#he left his uniform a little too loose one time and everyone in the village started describing him as a malewhore</3

[hoofpeet]

okay but the concept of Ingo accidentally being super scandalous by the standard of the time period for showing 1/4th quarter of his leg. Imagine a ratty old hermit living on the mountain wearing a crop top and mini shorts

#hoof draws #submas #malewhore ingo REVEALED he was actually just being clueless the whole time #he left his uniform a little too loose one time and everyone in the village started describing him as a malewhore</3

[shycoconutt]

I Found My Light (Kakashi x Reader)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

A/n: Sound the alarms! It’s my first ever writing post! I’ve had this written for a while tbh, and I feel like I’m ready to start getting into this.

Summary: A late-night walk turns into a rekindled friendship.

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: fem!reader, SFW (but might not be later lol)

You opened your eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time tonight. Staring at the white ceiling, you sighed. Sleep seemed to evade you recently, a side effect of the recent dreariness of your life. You found yourself living the same days over and over again. Because of this, the line between day and night started to fade.

The moon was full tonight, you noticed as it shined brightly through your open window. It was the perfect temperature out, warm but chilly enough to feel comfortable wrapped in your blankets. You love listening to the occasional sounds that occurred outside, the noise of leaves rustling in the wind being your favorite.

Your gaze left the moon and landed back on your ceiling. Why is something as simple as sleeping so hard? Gods, all you wanted was an escape. With a huff, you pushed the covers off of you and sat up from your lying position. Trying to force yourself to sleep would do more harm than good right now.

You make your way to your dresser and pull out your favorite pair of black joggers. You love them because they are tight on your ankles, loose on your legs, and have a cinched band at the waist. They are perfect for any lazy day. You slip them on over your underwear, you never go to bed with pants on, and exchange your sleep shirt for a cropped black hoodie made from the same soft, elastic material as your pants.

You turn to face your large standing mirror in the corner of the room to assess your appearance. The all-black look was your favorite, especially since it will help you blend into the night. Your hair was a mess, so you decided to put it up in a loose bun on the top of your head and pull out some strands to frame your face. It felt good to not look so polished and put together. Your jonin uniform was not the most comfortable piece of clothing, especially with the way it hit your figure.

You walked out of your bedroom and across the kitchen to the front door of your apartment. One foot after the other, you slide into your sandals and grab the key to your apartment hanging on the hook next to you. With that, you leave your apartment and head out into the night.

You walked the streets of Konoha at a gingerly pace. It was probably around 3 a.m. at this point, and there wasn’t a single soul on the street with you. You make your way past the line of shops on the main street, including your favorite bakery where you'd treat yourself to a lemon square after coming back from a long mission. You thought about that lemon square a lot when you were out risking your life, embarrassingly enough.

A couple of turns later and you found yourself heading towards your favorite place in all of Konoha, a little area of woods towards the perimeter that contained this amazing koi pond. Although it was nighttime and the fish wouldn’t be as active, you still want to check to see if you can watch any. To your surprise, your favorite koi, who you nicknamed “Nishi'', was out and swimming around by himself. You sit criss-cross in the grass and watch as he glides through the calm water, almost putting you in trance. Nishi didn’t look or act like the others; He was black with white, almost silver-looking spots and he was less frantic in nature. You sway from side to side as you watch him, thinking to yourself about how you would like to be more like Nishi.

“You look cute watching the koi.” You heard a soft, yet unwavering voice declare behind you.

“Holy sh-” You almost jump out of your pants at the unexpected presence. Surprised, you quickly turn your head around to see who’s voice that could possibly be. To your disbelief, there lies a figure perched up by a tree a couple yards away from you. Their feet were crossed, legs extended, one hand in the pocket of their pants, the other holding up what looks like a copy of Icha-Icha, head turned towards you, and wild hair moving with each passing breeze. How did I not notice him?

“Oh I’m sorry (y/n), I didn’t mean to startle you. I figured you knew I was here because you walked right past me.” He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head and let out a small chuckle. “Guess I should have made my presence known right away.”

Still in disbelief, you get up and slowly make your way towards the figure, stepping into the shadow of the tree to see him more clearly. As you approached you immediately recognized the silver-haired jonin.

“Kakashi?” You say confused. “What are you doing out here? It’s late.”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He states, closing his book and setting it down next to him on the grass. He looked different. He looked… quite hot actually. The jonin uniform you usually saw him in was traded for a pair of comfortable-looking grey sweatpants and a tight, black tank top that connected to his mask. He wasn’t wearing his headband either, just keeping his left sharingan eye shut in a permanent wink. As you observed him, you couldn’t help but notice that he was doing the same to you.

“I suppose you're right.” You smirk and let out a small chuckle. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured that if I was up I should take a walk around the village to clear my head. This is my favorite spot, so I guess I just naturally ended up here.” You exclaimed, still standing in front of him.

“It looks like you and I are having the same issue,” he states plainly, “I came out here a little while ago after tossing in my bed for an hour. I hate trying to force myself to sleep; It’s a battle I never seem to win.” His eyes averted your gaze and moved to his now empty hands in his lap. You couldn’t help but notice a hint of pain in his voice and it tugged at your heartstrings.

You know about the things Kakashi has been through, as it was pretty common knowledge to all jonin in your mutual age group. You were pretty close with his friends, Gai, Kurenai, and Asuma, but Kakashi always seemed to keep everyone at an arm’s length. He also was an Anbu for ten years, which didn’t help the disconnect either. Fortunately, he was relieved from his Anbu position a couple weeks ago, and gradually you have been seeing him a bit more here and there. Though, this is the first time you are able to have a conversation with him in what seems like forever.

“Well,” you sighed, “I guess we have lost the battle together. We must be pretty shitty jonin.” You stated flatly.

Kakashi squinted his eyes and you both laughed. You couldn’t help but take a mental picture of his face at this moment. You really enjoy seeing him happy, as it makes you happy too.

You can’t kid yourself, having a chance to talk with Kakashi alone feels like such a treat. Little genin (y/n) would be ecstatic right now. Of course you had a crush on him back then, who didn’t?

“You’ve always had a natural talent for connecting with people,” Kakashi mused, “I haven’t talked to you since we were teenagers, and here I am laughing with you like we’re long-time friends.”

You could feel your eyebrows furrow at that statement. Yeah sure, you weren’t at his apartment every week for Sunday brunch, but you did have a history.

“Kakashi,” you started, “You are my long-time friend. Just because we drifted apart doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. To be honest, I was relieved when I found out you were no longer going to be a member of the Anbu. It wasn’t good for you.” You stepped closer and sat down next to him, leaning back on the tree stump. The grass felt cool under you, sending a small shiver up your body.

“I suppose you’re right,” Kakashi stated, quoting your words from earlier. “It amazes me that none of you gave up on me. I feel like I am undeserving of everyone’s effort.” You were baffled by his honesty; Kakashi wasn’t known to be much of an open book. It upsets you so much that he feels this way as you couldn’t imagine not caring about him or any of your other comrades in the village. The faces of your closest friends flashed through your mind and you grimaced at the thought of losing them.

Not knowing if you should, you felt compelled to reach over and hold Kakashi’s hand in yours. It's cold compared to the warmth spreading from your fingertips. Hmm, I wonder how long he has been out here. Giving his hand a small squeeze, you look at him in his onyx eye. “Trust me, Kakashi. You are deserving. You are deserving of a great life and people who care about you. I know the world may seem dark, but I promise that a light is always glowing. No matter how small or dim, it’s there.”

You stare at each other in silence for a moment before he changes the position of his hand and intertwines his fingers in yours. The change was small, but it ignites a feeling in your stomach you couldn’t describe. Slowly, you felt your cheeks flush and you turned your face to look towards the sky in hopes he wouldn’t notice. You knew this action was him telling you that he accepts your words, and thanks you for them.

You spent the next hour sitting under the tree together, you looking up at the stars and him looking at you. Your intertwined hands fell between your bodies, resting on the cool grass. You felt him start to graze the back of your hand with his thumb, sending a tingling sensation up your arm. It felt so good to be touched by him, even in such an innocent manner.

A strong breeze ran through the air and hit you suddenly. You began to shiver at the quick change in temperature, realizing that you should have dressed warmer if you were going to be out this long. Yet, you couldn’t have anticipated the situation you are currently in.

“Are you cold?” Kakashi questioned with a hint of concern.

“Yeah a little bit,” you answered honestly, “but I don’t want to go back home. I’m not really tired yet.” Truthfully, you didn’t want this little moment of shared bliss to end. You started to feel like you found your escape, and you refused to be torn away from it so soon.

“Neither do I,” he confessed, “Come here.” He released his hand from yours and slid his position higher up on the side of the tree. He then spread his legs and patted the ground in between, inviting you to sit.

You felt your face get hot again, as the position he was offering you was a very intimate gesture. There was absolutely no way you could refuse his offer. One, because you were freezing and, two, young (y/n) would never forgive you.

You got up and sat down carefully between his thighs, leaning until your back met his chest. He then wrapped both of his arms around you, one around your shoulders and the other around your waist with his hand resting on your stomach. The outsides of your legs met the insides of his and you felt an immediate warmth there. Lastly, your head tilted back and rested upon his left shoulder, with his face nuzzled against your temple. You both fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, no part of you feeling any discomfort against his strong body. Engulfed in his smell and warmth, for the first time in a while you felt completely relaxed.

“Thank you, Kakashi.” You looked up at him with a warm smile.

“Anytime.” He breathed, voice muffled by your hair. You wondered if he truly meant that. I mean, after all, this is the first time you have interacted in a while. Yet, the connection you felt towards him was unquestionable.

Does he feel the way I feel?

“Hey,” you began, “are you tired at all?”

He flexed his arms and held you closer to his chest. “Not really,” he answered, “I’m enjoying this moment too much to be tired.” You smiled, and there was a pause.

“Isn’t this odd?” you questioned again.

“What? You and I snuggled under a tree in a random corner of the village alone at 4 a.m. after we haven’t interacted with each other in years?” he questioned sarcastically, “Not at all.”

“Kakashi!,” you laughed, gently nudging your elbow into his ribs as he laughed along with you.

“Yeah it’s a little odd,” he answered honestly, “but I’m not going to question it. I found my light, and now I’m enjoying it.” He nuzzled his face into your hair and breathed deeply.

Completely and utterly relaxed, you let yourself succumb to the heaviness of your eyelids. Truthfully, this has felt like the longest day in the world and you are happy to end it this way. The sound of Kakashi’s breathing and the rise and fall of his chest acted as your personal sleep machine. It’s priceless.

Before you completely drift off, you swear you could feel the soft, pillowiness of Kakashi’s lips graze the skin of your temple, a soft hum escaping from them.

“Goodnight, (y/n)”

~~~

Queue Hilary Duff’s “What Dreams Are Made Of”. This kind of feels like the beginning of something. Should I continue? Idk if my writing is even good. If you read this, PLEASE let me know if you have any feedback. Again, this is my first story and I would greatly appreciate any feedback, advice, suggestions, etc.! I can’t believe I’m uploading, ah! - Klara

#kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi fanfic #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #kakashi fluff #kakashi imagine #naruto fanfiction #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi one shot #kakashi x yn #kakashi sensei #i found my light

[uchihashisuii]

warm hands & burning hearts. - Sakumo/Reader

Summary: The sun is setting and the village is coming alive to celebrate, including yourself and your friends. As you dress and laugh in the Hatake house, some lingering looks and heated touches are exchanged secretly with your friend's father.

Pairing: Hatake Sakumo/Fem!Reader

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Clan/Family/In-Laws

Content Warning for age difference, banter, flirting, the casual intimacy of someone helping you dress

Author’s Note: in this wonderful little AU, we're going to happily pretend nothing bad happens, ever. For the sake of romance and fun. As such, Kakashi might seem rather ooc. He hasn't been jaded by his father's suicide, but neither has he witnessed Obito die for him. He has development, he cares for his friends, but he's still a stuck-up bit of a shit. Reader, Kakashi, Obito, and Rin are around 23

(I also threw in a cameo of my oc, Akari, for the fun of it. But don't worry too much about her - she's only vaguely mentioned!)

@narutodilfweek​

Ao3 Link

-----

"We're gonna be late!" Rin stresses as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup, nose pressed to the mirror hanging in the hallway. You're inclined to agree as you struggle to tie your obi, twisting this way and that in front of the bathroom mirror, the door open so you can hear your friends.

Kakashi had (begrudgingly) invited everyone to his house to get ready for the festival. Your and Rin's places are each too small, and Obito insisted that if everyone started the festival at the compound all plans would swiftly fall to pieces. Nosy and traditional neighbors would spark rumors about Obito's marital status, Shisui would invite himself in through the window, dragging Akari, who would also drag Itachi, who would drag Sasuke, Sasuke would bring his squad, and suddenly everyone would be yelling and laughing and pre-drinking and no one would even make it to the festival before the fireworks started.

Which is exactly what happened the last time your friends had all gathered at Obito's for the new year festival, so you're inclined to agree that the Hatake house is the best option.

It's only a bonus that it just so happens to be the home of Hatake Sakumo, who you have not been harboring a crush on for some months, thank you very much.

(Rin had given you a knowing look when it was agreed Kakashi would be hosting the "preparation party" as she liked to call it. You'd kicked her in the ankle beneath the table of the restaurant, shooting daggers as she blinked at you innocently.)

Obito rolls his eyes as he watches her, arms linking inside the wide sleeves of his red yukata. "Late for what? Festival always goes 'til like, dawn, and the sun only just started to set. It's impossible to be late."

"Yes! And you -" she pauses to point a finer at him, brow arched, "Told your cousins we'd meet them in front of the compound at dusk. It takes ten minutes to walk there from here, even if we left now we'll still be late, we might even miss them entirely and they could already be -"

Kakashi interrupts her. "Relax. They know Team Minato are never on time," a flat look leveled at Obito, who splutters, "and they wouldn't go on without us. Akari'll keep them ... entertained."

You snort a laugh as arguments immediately devolve, Rin not acting as her usual mediator as she begins pinning flowers into her hair. You still struggle to tie your obi, leaving the bathroom in a huff as you begin to pace up and down the hall. Arms twisted against your back, muttering beneath your breath - and then a broad palm comes down on your shoulder, making you startle.

"Let me," Sakumo says, and you turn your head to find him smiling, and oh, that just isn't fair. He looks completely at ease out of his jonin uniform, the light fabric of his nagagi complimenting the silver of his hair. The sleeves are loose and informal, the fabric crossing over his chest a bit lower than standard, exposing a few inches of his broad chest. His normally wild and unkempt hair falls loose around his face, his normal tail weaved into a braid down his back.

Your eyes trace the curve of his smile, the way his dark eyes linger on your own. Not fair.

When you'd first heard the rumors of him, you'd have expected nothing less than a big brute of a seasoned shinobi, with a harsh view of the world and incapable of being anything other than utterly serious with a stick up his ass, like most top-tier nin. Maybe he would even look down on you, as a civilian. Kakashi was a bit of a prick; he means well -mostly- but he had been fawned over his whole life as a genius and prodigy, especially as the son of the White Fang. You expected his father to be the exact same as Kakashi, except older.

But then Sakumo had turned out to be ruggedly handsome, and incredibly kind and good-natured and warm. Freely-given smiles, and a soft way of speaking that always bellied welcome. The perfect man. Who is also your friend's father. God is punishing you.

You shove away your thoughts as you nod at Sakumo's words, flush lighting your cheeks as you turn your back to him, holding out the dragging ends of your obi. Sakumo takes them from you, his hands grazing yours just for a moment; his touch sends a thrill up your spine. His hands are gentle and quick as he expertly folds and ties the wide fabric of your obi, and you wonder if he's done this before.

It's the sweetest sort of torture, having his hands on you without actually being on you, with his tall and broad frame warm against your back. If you close your eyes, you can almost see it; your expression schooled into a gentle smile as you hold yourself still, Sakumo close enough your hair brushes his nose as he leans down, hands at your waist. And then the obi drops, and he's parting the folds of your kimono over your chest, broad palm slipping beneath the sagging fabric to run his calloused hand over your breast -

His arm comes around you to press the front of the belt tight against your stomach, your eyes fluttering open as you bite down what you think might have been a soft moan. The rational part of your brain tells you he's simply ensuring everything sits flat and even; but the thrill that catches in your chest wonders if he simply wanted an excuse to touch you, just a bit more intimately. Your eyes glance down the hallway, but Rin had apparently finished with the mirror, and bickering voices can be heard from the front of the house. You're alone, but at any moment someone could turn down the hall -

You're not doing anything wrong. He's helping you tie your belt, Kakashi would have done the same. Well, you think with a frown, maybe not. He is a bit of a dick, after all.

Sakumo folds the excess fabric over the knot, securing it over the top of your obi. You turn your head and glance down your back, and from the bunching of fabric you're able to see he's done a simple taiko, mimicking the appearance of a box. You smile in gratitude, lifting your eyes to find Sakumo standing fan closer that you thought.

Your breath catches as you tilt up your chin, tip of your nose brushing against the line of his jaw. Sakumo's hands come up to your shoulders, keeping you in place; whether it's an encouragement of a warning, you don't know.

"How does it feel?" Sakumo asks, his voice low enough that it makes you bite your lip as you fight a shiver.

Like a current of awareness through your every nerve. Like the hint of something secret, forbidden. Like you're about to do something ridiculous, like kiss your friend's dad.

Your hands come up to the front of your obi, fingers tucking under the fabric and giving an experimental tug. The knot holds, the fabric not so much as dipping. You swallow thickly, and turn your body slowly. Facing Sakumo, you glance upwards and find him watching you, the smallest smile curving his mouth. His eyes are impossibly dark, though there is a warmth of affection clear in his eyes. Your lips part as you find yourself lost of words, instead bringing your arm up to place your palm over his hand, fingers tracing his scarred knuckles.

"It feels perfect. Thank you." Not nearly as perfect as it would feel if someone were to rip it off me entirely, however.

Sakumo smiles, nodding at your words. Neither of you move, even as you muster your courage, moving to twine your fingers through his. You gaze up at him from beneath your lashes, feeling something giddy behind the clench of your stomach. Sakumo had always treated you well, always had a smile to freely offer. He was just so easy to talk to, much more approachable than his son. It's no wonder you'd started to feel a familiar heat lick its way up your spine each time he so much as looked at you.

His hand moves, turning until his palm presses against yours. There is a flicker of doubt in his eyes, something very nearly uneasy, and you feel a surge of anxiety begin to pluck at your heart in response. You hadn't been seeing only what you wanted to see, all those times you thought he'd been looking at you far too close, for a moment too long. It makes you feel light as air, as butterflies beat against your stomach and chest. Sakumo opens his mouth, leaning down as though to murmur something soft for only you to hear. You tilt your head to meet him, his mouth brushing just over you cheek as he says your name, your eyes fluttering shut -

"Let's go!" Obito's voice rings out from down the hall, making you startle. And with that, the sudden spell is broken, as Sakumo stands to full height. He gives your hand a parting squeeze, his smile just the slightest bit strained, and then he's brushing past you.

You take a moment to compose yourself; fanning your face to help dispel your flush and fighting to even your breathing. But the smallest smirk curves your mouth as a feeling of conviction surges through your veins. You smooth a hand down your hair, straightening your obi as your smirk widens before you turn to walk to the front of the house. It's clear as glass, really, that he's just as affected by you as you are of him. The breathless laugh you swallow down tastes almost like victory, and you school your giddy smile as you turn the corner.

Rin holds tight to Obito's offered hand as she pulls on her sandals, small bag hanging from her wrist and tongue between her teeth as she fights not to stumble. Kakashi leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watches his squad. His dark blue yukata is informal, the fabric loose enough over his chest that you can see the skintight black shirt he wears beneath, attached mask curved over the lower half of his face. He doesn't wear his hitae-ate, making his hair fall forward over his eyes.

He looks up as you approach, inclining his head in acknowledgment. You still feel the burn of Sakumo's hand on your skin, through the fabric of your kimono, and hope Kakashi isn't clever enough to determine the reason for your blush as he shoves off the wall and offers you his arm.

"Not forgetting anything?" Sakumo asks as he steps into his sandals, watching the way you move past him and go to Kakashi.

"It's not like that matters. We're all probably coming back here after the festival, oyaji," Kakashi points out, as you gently put your palm in the crook of his elbow. Obito and Rin are similarly linked, standing outside the door and bickering quietly, though the brunette is smiling warmly as Obito watches her with unrestrained warmth.

"Can't fault a man for wanting to keep things organized," Sakumo says to Kakashi with a roll of his eyes, ushering for the both of you to step through the open door.

"You're one to talk," Kakashi says with an arched brow, nodding at his father.

Sakumo looks confused, and when you peak past him you make a surprised noise in your throat. You decision is made before you even realize it, as you pull away from Kakashi to step back into the kitchen. Your hands reach for the haori that hangs on the back of a chair, and you shake out the fabric gently, smiling as you spot the lining inside decorated with flowers and hounds.

You bite your lip as you step up to Sakumo, holding up the fabric and jerking your chin for him to turn. Two pairs of black eyes watch you, before Sakumo smiles that same warm smile and holds out an arm. You help him into the haori, bottom lip caught between your teeth and palms smoothing over his shoulders and lingering, just a little. With a breath you insist to yourself isn't shaky, you step in front of him and reach for the pale cords of the haori. You can feel Sakumo silently watching as you tie a simple knot, holding the thin jacket together across his abdomen.

"There," you whisper, fingertips grazing up his chest in a moment of bravery. "Now we're even," you add with a smirk, glancing up to catch his eye.

There's something unreadable in his expression, in the way he watches you so openly. Sakumo moves to capture your fingers with his own, his touch calloused but tender.

"Thank you," he murmurs, low enough for only you to hear. You feel your face heat in response, only managing to nod. You glance over his shoulder to see Kakashi has left, though you feel no disappointment at the fact he hadnt waited for you. It's more like a sense of misplaced relief, perhaps.

Rin has one of Kakashi's hands in hers, Obito's in the other. They're still impatient to leave, halfway down to the road already. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the sight, and tilt your head up to catch Sakumo's eye.

"I've been ditched. Care to escort me to the festival?" You ask, no bitterness coloring your tone. Neither you nor Kakashi really wanted to be stuck with one another, even if it was only for the travel time and presumably, the first few minutes of all your gathered friends huddling in a circle and arguing about what to do first before inevitably dispersing into groups of twos and threes.

You're not really in the mood for a party, you think as your pulse heightens, Sakumo studying you in a stretching silence that brings embarrassment to your chest. You're more in the mood for a good conversation, and maybe for a tall and handsome man to proudly have you on his arm.

"It would be an honor," Sakumo finally responds, his hand still holding yours. Your smile is immediate and instinctive, stomach clenching nervously.

He moves your hand to the crook of his elbow, and as you step out of the house your friends only give you a cursory glance -you pointedly ignore the way Kakashi's brows furrow above his dark eyes- before you're all walking down the lane.

-----

( + extra author’s note)

Yes, yes, I know. It ends a bit abruptly. "Jules," you say, "you wrote 2400 words and nothing happened." lISTEN I KNOW OKAY. I fully intend to write a Part 02, wherein the festival happens and things escalate between you and Sakumo. But to be perfectly honest I've been feeling burnt out lately when it comes to writing fics, so I wanted to at least get this published. If there's interest it'll probably light a fire under my ass to write the next part, so please don't hesitate to tell me what you think x

#sakumo x reader #sakumo x you #sakumo x y/n #ndw2021 #hatake sakumo #sakumo hatake #ratedT #ForFamily #jules writes #i still cant believe i wrote this #ignore the fact its like ten years late for the event shh

[that-was-anticlimactic]

i’ll leave the pairing and whether it’s platonic or romantic up to you, but 56. “come back soon” please !! :)

"Come back soon" + platonic suki & aang

Suki shuddered, gasping for air as quietly as she could while she stumbled out of her room at Ozai’s beach house on Ember Island.

She crept past Sokka who was slumped on the couch with Zuko beside him—the two such a tangled mess of intertwined limbs that the only reason she could tell what body part belonged to who was because Sokka’s skin was darker. Normally, she would have smiled and chuckled at the sight, but tonight, it only made the sob pulsing at her throat stronger.

Finally, she made it out of the house, nearly collapsing on the porch. Only then did her emotions get the best of her, and she was crying but she wasn’t crying. It was some odd mixture, some strange sound that she couldn’t quite describe. It went on like that until she was hyperventilating, her hands clawing at her chest, pulling away at the fabric. She felt like she was suffocating.

Nights usually weren’t that hard—it was the day when she flashed back the most. Each time the sun's rays shone down on her, when she heard noises in the market, worse yet when she saw people firebending…

Nights were easier, especially when she could relish in the cool air and look at Yue until she was tired. For whatever reason, after Sokka had told her the tragic tale of Yue’s sacrifice, Suki found herself turning to the moon for comfort—even when she was locked away in Boiling Rock and couldn’t see Her.

Tonight, though, something must have happened. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she had woken up in a panic, desperate to escape from… well, there wasn’t anywhere to escape from, but she needed to get out of the house immediately.

She’d never been claustrophobic, but it seemed like the walls were closing in on her, coming closer and closer and closer and—

“Suki?”

She flew to her feet faster than she thought possible. Standing in the doorway was Aang, rubbing his eyes… his suspiciously red eyes.

“Hey,” she croaked, brushing herself off if only to do something with hands so they would stop trembling. “Can’t sleep either?”

Aang shrugged, his heel bouncing restlessly against the ground. “Can I… can I join you?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied. “Let’s sit.” Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground this time so she was sitting on the edge of the porch, her toes brushing against the sand below.

Aang sat beside her, sniffling.

“Everything okay?” she asked after a minute. While Suki didn’t know Aang nearly as well as Katara or Sokka, she knew him well enough to know that this wasn’t normal. The poor boy always wore his heart on his sleeve, so it wasn’t that hard to notice that something was obviously wrong, but this silence and metaphorical stillness surrounding his demeanor was eerie.

Aang blinked, shoving his feet into the sand and flicking it around. “I don’t know.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I—I don’t know,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes at the sand and digging his heels into it with more force. “You okay?”

She paused. That wasn’t supposed to happen—she wasn’t prepared for that. Normally, she would’ve brushed it aside—that’s what she was supposed to do, being older than him and all but…

He looked so scared, so exhausted and vulnerable that Suki felt the urge to share, even if it was more watered down than to spare him more grief.

And maybe if she shared with him, he’d feel like he could share with her.

“No,” she chuckled, gripping the edges of the dock so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. “Not really.”

Aang peered at her curiously, tilting his head, as if he were expecting her to lie too. “Oh. What’s… what’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

Even when Aang was in the middle of stress and hurt, he still cared for everyone else. It made Suki’s heart break, knowing that the most gentle, caring, compassionate person she’d ever met felt like he had a duty to place everyone else’s happiness above his own.

“Not really, I just… I guess I’ve been having trouble, um…” she trailed off, taking a long, careful breath. “I haven’t been processing my time at, uh, at Boiling Rock well.”

Even saying the name of the place made her shoulders tense and her heart race at a frightening speed.

Simply thinking about the place sent her into an unnatural state of panic. Talking about it was a whole different level of coping that she wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared for.

In the span of five seconds, a myriad of emotions flashed across Aang’s face: confusion, realization, horror, and guilt.

Guilt—it pained Suki in so many ways, seeing Aang’s innocent (and it wasn’t fair that really, they weren’t so innocent anymore, not after all he’s seen) eyes wide and heavy, carrying not only the burden of the world and the burden of a war he had no part in starting, but also the weight of her own personal grief… it wasn’t fair.

(It never was for them, was it?)

Aang cleared his throat uncertainly. “Oh, I didn’t realize… I didn’t really think about how you felt after that… I was so excited that Sokka and Katara got to see their dad that I…”

Suki held back a wince.

It had stung, watching everyone launch themselves at Hakoda instead of her—even at Sokka and Zuko. And she couldn’t be mad, not really. Hakoda was their dad—of course they’d be worried sick about him, knowing he’d been captured and not having a single clue about where she was (aside from vague taunting from Azula).

It was the curse of being a nonbender, the one hardly anyone knew (and that wasn’t fair—not when Sokka and Hakoda were nonbenders too).

(but even that couldn’t push down the jealousy she felt towards Hakoda—he had been there for a day. She had been there for months. It wasn’t a fair comparison, but that didn’t matter when she was left alone with her thoughts.)

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice flat but sincere. “You weren’t even there—there was nothing you could’ve done.”

It was true. The life of one measly Kyoshi Warrior wasn’t worth risking for the sake of the entire world. That’s what it’s like, growing up in war, knowing that your life would never be as important or essential as the movement you were fighting for.

She peered at Aang who was scrunching his nose so intensely it had to be painful. If anyone knew that feeling, that feeling of worthlessness but expected usefulness, it was Aang.

“Hey, quite that,” she gently chastised, lightly placing her hand on his knee. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Aang wordlessly complied, which honestly worried her even more. Yes, she was glad that Aang ceased the physical anguish he was putting himself through by thinking so long and hard about something out of his hands, but she had expected some sort of fight—some protest or joke relating to how he wasn’t actually in pain.

Just resigned obedience.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply sitting side by side. Suki watched the night sky, staring at Yue, hoping to forge any kind of connection with her.

“Suki…” Aang finally said, glaring at the sand surrounding his feet. “Have you ever… have you ever thought about what would happen if you took off? Never look back?”

Yes.

She thought about that a lot, what would happen if she just stopped fighting. What would’ve happened if Aang and Sokka and Katara (and Zuko’s men attacking her village) hadn’t convinced her and her girls not to stay neutral in the war. Suki dreamed about being back on Kyoshi Island, swimming when the unagi was away and practicing applying her makeup, stitching the holes they made in their uniforms with the girls.

Life was easier back then.

“Sometimes,” she replied instead, side eyeing him. “Do you?”

“There are… sometimes, I think it’d be easier,” he admitted, voice small. “I’m tired. And I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

He shrugged choppily. “I’m the Avatar,” was all he said.

“Do you ever wish you weren’t?” Now it was Suki’s turn to ask the question that couldn’t really be answered. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to say, even without seeing the confliction flash across his face and the way he licked his lips.

“Sometimes,” he eventually said, repeating Suki’s ambiguous answer from minutes earlier.

“I can’t even imagine what being the Avatar is like,” Suki stated, and tentatively, she reached her hand out and gently grabbed ahold of Aang’s nearest one.

She held on loosely enough to allow him to pull away if he wanted, but it seemed like he clung desperately to the contact.

Aang’s hands were soft, which didn’t really surprise her since he was an airbender at heart and all, but she could feel small patches of calluses around his palms. His fingers were long and lean, probably longer than hers.

She tightened her grip and Aang gave her a little squeeze in response.

“I like having you around,” he spoke up after a minute or two of silence. “You’re really nice to everyone, even Zuko and he burned your village down. You’re really strong. I’m glad Sokka was able to find you.”

I am too, she thought.

Then, his words hit her: “you’re really strong”. It was obvious with the way he said it that he didn’t mean her physical strength—that was always her highest praise from everyone back home, even when she got out and travelled a bit more. It was always “you’re really strong for a girl” or “wow, you’re really strong”. Always her physical strength. She knew she was strong, she worked hard to get to where she is, but that isn’t what Aang meant, she could tell.

“Not really,” she confessed quietly. “Sometimes I see Zuko with his arm around Sokka and I just see red and want to get him as far away from Sokka as I can. Or I’ll see him spar with Toph and he’ll bend fire and I want to grab my fan and pin him to a tree. Whenever I’m around him, I smell my village burning to the ground. Whenever he bends, I see…” Suki trailed off, shuddering and using her free hand to swipe at the invisible tears filling her eyes. “I see the sun and it’s burning me and it’s grabbing me and it’s—”

Aang squeezed her hand, and the touch was enough to bring her back to the present away from the boiling island that haunted her—following her around as a ghost, always over her shoulder, always plaguing the back of her mind.

“It’s not Zuko.”

“You don’t have to forgive him yet,” Aang told her. “Forgiveness takes awhile sometimes.”

“I want to forgive him,” she said truthfully. “But I’m not sure if I can forgive his people. Or his sister. Especially not his sister. He is nice, infuriatingly nice. It feels like he shouldn’t be. That’s all I’ve ever known—the firebenders will burn you, the Fire Nation will take everything from you. Maybe he did once. But he isn’t anymore. I just don’t know how to change—if I want to change.”

Aang groaned, leaning forward so that his head was almost pressed against his knees (he still held Suki’s hand). “I wish it all made sense.”

“You can say that again.”

“No, Suki. I don’t want to fight the Fire Nation. Does that make me a bad person?” Aang’s voice broke, but he too did not cry.

Oh.

When Suki peered down at him, he looked so young—he was so young—and to think the entire world expected a twelve year old kid to willingly kill maybe thousands of people (or, thousands more. Sokka told her about what happened at the North Pole. Neither he nor Katara had the heart to tell Aang how many fatalities there were then) and then sit down and fix everything while also being the last Air Nomad alive was… well, when she put it like that, it was disgusting.

“I don’t think it does,” she said, and Aang lifted his head, his big grey eyes staring at his in something akin to disbelief. “You’re a kid.”

“I’m the Avatar—”

“You’re a kid, Aang.”

He shut his mouth, eyebrows scrunched while he pondered what she said. “Am I really?”

Those three words broke her. The helplessness, the exhaustion, the resignation Suki heard made her want to hide him away from the world, wrap him up in an embrace so big that he would be sheltered and protected.

“I think you are. Do you?”

“I don’t know. I want to be. I thought I was.”

He stopped, but Suki nodded at him to continue, if he wanted to.

So, he took a deep breath and continued: “Growing up, the Fire Nation was full of friends and familiar faces. Then, they all became blank. Then Zuko joined us and we danced and he became just as familiar as Kuzon once was. I went to school and saw the kids and they don’t know that they’re wrong. And now we’re here and we walk through town and everyone hates me—they hate the Avatar—but they smile at me when I pass and when I wave to them, they wave back. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well,” Suki began, “this sucks. And here I thought life wasn’t supposed to be this complicated until we were older.” Because she was still processing everything Aang had said and it’s so much and she didn’t know how he did this every day. She didn’t know what else to say, there was nothing that she could say to make things better.

Aang chuckled, it wasn’t as full of life as it usually was, but it was still something.

“Thank you for listening, Suki,” he told her, looking at her earnestly. “I know you don’t think you’re that strong, but you’re the strongest person I know.”

Suki snorted. Opening her mouth to disagree, but he beat her to it.

“No! You are! You’ve been through a lot of really bad things. You were in one of the worst places a person could possibly be, and even though sometimes you can’t look at Zuko without seeing the guy who ordered the destruction of your village or the prison guards that hurt you, but you never hurt him. You still talk to him and eat with him and… I don’t know. It makes me think that maybe something good can come out of all of this.”

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Suki sucked in a breath. “Well, if you really think that—”

“I do!”

She smiled. “Well, then I need you to know that you’re the strongest person I know. I haven’t been around that much, but Sokka tells me stories. He’s told me about how you always make friends with your enemies, or you try to. About how you believed in Toph when no one else did. How you risked the Avatar State for Katara… I don’t know anyone else who could ever do what you do. I’m proud of you.”

That did it.

Aang burst into tears, hunching over as his body wracked with sobs.

Suki didn’t let go of his hand, but she used her unoccupied one to pull Aang into the hug that she longed to give him, holding him tightly and securely.

His free arm found its way around her back, and suddenly Suki felt a couple of tears escape her too. She was never a loud crier, something she was thankful for, but she didn’t pull away when one of the few that fell hit Aang’s skin and for once, she wasn’t scared that he’d notice or hear.

The two of them sat there for what felt like hours, his head buried in her neck and her cheek resting on the top of his head. They clung to each other, wordless and messy and vulnerable and real.

They held each other until Aang’s sobs died down, his voice rough and cracked.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Then, Aang coughed, a harsh and angry sound.

As much as she didn’t want to, Suki let go of Aang (and his hand) and stood up. “I’m going to get you some water,” she told him before he could worry that he did something wrong. “You sound like you need it.”

Even still, as she started to walk away, Aang’s eyes widened and reached out, grasping her wrist so tightly that his nails were digging into her skin. “Suki…” he began, voice cracking. “I—“ he cut himself off, lips quivering.

Gently, Suki pried his hand off of her. “I’m not leaving, okay?” she whispered, and she meant it.

She felt Aang nod against her chest and she pulled away.

“Come back soon.” He spoke delicately, carefully, but that didn’t prevent the grief from seeping through his words.

Suki bent over enough to give Aang a quick kiss on the top of his head, before crouching so she was at eye level. “I always will.”

When Zuko woke up the next morning, he walked outside to meditate and found Aang and Suki coiled together on the porch, her hand draped protectively over his chest and his hand intertwined with hers.

He woke Sokka up, and the two sat with them, waiting for them to wake up.

----------

petition to let friends platonically kiss each other’s heads for comfort 2k21

but uhhh if you know me, you know i love the suki and aang friendship potential. so, may i present some platonic suki and aang:)

wow this got so long and so angsty i am so sorry haha!

also sorry it took so long, i uhhh got really busy and didn't have reliable service for a couple weeks! i am working on all of the other prompts as well!

101 ways to say i love you prompts

#foliehoe #corey writes:) #corey rambles:) #brooke this got so much angstier than i intended i am so sorry iuyfgiog #and so much longer too i-- #i was just going to write like less than 100k and um. this happened #which shouldn't surprise me because i think the zukka one i did first was over 2k words too lol #anyways as always thank you for indulging me #aang #suki #aang and suki friendship supremacy #you can pry that from me #tw death #(just mentions of death! no actual death happens in this!) #i was going to try and use this for gen week too but i couldn't think of what day to use haha #suki has ptsd #i stand by that #tw ptsd

[santigarcia]

we’ll meet again

a ww2 au santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader x frankie ‘catfish’ morales fic~

rating: m for smut; threesomes, some war violence

word count: 3.5k

summary: You’re in a relationship w/ Santi and Frankie and they both are drafted for the war; you anxiously await their return home.

a/n: ive been wanting to do a santi x reader x frankie fic for a while now, but i wanted to do something different w/ mine! just wasn’t sure how! until i got this ww2 idea~ so i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated

thank you @huliabitch​ for this aesthetic!!!!!

xx

We’ll Meet Again

Santiago Garcia whistles a tune while he checks the mail. He’s on his lunch break from work and he decided to come home to see you. The mail is downstairs in the lobby of your apartment building. He fishes his keys out of his pocket still whistling the tune.

Frankie Morales is right behind him; he had the same idea to come see you at lunch during his break.

“You wanna get mine out too?” Frankie asks, Santi nods not turning his head. He knows Frankie’s voice.

He knows a lot more about Frankie than the average person should. These two men are in a relationship with you. The three of you share an apartment.

You’re up there waiting for them to come home right now, and both men have a spring in their step. Until Santi pulls out two identical envelopes from the mailbox. He doesn’t have to open it to know what it is. He hands Frankie his letter. Santi stands still, while Frankie tears open the letter, his eyes scanning the document, all the color leaving his face.

“We can’t tell her,” Santi holds his hand up, he’s calm as he tries to process this.

“She sure as fuck is going to notice that we’re gone! How are we going to keep this a secret?”

“No man, I mean we don’t tell her we got drafted yeah? We tell her we volunteered.”

“How is that better? That we chose to leave her?”

“Fuck I don’t know,” Santi sighs and brushes his hand over his face.

The light clack of heels on the floor turns their heads, and they are greeted with your smiling face. Your hair perfectly curled and red lipstick swept across your lips. Normally their tongues would wag at the sight of you, but there’s too much fear and uncertainty running through their minds.

“Hi boys,” you greet them with a smile, unaware of what news they hold in their hands and is just waiting on the tips of their tongues.

“Hey honey,” Santi greets you with a kiss to your cheek. He’s better at acting than Frankie.

When you turn to Frankie, you see the worried look on his brow, and the letter in his hand.

“What’s that?” you ask him, your voice catching in your throat. You know what it is, but you don’t want it to be true.

“Baby,” Santi brings the attention back to him. He takes a deep breath about to tell you when Frankie cuts him off.

“We volunteered.”

Santi gives him a look of surprise that he said it, but you don’t see it. You feel sick to your stomach.

“Both of you?” you reach for Santi to steady yourself; you feel dizzy. Frankie reaches for you to keep you upright. “When? When do you leave?”

“Next week.”

Tears begin to fall down your cheeks. You aren’t angry, you’re scared. The loves of your life are leaving for war. There’s a high chance they won’t come home.

You try to soak up as much of them as you can in the next week, but there’s an ever-present darkness over your lives. The next few days fly by, even amidst the fear and anxiety that fills your little apartment. Before you know it, you’re at the station saying goodbye to your boys.

Soldiers in uniform are everywhere, and many others like you are saying goodbye to their sweethearts, their sons, or their fathers. There’s a bitter feeling in the air, tears are on many faces.

“At least the last image I see of you boys is how handsome you both look in your uniforms,” you sniffle, trying to make light of this situation. You smooth your hand over Santi’s broad shoulders and straighten Frankie’s crooked tie.

The train whistle blows it’s the last call to board. They have to go.

“Santi,” you reach for him. His gorgeous eyes are sad, but his eyebrows lift when you call his name. Your hand rests on his chest over his heart. “Don’t be too reckless. Keep an eye on Frankie.” Your other hand cups his face, stubble already growing in from his shave this morning. You move your hand up to touch at his hair just above his ear, his uniform hat hiding his greying curls from you. “You’re so smart and brave, use that to your advantage. But stay out of trouble.” You kiss his cheek, then he kisses your forehead when he sees the tears in your eyes.

“Frankie,” you turn to him, your hand still on Santi’s chest. “Be brave. It’s ok to be scared. Don’t let Santi be stupid.” His lips quirk up in a smile, and you feel Santi’s chest when he chuckles. You touch Frankie’s face and kiss his cheek too. “Don’t shave off that mustache. Let your kindness shine through during this. You’re so much stronger than you know.” You let out a sob and he wraps you up tight in a hug. “I don’t want you to go,” you tell him.

Santi’s hand comes to rest on your back, and he gently pulls you from Frankie to hug you one last time.

When you look at their faces you smile through your tears seeing you left a lipstick stain on each of their cheeks. You reach in your purse for your handkerchief, but Santi grabs your wrist, “leave it.” He says with a soft wink.

They each give you one more kiss then they turn and board the train.

That first night is one of the worst. For so long you’ve had not one, but two men in your bed keeping you safe, keeping you company. Now this bed feels so empty and cold.

It isn’t easy for them either. It’s not until they sit down on the train that the gravity of the situation hits them both. It’s here where they meet with two brothers, Will and Benny. All these men here are in the same situation, leaving home behind to go to war.

Basic training is up first for the boys, and Frankie struggles. He throws up on the first day, Santi claps him on the back telling him it’ll be alright – and he doesn’t just mean his stomach.

Santi intends to keep his promise to look out for Frankie, he’s family.

The boys write to you as much as they can, even when they’re shipped out overseas. Their letters serve as a comfort for all three of you. For you it’s knowing they’re alive, for them it’s a chance to think about something else, something better – you.

Santi is formal in his letters, precise. His handwriting is neat. His words are comforting, romantic, and full of sexual things he’d like to do with you when he gets home. He tells you about what’s going on as much as he can and tells you funny stories about Frankie, he hopes will make you laugh. He tells you about how he and Frankie have nicknames now. How he’s Pope and Frankie is Catfish. He tells you that he looks at the photo you gave him often, wishing to hold you again.

You like to imagine what Santi looks like when he writes. Maybe he’s in a tank top, arms dirty from the mud. A cigarette hanging loose between his lips. It’s much better to think of the alternative, which in reality Santi is in the mud, but he’s cold. Writing to you from a dim flashlight, hearing the sounds of shells exploding in the distance.

Frankie writes the way he talks, it’s simple and sweet and direct. His handwriting is messy, and his letters bring you a different kind of comfort. He tells you that he’s got his eye on Santi. That he too looks at the picture you gave him. How much he misses your warmth, your laugh. How he wants to take you out dancing when he gets home. You can tell by the way he writes that he’s sad. But there’s a change in him too that brings you comfort; he’s finding his courage.

What he doesn’t tell you is the ridicule they’ve gotten for “fuckin’ the same broad.” When everyone was showing off photos of their girls, someone snatched your picture out of Frankie’s hand. In Frankie’s photo, you’re smiling bright – a smile just for him. In Santi’s photo, you’re blowing a kiss to him.

Frankie almost punched the guy for talking about how sweet your pussy must be for two men to want it. Santi had to bite his tongue as he pulled Frankie back.

When you write to the boys, you tell them what you’ve been up to. How holidays and birthdays are terrible without them home. How you are helping out with the cause in whatever way you can.

What you don’t tell them is the nightmares that plague your mind. Graphic depictions of their deaths. It’s hard enough to imagine one, but often times both of them die in your dreams.

The nightmares only seem to worsen when the letters become less and less frequent. You resort to other things to keep their memory alive while they’re gone.

The scent of Santi’s aftershave becomes a comfort. You hug Frankie’s pillow at night, so you don’t feel so lonely.

Your boys have no such comfort other than a small fading photograph and your letters sprayed with your perfume. Their lives are a living nightmare, and it continues to grow more hellish.

The worst of their nights at war is when boys reach a small German village, the enemy hiding in the homes of innocent villagers. It’s dark, all the lights in the town are out. The moon overhead, and the lights the soldiers have with them are the only way they can see.

Santi volunteers to take first watch.

During his walk of the perimeter, he peers around a corner and a grenade explodes. He wasn’t close enough for major shrapnel to hit him, but the force of the explosion sends his body hurling backwards. He slams into a brick wall like a ragdoll, his knees hit first. He falls to the ground hard, and it is chaos now around him, but he can barely hear it because his ears are ringing.

Frankie searches frantically for Santi, and his commanding officer Redfly, orders Frankie to stay at his position. But he doesn’t listen, he made a promise to you.

“Why don’t you just leave him eh Frankie?” he hears one of the other soldiers tease him. “The competition’s been wiped out!”

Frankie keeps looking, and finally in the early dawn he finds Santi in a heap in the mud and blood.

“The hell are you doing?” Santi groans when Frankie gets to him. Gunfire and explosions light up the morning sky around them. “Leave me man. My legs are shot.”

“I won’t leave you here,” Frankie shakes his head and leans down to pick up Santi.

“Fuck!” is all Santi can say as Frankie moves his body. “Wait, just wait. I can’t walk.”

“No shit,” Frankie almost laughs.

“I promised to keep you safe, now get out of here.”

“And I promised her I’d keep you from being stupid.”

“How’s that workin’ out for you?” Santi laughs and splutters up some blood.

Frankie leans down again and hurls Santi’s body over his shoulder. Fear and adrenaline are his only explanations for how he managed to do this.

The next thing Santi remembers is waking up in a medical tent. Both of his legs are bandaged and elevated, and he feels miserable. His ears still have a dull ringing in them. He has an awful headache, but at least his legs don’t hurt, and he can in fact feel his toes. He misses you. He wants you here. Fuck. He wants to hold your hand. For you to comb your fingers through his hair to help him calm down.

He takes in his surroundings. Men are in beds everywhere. Nurses are walking all about, checking on everyone. His best guess is he’s in the recovering area, but he can still hear muffled screams in a nearby tent of extreme trauma cases.

He feels sick to his stomach, images of war coming back to him. It’s then he sees Frankie is sitting next to him, his arm in a sling.

“What happened to you?” Santi rasps, his voice gone from not using it in a few days.

“I carried some idiot off the battlefield over my shoulder. Tore it to shit.”

“She’s not gonna be happy about this,” Santi laughs. He can only imagine your reaction, but he would love for you to fuss over him.

“We’re fuckin’ alive man. She’ll take us however we are.”

And Frankie’s exactly right. He stays with Santi until he heals. And soon after that – the war is over.

They get to come home.

You cry when you hear the news on the radio. So many lives lost, you mourn with those around you who won’t have their soldier coming home.

You’d gotten one letter from Frankie in the last few months, and one only one came you feared the worst. But in his letter, he details how Santi was hurt and doing well in recovery. You felt sick reading this letter, to be so far from those who you love when they are hurting is a pain you never experienced to this degree.

And you can’t even begin to imagine what they went through. It tugs at your heart.

The entire time they were gone, every time your phone rang – it filled you with dread. That this would be the phone call alerting you of one or both of their deaths. You never got that phone call.

But today, you’d get to hear their voices on the other end of your phone.

“Hello?” you answer, and you hear both of their voices pouring in through the phone. From what you can hear over their excited babble and your crying, they are in New York. They’re boarding a train and will be home to you tonight.

Santi’s holding the mouthpiece while he and Frankie talk into it. You wish you could see them.

“We love you, honey. We’ll be home before you know it!”

They don’t talk long because they have to board and the lines for the phones are packed full of people trying to get in contact with their families.

You hold your own phone mouthpiece to your chest after they hang up. You’re setting it on the hook to hang up when you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you move towards it to answer.

When you open the door, there they stand. Frankie and Santi. Shoulder to shoulder in their uniforms. Their bags at their feet. Santi slowly takes off his hat when he sees you, Frankie’s chest tightens. Your hand flies to your mouth and tears fall from your eyes as you leap into their arms. Your arms wrap around their necks and you cry there in the hallway, not caring who can hear you.

They both lean in to press kisses to your cheeks. Then Santi goes for your neck while Frankie whispers affections of love in your ear. You kiss both of them on the lips, smearing your lipstick all over their faces.

Even when they set you down and you pull them into your apartment by their ties, you still have tears falling down your cheeks.

In the soft light of the apartment, you take a good look at them. It’s the first time you’ve seen their faces in four years.

They look older. There’s a look in their eyes that makes you sad, it’s hidden but you know it’s what they’ve seen that haunts them. An unspeakable weight they carry. Santi’s hair has more grey than black. Frankie still has the mustache, and he stands taller.

“I wish I had known you sneaky boys were going to be home so fast! I would have made your favorites!”

“Baby, you’re our favorite,” Santi winks as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, shrugging his bag onto the floor.

Frankie quietly walks over to the record player and puts on a slow song. He takes off his hat and smooths down his hair, only to put it back on again. He reaches for your hand and the two of you start to sway to the music.

Santi has a soft smile on his face. Just happy to see you again. Happy to be home. It’s strange to be there all together again. How are you supposed to go on now? Do you all just pick up where you left off? There’s so much that’s been seen, pain that’s been felt.

All that you know right now is how good it feels to lean your head on Frankie’s chest. Frankie guides you over to Santi, and you reach out to weave your fingers into his hair.

“You going to dance Santi?” you lean down to kiss him.

“In a minute, he deserves this one.”

You look up at Frankie as you continue to sway.

“What does he mean by that?” you ask.

“Did he not tell you?” Santi lights a cigarette and places it between his lips, pocketing the lighter. “He saved my life. Threw me over his shoulder when I couldn’t walk.”

He sugarcoats the story, it’s still to raw to talk about.

“Why didn’t you tell me in your letter?”

“I was just keeping a promise,” Frankie smiles and leans down to kiss you.

“I’ll dance with you baby, but back in that bedroom.”

“Then what are we waiting for hmm?” you reach for Santi and tug Frankie back towards your shared bedroom.

There’s heat in their eyes, and an ache you’ve all been needing to fulfill. You take your time to undress each one. You want to touch him just to make sure he’s real.

While you undress Santi, his hooded eyes are full of delight. He’s been waiting for this for four years. There’s a smirk playing on his lips as you fumble with buttons out of excitement. You slap his hand away when he tries to help, only coaxing a chuckle from his lips.

You strip him down until he’s naked, only thing on him are his dog togs dangling around his neck. He goes to lay down on the bed while you work on Frankie.

His eyes are you on, but there’s a different kind of heat in his eyes. He shudders when your hand touches the skin on his chest. He groans into your lips when you pull him in for a kiss.

“Lay down, sweetheart,” Frankie rasps. You do as he tells you and you lay next to Santi.

Parting your legs, Frankie dives in to mouth at your heat, his mustache tickling your sensitive flesh. Santi takes this opportunity to angle himself so he can mouth at your breasts and neck and your lips. His hand on your forehead groaning into your lips and on your chest.

Frankie moves his tongue over your lazily, even after you’ve reached your high, he still works his tongue over you, enjoying the taste he’s been starved of.

When he’s through, Santi rolls back over and you crawl into his lap. You’re slick and ready for him, so you sink down on him. You both shudder to feel this, the warmth you’ve both been missing. Frankie stands near you, and you reach for him – grasping his hard length in your hand you stroke him lazily while Santi thrusts up in you. Frankie slides his hand down to rub at your sex.

Feeling both of them after going without for so long has you coming hard on Santi. You shake and Santi steadies you with his hands on your hips.

Your hand is still on Frankie, and he lets go before he meant to. He wanted to be inside you, but feeling you was too much for him and he’s coming all over your side.

A couple more thrusts from Santi and he’s tossing his head back coming hard in you. You lean forward to kiss his chin and capture his groan. Then you sit back up and lean up to kiss Frankie’s lips, his hand coming to cradle your jaw.

You clench once around Santi while he softens up, and he groans again. You giggle to tease him so, and he whispers, “that’s my girl.”

You spend the rest of the night like that. Naked and laying in between your two lovers. You kiss them as deeply as you can. Listening to them tell stories, and they listen to yours. Catching up on the four years missed, it feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s strange to feel whole now that they are home, but there’s something missing too. They are not the same men as before, but you’re not the same woman. The one thing that hasn’t changed after all this time – through war and sorrow is your love for each other.

 xx

tagging: @agentpike​, @bisexual-space-slut​, @blancatobarxoxo​, @cosmicmando​, @damndamer0n​, @darksideofclarke​, @feelmyroarrrr​, @ghosttofcalum​, @goldhoran​, @himbopoes​, @huliabitch​, @ironman-iam​, @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​, @itspdameronthings, @ivars-heathen, @javihoney​, @knittingqueen13​, @limenlimon​, @literatureandqueen​, @maciiiofficial​, @magicsuperheroes​, @mandoplease​, @marvel-dameron​, @melanietrancy​, @mitchi-c​, @mylifeliterally​, @pajamasecrets​, @pascalplease​, @pascalz, @perropascal​, @phoenixhalliwell​, @poesflygirl​, @poeticandors​, @punkpascal​, @rewritingstars​, @savagethewhale​, @saved-fanfiction​, @sgtbookybarnes​, @shadow-assassin-blix​, @stanningtoomanypeopleatonce​, @stardust-galaxies​, @the-bird-suit​, @thehippiequilter​, @thepjofanqueen​, @this-cat-is-dea​, @tintinwrites​, @triggerhappyflygirl​, @waatermelon-sugaar​, @wakalas​, @xremember-me-notx​, @xxidontwikeitxx​

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader x frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #my writing #I HOPE YALL LIKE THISSSS

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

    Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

    Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

    But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

    That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

    “Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

    The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

    “You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

    You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

    Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

    “Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

    “Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

    “I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

    “Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

    “Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

    You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

    Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

    “It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

    “Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

    “Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

    “Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

    “And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

    Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

    Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

    “No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

    You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

    And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

    You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

    Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

    “I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

    “Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

    Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

    For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

    Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

    “There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

    “Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

    “We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

    “And that is exactly why I have to go.”

    Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

    “But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

    “Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

    “What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

    Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

    “They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

    “Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

    “But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

    “By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

    If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

    You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

    Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

    “Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

    A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

    “Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

    “Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

    “And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

    “Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

    She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

    “I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

    “I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

    “Still—”

    “Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

    “And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

    “I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

    An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

    “Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

    Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

    “They are people. People with families.”

    “People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

    After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

    “If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

    With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

    On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

    A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

    Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

    “You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

    “But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

    “I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

    “That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

    “Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

    “Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

    “I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

    Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

    Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

    “Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

    “Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

    Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

    “I want to help too.”

    Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

    “Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

    Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

    “Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

    “I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

    Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

    You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

    “Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

    “Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

    The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

    Wake up.

    You have to wake up.

    This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

    Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

    Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

    All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

    It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

    What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

    The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

    A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

    “Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

    The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

    “You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

    His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

    “You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

    “There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

    You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

    The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

    “Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

    The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

    “The end? My end?”

    “No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

    “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

    “It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

    “A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

    “I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

    “Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

    “You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

    “So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

    The boy smiles.

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #writing #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #fe #fe3h #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe3h dimitri #fire emblem three houes dimitri #dimitri #dimitri x reader #reader insert #fire emblem three houses dimitri x reader #fe3h dimitri x reader #claude von riegan #fe3h claude #fire emblem three houses claude #claude #claude x reader #fe3h claude x reader #fire emblem three houses claude x reader #edelgard von hresvelg #fe3h edelgard #fire emblem three houses edelgard #edelgard #edelgard x reader #fire emblem three houses edelgard x reader #fe3h edelgard x reader

[rachey899]

Sick Day (GT)

Just a small short story featuring cute fairy/human fluffiness. Enjoy :)

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

It was ten AM and Shylah was still asleep, Michael had left her alone on his pillow earlier in the morning after his failed attempts to rouse her, she was clearly exhausted and so decided to let her get her rest.

Michael had kept himself busy, tidied up their small apartment, caught up a bit on work and was just getting ready to sit down and do some painting with his mug of coffee in hand when he heard it.

If his ears weren’t already adapt to hearing the sounds of small beings it would have gone unheard, but he had gotten used to listening for the sounds of the Fae folk. A tiny cough and harsh snorts could be heard coming from his bedroom. Carefully he walked towards his room and cracked the door open to peak in at his diminutive wife sitting up on his pillow and wiping her red nose on the sleeve of her nightshirt.

She looked up at him as he quietly approached the bed and sat down in front of her. Normally the slight rocking of the immense man sitting on the bed wouldn’t affect her too much but this time she rocked uneasily and shook the dizziness from her eyes.

“Uhh I feel like complete shit” she murmured rubbing her temples before wiping more snot onto her shirt.

Without hesitation he scooped her up in his hands and brought her up to his face, he could see clearly now just how pale she was, her nose was red and her eyes bloodshot, even her gossamer wings laying still against her back seemed a little dim this morning.

“You definitely don’t look very well, are you sure your gonna be able to make it to the meeting tonight?” he asked her, voice full of concern.

“I can’t miss, we are making final plans for the winter solstice tonight, the Fae committee will be furious if I miss it” she finished off with a strong sneeze that seemed to take the wind out of her and she fell back in his palm. She buried her face in her hands and sniffled.

“I think they can either postpone or make plans without you this year, you need rest babe if you want to get better” Michael lowered her level with his chest and held her securely there as he began to walk towards the door, ready to set her up with Panadol, a hot cup of tea and lots of tissues.

“I’m fine *achoo* it’s only a couple of hours *achoo* I’ll be fine” he watched as she continued to sneeze and look bleary eyed up at him as he continued towards the kitchen.

“Your calling in sick, the elders wont appreciate you spreading your illness” the kettle was on and he raised her back up to eye level, she glared at him, crossed her arms and sniffled.

“I’m fine” she grumbled, she eyed the kettle in distaste “And I can make my own tea thank you very much” not a second later she was on her feet, she shook the dizziness from her eyes once more from standing up too fast and then leaped from his hands.

Her wings weakly flapped to keep her in the air but she was loosing altitude, she breathed heavily as she slowly descended to the floor landing on her hands and knees with tears leaking from her eyes. Shylah was always independent from the moment they met, she refused to let him simply take care of her, she could look after herself. Now, she couldn’t even fly, the essence of her independence, gone.

She felt the ground beneath her tremble as her human husband approached her, the shifting of immense fabric told her he was crouching down behind her.

She felt a warm pressure on her shoulder where his finger had reached for her to offer comfort in her clearly distraught state. A second later the rest of his fingers gently wrapped around her body and lifted her up to his chest where he held her there in a hug.

“Everyone deserves a break sometimes babe” he whispered into her hair “today, just this once, can you let me take care of you, like a husband should” the love and concern in his deep voice soothed her like a balm and she nuzzled deeper into his chest.

“Okay” she said softly, she looked up into his deep green eyes whirling with worry “just this once” she conceded.

The relief on his face was evident, carefully he stood up, he picked up her cup of lemon tea between a finger and thumb and headed for the couch. Once he got comfy, he set his wife down in his lap, she leaned back against his stomach as he held a hand over her like a blanket. He then set down a ripped-up bit of tissue beside her and handed her the teacup.

After several hours of watching particularly girly romcoms he looked down at Shylah to see she had fallen asleep curled up in his lap and held snuggly against his abdomen, he smiled softly down at her. As gently as he could, he trailed a finger through her hair, down her spine and gently over her wings, she sighed contentedly.

Michael was so engrossed by the serenity of his wife that he didn’t even notice a Fae Official had flown through the window and was currently standing on the arm of the couch looking at the scene with mild interest.

“So this is the reason Shylah missed the Winter Solstice meeting, she was getting petted by her human husband” Michael flinched in surprise at the unexpected visitor and turned to see Jonah standing right beside him on the arm of the couch with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked deadly serious especially in his official uniform, he waited patiently for the giant to answer.

“God, Jonah, you scared me” Michael said to which Jonah smirked in amusement, scaring a being so much larger than yourself was not usually this easy.

“Shylah is sick, she’s so weak she can barely fly” Michael explained, Jonah looked down at his sleeping friend in Michael’s lap with concern.

Jonah sighed unable to hold up the angry official façade especially with one of his closest friends so unwell “the elders will understand, this is the first time she’s ever missed a meeting” he flew down and landed a few feet away from Shylah on Michaels knee. He had been around the human long enough to know he could be trusted.

“It looks like your taking good care of her” he said after a moment, he then looked up at Michael “Um, I’ll be sure to let the elders know of her current condition. If she is well enough tomorrow tell her to come to the village, they will want to discuss the outcome of the meeting with her” and with that Jonah gave a small nod and took to the sky headed for the open window.

Michael gave a small sigh and snuggled down further into the cushions being careful not to jostle Shylah too much, he then pressed play on another random movie and let his own eyes flutter closed, content to enjoy the peacefulness around him.

#Gt #Giantiny #fairy #human #fluff #gtfluff

[amphxtrite]

draco malfoy x fem!reader

part two: a wordless promise

warning: Angst

summary: song fic loosely based off Isak Danielson’s song Broken

A/N: This is my first time writing a fic so sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes, hope you like it :)

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

Do you need, do you need someone?

Are you scared of what's to come?

If you leave then who will the next one be?

Will he do the same or will he let you see

“y/n, I’m breaking up with you.”

your heart stops, you can feel the tears welling in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall just yet.

“Draco.” you start, “w-what did I do wrong?” you curse yourself for stuttering, but the words just won’t come out properly.

“I- I don’t think this is working y/n. We can’t be together when you’re a filthy, useless half-blood.” he spits

Draco’s face remains stoic and cruel, but on the inside he’s breaking down. He doesn’t want to do this, but he won’t let Voldemort or any of his vile followers put a target in your back for being in a relationship with him. He won’t put you in that kind of danger.

“you-you don’t mean that. Draco.” you cry out pain written on all your features. “I love you, you said you didn’t care I was a half-blood! I need you please, please don’t break up with me.” your voice is reduced to a gentle plea. The tears have flown free now, cascading down your face, you can taste the salty tears, but it’s the least of your worries right now.

Draco’s heart tightens in his chest, you were right, he doesn’t care your blood status, he never really did, half of him wants to take it all back, tell you the truth and rush back into your arms. His other half knows this isn’t a possibility, that you’d die staying with him. You didn’t deserve a man like him.

“people change.” he states plainly, before turning on his heel and walking away from you as fast as he could. He can feel his own tears begin to well in his eyes, but doesn’t let them fall, he breaks into a run when he knows you can’t see him and rushes into the castle and into an empty classroom. He breaks down. Let’s all the feelings of regret and sadness take over him as he sits, rocking himself back and forth, silently cursing himself for this.

When Draco is no longer in your field of sight you fall to your knees in the wet grass beneath you.

“this, this isn’t real.” you murmur to yourself.

No, you’re going to wake up any second now and your love will be there with his arms wide open to hold you, tell you it was just a nightmare, that he would never leave your side.

you needed him, he was your light in the darkness, your reminder that you were safe and loved, the one who would hold you close when you were scared, hold your hand while you walked to classes, and make sure you were eating when you were studying too hard.

You never woke up from this nightmare, no, this was real. Draco was really gone... your love had left you.

That you don't have to hurt, you don't have to hurt anymore?

With a little time, take a look and find what you're searching for

It had been exactly a month since the day Draco had broken up with you.

It was hard to eat, hard to sleep, or focus on your studies and you became a shell of the person you used to be.

Your h/c hair no longer shined

Your skin seemed to sag and you had grown accustomed to the dark circles under your eyes.

Your uniform seemed to hang very loosely against your form.

It was very obvious to everyone around you that you were not taking the break up well. And your best friend Hermione was trying her best to try and help you.

“c’mon y/n, just take a few bites of your sandwich you haven’t eaten a full meal in weeks!” she whisper shouts to you at dinner.

you simply nod your head at her comment and nibble a bit at your corner of the bread.

Hermione was worried. She knew that you loved Draco with your entire being and that not being with him was taking a toll on you. She wanted her happy best friend back, but she had no idea what to do. Draco seemed to always be avoiding you and Hermione almost never saw him. It had gotten to the point Harry hadn’t been approached by Malfoy’s snide comments once in the month he had broken up with you. She decided to take a different approach to try and get you happy again.

“hey y/n, how about we go to hogsmeade tomorrow, for a butterbear and some sweets from Honeydukes, hm?” she suggests with a smile, she knew her best friends weakness for sweets and decided it would be a good to use to her advantage to help.

“sounds good ‘mione.” you say with a small smile. You were thankful for your best friend’s attempt at making you smile, but really you wanted to just climb into you comfy-bed and wallow in your sadness.

“Good! I’ve got to go, but i’ll meet you tomorrow in the courtyard okay?”

“see you then.” you respond, taking a couple more sips of your pumpkin juice before leaving.

You head back to the y/h common room and head up to the girls dormitory thinking, maybe this was a good thing going out again, having fun. This could be your first step forwards to trying to recover, but a little voice at the back of your head told you that wasn’t going to happen.

You are broken on the floor

And you're crying, crying

He has done this all before

But you're lying, lying

To yourself, that he'll find help

That he will change to someone else

But you're broken on the floor

Still, asking him for more

Draco had tried to break up with you once before, like this time he was scared that you being with him would only hurt you and he couldn’t let that happen, it scared him greatly. He tried to bring himself to do it but only a few seconds after the words tumbled out of his mouth, he started to tear up at the look of hurt on your face and apologized, taking it back and gathering you into his arms, whispering i love you’s in your ear and drying the tears that had just begun to flow.

That was the dream that clouded your mind as you woke up the next morning, Draco apologizing to you for almost leaving, and pulling you in to him, muttering in between kisses that he was sorry and didn’t mean it. you reached up and brushed your lips with your fingers, it was like you could still feel his soft lips on yours, the thought brought even more pain to your heart and you quickly brushed away the thought. You opted for a quick shower before getting ready to hang out with Hermione. Letting the hot water run over your body, you focus on the feeling of how nice the water feels, simply standing there, you realize how long it’s been since you really focused on yourself and your needs. Quickly turning off the shower, and toweling down, you grab your outfit and get dressed, you put on your black track pants, a grey sweatshirt and pull on your coat and a scarf. Slipping your shoes on, you grab your bag and leave.

“Hey ‘Mione!” you shout at the curly haired girl as you enter the courtyard.

“y/n/n!” she runs over to you and wraps you in a hug. She’s glad some of the colour has returned to your skin and your smile is a bit wider.

The duo is soon greeted by Ron and Harry as they make their way to Filch, the boys are cracking jokes and talking about quidditch and when their forms are checked, they’re off.

As you walk through the beautiful village you can’t help but think back to the times Draco and you would come to spend time together, drinking butterbeer and him spoiling you with sweets at Honeydukes, a small smile plays at your lips.

Hermione starts to drag you towards a shop as you finally snap out of your thoughts.

“let’s go y/n! Ronald and Harry are already in the shop!” she laughs as the two of you. rush into the familiar store. You stop for a second to breathe in the intoxicating smell of chocolate and candy, and then you’re rushing around the shops, the golden trio by your side.

“Merlin, there’s so many options.” you breathe out.

“You can’t go wrong with the classics though.” smiles Ron as he throws you a chocolate frog.

“A man of good taste.” you agree and continue to look around to find something new to try.

As you reach out for some kind of taffy that will change your voice, a familiar glint of platinum blonde hair catches your eye, you turn to see the familiar slytherin boy grabbing a couple chocolate frogs, looking lost. You must have been imagining it but Draco looked as bad as you did. His blonde hair was drooping in front of his eyes, his skin was almost a sickly yellow colour, and you could see the dark circles that hung under his beautiful eyes.

You don't have to hurt anymore

your lips turn up at the sight of his eyes lighting up at the chocolate, your thoughts flash black to a day long ago, lying in his 4-poster bed.

“Draco that’s your fourth chocolate frog, is it healthy to be eating that much?” you questioned with a laugh.

He looked at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Well, I guess not love, but how can you resist the perfect chocolate taste.” He says slightly airily. Snuggling you closer to his chest.

“I guess you have a point darling.” you sigh, perfectly comfortable in his arms.

“You know what love? I think I love chocolate almost as much as I love you.”

you put your hand up to your chest in mock offence.

“I said almost!” he laughs wrapping his arms around he securely and kissing the top of your head.

Before Draco could catch you staring, you quickly grab the taffy and meet up with the rest of the gang.

Little did you know Draco had also seen you and while you were daydreaming he glanced at you and felt his heart break when he knew you weren’t there with him.

Will you leave or will you carry on?

Is your love from before still strong?

If you leave, will you keep the memory

That made the night so long, that cut so deep?

Paying for your sweets and heading back out into the crisp fall air you let your thoughts run wild. You missed Draco so much, you knew this feeling wouldn’t leave you, you’d be in love with the slytherin till your last breath. Though as much as you loved him, you couldn’t help but wonder, what would your life look like if you did move on? Would you meet someone else? fall in love with them? The thought felt foreign to you and you pushed it away.

The Golden Trio began to head over to The Three Broomsticks for some butter beers, but you decided to excuse yourself and head back to the castle.

“Are you sure y/n?” Hermione questioned.

“Yeah,” continued Harry, “it’ll be fun, besides it still to early to head back”

You smiled at the group.

“I’m sure, you guys go ahead i’ll see you back at the castle.”

Hermione seemed hesitant, she didn’t want to just leave her best friend alone, but the look in y/n’s eyes made her realize she just wanted some time for herself so she nodded her head and followed the boys into the pub.

grateful for your three friend’s understanding, you start to take the trek back to the castle.

You don't have to hurt, you don't have to hurt anymore

With a little time, take a look and find what you're searching for

breathing in the evening air you continue to think to yourself.

Draco was your one, your person, the only man for you. You could never see yourself give that love up. You were deeply head over heels for the blonde boy, even if the words he spoke cut deep.

The words “filthy half-blood” seemed to cut into your soul, making your stomach feel weak. No matter how hard you tried to push those words out of your memories by remembering all the good times, your head seems to give you a harsh reality check.

You didn’t even realize the tears on your cheeks until you felt a gentle wind blow against your face. Deep inside you was the hope that Draco hadn’t meant what he said and that there was a good reason for trying to distance himself from you.

You held onto that hope, held it tightly in your arms, the hope that one day your prince would return to you, when he was ready, when the stars would align and show him that the love he had tried to leave behind was still there waiting, with their arms wide and a smile on their face.

#draco x reader #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy #angst #draco x y/n #hermione granger #draco imagine #draco angst #imagines #fanfic #harry potter

[blackvelvetwriteson]

Hi, could I get a one shot fem! black reader x Kakashi, please? (can be nsfw or fluff, it's your choice)

Hey there! Thank you for the request 🥺🥺 I had a bit of a roadblock with this one simply because I couldn’t think of a prompt, BUT I eventually thought ‘why not write about the holidays’ so I got into a groove with it! Once I got into it, it was a really fun write! I hope that this is what you expected and/or lives up to your expectations! 

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒

                                            (  ~ Kakashi Hatake x Black Female                                                                   Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Fluffy Fluff!                                                                  

FANDOM: Naruto Shippuden

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There really are none for today, it’s pretty fluffy for today!

SUMMARY: Reader-Chan wants to celebrate the holiday season this year because she never got to, but she doesn’t necessarily know how to approach Kakashi about it since he never celebrates the holidays (or ever even heard of them for that matter.

WORD COUNT: 4303

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

     For some reason, you were in an incredibly festive mood this time around. Maybe it was something about how the gilded sunlight made yours and Kakashi’s home feel more… Well, home-y. Maybe it was the remnants of your food that you’d made earlier for your lunch still lingering around the house, or the kids of the village running around outside of your windows, whether subliminally training or not undeterminable, reminding you of your youth. Time had gone by so fast, and already you’d been in Japan for about two years and a half. You already knew that, in general, the people of the area didn’t celebrate Halloween, and actually it was a week AFTER Halloween would’ve taken place in America, but something about today… Something about today made your festive bone quiver and you decided to do SOMETHING to celebrate. 

Since you’d picked up on the shinobi not celebrating American holidays like you were used to, you avoided asking Kakashi about it. Come to think of it, he never really did anything you were accustomed to besides the staring thing; and when you got together he tried to give you food related nicknames. You had to sit down and explain to him why it wasn’t okay and why it made you uncomfortable and then he thoroughly apologized and left it at that. He didn’t really have any nicknames for you, and from research you found that most women in Japan (and men) only go by their given names with -chan/san at the end which was cute, but if everyone had to call you that then it’d lose meaning and it wouldn’t be as cute.

Even still, though, you decided that today would be the day that you participated in the festivities of the holiday season that, in America, would be fast approaching. The only question for you was who you were going to dress up as and suddenly a thought formed in your head as you popped up from the couch and scurried to your guys’s room. You’d dress up as your hero, your boyfriend Hatake Kakashi! He wouldn’t expect it, you’d be able to see how everything fits, AND it’d be cute- at least you thought- and it’d give you something to do so that the crisp, perfect day didn’t go to waste.

You sifted through the closet with eager eyes as you hummed softly, some of your curls coming loose and falling down by your face, your dark brown beautiful eyes twinkling as you pulled out the parts to the outfit he wore from day to day, your eyebrows knitting a little as one corner of your lip lifted a little. “This man, so help me black Jesus,” you whisper softly noticing how much heftier your wardrobe was than his. He had the same outfit to go over about 5 or 5 times, black sweatpants, black shorts, and 3 different headbands all crushed, neatly, together on one side of the closet while your clothing took up the other half. You shook your head and closed the door with your hip once you were sure you had everything you needed for your little plan. You looked it over excitedly, your slender auburn fingers contrasting almost perfectly against the colors of his uniform. “Damn… I never noticed that till now,” you laugh softly as you remove your shirt and start to pull on articles of the outfit, trying to mimic exactly how you saw Kakashi wear his so you didn’t accidentally disrespect him. Of course he only had 2 masks and a shirt with a mask that you’d sewn onto it, and you decided not to mess with any of it. You didn’t want to hide your face at all whatsoever, especially behind masks that might’ve well have been your boyfriend’s comfort items. You had pretty much everything on, the worn out navy blue bringing everything together, the green brightening your pretty almost black eyes. You giggle softly as you look in the mirror and decide to do something with your hair before it dried completely- you’d taken a shower only 30 minutes prior and your hair was a little damp. You scurry off to the bathroom with the bandage and garter in one hand, your yellow hair pik in the other. You looked extremely excited, for once taking a moment to completely love and indulge in yourself. Being in an area where your existence was offensive to others to suddenly going to a place where absolutely nobody looked even close to you was an extreme shift, but Kakashi made it okay, literally brawling with anybody that so much as looked at you the wrong way. You had a small bit of tummy, but he loved that about you; and it’s not like it slowed you down any, made you unreliable, or made you any less attractive than you were. In fact, to some people it wasn’t even really noticeable unless you were wearing certain things. You also had to drop the American style and adopt the Japanese locale and honestly, while that was a HUGE shift, Kakashi helped with that too. Sometimes you’d get yourself in trouble with how you spoke though; that American lingo that’d been generationally passed down to you finding its way showing up and showing out, especially when someone wanted to make fun of your hair, or your physique and compare you to the other local girls, most noticeably Ten-Ten, Lady Tsunade, Sakura, and Hinata. They argued that the more pale girls were more attractive; because you could play in their hair and you wouldn’t have to worry about one slowing you down- at which remarks you stuck the shit talkers to a tree with your kunai for hours after you thoroughly cussed them out and ribbed them a little, telling Kakashi what’d happened so he could go cut them down. On the flip side, the kids absolutely adored you and loved when you were out so they could play tag or ask you unnecessary questions or get some treats from you.

You quick-washed your hair in the sink and started to blow-dry it deciding that you’d give yourself an at home blowout so that you could complete the look. Being the multitasker you were born into being, you found something to prop the blowdryer up while you piked your hair out quickly, smiling as you watched your hair fluff up, watching your coils straighten and then get bigger until it couldn’t anymore. Then it hit you; Kakashi hadn’t seen your hair blown out except once and that was while you were braiding it back and his eyes were fixated on your fingers as he wondered how a person could do that. At this point, your hair was halfway done, and while you let the tool dry your hair even more, you attempted to wrap the bandage around your thigh and it only BARELY made it, your thigh utterly choked in the process. You looked down at your leg and then pensively looked at the garter and decided that wouldn’t fit around your leg and you let out a frustrated sigh. “That man, is fine as fuck, but why he built like a bean pole,” you huff quietly as you let the bandage loose from trapping your thigh before your mind wandered to him. “…. Aight so maybe he got a LITTLE bit of muscle, but we aint talkin’ about that right now,” you laugh softly before looking at your phone seeing that he sent you a text signifying that he was on his way back from training for the day and that he was fine. You smiled cheerily at your text and tilted your head some at yourself, using your pik to fluff your hair out more before you scurried back to your guys’s room and snatched one of his spare headbands up, securing it quickly and tactfully. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your hands coming up and sliding into the arm holes of his navy green vest. You turned to one side, then to the next, then finally you looked at yourself from a front profile and your eyes glistened a little. “You’re… so heroic,” you mumbled under your breath before you heard some clatter coming from outside of the room.

“Oh right… You can do that,” you say as you open the door and watch him freeze completely in his spot, his eyes slowly raking over you from head to toe then back up again, his stoic expression unchanging from what you could tell. “H-Heyy… Honey,” you smile nervously as you wave with one of your gloved hands. He walked towards you and slipped one side of the headband over one of your eyes and then he stifled a soft grunt under his breath.

“It’s Kakashi. We’ve talked about this,” he said softly before he looked over his shoulders, his hands sliding in his pockets again as his back straightened out some. “….Why are you wearing my clothes,” he asked with a slight edge to his voice, meanwhile you were still frozen in place, your legs starting to quiver some. You didn’t know why he was being so cold to you and it made you just a little insecure. “Particularly… Those,” he said as he stared at the wall below the TV you both had, his legs crossed as he leaned back into the couch.

“Damn so you not gonna say ‘hi.’ Or ‘I missed you,’ or nothin’ like that hm? Well… My bad, I guess I’ll just go take it off,” you say softly, the spirit of the day becoming crushed. He mused softly and his head only tilted a small bit. He didn’t even look at you and you noticed this. The whole time you were here… The whole time you were together the only thing you wanted was his eyes on you and his praises. You were struggling and it was on you for the most part because you hadn’t reached out to him for help. He was a real big one for “say what you mean or need,” or something like that. You LOVED the idea behind the last stretch of the year; the days designated for giving thanks, hanging out with the ones you love, amazing food, and gifts, and movies, and music. All of it… But having come from where you had, you never really had good times or a good chance to make memories. Now that you were old enough to have someone of your own and actually be able to create memories, you wanted to… But instead you’d been trying to force it out of your life to make your man happy, however you weren’t having it anymore. You just didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Mm.. What’s-“

Before he could even finish speaking, you’d vanished back into your guys’s room and shut the door behind you. He sat back in the seat and he let out a low drawn out breath and then stood up. Within one second he vanished from the living room and appeared right in front of you with his arms crossed.

“I asked why you were wearing my clothes, not that you had to take them off,” he said as he looked blandly at your hurt expression. “And I was trying to ask what was up with you,” he said as he reached one hand out and gently tipped your head up, his free hand reaching for where your bangs covered your eye but then he stopped as he usually did and he tilted his head some. “May I?” He spoke from behind his mask. You push his hand out of the way and move your hair out of your face by yourself, your sharp eyes peering into his. This time his eyebrows rose a bit more noticeably and usual and he waited for you to talk so he could listen, his hands now in his pockets.

“Yknow… I’ve tried to work what is normal to me out of my system… And when I was younger, that would’ve been… Easier. But now, it’s not… Kakashi, when you don’t look at me it makes me feel undesirable… Because nobody else looks at me unless they’re making fun of how flat and wide my features are… or how damn burnt I look even though this is my natural skin tone! I just… Want you to call me your baby once in awhile damnit! I want to call you *mine* and not just… Ka-ka-shi. Everybody calls you that… And… I get jealous when I see the other people hanging out with you, the cooler people with the sharingan variants, or the cool eyes and the people with the slim builds, or the people with the advanced shinobi skills that are greater than mi-“ You hadn’t noticed that while you were talking, Kakashi pulled his mask down, then you were interrupted with a kiss. It was a soft, but soulful kiss; the kind where one of his gloved hands had you by the chin and the other by the back of your head. The kind where you could feel his body heat completely wrapping you up. The kind where you felt his trembling breath break his completely calm composure. Your hands were gently pressed against the back of his arms, one of your hands at his elbow as he pulled away and allowed his eyes to slowly open. His shadow was cast down onto you and you saw his eyes squint a little, his smile hidden by the mask he’d pulled back up after the kiss. On the other hand, your eyes were wide and your lips were barely parted, your eyes glistening as you looked over his mostly hidden smile. Your knees buckled under you and he helped make sure you didn’t fall, his chest pressed against yours.

“You done?” He asked as he helped you stand upright again. You were dazed just staring at your man and he smirked a little as he pulled his mask down again still standing close to you. “I see… You want everyone to know that you’re mine and vice versa? That’s it? That’s why you’re wearing my clothes today…? You want me to… Call you mine? Right?” He spoke quietly, he was ONLY talking to you, his deep voice getting a little more hoarse as he continued to drone on, his hands on your hips pulling you closer to him, his intense gaze still cast into your eyes. You swallow hard and nibble the inside of your cheek. “You want you to call you my baby? My beautiful, perfect baby girl? Hm? Is that why you’re acting out? Or… You want me to show you that I care more, right? Maybe… You want me to make dinner once? Or bring you flowers? Or watch you train? Or… Cheer you on? Right? Perhaps tease you a little… Or hold you this close all the time?”

You nod slowly and then look away already knowing what this was sort of leading up to but his slender fingers forced your gaze back on him.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, baby,” he said softly as he tilted his head a little. “If you wanted that… Why didn’t you just say so? I can’t read minds… And I’m still relatively new to this whole… Romance scene,” he said softly as he gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. “You know this. I’m a little… Dense? I’m not sure if that’s the proper word. But…. You’re just… Ugh… I didn’t know that me hanging around people made you jealous- perhaps it’s in my best interest to just tell you how much you mean to me all of the time. You’d want that too, right? I know you would,” he said softly as his fingers gently trailed up your back. “Or… Maybe you want to have a little bit more sex? Is that apart of it?” The question made your eyes wide, skin burn with an invisible blush, and your jaw drop a little. He let out a hollow laugh in turn, gently pushing your jaw up to close your mouth with the tips of his fingers. “Baby steps. I got it. For now, let me just say this: You’re beautiful… All of your scars, curves, marks and all. Those coffee colored eyes of yours are so much more… Stupefying than any sharingan I have seen and will ever see…. The little spark they get when you’re determined, or that soft glisten when you get embarrassed,” he said as he looked over your whole face. “Your body… Your whole body… Is amazing… You don’t have to be slim to be an amazing shinobi; and so help me, my beautiful queen,” he says softly as he leans down so he’s eye level with you. “If you ever discredit yourself like that again, I’ll work you out so that you’re not able to move for the next week. You’re right on the fast track to be a fine shinobi- possibly even the greatest at that. Well… Not greater than me, but that’s another story and another conversation,” he said quietly as you were pushed back onto your bed while he stood over you. “Are those idiots getting into your head again?” His eyebrows furrowed a little as his hands slipped back into his pockets.

Finally you were able to find your words again and you crossed your legs out of habit. “Y-Yeah… For… Like… The past 3 weeks they’ve been telling me that I’m too slow… Or I’m too… Wide… Or making fun of me and my eyes, or making fun of how dark I am… Or making fun of my hair! My damn hair! It hurts… A lot… And we’re together, but I don’t want to be known as that abnormal girl that calls on her boyfriend every time she needs saving. I got it… Aight? I can handle that… But… That’s why I need YOUR praises…. To validate me I guess… I already know I’m THAT… girl… But I want to hear it from you… I want you,” you mumbled softly. “And the reason I’m dressed up like this is because I’m dressed up for Halloween- In America it’s a day where people dress up and do their makeup and hair and have fun at parties or go trick or treating to get candy and stuff! I’ve always loved it despite not being able to… Participate much,” you say softly as you rub your arm. “I dunno, I guess I just wanted to celebrate the holiday season this year- even if we never do it again, I at least want one memory of a great holiday season with mine… With you,” you say softly. He listens to everything you say with an opaque grin on his face.

“If that’s what you wanted, then why didn’t you just say that?” He said softly as he climbed over you, his hips barely resting in your lap as your heart skipped a beat. He pushed you to lay down on the bed and his hands rested right by your head, your eyes peering up at him with a soft grin rested on your face.

“I-I d-didn’t w-want to get told no… I d-didn’t want to… Bother you with something that seemed so insignificant… I didn’t want you to think of me as weak,” you say softly as he gently kisses your neck. You shuddered a little and bit your lip as you tilt your head up some.

“Well now’s your hot seat,” he huffed quietly against your neck. “Tell me what you want, tell me everything you want, and I’ll do it until you tell me that you don’t want it anymore,” he said as he looked back into your eyes, your hands rested against his chest as you thought for a moment before speaking again. “W-Well… I want you to call me your baby and vice versa… Or come up with a nickname or something… I want you to watch me train and root for me, I want you to let everyone know who I belong to, but allow me to show who you belong to, too… I want you to tease me and hold me close… Everywhere… I want you to go on dates with me and do holiday stuff with me… I want you to make me feel wanted and loved… I just fucking want *you* Kakashi…” you say softly as you look up at him. Upon gazing, you notice that his expression had soften significantly, and the hold he had on you was more protective than ever. “A-And I guess more s-sex would be cool,” you say softly and he chuckles quietly in return. You reach one of your hands up and gently cup his face, your thumb gently caressing his cheek. “You know… You should smile more… You’re quite handsome when you do… Well I mean you’re fine as hell either way, but I like it when you smile… And laugh like that…” you say softly as he leans his head into your hand a little more. He kisses your clothed palm and smiles just for you and suddenly you took on a breathless expression, your eyes halfway open as he blushed a little and you just took this moment to adore him, everything about him. “That’s what you want from me? Okay,” he said softly before moving to pin your hand weakly to the bed above you, his eyes both gazing into yours- well as much as he could anyway seeing as your hair practically swallowed your face leaving your bottom half of your face exposed for him. You could see him just fine, he just couldn’t see you… And for the moment that was fine. His gentle lips pressed against yours from above and your eyes fluttered shut as usual when this happened. You felt a little touch starved because he didn’t like contact very much, but he was warming up to it a little more. You wrapped one of your arms around his waist and pulled him closer, and then the two of you melted into each other on the bed in a fit of grunts, deep, passionate, soft kisses, dulcet giggles coming from the both of you, his hand wandering up your waist up the natural curve of your body as yours tried to find where his clothing allowed you access to his skin. You found it, your warm fingers contrasting against his lukewarm skin. He jolted a little and let out a groan before looking at you again, nibbling your lip gently before he pulled away. “You’re amazing,” he whispered quietly and breathlessly against your lips as you tried to control your breathing again.

“Says one of the most notable and historic ninja warriors of all time,” you say with a soft chuckle, moving your hair out of your face so you could look at him and so he could look at you.

“You know… Paths like that carry plenty of… Skeletons in the closet, right?” He said softly as his gaze intensified only a little bit.

“Yeah, and? You still made it… Everyone looks up to you… You’ve killed people and seen plenty of your own killed… And people that couldn’t handle it… Y’know… But, Kakashi Hatake,” you say softly as you turn his head back towards you and your own expression hardens a little. “No matter what, I’ll still love you like the day that I met you… Just like that day you first came to protect.. Well the other person- after they were bullying me… After you checked to make sure I was okay… Baby I love you, and as long as you love me too, I’m gonna be on your side. I’m your woman- I’m your queen, right? A queen needs her partner in royalty, and this house is our kingdom. You’re my king, and unapologetically mine… And I’m the same for you,” you say quietly as you sit up and smile a little. “I know you haven’t been sleeping, Kashi,” you say softly as you gently kiss his lips. “I’m not a super heavy sleeper… You’re safe now, though,” you say softly as you run your fingers through his hair. “Let me go make dinner tonight and… C-Can I decorate?” You whispered softly, expecting a no as you turned and gently pushed him to make him lay on the bed and he chuckled softly, gently grabbing your hand.

“If decorations are what you want, then I don’t have a problem with it,” he said softly, kissing the back of your hand gently. Your skin burned with an invisible flush and you pulled the covers up on him, trying to make the room just a little more homey so that he could sleep better.

“I… Wow… Um… Okay,” you say softly, lighting a candle and setting it on the nightstand, standing in the doorway. “I d-don’t know if I said this already, but I’m gonna make a hot pot for dinner… And I’ll go see if there are any pumpkins in the area… I’ll make us some pumpkin bread and make some cookies for the kids,” you say with a beaming smile, looking at your sleepy man who was already cuddling a pillow on his way to sleep. He admired your soothing voice, able to relax for the first time in a long time, and how the golden sun gave you a gilded glow that made your skin twinkle and your eyes illuminate the room. He had never felt so lucky to have someone as good as you to him, and that was the last thing he saw- or thought- before he slipped off into dreamland and you disappeared behind the door to excitedly start dinner.

#black velvet x naruto #requested writes #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake fluff #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi x black reader #kakashi x black female reader #kakashi hatake x female reader #black velvet asks #jenesis answers

[mortuarybees]

oh I just sent you an ask and then realized that you answered my question in a previous ask, so ignore me. (Though I do have another question about them getting married or at least choosing to be committed to each other forever). Thank you for this AU though!

THIS GOT LONG I’M SORRY. The chef suggests that this be paired with Mitski’s cover of Let’s Get Married, which actually invented the institution of marriage.

It looks like this:

It’s a balmy Sunday in April, 2014, and Aziraphale’s hands are clasped before him, forehead pressed to his knuckles. He’s nervous; he shouldn’t be, he knows, but he is. The pew is hard and uncomfortable, unforgiving–Crowley would laugh at that, and even as he smiles, the thought makes his stomach clench.

The service ended a while ago, but he likes to remain, reading through the echoing chatter until everyone has gone and he can have a word alone with Her. Praying in a room full of others feels obscene and vulnerable, like leaving the front door open for the neighbors to peak in.

Please, please, please, he thinks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, praying, knows that if today is the day, he needs to go home before Crowley gets irritable and worried, but he wants to feel certain, the way Crowley had been.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale likes gold. Loves gold; he grew up in an ancient and wealthy family, with so much money they’re casual about it, crystals dripping from chandeliers and fine tableware so old it belongs in a museum, and he won’t admit it–not now, especially–but he misses the elegance, the luxuries, misses a wardrobe full of Harris tweed and Burberry and Liberty’s. He likes gold, he would want gold, and Crowley is helpless to do anything but give him what he wants.)

It’s been a long time, Aziraphale thinks. He’s getting older–I’m getting older–he only gets one life. He’s the restless kind, what if he says no?

He asked first, he reminds himself, and then counters it by pointing out that last time, it didn’t mean much, to him. No, that isn’t fair, it meant something, but it wasn’t binding.

He doesn’t need to bind himself to you, he tells himself. He’s committed in every way he can. He’s never been the restless sort when it comes to us.

I’m overthinking this, he thinks, bemused, and as if God agrees with him, he hears the door behind him open, and Crowley’s relieved voice boom, echoing in the empty church and certainly disturbing the bad-humored priest, “Christ, there you are. I thought maybe the Rapture came and the rest of London was too godless to notice.”

Thank you, he prays. Amen. He turns around and smiles. “Crowley, dear. Would you like to sit?”

“Best not,” Crowley says, stopping at the end of the pew Aziraphale occupies. “Surprised I haven’t burst into flames yet, don’t want to push my luck getting comfortable.” He looks around and points at a painting of Saint Sebastian, posed in a rather un-agonized manner. “That why you come here all the time? An excuse to gawk at younger men?”

“Crowley,” he scolds, getting to his feet. He ducks his head to hide his smile and puts his hands in his pockets, toying with the small velvet box inside. “Please, dear, keep from blaspheming inside the church. Besides, you’re far better looking.”

“Damn right,” Crowley huffs, and he takes his arm possessively when he exits the pew, pulling tight against his side. He looks beautiful in the mid-morning light, hazy and soft, hair loose around his face, the stained glass painting colors on his pale face when he squints up at it as they leave. The face of John is mirrored perfectly in the lenses of his dark glasses for just a moment, and Aziraphale wishes he’d ever really tried his hand at art, just to immortalize in rich oil paint the rainbow of light on his face, the Beloved Disciple in his eyes, the swipes of glitter across his cheekbones, the black lace top under his leather jacket, pierced a million times over with all manner of pins over the years; he thinks if he wasn’t at peace before, this picture does it.

“You’re beautiful, darling,” he murmurs when it’s ended, when Crowley tilts his chin down, curls his lip against whatever blasphemy he was certainly thinking and it’s just him again. Just them, and God as far away as She always feels.

“I was kidding, angel,” he says, thumb stroking a reassuring line down his coat sleeve. “Ogle some guy all–” he gestures, quite theatrically– “shot up with arrows if you like. He’s dead, I’m not. I win.”

(It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and Crowley and Aziraphale arrived in London six months prior, alone and uncertain, refugees on a foreign shore. They both grew up in rural villages–wildly different experiences; Aziraphale’s family had an estate and he attended some posh boarding school on the moors, Crowley slept on a bus bench on more than one occasion–and the city is new and frightening and exciting. It seemed like the place for two young queer men to go, newly anointed adults forging a life together.

Aziraphale likes it, Crowley knows he does, he likes the museums, he likes the beautiful old buildings and the British Library, he likes taking walks in the park, and he likes having a home of their own, a home with Crowley. He tells him everyday, a comment here or there with a soft smile. But he’s wounded and mourning; he misses his family, and his new way of life is a bit of a shock. He won’t admit that it hurts, just sniffs and insists he knew it was coming, but Crowley knows him better that that. He loves London, but he can’t help but see the life he’s lost in every crevice of the life he’s found.

Crowley doesn’t believe in divine providence, but if he did, this would be the surest evidence of it: on his way home to their shithole of a flat with his first paycheck in his pocket, he passes the window of an antiques store, and sees it in the window. It catches the afternoon light perfectly and shines gold against the black velvet display; it’s a clunky old-fashioned sort of ring, with angel wings forming the band. Crowley has been thinking hard about this for years now, and it’s absolutely perfect.)

The sunlight outside comes weakly through the clouds, pale but just bright enough to avoid dreariness. Crowley relaxes once they step from the church steps and onto the sidewalk; his first boyfriend broke up with him with a vague and plausibly-deniable note in a cheap bible left on Crowley’s front porch when he returned home from a summer church camp, and Aziraphale thinks he’s always been afraid in the back of his mind that Aziraphale is going to come home from church someday and do the same thing, though he’s never said as much.

“I brought the rolled oats for the ducks,” Crowley says. “Figured we ought to stop in, since we missed last week. Otherwise they might mutiny.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says, and that had been his plan, but it’s all becoming so terribly real and sudden, isn’t it? He could wait just a little longer–

No, he can’t. They’ve waited long enough.

(It looks like this:

Crowley, ever-charming, talks the proprietor of the antiques shop into setting the ring aside for him. She’s suspicious of him, with his sibilant S and the pins on his leather jacket, but he’s wearing his work uniform, a perfectly respectable red polo shirt and black slacks, and he gives her a down payment and a long and terribly touching story about his college sweetheart that’s mostly true, apart from the gender of the lover in question.

The truth is, there are some things which can be easily done without, and some things that can’t. Aziraphale prefers fancy vintages from significant years and miraculous rains in the French countryside, but a £5 bottle from Sainsbury’s won’t ruin New Years. They can buy store brand cereal, the eggs discounted because one of them has been cracked, they can throw Aziraphale’s fancy embroidered throw over the pullout and hang richly dyed moth-eaten curtains from the theater department’s dumpster and pretend it’s the Hotel d’Alsace. But there are some things that must be done right, some things that cannot be done without, and he’s convinced that this is one of them. He could as easily propose with a plastic ring from the coin machine at their favorite bar, but Aziraphale is going to love this ring; even if he says no, pats Crowley on the cheek and says, “How romantic of you dear boy, but that’s not really what’s done, is it?” he’s still going to love it.

He’s secretive and vague about the extra hours and side gigs he takes on to make the payments. Aziraphale notices, he knows he does, he knows him too well not to, and he’s curious and a little alarmed, but he felt bad enough lying about where part of his first paycheck went without having to do it again every month when he stops in to make a payment on the ring.

It takes six months, but she finally hands it over, along with a comment about how she’s thought about it and she thinks it’s really rather noble, what he’s doing, and he best keep to it, best not break this poor girl’s heart, she’s read about people like him, giving it a go with nice girls for a couple years and then skipping out, sticking them with kids and a broken life. He rolls his eyes and says he’ll pass the message along to his boyfriend after he proposes, and saunters out, a skip in his step. It’s perfect; he’ll still wear it every day and admire it on his hand the way Crowley admires it now in the sun, and even if he says no–well, that would be a fine consolation prize.)

There is a bench they’ve been coming to for fifteen years now, so habitually the ducks flock to them when they arrive, flicking oats into the water. Crowley is catching him up on the fight he missed while he was out (the walls are thin and the neighbors provide endless entertainment with their incessant and bafflingly banal bickering; it’s a proper extended universe, their family disputes, and the mother-in-law is visiting, so it’s been an exciting weekend), and Aziraphale is trying to listen, he really is, even though he insists eavesdropping and gossiping aren’t especially neighborly–“oh, come off it, angel, you know they’ve got their ears pressed to the wall when we fight, not to mention when we–” “Crowley!”–but he cant focus on anything but the weight in his pocket.

He’s been putting money away for a year now, ever since legislation to legalize it was introduced last July. He’d known it would take some time to pass, but if they were willing to propose it, it would be soon.

“Alright, what’ve you got squirreled away, huh?” Crowley demands, the dozenth time in a few short minutes his hand has gone to his pocket to ensure it’s still there. “I’m hungry. Was so worried you’d gone off and joined some cultish offshoot I couldn’t eat. Well, a more cultish offshoot. Is the Catholic church an offshoot? Suppose it must be, not like Jesus named a pope–”

“It’s not food, dear,” Aziraphale says, sighing. “And he did, he gave Saint Peter the keys to Heaven and he was bishop of Rome. Blasphemous old serpent.”

“I’m sure they all say that,” Crowley says, waving a hand. He eyes him curiously, flicking a rolled oat so it hits a duck in the head. “What is it then?”

Aziraphale’s heart thuds chaotically in his chest. “Crowley, dearest,” he says, turning to face him. He takes his hand in his, desperate for the anchor, the reassurance. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Crowley says, looking alarmed. “Are you alright?”

“You love me,” Aziraphale repeats, both wishing desperately he could see Crowley’s eyes, search them, and desperately glad that he can’t. Crowley’s bare eyes are so terribly expressive, the sight of them so intimate, he couldn’t bear it.

“‘Course I do,” he says, with conviction. “More than anything. What’s this about?”

“Crowley, my love,” he says hoarsely, and he kneels on one knee, still clinging to his hand.

(It looks like this:

It’s October in 2000, and it’s been raining like the coming of the second flood for days. Crowley stands at the window, biting his lip and scowling at it, sick of it and about to start refreshing himself on the principles of chaos magic in a bid to end it.

“Crowley, dear, you’re making me nervous,” Aziraphale grumbles from the sofa. He loves a nice rainy day, loves curling up against Crowley with a cup of tea and a book or one of those awful television shows with the flouncy costumes and overwrought acting, but even he is growing tired of being stuck inside all day and getting soaked to the bone on his way to work. “Come sit down, would you?”

“I’m busy,” Crowley mutters.

“You don’t look busy,” Aziraphale says. “It looks like you think you can scowl the rain into submission.”

“Works on the plants,” Crowley tells him, and he knows Aziraphale is rolling his eyes without having to look. He’s half a mind to do away with his idea all together, just do it right here in their cramped little studio, when quite suddenly, the rain lets up to a light mist. He stares at it, jaw slack, for several long moments. When it doesn’t start pick up again, he shouts, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Aziraphale frowns. “In this?”

“It’s just misting and we haven’t gone out properly in days,” Crowley says eagerly. “C'mon, get dressed, I want to go to the park.” He won’t have time to get dressed properly, doesn’t want to risk the return of the storm–which is a crying shame, he had such an outfit planned–but he yanks the pants he knows make his ass look the best out of their dresser and a deep purple blouse with lace around the cuffs Aziraphale once said made him look very royal, stripping out of his pajamas and hopping into them as quickly as he can.

“The park?” Aziraphale puts his book aside. “Well, I suppose I would rather fancy a stroll, stretch my legs–”

“Excellent!” Crowley throws him a horrible pair of houndstooth slacks and the first button down he sees. “Get dressed.”

“Crowley–”

“Dressed!”

“These don’t even match!”

“I don’t care! Get dressed!” He darts to their vanity, staring wild-eyed at his reflection. Eyeliner is smudged raccoon-like around his eyes, but his sunglasses will cover that. He picks up a brush and yanks it violently through his hair. His eyes dart to Aziraphale, taking his sweet time picking out a new button down. “Dressed! Dressed, c'mon!”

“I’m getting there,” he mutters, waving lazily at him. “What do you think, green or white, dear?”

“You look best in blue,” Crowley tells him. He pulls his hair back, then lets it fall again, then pulls the front back and secures it a few pins and a comb he knows Aziraphale likes. He spins around to see Aziraphale quite leisurely buttoning up his shirt. “If you don’t hurry, I’m leaving without you.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but his fingers quicken, and he sits down to tie his oxfords. Crowley hurries to join him, shoving his feet in his boots and lacing them up as quickly as he can. The moment they’re both done, he yanks him up, hauling him to the door, shrugging his leather jacket on and tossing Aziraphale his blazer. “Wait, I’ve got to get my bag–”

“You don’t need your bag,” Crowley insists, and reaches into his pocket to make sure the ring is there.

Aziraphale frets the whole way to the park about how it’s bound to start pouring again any moment, and Crowley rushed him so much he forgot to bring an umbrella, they’re going to get drenched, they forgot bread for the ducks–unaware as they were that one ought not feed a duck bread, for its own sake–and St. James’ Park is positively sodden and it’ll take ages for his wool socks to dry out. Crowley doesn’t care; he links their arms and slogs bravely on to their usual spot, grateful that the heavy rain has cleared it out. The only other people around are a mother and child, some ways off, enjoying the brief respite.

“Angel, I’ve got something to ask you,” he says urgently, and he wrenches his sunglasses off–wait, he forgot, the eyeliner–he slides them back on, then takes them off again; he knows how Aziraphale likes to see his eyes.

“Yes?” Aziraphale looks confused and alarmed, he doesn’t like surprises or irregular reactions. He jumps to the worst every time, starts overthinking every twitch of Crowley’s face, and Crowley loves him, the anxious prat.

“I love you,” he says. “Do you love me?”

“I love you more than words can say, darling, what’s going on?” His eyes search Crowley’s face, his brow furrowed.

“Do you–” he swallows hard. They’ve never talked about this, not really. “You don’t think this is–y'know, a sin, right?” It feels so awkward in his mouth, his tone not weighty enough. The truth is, he’s never really seen what all the fuss was about, why so many other queer people struggled so much to reconcile their lives with the Church. The Church rejected him, so he rejected the Church, and he hasn’t looked back. But it means something to Aziraphale. He doesn’t know if he struggles with it still, but it means something to him. It means a lot to him.

“Oh, Crowley, dear,” he says, his eyes clearing. He touches his cheek, so gently Crowley could scream. “Of course not. This could never be a sin, I’ve been reading–”

Crowley can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Of course you have,” he says, beaming at him. “Of course you have. What have you been reading, angel?”

“Well, Montefiore’s ‘Jesus, the Revelation of God’ points out that Christ’s early life–”

“Flaming homosexual, Jesus was, then?” Crowley asks, unable to smother his unhinged grin, and Aziraphale isn’t sure what he’s so giddy about, but it seems like he can’t help but smile back, a little uncertainly.

“There was John, of course, the Beloved Disciple, and there’s a rather interesting idea about the Wedding at Cana, which is of course in some ideas thought of as a symbolic marriage of Christ to the church, and some–there’s this beautiful German print, of Jesus and John at the wedding, I’ll have to show you–some have suggested that it’s also a more literal marriage between Jesus and John–”

“Christ, angel, you’ll marry me, won’t you?” Crowley breathes, and he kneels.

Aziraphale blinks at him, brow furrowed, his mind clearly trying to catch up to this sudden switch in the topic of conversation. It’s always hard to interrupt one of his rambling little speeches, he gets so invested in them, but Crowley will just have to make it up to him later, let him lecture above him well into the night about apocryphal writings and stained glass and this print or that; right now, he just need to be engaged to this ridiculous man. “Er, what?”

“Marry me,” he says. He had a whole proposal planned, but he’s forgotten it, and it was stupid, anyway. “Marry me, I–” he fumbles in his pocket, pulls the ring out of the little felt bag the proprietor put it in and holds it up like an offering. “I have a ring. Will you marry me, Aziraphale?”

“Are you–” Aziraphale’s eyes are getting wide, his breath coming fast. “Crowley, you’re not joking about this, are you?”

“Why the fuck would I joke about this?” Crowley snaps. “Look, see, I got a ring and everything. Do you like it?”

“Crowley–” Aziraphale gasps, a wet and rough sound. “I–I suppose it would be legal, technically, but I–Crowley, you know how I feel about, about–what do you mean–”

“It’s not legal, I know, but neither is buggery, technically, just can’t be prosecuted, but that’s never stopped us,” he says. He knows, he knows how Aziraphale feels about playing to his assigned gender, even when it’s convenient. “Look, it’s not like Jesus and John had a marriage license, is it?”

And Aziraphale starts crying.)

“Angel,” Crowley says, staring down at him. “The hell are you doing?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale releases his hand to pull the small velvet box out of his pocket, opens it carefully, precisely, and holds it out to him. “Crowley, my dearest, will you marry me?”

“We’re already married, angel,” Crowley whispers, and as if unconsciously, his thumb strokes the tattoo on his left ring finger.

“Well, certainly,” he says. “But it’s legal now, and I know that what the state has to say doesn’t matter much, but you know–well, you remember how it can be, without something legal. Something on paper,. And you don’t have a ring.”

“I have better than a ring,” Crowley says, but his eyes are glittering, fixed on the little black ring in the box, a band of silver around it.

Aziraphale swallows hard. “Crowley, I would really quite like to marry you, officially, dear, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll–I swear to somebody, angel, you’re the stupidest genius I’ve ever met,” he swears. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot, I–what the fuck does the ring say, Aziraphale?”

He smiles, can’t help but be pleased that he’s noticed. On the inside, in his own hand writing, is You Make Me Live, Dearest, in deference to the song Crowley has, on many occasions, blasted so loud their neighbors have pounded on the wall, practically shouting the lyrics at Aziraphale, hauling him, laughing, into terrible dancing that usually ends up knocking something over. Aziraphale takes a deep breath, and sings very quietly, and off-key, voice wavering (he hasn’t sang since his second puberty; he had a lovely voice, before, he was in a choir, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it since), “Oh, you make me live, whenever this world is cruel to me–”

Crowley grabs him by his lapels and hauls him up into a hungry kiss, passersby be damned.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale is crying, his face in his hands, and Crowley is frozen on his knees, all his giddy joy slowly leaving him, a hollow humiliation replacing it.

“Angel,” he says, hating how his voice cracks. “Angel, I’m sorry, you don’t have to say yes–you can keep the ring, I want you to have the ring–I won’t–I won’t leave, if you say no–unless you want me to, obviously–” Shit, shit, shit, he didn’t fuck up that bad, did he–

Aziraphale drops his hands, startled, and stares at him. “Why on earth would I want that?” he asks, and he goes to his knees on the wet concrete, pulling the ridiculous handkerchief that matches his ridiculous bow tie from his breast pocket, dabs at his eyes, wipes his nose, and puts it in his pocket with a deep breath. “I never–I never thought this would be possible, the way I wanted it,” he says at last. “I never even–considered it, really, I wished, perhaps, but I never–” he stops, and he stares at Crowley with such warmth and love it settles him, a little. He’s not going to turn him out, and that’s really all that matters.

“I just thought, I know you wouldn’t want to do it…officially, so it might not be legal, but maybe–you and me, we could say some vows,” he says. “If you wanted. If you don’t, that’s fine,” and his voice, the goddamn traitor, cracks again on the word.

“Oh, dear, I haven’t said yes, have I?” Aziraphale says, and he smiles, a watery thing, puts his hand on Crowley’s wrist. “Yes, darling, I’d love nothing more than to marry you, I really wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” he says, and a smile begins to form. “Oh. That’s–great, then.”

“You ridiculous thing,” Aziraphale says, beaming, and he throws his arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. He can feel his lashes flutter against the soft skin there, the slide of warm tears, his breath ghosting across the fine hairs, and he shivers.

“Hey,” he says, nudging him. “Hey. Did you see the ring?”

Aziraphale laughs, leaning back onto his haunches, and wipes at his eyes. “The ring?”

“Yeah, the ring,” Crowley says, waving it about. He thinks it looks even more impressive in the washed-out grey light, shining like a second sun.

“Crowley,” he whispers, seeming to really truly notice it for the first time. “Where–where did you get this?” His hands hover around it, reverent, as if he’s afraid to touch it.

“An antiques shop,” he says proudly. “Give me your hand.”

“How did you afford it?” he asks wonderingly, and he lets Crowley take his hand in his, slide it onto his finger, smiles at his little sigh of relief when it fits.

“Saved up,” he says. “That’s, er. What I’ve been doing, going out.”

“I was curious,” Aziraphale says, and his eyes well up again. “Oh, darling, all this time, you’ve been working?”

“Wanted you to have the best,” he says. “Look, see, they’re angel wings.” He runs a finger around the band, beaming at it. “You like it?”

“Crowley, my dear, I love it more than I can say,” he says fervently, and he puts a hand on his cheek again, leans in to give him a chaste, brief kiss. “Let’s go home,” he suggests. “I’ll thank you properly.”

Crowley leaps to his feet, bringing Aziraphale with him, and they don’t quite run to the bus stop, but it’s a very close thing, giggling like drunk teenagers sneaking out late, laughter peeling through the park when Crowley’s poorly laced boots send them tumbling, arms linked, into the grass.)

It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and it’s 2014, and they run home from the bus stop in a sudden downpour of rain, having forgotten umbrellas, absent-minded and distracted by more important things. A leather jacket is shed onto the floor, a tweed coat thrown in the vague direction of a coat rack; Crowley throws Aziraphale’s suspenders off his shoulders with pleased gusto, a tie, belt, shirts, hit the floor with abandon, sunglasses are placed very delicately somewhere safe. Crowley pulls at Aziraphale’s binder insistently, in 2000, yanks his white undershirt over his head in 2014; oxfords and combat boots are tossed and hit the walls and floor; they stumble over their pants as they try to take them off without stopping, without taking their hands off each other for even a moment, and the old bed creaks when they tumble onto it. The headboard cracks against the wall, knocks the crucifix loose, and the thud is followed by shaking laughter overtaken by gasps, and cries, and fervent declarations, hands clasped, mouths sliding inelegantly together. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you; and they’re both thinking with desperate and delighted devotion, my husband, my husband, my husband.

#Sorry This Is So Long #i got carried away #look i had to fit in two proposals #thank you for asking im love human au #henry speaks #ineffable husbands #good omens #human au #Anonymous #can you tell i was raised protestant and very much not catholic #apologies to my catholic friends for any errors on that front #hi im henry a gay christian and very emotional about it #henry writes

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Survivors of Unfair Choices (9) | FirstOrder!Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 1345

Warning: SW-verse typical violence, minor swearing

A/n: I’m a bit behind in writing and although I try to type out a few chapters in advance, I just wasn’t feeling it the past month or so. Again, I am grateful for my readers and the people who comment on it. Just know that I do read them and appreciate every one of them, even though I don’t comment back. I always feel bad when I’m unable to and I don’t know why I’m sometimes just not in the mindset to fully show my gratitude through replying and I don’t want to keep repeating the same thing over and over. Also, I want to let you guys know that there might be a indefinite break in a few weeks as I am moving again.

-

The plan was to release the poisonous gas again and hide. Rey and Finn quickly ducked under a grate with BB-9 while BB-8 insisted on being with you, hiding in the cockpit with a blaster held up at the ready. A familiar voice began to fill the corridor, followed by a guttural sound. You shifted your position to see two figures lift the grate where your two companions were.

“Wait,” you said, stepping out from hiding, BB-8 following close behind.

They swung their blasters around until they recognized you. “Kid?” the man asked in surprise.

“General,” you addressed him with a small smile. You slid your blaster back in its holster and approached them.

“I told you to stop calling me that. You with these guys?” Han asked, waving a blaster at them.

“Yeah, they helped me fly the ship,” you said, helping them out. BB-9 used a magnetic arm to help hoist themselves up. “In fact, Rey was the one flying.”

“You?” Han asked Rey, who nodded, “Where’d you get this ship?”

“Niima Outpost,” she said.

Han raised an eyebrow. “Jakku? The junkyard?”

“Junkyard! Thank you!” Finn said pointedly.

“Anyways!” you said, trying to get to the point.

“Told you we should have checked the Western Reaches,” Han said to Chewbacca before turning back to Rey, “Who had it? Ducain?”

“Guys,” you pleaded, giving Chewie a pleading look. He patted your head, having missed you.

“I stole it from Unkar Plutt. Who stole it from the Irving Boys. Who stole it from Ducain,” Rey said.

“Who stole it from me!” Han said, clearly upset. “Well, you tell him that Han Solo just stole back the Millenium Falcon for good.”

Rey’s jaw dropped as Han made his way over to the cockpit. “This is the Millenium Falcon? You’re Han Solo?” You sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Isn’t he a war hero?” Finn asked Chewie who shrugged.

You followed Han and watched as he looked around with a small smile on his face. How long has it been since he’s seen this ship? You hated to break the nostalgia, but there was no time.

“Han, we need to get back to the Resistance. BB-9 has the map,” you said, walking up to him. He shook his head. “The map to Luke Skywalker.”

Han looked up from the console at the mention of his old friend’s name and frowned. “Is that why you’re out here, kid?”

“Yes, and we need your help. Please, Han.”

He sighed, having avoided going back there for years. His eyes landed on the ring hanging around your neck and tilted his head towards it. “Who’s the poor person that met your high standards?” he said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Would you be surprised if I said he’s a pilot?”

“Of course he is. Does Leia know? Do I know who it is?”

“Um…” A metallic crash sounded down the corridor.

“Don’t tell me a Rathtar has gotten loose,” Han said, hurrying out of the cockpit.

You blinked at the spot he was just standing in. “What? Rathtar? Why is everyone in this ship a disastrous wreck?” And suddenly you missed the peaceful bliss of that planet, with you, Poe, and your little droids.

-

Poe took in a deep breath once they landed on Yavin Four where a small group of Resistance members were stationed. Ohn Gos had given him a small bag of basic supplies for the road and wished him luck. Poe thanked him and made his way over to the village cautiously. This will be the first time he would encounter Resistance members after defecting, if they’d believe that he had.

Being surrounded by the tropical greenery were bringing back memories. He remembered the force-tree that his parents planted outside of the house. He remembered flying with his mother in her ship and learning how to fly. He remembered when she passed. He remembered when his father went to work and never came back, then the news of him being caught up in an attack. Then his grandfather got sick. When Poe joined the fleet, he received the news that he also had passed. There was no one left but his fleet squadron with him.

Then the First Order got them, too.

“You better hold it right there,” a voice calls out.

Poe stops in his tracks and slowly raises his hands up. Three figures emerged from every side, surrounding him with blasters. One man stepped up, wearing an orange and white uniform, the symbol of the Resistance on his vest.

“What’s a First Order officer doing out here by himself?” he asked.

Poe sighed. “Look, pal, I’ve left the First Order, alright?”

The man scoffed. “Just like that, huh?”

“Well, it’s not as easy as it looks,” Poe said, taking a step forward. They all shifted in their stance, raising their blasters again. “Let’s just say that I finally found something worth fighting for and I’m looking for them right now. Your Commander (Y/n) (Y/l/n).”

Their eyes narrowed. “You took our commander,” the man said.

“I helped (Y/n) escape, but we got separated leaving the Finalizer. I know how to find her, but I need a ship.”

A woman walked up to them and whispered, “We need to notify the general about this.”

The man nodded to her, then turned back to Poe. “How can we take your word for it?”

“I’m outnumbered, aren’t I? You can take me as a prisoner if you want. If my sources are correct, your commander managed to find BB-9 again who has the map everyone’s looking for.”

“So we take you with us to find them, then you’ll know of the map’s location, too.”

Poe sighed, losing patience. “You wanna cuff me? Search for any trackers on me? Do it.” He stuck his hands out in front of him and placed his wrists together.

“Come on, Snap,” the woman said.

The man grimaced, but lowered his weapon, signaling for the others to do the same. He pointed at one of them to search Poe before turning away. He paused for a second, before turning his head. Poe waited expectantly as the person searched his person.

“That ring… they think no one’s seen it, but I managed to get a glimpse of it. I don’t think they got it before that mission. They kept saying that they weren't alone, but we all assumed they were talking about BB. Now that I think about it, you were the last one to see them that time. It’s far fetched, but…”

“Let’s talk once we start looking for them,” Poe said as he was pushed forward.

“He’s cleared,” one of them said.

“Thanks, L’ulo. Come, Dameron. We’ll wrap things up here and head back to base,” Snap said.

This was not how he thought his plan would go. He thought that he would be able to get the Tie-Fighters distracted long enough for you and FN-2187 to escape before he could join you and then follow you to wherever your mission took you next. He never thought that he would be arriving at the Resistance base without you. Certainly, not in a U-Wing surrounded by your squadron’s watchful gaze.

He kept his chin up, focusing on planning his next move. If he was allowed access to any of their ships, he could continue to track BB-8, then find you. Or maybe they would take the tracker off of him and search for you themselves. He needed to prepare for all those possibilities. While the Resistance is no longer an enemy, they’re not his friends, either.

“We’re here,” the woman, who introduced herself as Jessica, said.

She answered a commlink and identified the ship before lowering the U-Wing onto the runway. The other members of the squadron prepared for landing, gathering their belongings before standing up. Poe stood as well and waited until the ramp lowered.

“Stick close to us,” Snap said, grabbing his things before moving next to Poe.

“Where are you taking me?” Poe asked.

“To see General Leia.”

-

Taglist:  @megzdoodle @psychoticobsession @thescarletknight2014 @marrypuffsstuff @theoralpha @daniellajocelyn @badwolf-212 @gleigh42 @ella-solei @roserrys

#Survivors of Unfair Choices #First Order!Poe Dameron x Resistance!Reader #First Order!Poe Dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #Star wars imagine

[the-gedonelune-times]

Chapter 3: Fateful Encounter

Summary: Gedonelune, the prestigious royal magic academy is waiting just for you! The door has opened a whole new world of possibilities for your future. For the next thirteen days you’ll be undergoing the provisional trial to see if you have what it takes to become an official student. Along the way you’ll be meeting new faces and going on exciting new adventures. But be warned, shadows are being cast on the land, if you dive to deep, you may find yourself being swallowed up by the chaos. Your journey begins now, will you be able to banish the darkness?

(This chapter does contains scenes mentioning blood and violence)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

A groan escaped my lips as I stared at the numbers on the clock that was resting on the nightstand by my bed. It was still well into the early morning hours. My body felt heavy as I rolled to the side, pressing my face into my pillow. I still had about seven hours before I had to meet up with Nadia and head over to the tea party that those men from last night invited us to. I was honestly still a bit nervous but decided to try and chase away the feeling with some more rest. It was a rather rough next few hours though, all of which were full of tossing and turning, restlessness, and a lot of grumbling. By this point, I decided to say ‘screw it’ as I threw the covers to the side while getting out of bed. 

Despite barely getting a wink of sleep, I felt more energized than ever as I walked back from the Night Class cafeteria. A cold shower and a cup of coffee did the trick, at least for the meantime. Luckily it was the weekend, so if I desperately needed to go and lie down and try to get some more rest then I could. I hadn’t realized it until now, but it really did feel dead here in the morning, though, that’s to be expected when basically every Night Class student is nocturnal.

At least the areas above ground were pretty lively. Even though it was still pretty early out, I could see a few students roaming around the courtyard, one of which was...Nadia? It was hard to tell if it was really her at first glance. I had only ever seen her with her prefect uniform, which stood out among the other uniforms. But today she was in something completely different; a light blue shirt and a pair of black shorts, complete with a pair of flip-flops. Her usual one-sided ponytail was now loosely tied as a small breeze swept it back. She must have caught me staring because she gave me a somewhat cocky grin before putting her book down, waving me over.

I smiled as I walked over, giving a quick greeting as I did.

“I see you’re up early.”

“Have been for a while.” I chuckled.

“Really? Did you not sleep well?”

“Not really. But I should have enough energy to get through the tea party.”

Nadia’s face softened, but the worry was still written on it clear as day. “Please don’t overdo yourself today.”

“I won’t.” I answered.

“Good.” Nadia smiled. “I know we still have around an hour before we have to be there, but we can go ahead and head up to the village. Lacan or Felix might be out in the garden, oh maybe Lily is too!”

“Lily?” I recall hearing the names Lacan, Willem and Felix from last night, but this was a name that was completely new.

“Oh yeah, you haven’t met Lily or even Felix yet. Lily has been living with Willem and the others for a couple of months. I met her a couple of times when I went to visit Hugo; who’ll you’ll also probably meet soon. Anyways, Lily is a real sweet girl, she’s always taking care of the garden, she just adores flowers.”

Lily huh? Despite still knowing so little about her, I felt rather excited to meet her. That very excitement was carried with me all the way to the village. The man from last night, Lacan, was the one to greet us. He was practically running and I was a little worried, wondering if he was going to just crash right into us. Of course, he didn’t, but he was pretty excited to know we came and yet a little sad that more hadn’t shown up.

“Is it really just you two?” He asked curiously while peering over our shoulders.

“I’m afraid the others just didn’t have the time.” Nadia explained.

“Well, that’s alright.” Lacan waved. “That just more tea and baked goods for us right?”

“Right.” Nadia nodded while Lacan took her by the arm, excitedly leading her to the house. 

I trailed behind them, taking in the views. It was incredible to see that an entire village had been built here by students from the Academy. When Nadia first told me about it, I was a little shocked and a bit saddening that I didn’t have the chance to meet said former students. As I got closer to their house I noticed just how many houses were here, including one that was in the process of being built. I wonder who it belonged to.

Not paying attention to my surroundings, I ended up tripping over something, I couldn’t tell what and fell right into someone. I had regained my posture and was about to step back when I lost my balance after placing my foot on something unstable. This time I knew what it was, a shovel, I was prepared to make contact with the ground but found myself being pulled back to my feet by the person I had bumped into. 

“I’m so sorry.” I apologized. 

“It’s alright. I should have found a better place to put my things. But at the same time *you should have been watching your surroundings more carefully.”

“Hm?” 

My eyes met the ones of the person who helped me. It was a girl around my height, she had long platinum-blonde, almost silver, colored hair that moved with the passing breeze. Her eyes were a bit harder to see by her messy bangs that was caused by the sunhat she was wearing, but I could tell that they were kind. I watched as she titled her head, her hand waving in front of my face.

“Hello? Earth to the stranger in the garden.” She wore a smile as she spoke.

“Ah, sorry I…”

“Is the sun getting to you? I’ve heard that sometimes people look lost like that when they’re not hydrated properly. Perhaps you need some water?”

I chuckled. “No, I’m not dehydrated nor am I feeling unwell. I just..er..” I couldn’t exactly tell her that I was staring. Things could get awkward very fast. Instead, I just cleared my throat and smiled. “I was just admiring the view around here.”

“Oh?” Her eyes looked me up and down as she walked around me. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you around here. Are you new?”

“Yes.” I answered with a nod.

“Really?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Lily gasped before rushing over to a patch of vibrant colored flowers. After doing some thinking, her hands plucked one of the flowers skillfully from the patch. In her hand was now a beautiful orange tulip, it almost looked like she had a small flame in her hand. I was about to ask about the flower when she held it up to me.

“For you.”

“H-Huh?”

“Think of this as a welcoming gift.”

The flower was placed in my hands, I was so afraid that I might somehow smash it that I decided to tuck it behind my ears. Lily gasped and clasped her hands together.

“You look so nice with that colour, it really brings out your eyes.”

“Y-You think so?” I unconsciously began to touch the petals of the flower that was nestled in my hair. For some reason I had grown rather embarrassed, almost to the point where I could barely make eye contact with her. 

“Hey you two, the tea and stuff are ready!:

*Oh thank goodness….*

With what seemed like perfect timing, Lacan had stepped out of the house and now stood on the porch. He smiled when he saw us, but it faded when he saw that Lily’s hands and outfit were completely covered in dust and semi-wet dirt from her time in the gardening,

“Lily! Were messing with the garden?”

Not seeming to care, she smiled. “I wanted to plant the other flowers. I still have to get the Bearded Iris plants in the ground.”

“You can do that later. Right now you need to clean up. We have company joining us for tea.”

“Oh?” Lily blinked a couple of times and then looked at me curiously. “So you’re here because of the invitation?”

“Ah, yes.” 

“I see! I’ll go put on a very special outfit then!”

 Lily then began dusting off her outfit before heading up to the porch. She looked back at me as if telling me to follow. As I did, I noticed something that caught me by surprise, or rather shocked me to the point where I grew concerned. Lily had on an outfit that left her back exposed, on her back were three deep wounds that almost looked fresh. They resembled claw marks. I wanted to ask but decided it was best not to, I had just met this person, after all, it would have been rude.

Lacan, however, caught onto my staring and shared a similar sad gaze. “Don’t worry, she’ll be alright.”

Was this guy a mind reader now?

I entered the house with Lacan, but was left behind as he said he was going to check on Lily. He told me that the kitchen would be down the hall and that everyone was already there. When I got there, I could hear a conversation between Willem and Nadia. Worried that I would be interrupting something, I Quietly hid out of view, just enough to be able to keep listening.

“...so she really doesn’t remember anything?”

“No. Her memory has been wiped clean and ever since the attack, it’s gotten worse.”

“I...I can’t believe it.”

So this girl was attacked? Their voices seemed to go quiet and just as I leaned in to listen more closely, I heard someone clear their throat from behind me. I turned around in a panic to see a man with blonde hair and curly white ram-like horns. He seemed to have a disinterested look as he spoke. 

“Is eavesdropping some kind of human pasttime? It seems rather rude to me.”

“Er, well I, you see…”

“Save your breath. I could care less.” He muttered while walking inside.

What is this guy’s problem?

I decided to follow suit and was immediately greeted by Willem.

“Hello there.”

“Hello.” I put on my best smile and watched as the man in white robes roll his eyes.

“I’m glad you could join us.” He smiled. “ But just a little word of advice, if you’re going to listen in on one’s conversation, try harder to conceal yourself next time.”

What in the world are these guys?!

“How did you..?”

“Well, as a Dragonkin, my hearing is rather good, I could hear the shift in floorboards near the entrance. But your shadow was also seen clear as day.” He laughed and I found myself wanting to hide my face in embarrassment.

Lily and Lacan joined us a little while later and from there we all sat down and began engaging in small talk as we drank our tea and enjoyed the baked goods. During this time, I was learning more about Dragonkin, Willem was very thorough in his explanations and it was incredibly interesting to listen to. Even the man in the white robes, who I learned was Felix, seemed to enjoy sharing stories from a faraway past. There was a small break of the conversation which led to silence befalling us. During the silence, Lily had shifted in her seat, asking to be excused to go get some fresh air. 

When she left, I noticed that the atmosphere in the room had changed drastically. 

“It’s her back I’m sure…” Felix looked away sadly.

“Felix…:

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened.”

I was about to ask, but held my tongue instead. Nadia beat me to the question anyways.

“What exactly happened?”

The three men all exchanged looks, each of them going silent before Felix spoke up.

“I asked Lily to join me for a stroll on the usual path.” Felix explained. “ We had just reached a clearing in the path right by the flower field that Lily loves so much. The weather was absolutely gorgeous and just as we were about to take a break and rest in the grass. That’s when...it happened.”

Felix stopped for a moment, going quiet as he gathered his thoughts. “It all happened so fast, this magic beast came out of nowhere, it looked like a Chimera. It charged right towards us, specifically me. Even if I had managed to cast a spell, I would have still been injured. But just as I was prepared for the blow, Lily...she...she stepped in front of me and threw her arms around my neck, taking the blow. The scream she let out, it was unlike anything I had ever heard before. I tried healing her wounds but nothing happened, so I brought her back home right away.”

“It was a really gruesome scene.” Lacan recalled. “Felix ran in here with his robes stained with so much blood. I really thought we were going to lose her. Luckily Willem was here though, he knew of a way to stop the bleeding, but...we couldn’t heal the wound. That’s why the wound on her back looks so fresh, it’s because those markings are cursed.”

“Cursed?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. 

Lacan nodded. “Yes. Lily’s powers were sealed and her memory wiped clean. She’s stuck in her human form, almost like she’s been reset.”

*Human form? So does that mean that Lily was a Dragonkin too? I asked myself silently while listening on.

“She also can’t stay sitting in one place for too long, nor can she have fabric touching her back. It gives her a tremendous amount of pain and has made it a bit more difficult for her to even do her usual tasks.”

“But our lily is a real fighter.” Lacan smiled. “She still takes care of the plants and she’s been writing down in her journal whenever her memory starts giving out. She’ll get through this, I mean, she has all of us to support her.” 

“That’s right.”

“But what if she doesn’t get better? What if she’s doomed to this kind of lifestyle? This is no way for her to live!”

Felix shouted before getting up from his seat, rushing out of the room and slamming a door that must have been down one of the halls. Willem had tried calling out to him and was about to get up as well but was stopped by Lacan before he even could. 

“Let him be, Willem. He needs some space, you know he always comes back to us when his mind is cleared. Now is no different.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

As the others began some small chatter, I looked down at my plate and teacup. There was so much that was going on that I didn’t feel like even finishing up the rest of it. In fact, I could really use some fresh air right about now…

“May I be excused?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything alright?” Nadia asked.

“Yes, I just need some fresh air.”

“Go right ahead.” Willem softly smiled. “A lot has happened and I send my apologies for making you go through it.”

“The porch is open!” Lacan beamed as he changed the subject. “We even have some chairs set up so you get a really pretty view of the garden.”

“Thank you.”

I gave a thankful nod and pushed my chair out, quickly removing myself away from the table and the area in general. There was so much to process and the fact that such a beast could cause such harm to people who were merely taking a stroll worried me. My mind couldn’t take it, so I thought fresh air could help. But as I stepped out onto the porch and sat down in one the nearby chairs, I remembered something. *Wasn’t Lily out here too?* Just as I thought that, my eyes focused in on a figure who was standing over a patch of flowers. I could tell right away that it was Lily.

She was wearing a completely different outfit, a backless rose-coloured sundress. Seeming to notice my presence, Lily turned to face me, a smile rose to her face as she gave a small wave, heading in my direction. I could see her face more clearly this time and almost immediately I was drawn to her eyes and the smile she had was making my heart thud.

“Are you about to leave?” She asked almost sadly.

“No, not yet. I just needed some fresh air,”

“Oh thank goodness…”Lily sighed. “I was a little worried.”

“Worried?”

Lily nodded. “I really wanted to keep talking to you, I can tell that you have a kind heart.”

“A kind heart huh?”

“Well you’re also pretty interesting and there’s not a lot of new faces that come around here. So seeing you here is a real treat!”

“You mean, you don’t see a lot of people? What about when you go into town?”

“Going into town is rare for me. Willem says it’s safer is I stay here in the village, but he still lets me go into town as long as I’m with one of them. Although, going into town right now isn’t an option since there was an incident that occurred recently. I’m not sure what happened but when I heard Willem talking about it, I felt...uneasy, yes that would be the best term to describe it.”

Strange, this was the first time I had heard about this happening, and with the academy being so close to the town, it’s a wonder that this kind of information wasn’t disclosed. Though, I suppose if such information was given out, then it could cause panic to ensue. Still...this seems pretty serious, I wonder what happened?

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” Lily spoke as she sat down in the chair next to me. “Willem said that the people at the Ministry would take care of things.”

“I suppose that’ll offer some relief.”

Lily nodded and before I knew it, we dived into a deep conversation. Even though I had just met her, it felt like Lily and I had known each other for a while, we just seemed to hit off really well. A couple of hours had passed before Nadia had stepped out onto the porch, asking if I was ready to go.

“You’re leaving already?” Lily looked at me sadly.

“I’m sorry, Lily. I really wish I could stay longer.”

“Me too! Will you be able to come over tomorrow?”

“I start classes tomorrow, if I didn’t have them then I’d love to come back to see you.”

“Classes? Does that mean you go to the academy nearby?”

I nodded and watched as Lily fumbled with her hands, finally resting them on her lap. “Is there any way that we could still keep in touch?”

That was a good question, was there a way we could? If there was, I’d love to take the opportunity.

“Magic notes.” Nadia responded. 

“Huh?”

“I think Persephone should have given you some. You two could write to one another.”

“Really?”

“Where can I gets some?”

“I have some.” Willem responded from the doorway. “I think sending magical notes to one another would be a wonderful thing for you, Lily. It’s wonderful to see you making some new friends.”

I watched as Lily practically jumped out of her seat with excitement. “Please teach me how to use it!”

Willem laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll teach you in a little bit.”

“Thank you.” Lily smiled before looking back at me, holing out her hand. “I’ll be sure to write to you every day, i-if you don’t mind of course.”

“I would really like that.” I took her hand and gave it a few shakes before leaving with Nadia.

The sun was still shining brightly by the time we got back to the academy. Nadia and I said our goodbyes before parting our separate ways. I must have been grinning the entire time as I walked back to my dorms because when I got back to my room, my face hurt. What was it about Lily that made me feel this way? I wasn’t sure of these feelings, but I knew that I wanted to see her again….

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

Nadia: I’m happy that they got along so well with Lily.

Persephone: You mean the new student?

Nadia: Yeah! 

Persephone: I guess that explains that goofy grin they had on their face while going to their dorms.

Naida: I can see them getting along well in the future.

Persephone: We can talk more about this later. For now, let’s get on with the preview.

Nadia: Their first day of classes and their trial begins, how will things go, and what familiar faces await them?

Persephone: Find out soon in the chapter ‘Classes’.

#wizardess heart+ #shall we date?: wizardess heart #wh fan route #The Three Seals Series #The Queen Of Forgotten Time #Nadia Zaidelle #Persephone Onyx #Lily Bloom #willem v rembrandt #Lacan wh #Felix Starjune

[lrugloyak]

Ben's uncle (i.e. another dream about a hot demon)

(Hi. If it’s your first time here, you can go HAHA. I’m not sure when I can focus back on my personal musings on here, but generally if you’re staying behind, I hope it’s for the memes. This is just a dream journal entry -- something I’d like to look back and laugh at in the future or, say, show to a therapist when I’ll need one lmao. Happy New Year!)

Like the actor who plays the old version of the lead guy in huling el bimbo; if not taller and darker but still theatre actor, basta real and dark like daveed but pinoy and no facial hair lmao

Ben's uncle drives me to school. Real school. With little Ben. Ben's uncle is wearing a black collared shirt with green double stripes.

I forget to bring socks and topple off the car with just slippers on and shoes in hand. He thinks I'm silly. I think he's hot. I tell myself I'll ask him out soon. I'm in high school.

I'm strangely waiting outside the lobby for class. It's afternoon. I go with Che to the gate bc I'm bored waiting. I trip over a few Christmas balls. When I get up, she's on the other side of the gate on some sort of fine ticking stuff off. I tell myself i can do that and reach for the pen. Ms. Joji is beside che with 2 familiar janitors from sisc. She politely chuckles to herself. I ask her why, and she tells me I'm kind but why care about this now. She touches my hand and carries on. I'm a bit disappointed.

It's nearly evening and i see ben's uncle's car roll around nearby but dismiss it. Bea v has a twin and draws in a small crowd of people as she loudly rants about her time at school, some story about being teased and embarrassed as she was called Bea Duh and V____. It seemed more like a pun that made sense in my dream. They were annoying but i had nothing against then so i just stayed behind the crowd and listened. They seemed like they just wanted people to listen and sympathize but it felt like a clout thing. The people seemed like they didn't like listening either but they were bored and liked being in the crowd. I giggled to myself while she was talking about something i wasn't listening to. All eyes turned to me. She asked if i had something to say. I saw ben's uncle's back from afar as he was rummaging through the back seat. I didn't think he saw me. I mindlessly started with my story about forgetting my shoes that morning and it was embarrassing. But i slipped with the fact that i wanted to ask ben's uncle out. I looked back at the crowd and saw their eyes light up. Someone asked me why. I said because he was hot. They ask laughed. I just said yeah he's hot! The crowd ate it up as i was pretending to be all the rage, making my story funnier and being more loose and confident with the way i moved. I didn't say it out loud, but thoughts of ben's uncle being attractive bc he was thoughtful, funny, kind and attentive were flooding my head. I look back at him and see he's staring right back at me with kind eyes and a wondering smile on his face. I laugh bc I'm having a good time with the crowd and i unknowingly proved a point to bea that you can turn embarrassing stories into good and still be in good company. Ben's uncle is by the gate. His elbow brushes past mine and we lock eyes. I asked if he heard all that. He asks what time my classes started and i realize oh yeah I've been waiting out here a bit alone for a class I'm not sure I'm having. We chuckle at the realization. He is admitted through sisc's electronic gate.

Search for the demon in a village that looks like manuela but with wider roads. Felt like the village in wallace and gromit. Forgot most of this part but it was heart racing and fun; i hate when i forget the adventure parts Couldn't capture the demon but found a book with some inscriptions. Had to go somewhere to find people who could help us. We were to go to a shack that same night.

I arrive with my friend to the shack. We find two guys in a room that looked a lot like lolas room now that i think about it. Guys are sleeping soundly in a bed. He tells me to take a nap first so i take a nap on a space on the right side of the bed, which was disappointing bc i wanted to help look for the demon. I am mostly asleep, but he didn't know i was still partly awake and listening and watching him decipher the book he just found. Guy in the middle wakes up and says demon is in the house, they just haven't found him yet. Informs they need to do a ritual to drive him out. They don't know how the ritual will go. They leave the room already chanting something foreign that doesn't seem to be working. I hear them enter the room beside this. September starts playing. They are chanting i think.

When the verse comes up, i hear one of them say it's not working. It was then when the legs of the guy on the left side of the bed started rising even though he was still asleep. He is wearing a grey tshirt. Hmm lol probs not important. The chorus comes and i hear the guys in the other room say that hey this isn't so bad; it's not working but they're not getting hurt from all the heavy chanting. Left side of the bed guy's arms were now rising too. "I'm not in my body" i hear the being on what looked like lolas computer chair in the shadows say. I understand he was driven out. That guy was ben's uncle. He tells me to go back to sleep. I smile and say no. So it's you, i think. He didn't have to answer. There was a bit of silence as September continued playing and the guys in the other room just sounded like they were dancing at this point.

I ask if he knew I wanted to ask him out when he passed me as he went to pick ben up from inside the school. He said yeah and smiled. I felt no shame. We both laughed. I was getting sleepier. I asked if he was the bad guy. He said yes even though I was hoping more that he'd say no. The info automatically popped in my head: he was called the necromancer. He asked why i asked, and i answered it was because nothing changed and i still wanted to go out with him. He considered it, i can feel it. He asked why, implying why i would want that knowing he's the demon, and i said bc he's hot. We both chuckled. He smiled again. Go to sleep he said, but i wouldn't budge. His human's legs and arms are still up. He won't keep his eyes off me. It seems more sincere. I'm not scared at all. Fuck, he's cute. He realizes he can't convince me. He walked over to my end of the bed and sat by my waist. We stare at each other for a bit and it feels like we've been talking for hours. I ask will you hold my hand and he takes it. His hand feels human. It even feels as nervous as one. I tell him everyone's capable of change. He looks at me with love in his eyes. The sound of September is drowned out by the feeling of time to rest your weary head clouding my senses. I don't want to wake up yet; i want to save him.

I wake up. I think there's been an earthquake.

I bite my lip.

Alright! So this was supposed to be a mind farts thing, which is why some sentences are less...sentence-like than others. Typed this out when I woke up at 5:48am. I was sad that I couldn’t get back to sleep bc I wanted to see Ben’s uncle again HAHAHAHA THE THIRST IS REAL and it’s so weird how I always just referred to him as Ben’s uncle and not??? a name?????

Okay, here are my notes possible factors:

• Gian Magdangal, but here in his role in AHEB and not anywhere else lol

I didn’t even feel the least attracted to him here; I’m not sure why Ben’s uncle took his form and why I was so eager to get in cahoots with him HAHAHAHA SORRY GIAN

• By “real school,” I mean my actual high school -- that part of the entrance was perfect in my head to the last detail. Little Ben, whoever the heck he is, was also wearing the grade school uniform. 

• The last I’ve heard from Che was from an instagram post for the holidays. I’m not sure why she got in here. 

• For the life of me, I don’t know what Ms. Joji and my school janitors represented. Maybe it’s my late feeling of detachment from being coined as a nice person. I can’t promise I’ll write about that here. 

• I don’t know why Bea V is here either huhu. Despite what it seems like, I hold no grudges (or any real personal connection) to her, at least to my knowledge

• The action sequence in Manuela probably comes from how I’ve been going there often for the holidays and truly wanted to stay longer that I did. 

• September??? My dad’s been playing songs of that era when his friends came around and when he’d have the hand at the Manuela get-togethers.

• The thirst? Yeah it comes with all the dreams now, it seems. Haha. Remember Suit Guy from the other dream? I’m convinced they’re the same character. After my closure with a real boy last month, I reverted back to talking to Angel. I don’t expect you to know who he is as I’ve never mentioned him officially in writing. It’s not like anyone’s going to read this anyway until I’m dead, but Angel’s been my imaginary friend for years. I’m not sure for how long, but perhaps it was since fallen angel tropes took over YA fiction (say, my 5th grade years?) or since I got into Supernatural. It comforts me to have a hot imaginary friend I can banter and actually fight with to talk to. I guess my fixation on tall mysterious guys (and after watching Daddy Long Legs din pala last night) just played into my metaphorical love for Angel.

#kylle #january2021 #dreams were all i ever knew

[dimancheetoile]

of stardust and galaxies

Written for @shikasaku-week Hanami 2020 Day 2 Prompt 1: of stardust and galaxies

Read on AO3

I had an absolute blast writing this, you have no idea. This story is set before another that will also be posted for ShikaSaku Week.

Yes I did re-use the parents I invented for Sakura in Withered Flowers but they're really not important enough in this story to warrant me spending time researching names for them.

Please tell me what you thought about this one, I'm truly interested given how much I like it!

•

The war went on for much longer than anyone could have ever anticipated. The losses were massive, in scale of destruction and in numbers. After a particularly violent attack from Madara, Konoha was simply razed off the map. Entirely and thoroughly destroyed, until not even the foundations of the buildings remained.

The scope of the fire jutsu Madara used went far deeper than simply destroying the entire history of their village and every single memory kept in those narrow streets and green parks. His black fire, raging and wild, scorched the earth deep into its own core. They tried to rebuild, for a while. Tenzō's mokuton had been vital to the reconstruction effort, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn't worth the chakra exhaustion. Nothing would grow on the cracked earth left behind by Madara's madness.

Driven out of their own homeland by starvation, Konoha's remaining population began its exodus.

Having lost most of the people who used to lead Konoha no Sato, and a good chunk of the people who would have been considered successors to those leaders, the citizens were aimless for days as they regrouped and gathered the very few items they had remade for their new homes that they were going to abandon one more time.

In the end, things settled in the way things always settle after a disaster. Desperation and urgency bred to create exceptional circumstances and someone who wanted nothing to do with power ended up with way too much of it on their hands for their taste.

Haruno Sakura was born to civilian parents in the Farmers' Guild, who only had one expectation for their daughter, which was to marry a nice civilian who owned a reasonable business or worked a reasonable job and live a reasonable life together until they died at a reasonable age only a reasonable amount of years apart.

Unfortunately for Haruno Hashiru and Uzumaki Noroshi, they would both lose their life in a raid of their small property in the farm lands around the village. Having no living relatives and her inheritance barely paying for the funeral arrangements and handling of their property, Sakura was put in the orphanage, and that was that.

Sakura grew up in one of the worst orphanages of the Five Nations, surrounded by children who suffer just as must as you and whose bitterness and malice is proportionate to how poorly they're, in turn, treated by the people supposed to care for them. You don't grow up in that kind of environment and have huge expectations for your life.

Had Sakura not met a clan heiress and her clan heirs friends when she was at a turning point in her life, she would have remained a low-life, desperate kid who would have grown up on the streets of a village that never had the emotional capacity to care for its civilian population, given that it was born out of the desperate attempt at peace of two historically warring clans that treated its own, very rare civilians like cannon fodder.

She would have grown up starved and angry, desperate to put food in her plate day by day. She would have begun selling her body at the age of twelve, to the highest bidder willing to pay for her virginity, and the money from that sale only would have put food on the table for three months, in the underground squat where she would have lived with a few other street urchins, leftovers from a government feasting on its weakest population.

(in another life, she would have kept her eyes shut, round, childish face crushed against the pillow and thankful that she didn't have to look into the beady eyes of the man paying for the last shreds of her hopeful innocence, his white mane moving in rhythm to the thrusting of his hips. She would have thrown a shaking hand forward when he was done, feeling cold and clammy inside, numbly wondering that he kinda looked like a frog, from this angle, then closed her fist around the money before leaving in a rush. In another life, the man would have pulled his loose pants back up under his yukata, feeling good about himself because he just gave a girl enough money to feed herself for a few months. In another life, it never would have crossed his mind that he could have simply given her the money and offered her a shoulder to cry on)

(in another life... right?)

She would have eventually joined a gang, on her knees as often as she would slit throats in back alleys, and a few days before her seventeenth birthday, she would have bled out in the backroom of an unregistered club, throat torn open by a masked figure in a grey uniform the gang members knew too well. As her life would have slowly poured out of her, she would have looked at the back of the ANBU that just killed her and was giving a highfive to the one standing closest, and she would have died with a smile on her lips because the figure smelled like the ramen from Ichiraku that she had never gotten to taste, too expensive for her and her crew.

But Sakura met three clan heirs and after living for ten years in the orphanage, she had been taken in by the Akimichi Clan, when the three friends had taken one look at her shared bunk, on the third day of knowing each others, and had unanimously decided that this would not do and their new friend needed a better place to live.

(Ino had stomped her feet and Shikamaru had pleaded and Chōji had cried a little and eventually, Chōza had caved in and took in the girl. None of the three sets of parents had told their children that their actions didn't solve the problem. None of the three sets of parents asked their heirs why they didn't insist on bringing back every single child from the orphanage, or asked them what they thought would happen to the other children who hadn't made friends with clan heirs. None of them asked anything, because as kind as they are with their own children, willing to give in to their whim of playing heroes for an orphan, they ultimately don't care enough to change a system that benefits them first)

Sakura grows up learning two very important lessons: no one cares about the civilians, and she'll never be in control of her own destiny.

So she's not surprised a single bit when, as the last surviving member of the inner circle around the executive powers of Konoha, she's eventually pushed to the top under the guise of “honoring the deceased” and “giving her the position she deserves for her heroic actions in the war” and named Nanadaime Hokage.

That night, as the slow caravan of Konoha survivors comes to a stop for supper and rest, Sakura crawls into her tent and cries herself to sleep.

A few days later, they finally reach Kiri and Sakura negotiates asylum with the Mizukage. In those few days, she's named herself a cabinet made of the last remaining experts amongst Konoha's sparse population. There aren't enough people in that cabinet for her liking but she can't afford to be picky, so she brings all three of them into the negotiations and they come out with the least worst deal they can hope for, one that is still considerably better than anything they would have managed before the days of the Alliance and better than anything Sakura could have come up with on her own.

The Konoha survivors are put in the deserted district where people who died in the Mist coup used to live in. It's a bit cramped, but they can't afford to complain, so they adapt. At least they have a roof over their head and enough food to feed everyone. Kiri was just as affected by the war as the other nations, though the village itself didn't suffer much in its infrastructure. But they're lacking the numbers lost on the battlefield, and that's where the Fire citizens come in.

People just fill in the gaps left by the war, integrating seamlessly into Wave's economy. They're not naturalized, keeping their Fire citizenship and Sakura remaining their leader. The way it works is that the workers build a wall to close the district off, with a big gate that remains, more often than not, open. Sakura lives in an old administration building, having transformed the top floor offices into a few bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom, two empty rooms waiting to be converted to a kotatsu room and a shrine.

On the ground floor, she has meeting with her advisors, she does hearing for her people and she forges the basis of what promises to be the Fire-Mist treaty, a cooperation and integration policy that would make Konoha's survivors into what amounts to a foster village of Kiri. If this thing comes to pass, they would essentially be a separate state-entity, with its own laws and government, but with privileged relations with Kiri in terms of right of passage, trade, taxes, imports and exports, as well as an equal share of the land.

An equally beneficial treaty, then, but a text of law that still takes a long time to redact and hammer into shape to be certain that no one is getting screwed over by poor wording. The main thing that her village-within-a-village brings to the table is the proposition of an Academy of Medicine and a House of Health.

In short, Sakura would open what amounts to a carbon-copy of Konoha's Academy, training kids to become genin. From that point on, the children would get two options: either continue on the path of becoming a shinobi of Kirigakure, or join the Academy of Medicine and train as a medic-nin. All children of the village would go through the first part of the training, not only Konoha kids, and would receive complimentary medic training so that every genin, even if they don't go on to become medic-nin, have a solid understanding of chakra control and healing, in hopes of reducing field-losses.

The House of Health would be civilian medics, in every specialty, all in one place for convenience. Classes would be provided for Kiri citizens to learn first-aid or more in-depth knowledge. It would double as relief for the overcrowded Kiri hospital, taking in all non-threatening cases so that the hospital could focus entirely on its surgery division and two research labs, as well as the paediatric wing.

The House of Health would have a sub-division for monitoring pregnancies and offering a more casual environment for labour, with a few empty houses around the House, fully furnished and waiting for the soon-to-be parents. They would spend the entirety of the labour in the comfort of the provided home, going at their own pace and being on their own or with their family. And if anything goes wrong, there would be an entire House of professionals right next to the houses to give a hand when needed.

Those propositions are basically what sold the treaty to the Mizukage, despite a few clauses that she was a bit iffy on, but agreed to in the end because the prospect of a fully-functional, advanced medical system and healthcare administration, alongside trained professionals under the tutelage of the greatest medic in the world is one of those things you don't say no to, under any circumstances.

So the treaty is signed, the old Kiri Academy building is remodelled to host the new courses and the House of Health is built right next to the Konoha district. Happy endings, right?

It's another morning, another day of working a job she frankly wants no part in and that she only performs to the best of her abilities because she's aware of the weight of the enormous responsibility placed on her shoulders. You know. A typical morning.

There is a rasp on the door, barely a knock before the bamboo panel slides open. It's not meant for privacy anyway, simply there to protect the inside of the house against Kiri's weather. Sakura looks up from her paperwork, vaguely surprised to see Shikamaru standing there. Vaguely, because he's still her Councillor and they have a lot of private meetings without the rest of her advisors, and because she's way too exhausted to question anything more deeply than with mild curiosity and vague surprise.

“Hey, Shikamaru. What's the new disaster?”

Half-fallen over her desk, legs starting to sore from the extended kneeling, it takes her a moment to realize he's not moving, and he's not answering. She looks up, frowning, but what she sees on his face is enough to have her up and right in his space, taking one of his hands.

With Ino and Chōji, Shikamaru is amongst the three people she's known the longest in her life. Only her parents beat that record, and they're dead, so the three clan heirs are probably the people she knows the best as well. Living with Chōji might have made her slightly more attuned to his emotions, but the difference is inconsequential. So she knows for certain that something is wrong.

“Shikamaru?”

His lips are pressed into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowed. He's not looking her in the eye, instead looking down at their feet, still quiet. She dares a hand forward, brushing against the side of his arm before retracting, a small comfort for both of them, she hopes.

“I need your help,” he finally says through gritted teeth. With that, it seems like all the tension is drained from his body, and he looks more defeated than anything.

“You have it, always,” she answers, trying for a soothing voice but knowing her own anxiety at this weird situation is slipping through the cracks. Shikamaru has always been the stable one, the rock, and she knows, as sure as the sun rise and sets, that if he crumbles, he'll be taking her, and the entirety of Konoha with him.

He scoffs at her answer. “I never wanted you to know this. This is mine and I don't want you to know.”

She flinches a little, surprising herself by how much that hurts. For one second, Shikamaru catches it, and guilt joins the frustration and anxious expression on his face.

“I'm guessing you don't have a choice,” she says softly.

“I really, really don't.” He sighs, a sad, depressing little noise that Sakura feels all the way inside her bones. “I need you to- I need a surgery.”

Sakura's eyebrows rise in disbelief. “You... need me to operate on you? Why? What's going on? You know I can't just perform surgery on you based on your words, I need to do, at the very least, a physical exams, and maybe a few scans depending on where the problem lies.”

Shikamaru's smile is feral, self-deprecating, and she hates it so much. “Oh, trust me, you won't need to do scans.”

Sakura sighs, leaning against the way with a leg propped up.

“Would you consent to a physical exam right now? We can go to the House.”

Shikamaru shakes his head. “I don't want anyone to know there's something wrong with me. You don't need an exam room to see the problem anyway.”

She bites her lip in consideration, then nods seemingly to herself. “Alright, follow me then. We'll go to my place.”

The tension seems to bleed out of Shikamaru's shoulder and he accepts easily. Sakura leads them out of her office and into the corridor that leads to a staircase. After climbing it, Sakura slides the door panel open and walks into the part of the building that serves as her home.

Shikamaru follows her without a word until they reach one of her unoccupied bedrooms. Or that's what it used to be anyway. Shikamaru raises an eyebrow, looking at her questioningly. She gives him an awkward smile, gesturing at the miniaturized operation room and the drawers upon drawers of medical equipment.

“Look, you have no idea how many people just barge in through my window after a mission, Mist and Fire alike, just because they don't feel safe going to the hospital. Post-mission paranoia is real enough that I'm willing to indulge them, and I refuse to let a disaster happen at the hospital just because I want my beauty sleep.”

He nods, the reasoning sensible enough. It's not like she needs the four bedrooms anyway, given that she lives alone.

(silently, he wonders about that, why she's never dating, why she's never showing signs of being interested by anyone. He wonders how anyone can work as much as she does and not want to come home to someone who wants to take care of you. Dating, post-war, is awkward. No one wants to actively seek out partners, because everyone is just a little too depressed to be able to make the efforts required to have a healthy, communicative relationship. But on the other hand, a good bunch of them are getting desperate. He can't really talk, he's single too, but at least he's dated before, civilians and shinobi alike, and he knows how important it can be not to be alone)

(she's always been alone)

“Well, we're alone and I've got everything I need. Do you want to tell me what's going on, now?”

The knot is back in his stomach, and Sakura looks like she knows exactly how little he wants to talk about this. Not that any of her patients is ever easy, unless they're civilians, but she doesn't tell him that, because she wants him to trust her sometimes this year and not worsen the situation.

Eventually, Shikamaru sighs, and begins to unhook the clasps of his flack jacket. Sakura nods, satisfied, and brings the tray with her basic equipment closer. She already has her stethoscope around her neck and the monitor for his blood pressure, when he takes his shirt off, and really, she has to put down everything now, doesn't she, because it's obvious what's going on.

Shikamaru self-consciously crosses his arms in front of his chest, but it's not enough to cover the two scars running across his upper torso.

She sighs, dropping the monitor back on the tray, and looks at him, head slightly tilted.

“Does anyone else know?” she asks, more to get him to talk than because she needs to know. She has to get him to relax, to trust her with this.

“My parents, obviously. Ino's and Chōji's parents too. And the surgeon who did this, he was one of the first to openly do those surgeries, so my parents brought me all the way to Kumo to see him. He's- like me.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Shikamaru. It does me great honor to know you find me worthy of who you are.”

“I- Sakura, I need to know if... will you see me differently now?”

She's never seen him like this, so uncertain, so out of place. He's so confident and calm, such a driving force for their people. She hates to see him like this. Sakura offers her hand, in the space between them, and Shikamaru uncrosses his arms to take it without even pausing. She smiles softly, touched.

“Do you see me differently for my own scars, Shika?” With her free hand, she bunches her shirt up to show her midsection and the seven, thumb-long scars scattered on her skin. “Sasori skewered me like dango on a stick. His spikes were thorough and touched all of my lower organs. I have a fake portion of small intestine and I'll never be able to have a child. Do you see me differently, knowing my scars?” she asks again.

He's looking at her with wide eyes and a deep, bleak sorrow that they all learned from the war, when grief and tears could put you in danger and you needed to get over things quickly on the outside, only to break down on the inside later.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly.

She shrugs. “I'm not. I killed an akatsuki member, someone who would have kept hurting people again and again, and both Gaara and Kankuro survived because I was a part of this mission. I won't ever regret losing a few pieces of meat if someone's life is on the line.”

She squeezes his hand, a small smile on her face.

“So, about that surgery. Were you asking about a cosmetic procedure, to make all the scarring disappear? Or were you thinking about bottom surgery?”

Shikamaru frowns, and she can see the cool, confident guy coming back little by little, putting a happy smile on her face. “I didn't know you could do something for the scarring. In that case, both I suppose.”

“Why come now? Why not before the war, or right after? Did something change?” She hates to ask personal questions when he already seems so uneasy, but she can't agree to anything without all the facts.

“Before the war, the surgeon we went to used to send me parcels with shots and creams. He stopped, I don't know if it's because of shortage, or not knowing where to send it, or-” Or maybe he's dead, she thinks but doesn't say. “I ran out of shots two months ago and I was fine for a while, but I- it came back,” he says awkwardly, a plea in his eyes for her to understand without him having to say it. She nods quickly, refusing to let him worry. “I can't live like this. I'm miserable, Sakura.”

To hear those words, from the kind of man Shikamaru is, is heartbreaking. He deserves nothing less than happiness and fulfillment, after everything he went through being the youngest chūnin, then the youngest jōnin, then a War Councillor. Someone as calm and reliable and smart as Shikamaru shouldn't be miserable. Not on my watch. Maybe being Hokage will finally do her some good, if it means she gets to help him feel good again.

Sakura nods, weighting her words carefully before speaking. “Well, the scarring I can take care of right now, it's quick and painless. However, for your surgery, I need to know what result you want. Size, shape, do you want to be able to have biological children, all of that.”

He doesn't try to hide his relief when she doesn't push or try to have him talk more about his mental health. Not that I won't later, she thinks, but she can cut him so slack right now, given hos vulnerable he must feel.

Shikamaru is silent for a long time, eyes downward on his hand in hers, looking deep in thought. She wraps her other hand around his, pressing gently to show her support.

“I have a feeling you're exponentially more competent than the man I saw when I was younger. He only had one option for me, and a pretty scary one. But I'd like to reduce the scarring now, yes. I haven't taken my shirt off in public my entire life.”

Sakura smirks, dirty and unashamed. “Oh trust me, it was for the best. You have no idea the talk I've heard in the onsen about the comparison some of the kunoichi and jōnin make. I think a good portion of them is keeping a tally and you staying as cool as a cucumber whenever they try to get in your pants is making you the grand prize of their little competition.”

He grins, a small blush on his face that Sakura doesn't comment on. “I'm not Sasuke or Naruto, I don't have an urge to flash everyone when I'm fighting bad guys.”

Sakura bursts out laughing, the joke so unexpected it releases all the tension she hadn't noticed was left in the room. It's the first time she laughed thinking about them ever since the war, and being suddenly the last living member of a cursed team. Feeling almost giddy with being able to laugh again, she raises their joined hands and kisses his knuckles. He looks at her with wide eyes, his blush even more noticeable now.

“Right, options,” she says, wiping a tear. “Lay down for me, will you? I'll start working while I explain.”

He obeys, laying down on the examination table while her hands light up in green. She gets closer, bending slightly over him to have better access, then her palms slowly swipe over his chest, her chakra coaxing his cells into duplicating faster and cloning the genetic makeup of the older, original cells around the scars. Slowly, the two raises lines begin to smooth and loose their color.

“So there's an invasive procedure, and even more invasive procedure.” Shikamaru snorts in nervous laughter and she gives him a wry smile. “The first one involves using the unneeded tissue from what's already there and constructing a penis using what your body knows to be his. With implants, you'll get testicles, and connecting nerves will give you sensation. You will be able to get a full erection, but because I'm only using pre-existing tissues, your result will remain small compared to the average.”

She can see that he's listening intensely, but his blush has crept onto his neck despite her using very clinical language. She finds it absolutely adorable but she doesn't fancy being choked to death by her own shadow so she doesn't mention it. She doesn't say it either, but she's so proud of him it warms her up from the inside.

“The more invasive surgery starts with me collecting sample from you to be grown in lab so I can get enough skin and nerves and muscle made of your genetic makeup to basically construct a penis of the size and shape of your choice. Once attached, just like the other option, it'll be fully functional, sensitive and responsive. Now in both cases, you'll have a choice between implants to give your testicles the appropriate shape, or they can also be grown in lab and I can use your eggs to synthesize sperm glands and make you fertile.”

Sakura leans back, her hands loosing their green tint. Shikamaru sits up, staring down at his chest with wide eyes, tracing with his fingers the smooth skin where his scars used to be and where nothing is left now but an absolutely normal chest.

“Now bear in mind that I've only theoretically managed a successful transplant to make someone fertile, but I was doing the opposite procedure on a woman. When you break it down, it's exactly the same process and I've synthesized it all before, but I've never done it on a man, simply because I was never asked to. I'm certain I can pull it off, but you know, warnings and all thaaa-wow!”

Sakura can't stop the shriek of surprise when Shikamaru draws her in for the strongest hug of her life. She flails for a moment before she manages to wrap her pinned arms around his waist, his own circling her shoulder and crushing her against his bare chest. Shikamaru hides his face in her neck, and she stops the words that were about to leave her mouth when she feels the first tear drop into her neck and roll down her chest.

He's crying silently, face scrunched up enough that she can feel it against her skin. She caresses his back, drawing patterns over his warm skin, and she hums gently, rocking them together to the rhythm of a song she can barely remember.

“Thank you,” he manages, his lips moving against the fragile skin of her neck.

“Always, Shikamaru. I promise.”

She doesn't move any more than her rocking his large, warm body, waiting for the storm to pass, for the clouds to part enough that they can see the stars. Finally, he releases her, rubbing harshly on his skin until she gives him a tissue. His eyes are red and puffy and his cheeks rubbed raw, but he's he most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

“I'll take the second option,” he finally says, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “Including the fertility package. Do you do a price for family?” The joke is weak but he's trying and she's so proud she might just choke on it so she laughs and she draws him into a side hug, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Put some clothes on, exhibitionist. Let's get out of here and we'll talk more about this later, yeah?”

He nods silently and complies, following her out of the house and into the streets of Kiri. Time passed quickly and it's already well into the night. Without saying a word, Shikamaru takes her hand and laces their fingers together. She gives him a smile, shaking with excitement and giddy with the novelty of simply walking hand in hand with someone. The people of the Konoha District give them long looks, but their eyes are kind and their smiles wide, happy to see their leader finally take something for herself.

Kiri's night sky is beautiful, so different from the one in Konoha, often hidden in clouds. Here, they can see every single star winking at them from their shimmering clusters, count the constellations drawing patterns into the darkness of the void, watch galaxies form and die as they live day by day in their new normal.

“Hey, Sakura?”

She hums in response, looking away from the beautiful canvas of the sky. He's looking at her like she's personally responsible for every star shining above them, and her heart picks up.

“Can I take you out to dinner?”

She breathes in the joy, grins wide. “Of course you can.”

He blushes again, and it's her new favorite thing, she could watch him for hours. She's so happy and humbled that he trusted her with himself like that.

“On one condition, though.”

He does his best to hide his nervousness when he answers, “What is it?”

“Money upfront for the surgery, Nara. I want a kiss before the fourth date.”

He giggles, high and pretty, and even he seems surprised by it. “You've got yourself a deal, Hokage-sama.”

#shikasakuweek #shikasakuhanami #shikasaku #shikasakuhanami2020 #naruto #my writing

[bluespiderlilies]

Reincarnation | Hashibira Inosuke

chapter: one / “boar boy.”

chapter: two / “check.”

chapter: three / “in the shadows.”

chaper: four / “endure.”

chapter: five / “in the clouds.”

chapter: six / “senses.”

❝aut viam inveniam aut facium.❞

— I will either find a way, or I make one / latin phrase.

The doctor thumbed over your stitched wound, hazel eyes pensive as she looked over the almost healed injury before a look of satisfaction washed upon her face.

“You’re healing well, (Name). You’re good to go. Inosuke as well.”

You smiled in appreciation at the doctor, bowing your head politely. “Thank you, Doctor.”

She grinned, patting your head in an affectionate manner as she got up. “It’s my job! No need to thank me. However, it is appreciated.”

The doctor, Kimoto Botan, bowed politely to Akio’s parents before leaving the house with a good bye.

“I guess Inosuke and I should get going now, since we’re all healed and well.” You spoke up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you got up from your sitting position.

“I suppose you’re right. After all, you need to go on your missions.” Akio’s mother, whose name you learned to be Haruna, agreed.

“Thank you for understanding. I’ll go get ready now.” You said, bowing your head before going to your room. You slid open the door before closing it, plopping yourself onto your futon.

You enjoyed the small break. It was really refreshing, not having to train or fight or do much. Though yes, you were in pain most of the time, it still counted as a break…right?

But, of course, you couldn’t have such fantasies. While small breaks were appreciated, you needed to work hard. You needed to get rid of those demons that infested the world.

Demons that destroyed everything.

Families.

Friends.

Loved ones.

People.

Human beings.

You frowned at the thought, slipping off the jinbei that the house provided you before putting on the Demon Slayer Corps uniform that was issued to you just a couple weeks ago.

Man, time really passed by quickly, huh?

You slipped on your haori before strapping the sheath of your sword to your hip. You looked over at your quiver that was laying on the ground beside your futon.

You approached it, fingers gliding over the new strap. You didn’t know how to fix the straps, and nobody in the village sold such things—however, Akio’s father, Hisao, knew how to fix it.

The material he used was called leather. He said that it was a very strong material made from animal hide imported from overseas.

You liked it.

You placed your newly made arrows inside of the quiver before strapping it across your back, the tips feathery white fletching of the hamaya, or arrow, touching your shoulder.

You proceeded to do the same thing with your bow, matching sure it was properly positioned before taking your thigh bag and placing them around your, well, thighs.

You placed the rest of your supplies in your large pouch, placing it on the other side of your hip before picking up your jika-tabi and exiting your room.

Your eyes lit up at the sight of Inosuke sitting down on the porch, who was looking at the garden in an absent-minded manner. You sat beside him, gently placing your shoes beside you.

You silently put on the footwear, the occasional click of the metal tabs being heard. When you finished, a sigh escaped your lips as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

“Inosuke?” You spoke up, bringing your knees close to your chest and hugging them, resting the side of your head on your knees as you faced the male.

He merely grunted in response.

“I don’t think I got to tell you that I appreciate what you did for me. I’m talking about when you carried me here when I was unconscious. You were injured yourself, but you carried me here anyways and I never got the opportunity to thank you. So, thank you, Inosuke.”

You smiled to yourself. You’ve been wanting to tell him that the entire stay here, but never had the chance to—you either got distracted, or busy with other things (like internally complain about your pain).

It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

Your attention focused into Inosuke, who was merely looking at you. But, you noticed the sparkle in his eyes—even through the boar mask. It made you want to chuckle.

Steam came out of the nostrils as he crossed his arms proudly. “Of course! God Inosuke never leaves his followers behind!”

Follower? You internally snorted. You, of course, were nothing of the sort—he was your partner, and you were his. Equals.

But, you knew his personality and his over the top ego, so you let it go. Besides, you knew your own worth (even though you constantly drowned yourself in self-hate. Haha. Yeah).

Your thoughts, however, halted at the familiar noise of Kemuri’s, your crow, cawing.

“Mission in the east! Mission in the east!” She cawed, perching herself on your knee. “An abandoned farm in the east! Every demon slayer sent disappears!”

“Then why don’t they send a Pillar?” You asked, brow raised. “We’re the lowest rank—Mizunoto.”

Her small, obsidian eyes merely stared at you as she cocked her head. It was as if she was trying to tell you “how the fuck should I know, you idiot.”

Yeah. She was definitely thinking that.

A sigh escaped your lips, stretching out your legs as Kemuri flew beside you on the porch.

“I guess we should get going, Inosuke,” You informed him, getting up from your spot beside him. “We might be able to get there around the evening if we set out now.”

“Oh! You guys are going already?” Akio chimed in, popping his head out from the sliding door.

You blinked in surprise, not at all expecting him—but, it is his house; he lived here. You were just a guest.

You hummed in response before walking past him as he slid the door open. He followed after you, matching your pace, heading towards the exit of the house.

Inosuke was already there, however—much to your confusion. Did he…teleport himself, or something? How strange.

“Thank you for letting us stay here, everyone. I appreciate it very much.” You thanked, bowing deeply and sincerely.

Suddenly, a pair of arms engulfed your form, hugging you tightly but gently. You felt your cheeks warm up at the sudden display of affection, gingerly hugging Akio back, patting his back a couple times in an awkward manner.

He broke the hug, lime green eyes shimmering and a big smiled adorning his pink lips. “Stay safe, okay? And write to me too!”

You nodded shyly, cheeks flushed. What the heck? Is this what getting affection from other people than your family felt like?

It felt…good. Refreshing, even.

“Hurry up!” Inosuke yelled, harshly ripping you out of your thoughts. You looked over at him, muscular arms crossed over his bare chest—and you could tell that he had a terrible frown from under his boar mask.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.” You assured him, an exasperated smile washing over your features. You waved once last goodbye before exiting their front yard, closing the gate behind you.

As you walked out of the village with Inosuke by your side, many of the villagers thanked you and praised you both for getting rid of the demons that have haunted them for so long.

It boosted Inosuke’s ego big time.

You could feel the of giddiness and pride roll off of him in waves, which you found…cute? Endearing, even.

You didn’t know why. But you liked to see the people you care about happy and healthy—it gave you a deep satisfaction. And if you were the cause of such a thing?

It brought you great joy.

Being the source of someone’s happiness was something you often longed for—something you strived for often. While it isn’t always the main priority, it is definitely up there.

The reason? You weren’t so sure…but you had a feeling that it was because you really weren’t someone for others to be happy from in the old days.

You were someone who brought dread and despair.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

“H-huh?” You blinked owlishly, looking over at Inosuke. You didn’t realize that you had stopped in your tracks, as you were too lost in thought.

Like always.

“Sorry, Inosuke,” You apologized. “I was…lost in the clouds, I guess?”

“Hah?” He grunted. “What does that mean? You’re right in front of me.”

You stared at him. Was he serious? Did he not know what that meant? Was…was he really that oblivious?

“It’s, it’s a saying,” You stuttered out, not really used to explaining such things. “It means a person is not really paying attention to what’s happening around them and are too consumed in their thoughts. Overthinking.”

“Then stop thinking.” He stated, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s too much effort.”

“You—you can’t just stop thinking, Inosuke.” You told him, frowning.

“Yeah, you can. I do it all the time.” He answered, puffing out his chest proudly.

That’s…that’s not something to be proud of, Inosuke.

You laughed lightly, covering your mouth out of habit as you shook your head at him.

He really was cute sometimes.

“Hah?! Why’re you laughing?!” Inosuke shouted, both flustered and angered by your laughter. Cheeks hot, he clenched his fists—just what was so damn funny?!

You waved your hand in dismissal, giggling quietly. “Nothing, nothing.”

∞

“I guess we’ve arrived.” You announced, abruptly stopping to take a good look at the farm.

The once flourishing and healthy rice fields were long gone, leaving behind dried, hard, and cracked land with little to no plants—dead or not able to grow. Not too far was the now abandoned farmhouse, which looked like it could barely stand on its own now, due to its age and the weather.

The wood on the farmhouse was dark and moldy, paint beginning to peel off slowly. Steep-sloped, thatched rooftop of the farmhouse was beginning to wear down, only a thin layer was left on the roof—and it even had some holes from the top, which you could easily climb up and enter from above.

It was the evening now, with the sun just about to dip into the horizon—leaving behind a beautifully painted canvas of shades of orange and yellow, along with blushing clouds and the crescent moon about to make her appearance.

“Why did you stop? Are you scared?” Inosuke taunted, cackling right after.

“No, not really. A bit worried, though,” You shrugged, biting your lower lip. “I just don’t think that this is a mission for us. We’re the lowest rank. I think we should leave it to the Pillars.”

“Hah?! What are you talking about?! If I defeat this demon, then I can take on anyone! Even the pillars!” Inosuke shouted, steam coming out of the nostrils of the mask.

You pursed your lips. You highly doubted that; your abilities were sub par at most in comparison to a Pillar. Who knows—you’d probably die defeating this demon.

Haha. Shit.

“Let’s enter through one of the holes in the roof and investigate. Who knows if the demon escaped somehow.” You said, pointing towards the roof of the farmhouse.

You climbed on top of the farmhouse (with the help of Inosuke—it was quite unstable). Much to your dismay, with each step you took, the wood weighed down and would creak loudly—if there were any demons in there, they would’ve been alerted about your presence long time ago.

You jumped down from the hole in the roof after Inosuke, cringing loudly at the creak of the wood beneath your feet. With any more force, it would’ve broke, causing you to be stuck.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

“Inosuke, can you sense anything?” You whispered, eyes scanning your surroundings. Judging by what was left of the room and the hearth in the middle, you were probably in the irori.

Inosuke grunted in response, walking and looking around as he was trying to sense any sort of vibrations in the air that belong to a demon.

You shifted your attention the ground, crouching and tapping the wooden floorboards to see if there was some sort of entrance way beneath the farmhouse, or just something hidden. What caught your attention, however, was dried up blood splatters near the hearth.

You swiped your finger on the blood-soaked wood, some of the red substance sticking to your index and thumb.

The blood was…still a bit fresh. It hadn’t completely dried off.

Quickly, you got up, about to open your mouth to call for Inosuke when you suddenly felt the wind getting knocked out of you, crashing into the wall.

“I-Inosuke…!” You wheeze out, coughing harshly. But, in no less than a second, he was slammed into the wall beside you.

You heard chuckles echo throughout the room, wood creaking loudly and the hissing of snakes—before you knew it, the demon revealed itself, grinning widely.

The demon was large—having a human-like body which gets cut off from the torso, the rest of his body akin to a snake’s. The scales were thick and black, and the tip of his tale had some sort of cluster of scales as well, creating a rattle-like sound.

The face of the demon was thin, with a wide jaw and protruding cheekbones. It’s fangs were poking out of its mouth, pricking his thin, snow white lips. It’s eyes were big and beady, with sapphire blue eyes and thin, diamond shaped pupils.

The snake demon snickered, snake-like creatures pushing out from its stomach, collective hissing echoing throughout the room.

You gagged, covering your mouth and trying to keep in the bile that was throwing coming up your throat.

“Ew! What the hell are you doing?! That’s nasty!” Inosuke shouted, disgust evident on his features even through the mask.

The snake merely cackled loudly in response, his beady eyes looking over you and Inosuke hungrily.

“How foolish. You came here knowing that many people before you who came with the same intentions have been eaten by me,” He hissed, forked tongue coming out of his mouth. “I have killed over twenty of your so called Demon Slayers and I have grown stronger each time.”

The snake demon lifted his tail before slamming it onto the wood, breaking it completely—you covered your face with your arm to avoid the chips of wood flying out.

Below, you could see piles and piles of human bones, all stacked messily on each other.

Your eyes widened in shock, shakily taking off your hands from your mouth. Your entire body was trembling out of anger and disgust, hands curling into tight fists.

How despicable.

But, then again, these are demons you’re talking about.

It is their typical behavior.

Inosuke growled, unsheathing both of his katana and prepared to attack the snake demon—however, you grabbed his forearm, holding him back.

“What the hell are you—?!” He shouted, snatching his forearm from your grip.

“Inosuke, he’s trying to provoke us. If he attack him with our emotions blinding us, we will die.” You reasoned, talking to him in a hushed manner.

Inosuke faltered. However, his grip on his katana tightened.

“Then what do we do, huh?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“I have a plan. I distract him enough so you will be able to slice his neck from behind. I’ll try to lead him outside—maybe you will be able to climb onto the roof and jump off from there to get his neck.” You explained quickly, occasionally glancing over at the demon.

“Fine,” he grunted. “We’ll go with your plan.”

A small smile graced your lips.

“Just count on me.”

#inosuke hashibira #inosuke hashibira x reader #inosuke #inosuke x reader #kny #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader

[iwillsithereandtrytocontribute]

Ready as I’ll Ever Be Part (12/?)

Masterlist Last Next Ao3

Pairings: Logicality, Prinxiety

Warnings: none that I know of

Summary: A medieval fantasy au. Roman makes a deal with Deceit that goes sideways. With the castle under enemy control, Thomas captured, a rogue sorcerer on the loose, and some dark secrets Virgil, Patton, and Logan are the only ones with the power to do anything.

Huge thanks to @anotherasexualbooklover for helping me out with editing!

Patton and Logan had given up on reviving Virgil. They sat together a little ways off, discussing the best course of action. Suddenly, Virgil sat up, startling both of them. Patton ran over to him as he stood up. Virgil was caught off-balance when Patton slammed into him, catching him in a fierce hug. Logan walked up behind them.

“Maybe give Virgil a chance to breathe, Patton,” Logan said with a smile. Patton finally let go. Virgil dusted himself off.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked worriedly.

“Yeah. I gave Thomas a crystal he could use to contact me. I should have known he would use it eventually,” Virgil replied.

“What did he have to say?” Logan asked. Virgil started towards the camp, motioning them to follow.

“Deceit found out where we hid the villagers. He’s looking for me.

“What does he want with you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Virgil replied, side-stepping the question clumsily. “We have to get back to the camp.” Logan narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. They made their way back to the clearing, unconsciously walking faster as they went. Just as they were about to enter the grove they heard a shouted whisper.

“Hey! Over here!” They looked over and saw a figure clad in a guard’s uniform, sword at his side. His right arm was in a crude sling. He was partially hidden by a tree, motioning for them to join him underneath it. “You’re Patton, Logan, and Virgil, right?” 

“Yes,” Logan answered warily. The soldier sighed with relief and pulled off his hood, exposing a mop of shaggy black hair. He extended his hand.

“My name is Joan. I was a member of King Thomas’s Honor Guard,” he said. Logan shook his hand hesitantly.

“I thought all of the Guard were killed or converted to Roman’s posse,” Virgil replied, furrowing his brow. 

“Guys! Wait!” Patton interrupted. “I remember them!”

Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Are you the knight always sleeping through council meetings?” Joan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Ye- Yeah that’s me,” Joan said with a slight smile.

“I see.” Logan’s mouth set itself into a frown. Patton smiled apologetically, placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“Logan, give them a chance,” Patton said quietly. “How did you escape, Joan?”

“I’m embarrassed to say,” Joan replied, smile fading.

“Aw! It’s alright. You can tell us,” Patton told him. He gave Joan a reassuring smile.

“I pretended to be one of the fallen,” Joan admitted. “When Deceit and Roman left with Thomas, I escaped. I should have protected him.” He put his face in his hands. “I was a coward.”

“Why did you stop us before the clearing?” Logan asked.

Joan hesitated. “Deceit came looking for you. Some of the townspeople returned with him.” Virgil bared his teeth at the mention of Deceit. Only Joan noticed Virgil’s reaction. He fought back a smile. 

“Is he still there?” 

Joan shook his head. “No, but everyone who remains went to a nearby stream. I was sent to watch for you.”

“Can you lead us there?” Logan asked. “We need to regroup.”

“Of course,” Joan replied. “Right this way.” Patton, Logan, and Virgil followed close behind Joan as he wove a complicated path through the trees and bushes.

“How many people followed Deceit back to the city?” Virgil asked once they reached the clearing.

“Thirty or forty. Maybe ten more went back to the city after that,” Joan said. They walked through small camps. People looked up as they passed before averting their eyes. They came to a stop in a small, dusty patch near the stream. Logan found a small stick similar in shape as a quill, and started drawing a detailed map of the city and castle from memory. The others added to the drawing from what they remembered. Joan surprised all of them by pointing out a secret passage none of them had seen before, leading directly to the king’s chambers. 

“Thomas never mentioned anything like this to me,” Logan said dubiously as Joan added the tunnel to the map.

“Why would he,” Joan replied offhandedly.

“I’m the senior court advisor. Thomas typically informs me of these sorts of things.”

Joan shrugged. “I’m the captain of the Honor Guard. It stands to reason that we were the only two that knew.”

“It’s alright, Logan,” Virgil said dismissively. “You can get us in right?” Joan nodded. “Good. What’s our plan?”

“Rescuing Thomas must be our first priority,” Logan said. “Then we can utilize Thomas’s and my tactical expertise to launch an attack on the traitors,” he continued, placing emphasis on “my.” “We then free Roman and the townspeople, and take care of Deceit.”

“I think,” Joan began slowly, “that is almost a good idea.”

Logan bristled with anger. “Then what, pray tell, is a good plan?” he asked through gritted teeth. Joan raised his hands defensively, biting his lip to hide a smirk.

“You think Roman and Deceit won’t prepare for an attack if you rescue Thomas?” Joan asked incredulously. “They just staged a coup last night. They aren’t prepared for an attack. If we retrieve Thomas at the same time as an attack, they won’t see it coming. Virgil and I can handle Thomas while you two stage a distraction.”

“That was basically my plan,” Logan muttered loudly, crossing his arms. 

“With some improvements.”

“If you don’t attack with everyone, they might misjudge our strength,” Virgil added.

Logan swung to face Virgil. “You’re going along with this?”

Before Virgil could respond, Patton piped. “I think Joan has a good plan.”

“You too?” Logan demanded. Patton looked down sheepishly. “Can I talk to you?” He glanced at Joan. “Alone?” He strode off to the banks of the stream without waiting for an answer.

“Sorry Joan,” Patton said apologetically before he and Virgil followed Logan. “Do you really think trusting them is a good idea?” Logan asked.

“Logan, come on!” Patton replied. He put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. Logan shook it off. Patton’s already tight smile disappeared. “We all remember Joan from the castle. They were Thomas’s right hand man.”

“How do we know Deceit isn’t controlling them?”

“Because I would be able to tell,” Virgil said. “You know what? I think the only reason you don’t trust Joan is because they gave you a better plan than you did.”

“FALSEHOOD!” Logan screeched. Virgil and Patton stared at him. Logan straightened his glasses and took a deep breath. “Think about it. Wouldn’t Deceit already be aware of our numbers? He came here! I don’t enjoy the idea of us splitting up like this.”

“It’s going to be okay,’ Patton replied reassuringly. “You know we appreciate you. We just want to do what’s best for the kingdom. Besides,” he nudged Logan slightly, “we’ll be together.”

Logan relented, seeing Patton trying so hard. “Fine,” he sighed. He couldn’t stop getting overruled. He turned abruptly and stalked back towards Joan with Virgil and Patton trailing behind. “We’ll do it,” Logan said.

Joan smiled, heedless of Logan’s menacing stare. “Wonderful. Let’s get ready. We strike tonight!”

I hope this makes up for the late update on Tuesday. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. The same goes for adding warnings and asking to be added to my taglist. Stay safe!

Taglist:

@probablynothumanish

@emo--nightmaree

@lokiamorstuffs

@dragonleesupporter

#sanderssidesfanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts logan #ts joan #ts virgil #ts roman #ts janus #ts patton