fire tender

J.J.K. and the Mic of Fire: Preview

At the tender age of one, Jeon Jungkook spoke his first words, won his first rap battle, survived his first attempted murder, and also lost his parents :( Nearly eighteen years later, all Jungkook knows is his miserable life in the basement of YG, an entertainment company run by his maternal uncle,Yang Hyun-suk (YG). There he is forbidden to rap, forbidden to debut, and forbidden to fulfill his great destiny. But all that is about to change when on his nineteenth birthday he gets a visit from an unexpected guest who reveals he’s been accepted into Hiphopwarts School of Magic and M.C.ing!

There Jungkook realizes he’s a wizard as well as a dope rapper with amazing visuals and sick dance skills. But his life gets flipped turned upside down when he finds himself an unlikely contestant in the Hiphopwarts Tri-Rap tournament! And!!! As if going up against the top rapper in the school/ world (DON MILLS) isn’t enough, he also finds out that the mysterious dark wizard/rapper, M.C. Jam, who tried to kill him all those years ago has returned to finish the job he started.

With the help of his best friend Bobby from iKON, his dumb as a brick love interest Y/N, and all his new hot k-hiphop school friends, Jungkook will do his best to shed his “idol rapper” image, defeat thet Dark Lord, and change the power balance between artists and labels in the entertainment industry once and for all.


Character profiles + first chapter cumming soon!!! Please anticipate it!!!

Sanvers Week Day 6 - Smut

I just graduated on day 6, so sorry this one is late @queercapwriting ! This is my first time trying to write sex (so much harder than I thought???) and it turned out very fluffy for some reason? Oh well. Hope you enjoy : )

They really should be sleeping.

But it’s not often they get a whole day off together, let alone a whole week, and it really has been a hell of a year.

Finding each other, learning each other, starting their lifetime of firsts.

Overcoming fears to let themselves be loved, to let themselves love another.

Surviving wounds. Kidnappings. Drownings. Invasions.

A hell of a year.

They really should be sleeping, but instead it’s past 3am and they’re drinking red wine from the bottle in the dying light of a driftwood fire, feet tender from the long walk over rocks to get to this more private part of the beach using only their phones for light, giggling like teenagers sneaking out.

In a way, Alex is a teenager sneaking out. It’s been strange, being back in Midvale, her mother out of town, the house to themselves.  Making out with Maggie on the couch, on her bedroom floor, waking up together in a bed she’d never been allowed to bring boys to, that only Vicki Donahue had ever been permitted to sleep in.

She could only have imagined this, back then – sitting before a fire, squeezing gently the fingers of another person, clumsily reaching a milestone a decade too late.

Even so, Alex can only smile and kiss the back of her love’s hand. Maggie was worth the wait.

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Fic: Ghost Ship (Ao3 link)
Fandom: DC’s Legends of Tomorrow
Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: The Oculus spits Len back out into the world, a little over a year after he sacrifices himself.

He finds things different, and not in a good way.

A/N: For @ice-whisper, who requested Len angst that ripped her heart out. Hope this works for you. Happy birthday!

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Len goes to his death with his eyes open, his heart set, and an apology on his lips.

Mick survived without him, after the fire. Thrived, even.

He’ll do fine without Len.

Len’s sure of it.

What happened next, though, Len isn’t expecting.

Len isn’t expecting to come back to life.

He isn’t expecting to find himself back on the Waverider, a little over a year after he died.

He isn’t expecting to find it so very different from what he’d left.

Most of all, though, he isn’t expecting to be right.

Because Mick is.

Doing fine without Len, that is.

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Do you still remember the happy hearbeats we shared in the span of our blooming affair. If you don’t, i’m writing this to give you wisp on how a year with your past went by.

Those boat rides which turned to photoshoots. Relishing the serene atmosphere of nature and breeze.
That time when i dropped by on your race practice then out of nowhere in the midst of boredom during break you grabbed me and all i can remember is i am panicking over the 120mph speed we’re tackling on the track. Babe, nakakaloka ang bilis mo magmaneho! But that peachy smirk you did when you saw how terrified i was stopped my heart from beating, pero that face actually helped me from getting horrified on how furious you are kasi for a split second i lost my focus on the track.
Our airport selfies and 10 seconds stories that reached our snapchats which contains how pumped up we were for our next travel stop are cute I admit. I saved them to my memories and still giving them a glance whenever i miss you.
I wouldn’t trade anything for our bathroom confessions. When i found comfort in my position on the tub and when you’re sitting on the bathroom floor with a mug of lemon water. Of all places I don’t know how it felt bizarre to confess and tell our weird secrets on a bathroom. The depth of our conversations would need more than a bottle of Pedro.
Those breakfast times spent making good looking acai bowls. Ahhh! I miss.
Late afternoons ordering takeaway coffees to spray away the derisive drowsiness.
When we’re soaking wet cause we got zero umbrella and we need to reach the parking lot so we run under that stormy weather. I was trying to be the man here and offered you my jacket as a cover up but you refused cause you’re a fan of fair treatments.
So yeah, those morning rituals dancing to spanish jive songs and sharing a stick of black bat cigarette over macchiato is one of best mornings i adore at pinapangrap na mangyari ulit. I took snap shots of you that time and i still have them saved on my folder. And if i watch it today it’s just a way of torturing myself at managinip ng gising para hintayin kang bumalik.
Broken gym sessions during noon times where we trade siesta over burning hundreds of calories.
Our exchange of cliche text messages whenever we’re apart from each other still has a space in my inbox. I also miss your hokage moves kahit ang baduy at luma nila.
Yung mga ala una ng madaling araw natin kung saan kakauwi mo lang at patulog na ko pero kailangan kong manatiling gising para may kausap ka. And those midnights consumed talking about our tinder matches and stalking them around social media. I didn’t know you have the skill of a spy. You’re even explaining to me why you swiped them right… cute.
Your sudden stares that made me uneasy in a good way. It’s like I’m kilig but felt a mixture of feeling weird and conscious.
Tracing your eyebrows cause i like how bushy and perfectly shaped they were. And it also helps you sleep sooo yeah.
Early dawns spent chilling and embracing the vibe at the rooftop waiting for the appearance of mr. sunrise while listening to cigarettes after sex.
Spontaneous trip to the mall to get some eats but led to being competitive in time zone and jumping in countless carousel ride spins.
Boring days means watching random videos online which gave us idea on how to poke tattoo at home or at certain times we apply temporary tattoos on each other’s arm then fool our friends that we got real ones.
Hours spent building a little art installations in my old room then inviting friends over as if it is an art museum!
Those weak connections and fake choppy phone calls… hindi naman talaga malabo yung line, nagbuffer lang talaga yung utak ko sa twisted words mo na para bang idiomatic expressions lang ang kaya mong sabihin buong buhay mo.
That time when we’re renting motorcycles in siargao and learning to drive it in less than 30 minutes. New skill added, bebe!
Our opm jams where i let you get the hang of burnout by sugarfree and you did! You recorded and burned it for me so i got to play it in my car while braving the traffic jams in manila.
Our made up swimming strokes and competitions which served as my work out every am. And those lame underwater photoshoots that we printed out to pin up to our memory lane.
Rushed cover ups of makeup to hide our lambing bites caused of last night’s tender fire that emblazed us.

You’re easy and extra at the same time. A perfect spice of both. You always seek for the betterment of us. You always think for the aftermaths of the games we play. I’m actually clueless on how i won over someone as aesthetically fascinating as you.

We tried to pin countles memories but suddenly one heart refused to take the journey along with the other and chose to take the path alone.

shions-heart  asked:

YOUR SHIRATORIZAWA MAGIC GUILD AU LOOKS SO !!!! I CAN'T WAIT TO READ IT OMG YES

i mean, if you can’t wait, who am i to deny you? 

both tender fire and bitter squall, a preview

Semi blinks open his eyes, takes one look at the room around him, and immediately turns over in bed, reaching up to smoosh his pillow over his head to stifle his groan. It’s no good, however. The sunlight is already peaking though his skewed curtains, making falling back asleep impossible. His only choice is to roll back over and face the day, as terrible a proposition as that is.

He kicks at the wall with one foot, trying to roll himself and his wrap of blankets to one side, but ends up overjudging the distance. Instead of stopping at the edge of his bed, he ends up rolling too far, landing in a heap of sheets on the floor.

“Damnit.” It takes a moment to extract himself—he’s landed on top of a single shoe, yesterday’s pair of pants and what feels like his guild badge. He gropes behind him for a moment before his fingers land on cool metal, and he pulls the badge up to eyelevel, frowning at it.

Shiratorizawa, also known as the Guild of White Feathers, boasts a badge indicative of the steep costs of joining. It’s shield-shaped, made of white gold and about the size of Semi’s fist. Two birds—a swan and an eagle—are engraved on its front, each embellished by a garnet eye. The back of the badge is engraved with Semi’s name and the date he was officially accepted by the guild. Now, he traces the numbers with his fingers, frowning in thought.

Has it really only been five years? It seems like so much longer than that, so much to let go of, if he had to…

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tender fire & bitter squall

@lioncommander

            When they’d first grabbed her,  she’d been in Darktown,  leaving Anders’ clinic,  had only stopped to help a little boy that had fallen and broken his arm.  Two of them,  one on each side,  steel-covered fingers  digging  into her arms as she  SCREAMED,  begged  them to let her go and silently prayed.  Someone  would tell Hawke,  or Fenris,  or Isabela,  or anyone that might be able to get to her in time.  

                        Someone,  please,  anyone.   

   It wasn’t until they’d passed well into Lowtown that she got desperate,  nearly boiling one of the templars  ALIVE  in his armor,  but they were quick to neutralize her magic,  a hand shoving  hard  against her back as heels dug into stone.  Kicking,  screaming,  she no longer cared what the repercussions were  –  for surely,  if they made it back to the Gallows with her she’d only be awaiting  DEATH.  

           If  I  am  going  to  die,  she thinks bitterly,  let  it  be  where  others  can  see  them  for  the  COWARDS  they  are,  unable  to  contain  a  small  elf.  

                She resorts to begging as they get closer,  pleading,  insisting she’s not a mage,  they’re mistaken,  but it’s the biggest lie she’s ever told and they don’t believe her for a moment.  And though she continues to scream even as they pass through the gates into the Gallows,  the sound no longer reverberates,  her throat red and  raw.  They pull her along with a force that is  sure  to leave bruises  –  ADD IT TO THE LIST  –  before finally throwing her in front of the Knight-Captain.

          She keeps her gaze pinned on her shoes,  though she knows there’s no way of trying to disguise herself from him.  Nimia remembers the stuttering little boy all too well,  knows he’s  well  aware of what her face looks like,  despite the years it’s been.  One of her captors explains the situation quickly  –  found  her  in  Darktown,  using  magic  out  in  the  open.  Put  up  quite  the  fight  –  and neither of them release her just yet.

                 ❝ – Knight-Captain, ❞  she says quietly,  voice small and hoarse as her shoulders begin to shake with  fear.  He  knows,  he  knows,  he  knows  everything.  He knows her Circle was Annulled,  he knows she wasn’t there but he knows she’s been running,  hiding ever since.  He  won’t  trust  her.  But she has to try.  

                             ❝ I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.

I wrote a quick interaction of an AU in which she hadn’t died, but had been put to rot in Impel Down, Rosa reuniting with Dragon from Sabo’s perspective after being freed. I meant to turn it into a comic but i have no time lately :’<

She met his eyes and stared hard, disbelieving, up at the man who lead the Revolutionaries. 

“You left Luffy? You left our son?” she whispered. 

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Sometimes you don’t realise just how deep past thought-healed scars’ underlying injury runs in instictivised insecurities-

Until the thrum of unexpected trigger unwitting touch it in a resonating sensitivity,
Recoiling sense- psyche & skin- nerves’ tenderness fires remembrance of formerly learned fears

Like the elbow’s careless contact abruptly sparks in the nervy flame of not-so funny firing-

Then, sudden as revelation, fades into present relief of knowing now is a different reality…

—  (Exorcising ghosting memories)

anonymous asked:

freddy bear prompt: late night cuddles w baby morgan???? i love fluff,,,

(Want to change the name? Use this!)

Frederick always had a hard time going to sleep. That’s how it’d been for the last two years, when you disappeared. Even with you home now, safe in his arms, sleep was hard to come by. He’d much rather hold you, watching over you and making sure that the beautiful woman he held was really home. 

Was really here, beside him, sleeping soundly. His hand absentmindedly wandered to your hair, stroking your soft locks with a soft sigh. Everything about you eased him, just like you did when Morgan was upset. Just being near you seemed to relax the baby.

However, it appeared the distance between the bed and the crib was too far for the little one, who woke up with tears in his eyes not too long after Frederick started fawning over you. 

Your husband turned to the crib, seeing tiny limbs thrash unhappily under his blankets. Frederick carefully slipped out of bed so as not to disturb you, padding over to the fussy little one. He’d be handling this one, tonight.

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RP Snippet: A Partner

Kurel,

He believes she is, indeed, San'layn.  I do not know how Ilyea’ s testing of her blood is coming.  But this information … complicates things…

L.L.

It did a little more than just complicate things. It opened a very deep well of questions, theories and danger itself. There were all kinds of threats in the world, but the only ones that mattered to him were those that directly affected Sunspire Port or could directly affect Sunspire Port. The people of the shanty town might never willingly turn against him or depose him from his place, but unwillingly? 

What if there was someone or something there with the very power to sway the ideas and the directions… What if there was someone who could so discreetly affect the free will of men and women with nothing more than a taste or a drink?

What if… Saeris

Kurel went to leave his desk so fast, he literally tripped over his own two feet. His head struck the corner, gouging the flesh and leaving him with a wretched headache. Lledwyn’s letter was crumpled and thrown into the fire for tender as the Trade Lord made haste for The Vengeance before it was scheduled to sail.


@lledwynlomeriel @crimsynlotus @scions-of-antiquity

Stormy Seduction

Here’s a continuation from my last timeshift for Klaroline AU Week, which can be found here


Caroline tilted her head back and drained the goblet down to the dregs, some of the wine trickled down her chin and she wiped it away with her hand.

Before her, the bonfire roared proudly, the wood bursting from the heat and the sparks flying up into the night sky.

The star studded night sky.

How many times had she looked up at those stars and found comfort in the fact that if nothing else, being able to see them was breath-taking?

Too many nights to count.

And she would have traded every moment, every memory of those stars to be nine hundred years away, in a world of light pollution, of smog, one or two visible stars at night and her family and friends around her.

But no matter how hard she wished, she always woke up in tenth century Mystic Falls.

Seven hundred years before it would even be called Mystic Falls.

When she had first woken up and found herself staring at long-haired Klaus, she’d assumed it was some kind of trick and been ready to attack him or run away from him until she’d found herself shaking from the cold.

And vampires didn’t feel the cold.

When she’d managed to recover from that shock, she had gone straight to Bonnie’s ancestor and asked her to send her back to the future.

Only to realize that Ayana didn’t speak a single word of modern day English.

Of course, Caroline didn’t speak tenth century Maybe-Danish- Maybe-Norwegian- definitely not Italian or Spanish- either. Nor was there books or even rolls of parchment in the village for her to learn from, because both were too precious and she didn’t even know the alphabet to begin with.

So that had been a massive setback and she’d been stuck trying to learn word by word, picking up objects until someone told her what it was and she tried to remember.

That is, after everyone had stopped being frightened of her.

Turns out, tenth century superstitious people who already had two witches in the village got a little spooked by women falling from the sky, for the first few weeks, the only people who’d been willing to go near her were Klaus and Rebekah- and Rebekah had only gone near her to touch her dress and jewellery.

Neither of which were all that useful to her surrounded by dirt and huts, so she’d given them both to Rebekah and got a woollen dress as trade. Much more practical.

As far as Caroline could figure out, in the beginning, the people had just assumed that when night fell, she would disappear or find somewhere else to sleep, when she’d finally located the hut belonging to Klaus and his family- figured the biggest one in the village and been right- she had been cautiously welcomed in and offered food.

An hour later she’d been throwing it up on the edge of the village.

Twentieth century stomachs weren’t built for tenth century food and the way it was cooked.

She’d been stuck chewing herbs and what few vegetables Esther grew and she’d had to wash them in the Quarry before she could keep them down.

There wasn’t any room to spare with Klaus’ family, so she’d been housed with the chief of the village, an older man who every night had told her stories about his dead wife. Not that she understood any of them, but it was nice to just listen.

At least she thought it was his wife, might have been his son or daughter or maybe even his horse.

The language was really confusing.

And she didn’t always have time to learn it because once Esther had seen that Caroline needed food and clothes to survive, she’d taken her under her wing and tried to teach her the same tasks that every woman in the village had to perform.

She’d had to learn how to grow vegetables and herbs- although she was the only one who ate vegetables the whole year around and not just when meat was scarce. She’d had to learn how to wash and pick wool and how to handle the farm animals that Klaus’ family kept.

She’d also had to learn pretty quickly not to get attached to them, because anything that she named one day she could be expected to kill the next and prepare for eating.

The work was exhausting but sometimes she welcomed it, the callouses on her hands, the strain in her back and the dead sleep she fell into at night.

At least then she didn’t have time to think about how much she missed her friends and family.

And now heartbreakingly lonely she was, how isolated when she could still barely speak more than a few sentences and could only understand people if they spoke very slowly.

She senses someone at her shoulder and turns around to see Rebekah smiling, her hair decorated with vervein and that always made Caroline smirk.

Klaus would have been the one to braid the flowers into his sister’s hair, sitting there patiently and weaving each one carefully into her golden strands. Caroline remembered the first time she had seen him do it, when Rebekah had put on her gold dress and he’d decorated her hair.

Mikael had broken his arm for that.

The third last time he had raised a hand against his step-son.

Caroline looks for him now and sees him sitting with the older men, keeping the left side of his face away from the fire. It was still tender and the scar hurt him badly in the cold.

She looks for Klaus and sees him leaning against the white oak tree, nibbling on some salted meat. His hair falls over his shoulder and he looks so human as he stands there, so innocent and fragile.

She hands Rebekah her cup and slips away from the bonfire, moving into the darkness and into the edge of the field where she’s pretty certain the Grill will be one day.

She hears footsteps behind her and turns to see Klaus having followed her at a distance.

He’d done that a lot when she’d first arrived, trying to figure out what she was, and late at night he would look for her, make sure she was home safe.

He looked at her with worship in his eyes and his hands always trembled when he touched her.

He was in love with her.

And she?

She was just tipsy enough and lonely enough that this seemed like a good idea.

She holds out a hand and he comes forward hesitantly, climbing the slight incline slowly and his eyes search the area, not yet used enough to the idea that he was safe around anyone but his siblings.

When he is close enough, he reaches out and takes her hand, linking their fingers together, their calloused, warm fingers and she tugs him forward, smirking as he bumps into her. His body is hard underneath his tunic and pants and she wraps an arm around his back to keep him against her.

He gasps and she smiles at his innocence before pressing a kiss to his lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth and sliding it against his. Klaus seems stunned but eagerly reciprocates, putting his free hand lightly on her upper arm, his thumb rubbing small circles through her tunic.

When she breaks for air, she wipes some of the spittle from her lips and feels her body growing warmer in spite of the cool autumn night. She puts her hand on his shoulders and pushes, making him fall a step back and frown in confusion, hurt flickering through his eyes at her apparent rejection and she rolls hers in frustration.

She points down to the ground before remembering that gesture wasn’t universal and tries to remember which of the three words for down she wants to use.

She gives up quickly and kneels down on the grass, waving her hand and he finally understands, kneeling down beside her, about to wrap an arm about her shoulder but she pushes him down onto his back.  

This doesn’t need any translation.  

She pushes his tunic up and over his head, baring his chest for her appreciative eyes, and she runs her hands over the bare skin, flicking his left nipple playfully and he hisses at the sensation.

She straddles his waist and works on her own tunic and shift, tossing them aside and letting Klaus’ shaky breath and dart of his tongue across his lips as he sees her breasts go straight to her ego.

She realizes a bit late that she’d have to move to get her pants and shoes off and rolls off him into a sitting position, lifting up her hips to push the fabric down and from the scrambling behind her, she reckons he’s doing the same.

Naked, she’s barely turned back to him when starts kissing her, hungrily, eagerly if not expertly, his hands hovering at her shoulders until she takes them and puts them on her waist.

They fall back to the ground, Klaus not letting his back hitting the earth distracting him from kissing her, breaking only to turn his attention to her neck and she reaches down to take his penis into her hand, stroking her finger along the length and squeezing it gently.

It’s hard before she is even finished, beginning to press against her thigh and she lifts her hips to press a finger to her clit, rubbing it until she’s aroused and she pushes Klaus’ shoulders so he’s lying back down and straddles him, having only one moment of doubt.

It disappears quickly.

Everything that Klaus was going to take from her and her friends nine hundred years from now.

Was it really so bad that she’d take this one thing from him?

No.

She positions herself and sinks down onto him, taking him to the hilt and digging her nails into his hips as she hummed with delight, he wants to thrust quickly but she holds him in place, shaking her head and setting the pace, moving slowly at first, getting used to the feel of him hot and hard inside her. When she wants to move faster, she puts her hands on his chest and quickens her pace, throwing her head back and breathing in the night air as she felt the coiling in her stomach.

Out of nowhere, lightning flashes across the sky and makes them ghosts, dead things joined together for all eternity.

Sweat coats their bodies and grass stains their legs green, Caroline orgasms and her clenching muscles milk Klaus’ climax from him.

Wearily, she lays across his panting chest, her hair tumbling into his face and he carefully tucks the strands behind her ear or across her shoulders. She knows she must be heavy for him, but if she lays in the dirt she’ll have to wash herself properly tonight and she’s already exhausted.

Klaus reaches past her and picks up his tunic, draping it over her body and wrapping his arms around her, he peppers her temple with kisses and his hot breath tickles her skin.

“Caro,” he murmurs in her ear, “Caro…line.”

She smiles at that, her name was difficult to pronounce for the villagers, who’d taken to calling her Karo. He must have practised.

“Niklaus.”


` t a l o n s

Tobirama liked watching Madara tending to his gyrfalcons. He is an unobtrusive audience, sitting by the Uchiha’s back porch, his hands clasped on his knees, ruby eyes following every movement of the shorter man; the sway of his hair, the bounce of his heels, the arc of his arm, his hand and half of the limb concealed under gloves and wrappings of tough leather. 

He had three falcons; two gyrfalcons, Tobirama had been informed, and one, a breed whose name he always forgets, smaller than the two, but no less fierce. Madara keeps his birds not in cages, but on strategic perches, no less than a dozen, built in key places around his home, or else carved into the trunk and branches of the lone sakura tree in his backyard. 

His falcons are hooded, wearing some sort of specialized helmets, and Tobirama knows this is to calm them and help them build their focus. Madara has told him he has had up to six gyrfalcons before, and the three are all that he’s allowed to keep, what with the ordinances of Konoha. 

They’re beautiful, says Tobirama, and he means not just the deadly grace of the birds, but the way Madara handles them - how he strokes their shining feathers, or talks to them, or how pride shines fiercely in his sharingan as they come back with prize, and like this, Tobirama knows he is let into an intimate part of this spirit of fire - to see his tenderness with his companions.

The smaller falcon had an unfortunate habit of flying toward Tobirama, landing on his silver sand locks, afterward swaying side to side, left right, left right, right left, right left, stomping on his head as if marking him, or otherwise pissed with him - Tobirama cannot tell. The first time the bird did it he’d almost reached for his kunai, but now, innumerable visits later, he has learned to simply sit still, let the bird have its way on his hair, swaying to its odd stomping dance: left right, left right, right left, right left.

He never can pronounce their names.

The first time he knew there was trouble in the Uchiha, he had come unto Madara digging in his backyard, three graves. He’d found the falcons next, each wrapped in a small blanket, almost tenderly, tidied up. 

He’d offered to help but Madara refused; well until the rains came, pouring from the heavens. He’d heaped muddy earth into the graves, and Tobirama joined him under the downpour, wrapping his arms around him, a futile assurance.

You’ll be okay. I’m with you. You’ll be okay. Stay with me.

When Madara left the village, he’d left one of his falcon’s helms onto Tobirama’s desk, wrapped in brown paper, with no note. It took him some time to realize the helm belonged to the smaller falcon, that one that loved dancing on his head, Madara’s chakra faint and lingering on it, a soft good-bye. 

Tobirama felt his heart break.

As Hokage, he looks out of the window of his office now and then, but there are no falcons to be seen soaring about Konoha. Birds of prey have been outlawed completely by a new ordinance, except for summon-contract animals, on the behest of the Aburame clan and two others. 

The old bird’s helm holds a place by Tobirama’s desk, beside a framed sepia photograph of his brothers when they had been children. He still picks it up, now and then, turns it over in his hand, and sometimes he can feel memory prickling at his perception, can almost feel the ghost sensation of talons digging into his scalp, feel the rush of wings and feather in an odd dance: left right, left right, right left, right left. There is the faint squawk of a falcon in the air, but Tobirama knows it’s a ghost; the golden days are over, and his future is clouded, as murky as the waters of his heart, steeped with the promise of revenge.