”

With an irritated huff, Siyanda met her aunt’s gaze. “What?”

“Go to rehearsal. After, you have time. Just enough for a short visit. I’ll cover for you, okay?” Shuri pressed her lips into a thin line knowing fairly well they could both get in trouble for the proposed scheme.

“I don’t know,” Siyanda frowned.

“Think on it, okay?” Shuri leaned over to press a light kiss to Siyanda’s head before leaving the girl to think.

— — —

“You’re distracted,” Sage grunted, still trying to get out of Thalia’s hold on her.

“And you still can’t get out,” The blonde laughed.

“I don’t have impeccable strength,” Sage grumbled, finally wriggling free.

“But you have gotten some muscle,” Thalia encouraged poking Sage’s arm.

“Only because of Bianca,” Sage explained.

“You’re doing good with her,” Thalia smiled thinly, “she’s just in a hard place.”

“I know. I’ve been there. But that doesn’t explain why you’re distracted,” Sage countered, sitting cross legged on the sparring mats.

“Just thinking about Si,” Thalia shrugged, sitting across from her cousin.

“How is she?”

“Alright,” Thalia sighed, “but she sounds sad. The coronation is coming up and I don’t think she’s very happy about it.”

“Think she’s just got nerves or is it something more?” Sage asked, chewing at her thumb nail.

“It’s a lot of things,” Thalia’s gaze settled on the floor, “but she’s not very specific on them. She’s trying not to worry me which is only worrying me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sage gave her cousin a sympathetic look.

“What about you and Enzo? You guys on speaking terms yet?” Thalia asked.

“I leave him alone,” Sage frowned, “he doesn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t mind it. If it’s what he wants, but he’s so wrapped up in redeeming Max it’s...it’s hard not to get mad. It’s like Enzo doesn’t comprehend the damage his friend did. The way they hurt people.”

“Does Max understand?”

“Yeah,” Sage nodded, “ironically Max understands their predicament. They get it. But Enzo doesn’t. He’s naive to a fault.”

“He’ll learn one way or another,” Thalia decided, “but that’s not always a good thing.”

“Agreed,” Sage nodded.

“Well, I guess we have each other,” Thalia smiled.

“Yeah,” Sage nodded, standing and tugging Thalia to her feet with a grunt. “See you at lunch?”

“Always,” Thalia laughed.

— — —

Thalia spent the afternoon alternating between friends. She was fine getting to hang out with all of them, in truth it was kind of nice getting to relax, but she was still worried. She wanted to know how Siyanda was. As much as the princess wanted to sound fine and under control, Thalia could tell by the sound of her voice that Siyanda was having a hard time keeping it together.

When it was time for bed Thalia listened to the light pattern of rain on her window. She enjoyed storms but she knew somewhere Sage was waiting anxiously for the sound of thunder. Thalia hoped it never came. She wondered when the last time Sage got to enjoy rain was. The thought made her sad.

Deciding something that may not work out she headed to Sage’s room and found her cousin still wide awake. Alex was there, unsurprisingly, and the two were playing a game of cards.

“Sage, you wanna head outside?” Thalia asked.

“I-I’m good in here,” Sage tried for a smile but she looked rather pale.

“When’s the last time you enjoyed the rain? Come on, I’ll go with you. You’ll be fine I promise,” Thalia smiled, “nothing hits you on my watch.”

“I don’t know Thals,” Sage frowned, glancing nervously at the window.

“I’ll go too,” Alex offered.

After a bit more convincing the two blondes managed to coax Sage outside. She looked very much like an irritated cat at being soaked, but she wasn’t afraid. Sure the water was unpleasant when it made your clothes stick, but so far that was the worst of it.

Thalia made a point of jumping in the puddles trying to splash Alex who was giggling like mad as she ran about. Sage couldn’t help but smile at the sight. They looked like little kids and it was rare to see such joy.

“You brought this one into the rain?” An accented voice piped up.

Thalia’s head whipped about in an instant and her eyes widened. “SI!”

Sage was nearly knocked over by her cousin who smothered the Wakandan princess in a hug. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Hey,” Siyanda smiled, studying Thalia’s face. “What’re you doing out here all soaked?”

“What am I doing out here? What are you doing here?” Thalia beamed, hardly able to quell her excitement.

“I needed to say hi. I don’t have a lot of time before I have to head home. My aunt’s cooking up a story to tell my dad. I’m not really supposed to be here,” Siyanda explained.

“You sly dog,” Sage snorted, arms crossed snugly about herself.

“Let’s let them talk,” Alex panted, out of wind from running amuck. “Come on.”

She grabbed Sage by the collar of the shirt and tugged her out onto the grass by the pool. The place they officially became a “thing”.

“Tell me everything,” Thalia demanded, taking Si’s hands in her own.

“Okay,” Siyanda laughed, starting from the beginning. She talked quickly and only paused to make sure Thalia was following along. “So, that’s what’s been going on. It’s why I’ve had a hard time keeping in touch.”

“Well,” Thalia frowned, “I’d like to be there but if I can’t go that’s alright. You’re doing great from how it sounds and you’ll be the best queen Wakanda has ever had. I’m sure of it.”

“I wish everyone had as much faith in me,” Siyanda sighed, resting her forehead on Thalia’s.

“They May has seen you grow up but they don’t know you like I do,” Thalia insisted. “You’re going to do good things.”

“Alright,” the princess laughed, kissing Thalia lightly. “Let’s play around a bit before I go. I need some fun.”

“You got it,” Thalia grinned, already going to chase after Alex and Sage. Her cousin was surprisingly more relaxed and even attempted to have some fun.

With a shake of the head Siyanda followed Thalia into the rain and the group of four engaged in a game of puddle tag.

#avengers #avengers next gen #marvel #mcu #black widow #captain america #natasha romanoff #pepper potts #romanogers #scarlet witch #phase3 #theaftermath

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imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch · 6 years

Text

Up, Up, Down, Down, Kiss, and Make Up: Part One

Pairings: Annabeth/Percy; Jason/Piper; Hazel/Frank; Nico/Will

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303474/chapters/35503755

- Part 1 (The Set Up/Logging On) -

When Chiron bans video games, Leo gets creative and decides they should create their own game. The result is part D&D campaign, part cosplay opportunity and part complete chaos. Hazel might have somehow accidentally been proposed to, Annabeth is frustrated by video game logic, Jason and Piper start a feud, and Nico is trying very hard not to notice Will Solace and even harder not to let himself be video gamed into asking Will out. And Leo? He's in his element controlling it all.

Chiron had banned video games. He claimed it was because they rotted your brain and that everyone should be getting outside in the fresh air. In truth it was probably because Corridor 13 had gotten a little too competitive during a Mario Kart competition and a wii remote had flown off of someone's wrist and managed to take out both the TV and a window by a miracle of rebound and angles. The window had been fixed very quickly. The TV hadn't.

Chiron had insinuated they wouldn't get it back until after the holidays. After the obligatory complaints, chiding and threats to never speak to Corridor 13 again, the students of The Pantheon School were left to figure out what to do with themselves.

Predictably it was Leo who came up with something first.

"Let's make our own video game."

That didn't get much of a response at first. Piper and Annabeth were sitting in the window seat, not really listening. Of all of them they'd been the least worried about the loss of the TV since they'd only ever shown up to the video game tournaments occasionally to put the rest of them back in their place: Mario Kart wasn't a challenge anymore and it was doubtful it ever had been. Jason was at the desk by the window. He was probably the next level of not interested because he had somehow ended up on the committee to organise the prom and so his and Reyna's free time was usually spent arguing about menus, colour schemes and mildly threatening corporations who thought they could con two teenagers into buying overpriced balloons.

Percy did care about the loss of the TV, because without it he had one less reason to ignore the pressing fact he had a lot of homework to do. When Leo repeated the sentiment, louder this time, he was the first to look up from where he was lying on the sofa.

"How?"

Leo admitted that he hadn't really thought things through that far. Percy sighed and threw his arm across his face.

"Maybe Chiron's right. Maybe we should just go outside or something."

Leo perked up. He was sitting on the floor, playing absentmindedly with an old walkie-talkie and he waved it about as he spoke, nearly decking Frank sat behind him.

"Outside!" he said. "Yes we should go outside."

He seemed way too enthusiastic about the idea. It was enough for Hazel to glance over in some concern.

"You said fresh air was pointless," she commented.

"That was before when we had a TV. Now outside is genius. We can make our own video game."

"That was your first idea," Percy observed.

"Ye-es," Leo admitted. "But this is that idea new and improved. I've got these walkie-talkies that Connor gave me and there's that old playground out back. We can make an obstacle course and control someone around it. Tell them what to do with the walkie talkies and stuff."

"Tell them to do stuff?"

Nico was sitting on the floor behind Percy’s sofa and he'd been so quiet the others had kind of forgotten he was there. He poked his head out.

"What sort of stuff?" he continued.

"You know, jump. Go left. Turn. That sort of thing," Leo said vaguely. “I haven't worked out all the particulars yet.”

"That's obvious," Nico said. Then he shrugged. "Sounds fun. Count me in."

"Really?" Leo asked, then quickly. "Great."

Nico gave him a look.

"I didn't think you'd be the first to agree," Leo said defensively.

"I'm in too," said Percy, still without looking up. "And Annabeth."

His girlfriend looked up at her name.

"What are you signing me up for?" she asked.

"Leo's video game super smash brawl IRL," Percy said. "Far as I'm guessing he's thinking of an obstacle course capture the flag death match kind of thing where someone bosses someone else about through walkie talkie."

Annabeth thought about that for a second.

"We're in," she said. "Right Pipes?"

Piper nodded seriously.

"Be good to kick your butts in real life," she said. "Bagsie Reyna."

And that was how they ended up outside in the grounds letting themselves be bossed around by Leo who had found a mega-phone somewhere and was using it to bellow instructions across the lawn. Jason came out, trying to adjust his glasses with an elbow at the same time as trying to shift a heavy cardboard box into a more comfortable position.

"This was all the tech corridor 13 could scrounge up," Jason said.

"They were pretty apologetic about the loss of the TV," he added as Leo extracted a broken video camera with a worryingly large grin.

"Here!" Leo called as he threw the camera towards Harley, who caught it one handed. "That should be good for section one."

"Section one?" Jason asked. "Leo this is going to be a little game right? A quick distraction?"

Leo barely gave his friend half a second of attention, too busy rummaging through the box.

"Uh-huh," Leo agreed, though Jason was pretty sure Leo had absolutely no idea what he was agreeing to.

"Corridor 13 have started a betting pool," Jason continued. "What exactly have you told them?"

"Video game," Leo mumbled. "Recreating a video game."

Jason sighed, and then jumped back rapidly as Harley walked back their way carrying a large piece of plywood.

"Okay," he said in defeat. "If you need me I'll be talking to napkin suppliers."

"Ooh can you get me any free samples?" Leo asked.

"Sure?"

"Great. And you don't mind me designing your costume then?"

"No that's fi- wait costume?”

Leo wandered off, feigning deafness as he screeched into his megaphone.

“Leo! What costume?"

Leo continued doing a good impression of not being able to hear, waving a set of fairy lights excitedly at Harley. As he passed Reyna, Piper and Annabeth they covered up the several sheets of paper they had spread out on the floor around them and ostensibly stopped talking.

"Go away spy," Piper teased. "We won't let you steal our top secret plans."

Annabeth waited before Leo had got a safe distance away before continuing with her inventory plans.

"And rope of course."

Nico had joined forces with Hazel and Frank. Frank didn't seem entirely comfortable about the entire set up, partly because he wasn't super into video games but Hazel and Nico's competitive streaks were coming out and they were showing their claws, and partly because Hazel's brother made him just a tiny bit uncomfortable.

Hanging out with Nico properly for the first time was a little nerve wracking, because as stupid as he told himself he was being, Frank couldn't help but think that he was one stupid comment away from Nico skewering him with the pencil he was holding, or at least skewering him with a look. Still Hazel adored Nico and Nico adored Hazel and so it was clearly up to Frank to get over the fact he was mildly terrified of the slight, pale teenager with the eyes like shards of glass.

And Nico hardly seemed to be paying attention anyway. He'd had all sorts of plans in the beginning, and Frank had begun to realise that Nico was a bit of a mythomagic nerd. His knowledge of stats and different attacks could come in useful, but equally couldn't, since none of them really knew exactly what Leo was planning on building for them.

Now Nico was just staring into the distance, tapping a pencil distractedly against his knee. Frank followed his line of sight, but all he could see was some of the corridor 13 lot with Lou-Ellen and a couple of the guys from 7 and the younger ginger and green haired girl Frank always saw on the archery range. Callie? No, Kayla.

Frank shrugged it off, assumed that suddenly disappearing into his head was one of Nico's things and began discussing whether or not Hazel thought they'd need a shield.

"Do you think we'll need matches?" Annabeth asked, adding another note to her equal parts frighteningly organised and horrifyingly disorganised list.

"This is Leo," Piper said. "I think we should have everything possible. Up to and including the national guard and a medic on call."

Annabeth added matches under cold weather provisions, cross-referencing it a second later to light-emitting devices and then adding an arrow to warmth.

"Do we have a torch?" Reyna asked.

Annabeth frowned, scanned her notes.

"Yes under electronic items."

Reyna nodded sagely. She was relatively new to The Pantheon School, so really she was dealing with the chaos well considering she’d never had to survive through Leo’s other projects and ideas.

"How serious do you think Leo is about all of this?" Reyna mused. "I saw him walk past with a drill a minute a go. Where on earth did he get a drill from?"

"Don't know," Piper laughed. "And don't think I want to know."

"Leo's hardly serious about anything," Annabeth mused. "But when he's got a project he's off. He's serious. And we've got a reputation to withhold."

"Well if we are doing this we're doing it properly," Reyna said. "I heard Leo was making his team costumes."

"My kind of area," Piper said with a grin.

"Really?" Annabeth asked. "You know how to sew?"

"Some confidence would be nice," Piper teased. "But no. I do, however, know some girls who love fashion and would be happy to help."

Reyna frowned. Annabeth pictured Drew's scowling, sardonic expression.

"Really?" Annabeth said again.

"Really," Piper said with a devious grin. "My corridor owe me a favour."

#Percy Jackson and the Olympians #fandom #writing #Up Up Down Down...#Percy/Annabeth #Hazel/Frank #Jason/Piper #will solace/nico di angelo

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bubblegumwitchswriting · 6 years

Text

Up Up, Down Down, Kiss and Make Up: Part One

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303474/chapters/35503755

Parings: Percy/Annabeth; Hazel/Frank (not yet dating); Jason/Piper; Will/Nico (not yet dating)

(Boarding school AU)

Part One