#(by saving a resigned-to-her-what-she-thinks-of-as-fate hes also saving the part of himself that believes he must die)

[sinkableruby]

the shiori ED in owarimonogatari ge kills me, but theres a very specific part of it that really gets my attention

right before the first verse there's a little flash in this box that shows an object relating to the arc character

its interesting to see the items for each of them. mayoi's bag is there, and the first thing you notice is that she's not. her bag feels almost synonymous with her, so it almost gives the impression she's left it behind, possibly for a new stage in her life (as it were). hitagi's apartment building is shown, and what i think might be araragi's house next to it. but they're so small that they look like models more than anything, which i feel relates to how these homes are things that are precious to her, they are things she wants to protect. maybe theres something to be said about the home as it relates to family too, and family being very much a big thing to her arc. and maybe theres something to be said about mayoi's thing being "something to protect" too

whats the object in ougi dark, then?

oh. hi ougi

guys im so not normal about this. putting ougi in the same room where the other two had objects that were important/synonymous with them. its because ougi darks ED is for ougi BUT its also for araragi (and shinobu, its about all 3 of them), so its araragis "thing to protect/that is important to/synonymous with him."

but also like. this is also like the only time in the show that we see ougi in any state even approaching nudity, and not just that, ougi is actually naked here (except for the sleeves). and that coupled with the kind of huddled pose really makes this feel like a very vulnerable moment, and a very very significant thing. its saying many things at once. it's saying conception, it's showing you the big bad but not so big and not so bad, its showing you the weakness in a character who has rarely shown anything like vulnerability or weakness, who is still haunting araragi (see the sleeves and the like "gonna get you" hands lol) to the bitter end.

and like if you look closely you can see a little smile which is standard for ougi but like. the hollowed eyes (more ghastly now when theyre white). the inward hunch. the lack of clothes besides the sleeves, that are stylized to look jagged like claws. this is a creature born with a purpose, a creature born to hurt. but this is also obviously a creature who is alone and feeble and Should Be Helped Not Killed for fucks sake lol.

and not just a creature but a person! ougi is armored in layers of separating clothes all the time but this shot is kind of groundbreaking bc it showing that like. she is really just like anyone else. the fronting is very much a front. she, the fake, has Substance. there's a very real person underneath those big sleeves.

and also since the shot is really only for half a second, ougi fades away very quickly. its very much a blink and youll miss it. but that fading away really feels like a flash of vulnerability before she fades away Forever. as in, it's a parallel to her almost final moments. but the fading away in particular feels ghost-ish. not to mention later in the ED shes even wearing like a ghost outfit.

and. god. if that isn't just.

idk. something about. being alive but not really. being a ghost. not long for this world and resigned to it. being so resigned to it you wear it and use that to represent yourself. making it a part of you. and then later being given a life. becoming able to live. idk yk. idk its just , yk its just ,

#and that could go for the others too #mayoi hitagi araragi shinobu #it could be all of them #being resigned to death. being given a life #learning how to live #(and in fact it IS about araragi here.) #(by saving a resigned-to-her-what-she-thinks-of-as-fate hes also saving the part of himself that believes he must die) #(its on both a literal and thematic level its all tied together nicely) #monogatari #oshino ougi #senjougahara hitagi #hachikuji mayoi #ougiposting #owarimonogatari ge #ill talk more about this ed later but this part is so stand out to me #like i understand intellectually but i dont understand the feeling of being extremely cautious/terrified of ougi as a viewer #ougi is posed as “the main villain” but is Not Actually So #thats a framing from gaen to make araragi more likely to kill her #“the enemy” she says #ougi is just ougi #a naked ghost hunched into themself. a vulnerable creature. a person #like idk how you could listen to dark cherry mystery and think ougi should have died in ougi dark (REAL THING PEOPLE THINK) #like: “i'll pick up the possible futures we could have had and chase after you!”? #thats not the words of a black and white villain #ougi is trying so so so hard and desperately wanting to do something meaningful with araragi and more people should recognize it #and really theyre so consistently thoughtful and philosophical like. the impression you get is not that theyre always trying to hurt ppl #the impression is that theyre trying to . Think. to develop ideas and reach the right conclusion

[chocolate-parfait]

I adore your writing so I was wondering if I could get headcanons for some Ikesen boys (Mitsuhide, Kenshin, and Nobunaga)?

When MC first comes through the wormhole she doesn’t have her son with her and her entire stay is her stressing about it since he is only 5 years old so as soon as the wormhole opens she’s gone before they even blink. They don’t expect her to come back but she does! and with her son this time!

Thank you so much bub! I missed writing for ikesen and honestly, I’m a sucker for anything involving parenting :) Thanks for requesting!

Also I,,, I really went all out for Nobunaga huh

Mc coming back with her son - ikesen headcanons (Mitsuhide, Kenshin & Nobunaga)

words: 2.9k / tw: mentions of injuries and violent behavior / female mc

Mitsuhide

How could possibly someone as clumsy as his little mouse be a mother? Jokingly, he asks you whether it was you taking care of your son or the other way round. He teases you a bit, only enough to gain some strands of information here and there; he may find the excuse that, as the man in charge of security and secrets, that was only part of his job, when in truth he’s actually worried about you. He gathers that your child isn’t with you, and this only serves to fuel his curiosity and worry even more. Nonetheless, he doesn’t pry. You must have your own reasons and secrets, and for once, he's willing to leave you to them.

Once he notices your feelings for him, he becomes sure of the fact that, whether you had a husband or not, he definitely owned your heart no longer. He’s acting more confidently and boldly than before, adding more intensity to his innuendos and subtle flirting. Then, you tell him you’re from the future and you get closer, spending the days basking in each other’s company and usual teasing banters.

...but, oh boy, before he even knows it you’re disappearing in the thickness of the fog and coldness of the rain. If the wormhole had opened when Sasuke had predicted, then you probably would have told him about your plans. You needed more time to mentally prepare yourself, but when Mother Nature decides to open her time-traveling black holes, it's not your choice to make. Mitsuhide will be okay, probably... or at least, you hope so. ok but boy teased you too much, this is his payback

After you're gone Mitsuhide needs a couple of seconds to register what had just happened. In truth, he expected it, kinda (or at least, that’s what he wants to believe), and although it hurts, he’s not one to complain. First off, it could have never worked between you two. He’s... he’s quite the despicable guy, with tons of enemies and secrets. No one in their right mind would want to stay with him for more than 2 minutes, but he had never really cared. Until you came along. And how could he even wish to hold the first place in a mother’s heart? It went without saying that your son was your top priority, and it was fine, it was bound to be that way.

He puts on his habitual facade and moves on with his day, but don’t be fooled; he has no intention of ever forgetting you nor he's completely at peace on the inside. He feels a stinging pain buried deep underneath the arid soil of his heart. The heart wishes what the heart desires, and even when one has resigned to keep a distance from everything it longs for, the pain persists, and it's probably ten times even harsher in the melancholy of it all.

(Hideyoshi obviously catches up on his act, and almost headbutts him out of exasperation when he sees he’s not letting out even the tiniest of sighs)

The days pass by, and Mitsuhide is sure you won’t be coming back. But you do. Once more you catch him by surprise, you destroy his expectations and act outside of the box. And when you finally face him for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, your son by the hand and a wide smile on your face, he stares at you bewildered, wide eyes and an unusual expression of genuine surprise on his features.

“You... you’re really something, little mouse” It’s all he says before striding over to you and hugging you to his chest. His words may conceal them, but you can feel his true feelings in the tightness of his embrace, the thunderous pace of his heartbeat, and the barely noticeable shaking of his sigh.

Maybe he can let himself feel some happiness, after all? Surely, he will have to work extremely hard to protect it, to destroy anyone who might try to bring harm over you, but Mitsuhide is a man of many ways, and he knows how to reach his goal.

Weirdly enough, your child quickly grows fond of Mitsuhide, and it's not long before he starts calling him “Papa”. He's always staring in awe at whatever he does, even the tiniest of tricks will make him giggle excitedly with surprise. On the other hand, your lover is unsurprisingly good with kids. Probably because they're so easy to please and to fool with lies (like a certain someone). He could tell the little boy that you're the Moon princess and the courageous Mitsuhide saved you by a sea of horned monsters, and he would totally believe him without even questioning it first. Maybe it's a family trait?

He does not expect to find himself with a family out of the blue, but by the fond look of his golden orbs, you can tell he's grateful for it. Whenever he kisses you goodbye before going to work in the morning or ruffles your son's hair with playful tenderness, you know it's a silent vow, renewed each time. He's going to do everything in his power to assure your happiness. You've given him a warm place to return to, a spot in the light, love, and gratefulness; protecting it all is the least he could do to return such blessing.

Kenshin

You tell him about the wormhole, about the rain and the lightning, about why you have to go back. Kenshin may have been on his way to healing, but when he hears of your son he recesses 10 steps back. The dark part of himself he was trying so hard to chase away pushes towards him feelings of jealousy and anger (you had, after all, loved another man and bore his child; moreover this man was not by your and your son’s side for whichever reason, leaving you both alone), but the other half of his heart, which loved you so dearly, could not tolerate depriving you of your son.

He’s afraid of you leaving him forever, no matter how much you tell him you’ll definitely come back. He wants to trust you just as much as you trust him, but once more his darkness haunts him and clashes with his sober side. He could lock you up forever or he could let you go, you’d be safer and happier without him. Maybe you will actually come back, or maybe you will forget about him as soon as you step back to your time.

This whole issue causes him to isolate himself from everything and everyone. He needs time to think and come to terms with his feelings, but he’s oh so aware of the quick passing of time. Soon, he’ll have to make a decision that will impact his whole life forever, and yet he can’t really seem to find a proper solution. Not alone, at least.

Stay by his side, patiently put up with his negative thoughts, and comfort his fears away. Promise him over and over again that you will come back, that you wouldn’t forget him for anything in the world. Eventually, he’ll be able to convince himself and fully abandon himself to his trust for you.

When the fateful day comes, he does not expect you to slip away from his arms in the blink of an eye. Your warmth disappears and the cold air hits him with the full realization of what had happened. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart down. All he can do is wait. It might take you days, months, or even years, but he’s willing to wait.

During your absence he drowns his loneliness in sake, he fills the vacant spot in his arms with the white bunnies you used to found so adorable and occupies his time with sparring matches. Then, one day, coming back to his room from a council, he slides the door open and he’s met with two identical pairs of eyes staring at him.

One can only imagine the plethora of emotions hitting him all at once. Before you know it he’s throwing himself to you with the speed of an expert warrior. He hugs you so tightly you can barely breathe, reluctantly letting you go only to get a look at the face he had so longed to see, pressing a deep kiss on your forehead. What stops him from ravaging your lips with even stronger passion is the child’s presence. Maybe it’s better to keep some things for later, you tell him, and he accepts with the cutest of pouts gracing his delicate features.

For some time he’ll be the clingiest he has ever been, though he doesn’t forget your son, whom he now considers as his own. You two look very much alike, and knowing how much you cherish him, he quickly becomes fond of him, too. They spend a lot of time together, forming a bond pretty quickly. Kenshin teaches him all there is to know about the samurai world and the way of the sword (not that he has any intention of throwing him in a battlefield, yet. He’ll let your son accompany him to war only when, as an adult, he’ll be wholly aware of the dangers he’s going to face). Oftentimes you can see them sparring together in the practice room, a rare and soft gaze blessing your lover’s eyes.

Now that both of you are with him, he knows better than to let his fears win him once more, for thus he knows you won’t leave him again. He confesses to you his deepest feelings and thoughts on this matter during quiet, tender moments of intimacy. Maybe one night you're sharing a drink with him while gazing at the night sky from his room; there, he’ll turn his mismatched irises on yours, cup your cheek with his strong hand and tell you, with the most love-dripping tone you had ever heard come out from his mouth: “Thank you for coming back to me, my love. I swear I won’t let you face any danger as long as you two are by my side.”

Nobunaga

So his favorite fireball has a baby fireball? What a surprise, indeed. It's only a single piece of information, and yet it brings to his mind so many possibilities that he can't help but fall deep in thought. Do you have a husband, then? Did he perhaps leave you? If so, how did you manage to take care of your son? He knew life wasn’t easy for a repudiated woman, and one could see it with their own two eyes just by taking a stroll in the poorer neighborhoods of the city. (well, that was something he was trying to change)

Then, he asks himself whether the night of the fire you had been so reluctant to go with him because of your motherly duties. You could have just said so earlier, he would have taken your son to the castle, too. Quickly, you add more interesting details to your story, telling him of the wormhole, your time-travel adventure, and the future.

He half-forces you to make THE bet, the one you cannot ignore, with the added risk that if you lose, you won't be able to see your son ever again. Pretty cruel, right? In your eyes, it might seem so, but truthfully, he's going to let you go at the end of the month, independently from whether you win or lose; he just thinks it'd be spicier to not let you know this very important detail. 

What our grand lord does not expect, is to be hit by Cupid's arrow and cursed with the love of a lifetime. His feelings are so strong he has to stop himself multiple times from directly confessing to you. He blames all the flirting, the sensual touches, the longing kisses, and his affectionate gaze on the bet. You are nothing more than a physical distraction, he can’t let himself love you, and you don’t love him. This way, you'll be able to go back without regrets and doubts. He won't let you, his soulmate, suffer over such a heart-wrenching decision.

Such a prideful and haughty man lowering himself to such tricks only to keep the smile on a woman's face. Pretty ironic, isn't it? Unfortunately for him, anyone can guess the contents of the Demon King's heart, and you are no exception. If you had solemnly promised your return, he would have believed you, that is the type of man he is, but Fate acts before you can take action, and anticipates your departure to the most unexpected of times.

So in the end, you truly did leave him. His beloved fireball, vanished in the same way she had appeared, like a bolt from the blue. He's going to miss you so dearly, and his loneliness will surely take away his sleep at night, but there are still so many things for him to do. You will probably have your fair share, too, though he's sure you'll manage. If it wasn't for his obstination and pride then maybe he would have the humility to deny the same for himself. Maybe one day your path will cross his once again, but who knows, maybe by that time he will have already conquered the whole land, maybe a lethal blow will have taken his life, maybe he'll see you on his last, dying breath. Anyhow, he's going to wait. Patiently and calmly, and he promises himself that were you to return by his side, he won't be denying his love any longer.

It's almost been a year from your departure, and now the snow is slowly falling once more to cover the roofs under its soft embrace. Nobunaga is sitting on the balcony of his tenshu, looking at the city yet bustling with life even in the frigid cold. Just like Azuchi, he hasn't changed much. A couple more scars have appeared somewhere on his body, and the skin just under his eyes has gotten a little darker, but his heart is forever the same. With his thicker haori shielding his lower body from most of the cold air, he brings the red cup of warm sake to his lips, mind wandering to the same, old thoughts of you. Suddenly, his vision turns dark. A pair of warm hands are covering his vision, but before he can reach for his sword, your voice tickles his ear in a low whisper. “Guess who?”

Turning to face you, as a hand rapidly flies to cover his ear from the sudden attack, he quietly basks in the view of your smiling face before slowly erupting in a loud laugh. What an unpredictable one he has fallen for! He must be equally as foolish if he let someone sneak over to him as he was thinking about you.

He takes you in hir arms and keeps you there, where you naturally belong while pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Your smell, your softness, your body that fit with his like a sword and its sheath. “Welcome back, fireball” With you by his side, everything will be completely different than before. No more sleepless nights or lonely sighs; now he'd have a companion by his side at all times. Sometimes even two.

Nobunaga does not exactly care about the fact that your son is, genetically, not his. Blood is only important to the fools that only view you as an heir-making machine, but he values bonds and the singular individual way more. If he had prioritized family over what was important to him, he would've been killed by his brothers years ago, but it did not happen. What I'm trying to say is that he becomes the fatherly figure your son needs, and he treats him no differently than he would with his biological son. Although yes, he would like to, one day, have another little demon (or a baby angel, depending on whose genes are stronger) running around the castle, to him, yours is already the perfect family.

Nobunaga passes down his views (he doesn't force them, it's more like when a parent explains something to his baby and the baby absorbs everything) onto your child, and makes sure he receives an education fitting for a noble of those times (an open-minded one, possibly). Since he views him as his biological son, once he grows up it will be up to him whether to help his father unifying the country and then, eventually inheriting and ruling everything one day. Growing up in those times though will probably make him accustomed to the idea of fighting even at a young age, so unless you're strictly against it, there will be high chances of him becoming a samurai and following in your lover’s footsteps.

Leaving the gruesome matters aside, Nobu and his son are one hell of a pair of troublemakers! Buy some throat syrup because Hideyoshi will be screaming his lungs out. The man lectures your husband and your own son twice the times you do, either because of their sugar consumptions, their life-threatening activities such as running in the halls, or just general shenanigans. They're quite the headaches, frankly. One of their favorite and safe (because Nobu is there) activities to do together, is going horseriding. The demon commander will sit the boy between his arms and let his horse run at full speed. By the time they come back, the wind will have made a mess of their clothes and hair, but both will have the biggest and purest of smiles on their faces.

(Additionally, for all of them: if they ever catch anyone talking shit about either you or your son, they won't hesitate to slice them up with their swords on the spot.)

#my writing #ikemen sengoku #ikesen headcanons #ikesen imagines #ikesen scenarios #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen kenshin #ikesen nobunaga #akechi mitsuhide #uesugi kenshin #oda nobunaga #answered

[dear-wormwoods]

you said in one of your posts that kyman is one-sided. may i ask how exactly? from kyle's side? most of the fandom portrays it as one-sided from cartman's side which doesn't make much sense…

This message is super old so I'm sorry if you're long gone, anon! The nice thing about SP is that there's really no wrong way to interpret the show in terms of what could happen in the future. Everything is up in the air and feelings can change a lot between ages 10 and 15 or 20 etc. But here's why I personally see it as one-sided from Cartman's side, not Kyle's:

The two moments I'm thinking of that some people might use as evidence that Kyle has feelings for Cartman are when he puts Cartman to bed in Jewpacabra and when he is shown crying over a picture of Cartman while all the other boys are getting dumped at the end of Skank Hunt. I can see why the juxtaposition in that second example might be seen as evidence, because, well, Kyle is literally crying over Cartman while everyone else is crying over their girlfriends... and I think people are welcome to interpret it that way! But I think Kyle was just feeling immense guilt over what they did to Cartman, and while everyone else is preoccupied with their breakups, he's able to focus on what really matters because he's single. As for the first example, I don't see it as evidence that Kyle likes Cartman, even as a person let alone as a crush. I see it as evidence that Kyle is inherently good and willing to put his own negative feelings aside to make sure another human being is safe. He would have done the same for anyone else, it's just that Cartman is the only one who would actually put himself in that situation.

Kyle is an idealist, and he wants to believe that everyone is good deep down. This includes Cartman. He hates Cartman but he keeps hanging out with him because he thinks that there is hope for Cartman, and that he can help him or fix him somehow. He needs to believe that everyone has the potential to be good, otherwise his entire worldview would have to be brought into question. That's why he gives Cartman chance after chance after chance. That's why he can't just shrug off Cartman's shit the way Stan can, or Kenny (most of the time). That's why he can't let it go when Cartman does shitty things. It's also why he's, in general, so easily manipulated by Cartman. He wants to hold Cartman to a higher standard and genuinely wants Cartman to meet that standard, and that's why he's so angry and hurt when Cartman fails time and time again to do that.

I also think Kyle feels beholden somehow, like it's his duty to put up with Cartman's shit so other people don't have to. I think that's part of why he gets so preoccupied with 'saving' Heidi... it's not that he actually has a crush on her, it's that she's acting as Cartman's emotional punching bag and he feels like that's his role. I'm not saying he was jealous of Heidi or thinks of himself as Cartman's significant other... Kyle is just a martyr and willing to put himself in Cartman's way time and time again. With Heidi getting the brunt of Cartman's mistreatment, Kyle was feeling purposeless.

So I think Kyle's feelings for Cartman are complicated, but not affectionate. I think, however, that he could easily misunderstand his own feelings and end up in some kind of relationship with Cartman. Especially if, as with Heidi, someone on the outside was like "you must like Cartman because of x y and z". Then Kyle, who feels things very deeply but kind of sucks at affect identification and regulation, might actually listen and then reframe his entire approach to Cartman around this new "information". That's really the only way I can see Kyman happening from Kyle's side of things - Kyle coming to the conclusion that having faith in Cartman must mean he likes him, and then resigning himself to that fate. I think he absolutely does have strong feelings for Cartman, they just aren't romantic and probably won't go in that direction unless Cartman puts a lot of effort into manipulating things accordingly.

As for Cartman... I think that's also totally up to interpretation, but in my opinion it's easier to read Cartman's preoccupation with Kyle as a "crush" than it is the other way around. I put crush in quotation marks because I don't really know if Cartman is capable of having one in a traditional sense... his idea of "love" is one person being in control and the other being subservient. It's the kind of relationship he has cultivated with his mother, though she's been getting better at asserting herself, and it's the kind of relationship he wanted to have with Heidi. He feels entitled to people's time and energy and feels a sense of ownership over certain people in his life. He wants authority and sees others as either property (what he would call "love") or tools to further his own self image (in general, his "friendships"). I want to explain that first because I agree with you that Cartman having romantic feelings, the way most people would feel them, doesn't make sense. However, I do think his obsession with Kyle will eventually turn into what HE would consider romantic.

I think Cartman is/would be interested in Kyle mostly because Kyle poses a challenge for him. Kyle is headstrong and morally secure, and he also has a solid support system in his mom, Ike, and (until recently) Stan. He's easily manipulated and gullible, but he bounces back easily so no matter what tactics Cartman uses on him, any influence he has over Kyle is temporary. With Kyle, Cartman would never run into the issue he had with Heidi, where he eventually pushed her so hard and isolated and manipulated her so much that he turned her into his clone. That's one reason why he wants Kyle around, he basically says as much in Smug Alert - Kyle is interesting and fun because he reacts to Cartman's bullshit but doesn't give into it. Cartman could chase him forever and never get bored of it, and that's why he's the ideal recipient of Cartman's "love".

Cartman's obsession with Kyle involves those aforementioned ideas of domination and ownership. Cartoon Wars showed that they're evenly matched when it comes to physical fighting, which is all well and good for Cartman but what he really wants is to use domination to humiliate Kyle. He took full advantage of Kyle's vulnerability in Ginger Cow and he was obsessed with getting Kyle to fulfill his side of their bet in Imaginationland because it involved humiliation and showing off his control/authority over the situation. He wanted everyone to see Kyle submit to him. Despite being a sexual act, at least in Imaginationland, Cartman isn't motivated by sex yet. However, I do think that as he gets older, his need to humiliate Kyle will become more and more of a sexual preoccupation that he'll interpret as romantic because he doesn't understand the difference. And once he identifies his feelings for Kyle as "love", he won't stop until he gets what he feels he's owed.

So in general, I don't think Cartman will ever be truly in love with Kyle (unless something about his current character trajectory drastically changes), but I do think he will think he is and pursue him in his own way. Maybe he could eventually wear Kyle down, maybe not... that mostly depends on what Kyle's support system looks like in the future. But no matter what it's not healthy.

Maybe that explanation helped? My thoughts on Kyman are complicated, I'm sorry. And I'm not trying to step on anyone's toes here either, these are just my own thoughts!

#south park #sp meta #kyle broflovski #eric cartman #asks #my meta #meta #kyman

[dornish-queen]

Pedro Pascal: “I already took all my drugs very early. In middle age, a hangover is not an option ”

When he was approaching 40, he resigned himself to having sporadic papers that would allow him to pay the rent. But playing Oberyn Martell in 'Game of Thrones' changed his life and opened the doors of 'Narcos'. Since then it has not stopped. Now he's the villain from the blockbuster 'Wonder Woman 1984'

JUAN SANGUINO

THE ANGELS OCT 2, 2020 - 3:19 PM EDT

The first big opportunity of his career was presented in 2011, when he participated in the pilot episode of Wonder Woman for NBC, but the network discarded the series and Pedro Pascal returned to his main occupation: casting castings to play the criminal of the week in the Law and order of duty. “That cancellation was a disappointment, of course, I wanted to work. I did not care if it was something good or bad, I just wanted to work, "he recalls today from his home in Los Angeles during a virtual conversation with ICON. Now Pascal plays the villain of Wonder Woman 1984 , one of the blockbusters destined to return audiences to movie theaters .

How can you not believe in fate? The boy who broke his arm twice playing Indiana Jones has ended up becoming the favorite hero of the kids (the bounty hunter in The Mandalorian ), his parents (Agent Peña in Narcos ) and, well, everyone's. world (Oberyn Martell, The Red Viper, in Game of Thrones ). When Pedro was little, the good guys were always white and the bad guys were Russian, Arab or Latino. The Wonder Woman 1984 villain , however, is a white billionaire played by a Chilean.

“The film is set in the United States of the eighties, which were marked by capitalist greed. It was a tainted concept of evil. Stripped of humanity, but still absolutely attractive and alluring. People who dreamed of being rich and successful had to be salivated. It is true that at that time villains in the cinema projected a xenophobic image. Now the white man can finally be the bad guy, ”explains Pascal.

 Some already compare his character, Maxwell Lord, to Donald Trump because of that muck in this mud: Reagan's glorification of rogue moguls in America turned guys like Trump into aspirational role models and glamorous stars. “Trump was not the core of inspiration for my character, on our costume designer's board were Gordon Gekko [Michael Douglas on Wall Street ], American Psycho's Patrick Bateman and other suckers in expensive eighties suits. All those millionaires who hid despair, unbridled ambition and terrified masculinity ”, he clarifies. If Pedro Pascal sounds like a socialist infiltrated in Hollywood it is because that is exactly what he is.

“When Reagan was elected, many people around me were frustrated that the worst forms of capitalism were winning. In my home, with refugee and socialist parents, conservatism was not demonized but it did go against what was important to my family, ”he says. Pascal's father, José Balmaceda, was an Allende supporter doctor who saved the life of a priest wounded by Pinochet's militia .

The priest was later tortured and ended up confessing the name of his savior. When the police went to look for Balmaceda at the hospital where he worked, he took his wife and the newborn Pedro and jumped over the wall of the Venezuelan embassy in Santiago de Chile to request political asylum. That's why Pedro ended up growing up in San Antonio (Texas), in a socialist home but in Reagan's land. A Chilean with no memories of Chile who was called Peter in high school.

At the age of 20, Pascal was in Madrid working as a go-go and keeps good memories. Here she is wearing a Prada sweater. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker

The Chilean-born but US-raised actor wears a Paul Smith sweater and suit. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker

Pascal has never left the immigrant mentality behind. Even his father, who came to open a practice in California, always lived in terror that at any moment everything could vanish. “It doesn't matter who you are, how much you are working or how much you get paid. Deep down you always think that each job is the last one ”, confesses the actor. Maybe that's why he didn't dare move from his Red Hook, Brooklyn, hovel to a house more suitable for a Hollywood star until filming for Kingsman 2 and Narcos was over . Nor is it that he had spent more than an entire week at his house since, in 2014, Game of Thrones made him the guy most people would want to party with.

Pascal knew right away that Oberyn Martell, the Westerosi rockstar who always seemed willing to fight or fornicate with the same bravado, was going to change his life. “I had done a lot of castings for friends' plays, for copier factory ads or for very serious independent films that no one was going to see, while I watched how many characters that I had been about to play changed the lives of others. actors. And thanks to my experience and maturity, I recognized the potential of Oberyn. I understood who he was and who he could be ”, he presumes.

The actor found out about the audition when one of his acting students told him that he had taken the test but had been discarded because of his youth. Pedro snapped up and must have thought, “What would Oberyn do?” So he recorded a video on his phone and sent it to his good friend, actress Sarah Paulson . She passed it on to her good friend actress Amanda Peet and this one to her husband, David Benioff, one of the creators of Game of Thrones . The rest is the history of television and headaches: when he informed the Narcos producer that he was available to play Pablo Escobar's pursuing policeman, he accused him of making a spoiler for Game of Thrones: If Pascal had a free agenda, it is because Oberyn was going to lose his fight against La Montaña . He couldn't imagine, of course, in what way.

  Part of that electric, lively and hedonistic energy of Oberyn comes to Pascal from the summer (that of 1996) that he spent in Madrid, where in addition to studying he worked as a go-go in a disco. That stay was transformative because the actor realized that he had had to adapt his identity all his life with each new move, but in Madrid he felt effortlessly at home. “I was 20 years old and I liked it so much that I almost moved. My main language is English, I have an American accent and I can pass for white. But in my house there were many cultural differences with respect to the outside world and I remember that when I was 20 years old, when I came to Madrid, I felt very comfortable in my own skin in a way that I had never felt anywhere else. I guess I was not aware that I had spent my childhood and adolescence learning new ways of adapting, connecting, learning, and pulling. On the contrary, living in Madrid was organic and easy for me. I made friends right away and I felt supported, ”he recalls.

By the time he was 40 Pascal was resigned to being an actor with enough odd jobs to pay the rent. According to him, his aquiline nose was a bad nose by Hollywood standards. Far from being offended or frustrated by this typecasting, he was looking forward to it, if it translated into a new check. “It is very strange to develop a fantasy as a child, to have the opportunity to turn it into a hobby, then some studies and finally transform all that into a career. That is the bet. But my dream of becoming Leonardo DiCapriodied. He died dozens and dozens of times. So to move on he had to accept that, at best, he was going to be an actor with a job. That was already a triumph, "he says. "Also, I accepted that I was not qualified for anything else, I had no more skills: I had put all my time, my energy and my concentration in being an actor and the rest in living life and having fun."

That absence of vanity lives on today, even when he's been involved in large-scale projects for five years without stopping. After Game of ThronesHe has made eight films, of which seven are action blockbusters. The wave of fame came to him when he was no longer expecting it but when he was well prepared to ride it. Still, every workday is a surprise and she acknowledges that what amazes her most about Hollywood is the sheer physical stamina that people have. “Sometimes a project can look like building a city, with all the hours, all the work and all the energy it requires. Some people have better stamina and can get by with little sleep. That is an interesting contradiction: all the people creatively involved in a film have a special sensitivity and at the same time have developed a very tough skin and energy to go through the physical experience of shooting it, ”he admires.

 Then Pascal switches to Spanish (the language he uses to confess intimacies) and explains, in a few words, that he is old for this shit. “I thought I had all the energy in the world and now, in my 40s, I see that ... wow! There are times when I don't know if I will be able to reach the goal, because my energy is not at the necessary level. But I always take it forward ”, he guarantees. Maybe that's why people get so high in Hollywood. Pascal responds between laughter and again in Spanish.

“I already took all my drugs very early. It is something that is already too much in the past, and in middle age a hangover is not an option. No, no, no ”, she assures. What if the other hangover, that of the wave of fame, runs over you? “I was a good waiter. Not at first, because they fired me many times, but I ended up getting the hang of it, ”he jokes. If the Hollywood thing doesn't go well, you can always put drinks again. But for now Pedro Pascal is the personification that the American dream , although sometimes it takes a little longer to materialize, really exists. Even Ronald Reagan would be proud.

source

#pedro pascal #el pais icon #whole article

[life-rewritten]

Flower Of Evil: A tiptoe into more psychopathology vs normalcy

So this is not full proof that this is the next drama this blog will focus on. However, I must say that after 4 episodes I have become seduced by the storyline of Flower of Evil. Instead of analysing the mystery of the show; how Do Hyun So ended up being framed up in this mess (plus what actually happened 18 years ago with his family). I want to focus again on psychology. In fact, my observations are that it seems this year’s theme of dramas is exploring the fight to be accepted when you are seen or have something psychologically wrong with you. So what’s up with Korea wanting to show the truth of people with ASPD on screen. There has been a portrayal of people with this disorder, not wanting to be known for what they have.  They want to be known for what their potential could be if treated equally, focusing on their need to be in control and rational. 

Psychopathology vs Normalcy 

This shows up as massive bases for these two dramas. We are introduced to Go Moon Young, in Psycho, but it’s okay and Do Hyun So in this drama Flower of Evil. I love how both titles have the juxtaposition of two concepts in them. One is Psycho, but it’s okay; being seen as Psycho means you have something wrong with your mind, so you’re not meant to be okay. On the other hand,  with Flower of Evil; flowers are typically perceived as beautiful and symbolise innocence, love and positivity, so evil is not meant to be connected with these two.

These titles correlate with the feelings our characters have with how the world perceives them vs what they actually think and want to be. They crave normalcy and warmth while the world believes they should be cold and emotionless. While it’s okay to not be okay aims to give a message about how people are all normal even if they struggle with what’s wrong with them, they still deserve love and warmth. 

The Diagnosis

The similarities of both our character’s quest for freedom of trauma and abuse and need to be loved:

Do Hyun So is born with ASPD, unfortunately for him, people did not have a full understanding for it and as we are shown they believed he was possessed and continued to abuse him in need to try and eradicate what was wrong with him. Already he has been outcasted by everyone and society never to really have a place to fall on unless he starts again with no one knowing who he is. Meanwhile, Moon Young is forced and groomed into having ASPD. She doesn’t have ASPD, but judged because of her actions; taught to her by her mother.  When young, Moon Young was isolated, and people viewed her as a monster, not understanding why she said or did the things she did. To protect who she loves, she also chased them away by showing them an action which was seen as monstrous. (chasing Gang Tae away by killing butterflies) 

The Lover

Both become obsessed with someone who brings them a new perspective of wanting to be healthy. Ji Won shows up and falls for Hyun So immediately she sees him, she’s attracted to him and fights to be liked by him. Hyun So realises that she can be used to fake normalcy with his new identity and also understands that she helps his trauma (the ghost of his dad) disappear. Quite similar Gang Tae is attracted to Moon Young for saving his life and also fights to be liked by her when younger, she also realises he’s the prince that can introduce her to new emotions. However, he runs away when she tries to chase him away. And fights to succumb to his feelings when they are reunited because of how he perceives her. Ji Won doesn’t yet know her husband has ASPD and is hiding his identity, and now she is slowly uncovering the truth. Gang Tae is exposed to Moon Young from the start and runs away once he discovers it.

Both can be cruel when they want. Hyun So is to protect the people in his life (I’m sure if he murdered before it’s because he was protecting his sister or someone he cares about and in the act of defence or anger he does it) but he also uses cruelty to prevent his secret from coming out. Moon Young uses cruelty only to teach people realism and help people overcome their trauma. She believes there’s no need to shy away from the truth. 

The Parent

Both have psychopath parents who are killers with no remorse. Hyun So father is apparently a serial killer who probably forced him to watch and learn his actions. And Moon Young has a mother with ASPD that killed people to make sure they don’t take her or her daughter to the hospital. Each parent is connected to the very root of the trauma both characters suffer from.

There is a need for both not to want to end up like their parent even though the world connects them to that.

Do Hyun So, has been on the run for his life for 18 years; adopted as another family’s son. He is also married with this identity and has a kid. He is now desperate to cover up his secrets and make sure no one finds out the truth. Moon Young also rewrote her life becoming famous, actively declaring her self as an orphan despite both her parents being alive, and accepted her fate to be alone and continue being emotionless/monster people viewed her as. Her wealth is protected by her being a well-renowned fairy-tale author. Again both of them have sought different transformations to escape their past while trying to be normal for the sake of it. Do Hyun So actively conceals his identity while Moon Young embraces parts of hers and works hard to erase her connection to her parents. 

The Trauma

However, both have traumatic PTSD visions from their past. Do Hyun So starts seeing his father appear in front of him each time he’s angry or prone to react, and he becomes frightened and terrified. Moon Young has sleep paralysis because of nightmares of her mother pinning her to the bed and telling her she’ll kill anyone she lets into her life. Gang Tae provides Moon Young, a sleeping doll to take away her nightmares, and being with him teaches her to want to let go of her trauma. Ji Won also provides refuge for Hyun So because she makes his father’s vision disappear. Again the idea of love providing this place for them to feel safe and secure in becomes a theme as well in the show. Both have to stop trying to be in control in other to get healing, and right now Hyun So is breaking all his efforts little by little and its causing him to spiral. However the saying the truth will set you free is real, once his wife can see past his disorder and past, they both will help him get his name cleared and also maybe have a relationship that is based on their authentic selves being exposed. 

The Mask

Flower of evil takes a different turn though as we try to uncover this murder case and who is framing Do Hyun So, it becomes apparent that Hyun So isn’t the psychopath killer people have labelled him as because of his ASPD. Instead, he tries hard to wear a mask where he practises fake smiles, fake emotions and counterfeit feelings by looking at cue cards that show those very same emotions. This is similar to the cue cards,  Moon Young is shown by Gang Tae when he thought she didn’t understand feelings. These are used for his brother as well with autism.) The theme of PBIO was the unravelling of the masks and embracing the real person. I wonder if Flower of evil will continue on with that theme. So far, I am intrigued by the show. 

The Truth

I believe that just as Moon Young, the reason why Hyun So is so desperate to control the narrative is that he knows people will keep labelling him because of his ASPD as a monster. No one will believe his truth or the reveal of his story of what happened in the past. No one would be able to vouch for him because they all thought he was crazy, and he also had a parent who was an actual serial killer, it makes it even harder to believe him. He instead retains this façade, though you see him show a little bit of hurt/resentment in episode 4 when Ji Won mentions his ASPD and uses it to connect his reasons for murder and her sheer belief that he is the murder suspect everyone is looking for. He isn’t happy but resigns himself to the fact that it will always be this way. What I think he doesn’t know is that his wife won’t be that way I predict, she’ll panic at first, but like she said at the beginning of episode 1 when she kisses him underwater, she will continue to love him unconditionally no matter what. So she will be the key to unveiling the real truth hopefully.

#flower of evil #psycho but it's okay #It's okay to not be okay #kdrama #kdramanet #analysis #lee joon ki #lee joon gi #moon chae won #fvete

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For [12/?]

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7 / ch 8 / ch 9 / ch 10 / ch 11 [Chapter 12/?]

The three weeks between that and Killian’s fight flew at lightspeed. Between training (together), press conferences (together), and general life (also, together), Emma found herself spending almost every moment with Killian without really knowing what hit her.

He wove himself into her life with an ease she would’ve found scary if she wasn’t so damn happy.

After meeting, Killian and Henry begged to be together daily. It started with short bursts– lunch here, a trip to the park there– and eventually it became week long movie nights with the three of them cuddled up on the couch. Any thought she had of slowing things down was abruptly erased by Henry’s overall excitement just to be with Killian.

The night the two of them fell asleep together in Henry’s bed mid-bedtime story was the proverbial nail in the coffin.

That’s how she finds herself sitting outside the locker room killing time before Killian has to prep for weigh-ins. Henry was already in their seats, Ruby keeping an eye on him while he oogles at the stage being constructed. Emma has been able to mostly ignore the reality of tonight– and tomorrow night– by managing Killian’s social accounts and keeping Regina off her back. (Let’s just say her boss doesn’t know the full extent of their relationship and Emma would like to keep it that way at least until this weekend is over and not just because even she doesn’t know the full extent.)

Emma hears the announcer call for fighters to the locker rooms and it snaps her out of her own thoughts. 

Killian has to go. They– mostly Emma– have been dreading this night since the moment they found out it was Neal. It was only three weeks ago, but somehow everything has changed and it feels like a different lifetime. Killian must have resigned to his fate as well, “Duty calls, love.” He kisses her on the forehead and she leans into the contact. Emma nods but is reluctant to remove her arms from their comfortable spot on his hips. She’s about to wish him luck when he pulls a long silver chain from his pocket. Dangling from the end is a beautiful ring– rubies set with diamonds across a twisted silver band.

Oh shit.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, wh–”

He rolls his eyes, “Calm down, Swan. I’m not proposing.”

She nods with a tight smile, ignoring the rush of disappointment that floods her mind. It’s barely been a month, she should not be disappointed. He smirks, probably reading her like a book per usual, but continues anyway, “You know I’m good at surviving the octagon, yeah? Well, this ring is why. I’ve had it for many years, it’s the reason I’m alive. The reason I’m here today.”

“Killian–”

“I want you to have it this weekend. Keep a piece of me with you. Tomorrow may be a bloody awful night for me but I can’t imagine the war raging behind those beautiful eyes of yours, love.” He brushes a small piece of hair off the apple of her cheek before placing the ring carefully in her hand. She clutches it tightly before pressing up on her toes to place a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, something bright and happy that reaches his eyes but is reserved for her, “Don’t mention it, Swan. I’ve got all the luck I need right here.” He squeezes her waist, eliciting a small giggle as he focuses in on a slight ticklish spot. Killian kisses her temple once more before they finally part.

“Go get him, Jones.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face despite the potential danger Killian is walking into.

He turns back to respond, “Aye, love. Tomorrow night, that’s the plan. It’s only weigh-ins, what could go wrong?” With a wink and a smirk he heads into the locker room and Emma notices the ring still clutched tightly in her fist. Taking it gently, Emma places it over her neck, the weight of the ring heavy atop her chest.

It feels like a lifeline.

Emma takes a deep breath before cracking her neck and slipping into her very real position as Killian’s PR manager. Henry is here tonight, so despite her job, she figures she should check on him first– that is if he hasn’t already tried to come find her. As she walks out from behind the stage she bumps into someone solid. Nausea hits her like a freight train as a familiar scent takes over. The hands on her shoulders seer like fire and she looks up only on instinct.

She swears her blood runs cold at the sound of his voice, “Ems?”

Before she can react, another familiar voice cuts through blood rushing in her ears, “Mom?”

Emma can feel the indent of the ring carving itself into the palm of her hand as she realizes what’s about to happen. Maybe lifeline was an understatement? She reached for the ring instinctively as she realized the moment she had hoped would never come was hovering right in front of her.

She closes her eyes and hears Killian’s voice in her head, “ You can do this, Swan.”

Somehow that’s all the push she needs. Turning to Henry, she ignores the close proximity of his father. “Henry! You were supposed to wait by the seats.”

Her eyes never leave her son. “I was going to but Ruby said I could get popcorn and when I heard them call Hook back I figured you’d be coming out soon so I figured I’d wait for you.” He turns to Neal. “Oh my god, you’re The Fire !!!!”

Neal looks like he’s been tased. Emma pleads with him telepathically to ignore the fact that this is his unmistakably his son.

She never was good at telepathy.

“I am! And you must be Henry.” Neal smiles at him and then turns to Emma for confirmation– she nods slightly despite him barely deserving that. Henry’s eyes light up.

“Did Hook tell you about me?! Mom, do you know Neal Cassidy, too?!” Neal’s eyes turn from amusement to confusion before he turns to Emma.

“Hook?” The word sounds like poison as it cuts across the space between him and Emma.

Henry speaks before Emma can form an explanation, “Yeah! Killian is my mom’s client. She helps him run his Twitter and stuff. Does she do that for you too?”

Oh yeah, client, right.  

Neal gives her one more look before turning back to Henry, “Nope, not for me. Your mom and I are just old friends.” Acid. He sounds like he’s spitting acid. Emma has to choke back a scoff.

How did Emma ever fall for this shit?

“Oh, Killian and mom are friends too. He’s over pretty much every night. I think he likes me better though.” Emma can’t stop a smile from breaking out across her face. She grabs Henry and pulls him in for a hug.

“I think you’re right, kid.” Emma’s eyes meet Neal’s and he’s about to speak when a trainer comes up behind him and whisks him away. Something in his gaze tells her that this conversation isn’t over, but he says bye to Henry who waves before completely moving on to the veteran athletes he saw while waiting in the concession lines. Once he’s out of sight Emma takes a moment to focus her breathing— the cool temperature of Killian’s gift against her thumb effectively grounding her.

This ring really is a godsend– or maybe that’s just the man who gave it to her.

. . .

Killian is sitting in the middle of the sparring gym when he hears his moniker called by an unfamiliar voice. Whoever it is sounds angry. It’s weigh-ins so this level of hostility is usually a show for the cameras, but it’s also usually reserved for fighters who actually know each other.

“Killian Jones.” The use of his full name causes Killian to stand, coming face to face with Neal. He’s only seen him in photos and on tape, but he’d recognize him anywhere. Ice fills Killian’s veins before turning to white hot rage. He’s got half a mind to knock him flat on his arse but knows better than to fight outside the ring.

He opts for civility instead, “Ah, you must be Mr. Cassidy.” Killian squares with him, sizing him up. Despite his clearly trained stature, Killian knows Neal is a coward.

No man who gives up a boy like Henry could be anything less.

“Stay away from my son.”

That was not what Killian expected, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Neal is fired up for some reason or another. Killian can’t imagine why, unless– Emma .

Neal must’ve ran into Emma and Henry before coming back. Killian drops the niceties, “ Your son? I believe there’s a hefty packet of legal papers that says quite the opposite, mate.”  

He watches the rage fill up Neal’s face and his arm begin to form a fist. As Killian responds, Neal’s trainer is coming up behind him. “Not here, Cassidy. Save it for the octagon.”

As the trainer pulls Neal away, Killian doesn’t let the wash of relief exit in a sigh, but he feels it all the same. Neal turns to him once more,“We’ll settle this tomorrow, Jones. You don’t get to steal my life.”  He clearly has a compulsory need for having the last word.

Too bad so does Killian.

As Neal approaches the door separating their designated gyms, Killian calls out once more, “It’s not stealing when you give them up in the first place. Finders keepers, mate.” He winks as Neal crosses into the other room, his trainers keeping him pointed in the right direction.

That’s when Robin walks up behind Killian, “What the hell was that about? I thought you two didn’t even know each other.”

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets, Robin. It seems Mr. Cassidy is regretting his choice not to fight.” Killian turns to his best friend and finds only understanding in his eyes.

Robin claps his hand onto Killian’s shoulder, “Kick his ass, Jones.”

Nodding, Killian straps his gloves on. “My plan precisely, boss.”

...

@mariakov81 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @teamhook @bawley-bug @let-it-raines ​

#cs ff #emma swan #killian jones #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #worth fighting for #capthamm #im sorry this took so long

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, onto chapter 72 of AoT, and once again, there’s a lot to dig into here.  I really think it’s brilliant the way Isyama structured and set up this whole story, and I think it benefit hugely from a second readthrough, in order to pick up just how many details and clue’s as to what’s going on there really are.

Levi’s conversation with Erwin once again only reinforces the reasons for Levi’s ambivalence and uncertainty as to Erwin’s intentions.  That’s also communicated throughout several panels leading up to this scene, where every time Erwin starts talking about retaking Wall Maria, or about Eren’s basement, Levi levels him with a skeptical look.  But it really comes to a head here.

What really struck me during this scene was just how fed up Levi was with Erwin’s lies at this point.  First he asks Erwin what the plan is beyond retaking the Wall, and clarifies, after Erwin gives a half-assed, noncommittal answer, that he’s asking because Erwin’s chances of dying on the mission are high, and Levi still believes fully that if Erwin dies, then humanity’s chances at victory are null and void.  Levi is trying in his way to communicate to Erwin that he SHOULDN’T be joining them, and just flat out says it after a moment, asking him to let Hange lead the ground operation, and telling Erwin that he doesn’t need more baggage to slow him down.  Levi is obviously hoping Erwin proves his new found doubts and concerns wrong by agreeing with him and deciding to stay behind.  But, of course, Erwin doesn’t, but only worsens those doubts when he flat out refuses to stay behind.  What really stood out to me here was how PISSED Levi gets when Erwin starts trying to bullshit him by coming up with one, noble-sounding excuse after another for why he can’t agree to stay behind.  I think Levi probably feels pretty hurt here, because by lying to him over and over, Erwin is showing a lack of trust or respect for Levi.  After years of standing by Erwin’s side, lending him his strength and loyalty and his own, deep trust in Erwin to make the right calls, and for the right reasons, not only is Erwin repaying that trust on Levi’s part with evasiveness and vague half-answers, but also, now, with outright lies.  You can’t blame Levi for getting as angry as he does here, when he talks over Erwin after his second attempt at bullshitting him and threatens to break his legs if he keeps it up.  You can tell Levi makes the threat as much out of a sense of betrayal and anger as he does as a means of trying to get Erwin to agree to stay.  

And then, at last, Erwin just tells the truth, probably sensing that Levi is serious, and admits that it isn’t for any noble reason, such as the chances of success in completing the mission, or the importance of it to humanity as a whole, but because he HAS to be there when the truth is discovered.  He still doesn’t reveal to Levi the reasons behind his obsession, how it’s a thirst to prove his father right, and quell the guilt of his own, childhood mistake that’s compelling him towards this, but he does finally admit to Levi that humanity’s victory isn’t what’s most important to him.  

Levi’s look of shock and dismay at that revelation is intense, and I think it shows us how, despite having formed doubts over the last, several weeks or whatever amount of time has passed, Levi was still holding out hope that he was wrong, and that Erwin really was what Levi had believed him to be previously, meaning an altruistic, selfless person who did what he did for humanity’s sake.  Levi is forced, for the first time here, to admit that his original perception of Erwin was wrong, and you can see it’s devastating to him.  He pushes Erwin here, first asking if it’s more important than his legs, and when Erwin answers yes, Levi finally just flat out asks if it’s more important than humanity’s victory, and again, Erwin answers yes.  And, at this point, Levi just resigns himself to that reality, and says “Fine.”  But you can tell how truly upset he is, and angry, when he tells Erwin he’ll trust his judgment once more, you can see he’s also reminding Erwin that if he allows his selfish desires to take precedence over humanity’s well being, and he ends up getting killed because of it, then that’s on him.  He’ll have to take responsibility for putting humanity last in the service of his own, selfish dream.  Levi’s saying he’ll trust in Erwin one last time, but he won’t help Erwin delude himself anymore into thinking it’s for the right reasons. 

What I find so brilliant, then, in the rest of the chapter, is how it’s set up to lead into the battle in Shinganshina, but also how it sets up into Levi overhearing Armin’s conversation with Eren and Mikasa, and how that ultimately informs what does happen, with Levi making the choice he does.

Levis’ obviously feeling really upset, and betrayed by Erwin, and horrified no doubt by Erwin’s decision to put his own desires above the well being of humanity.  He’s probably wondering if every decision Erwin’s ever made was in service to his own dream, whether those decisions were actually to the benefit or detriment to humanity, and probably feeling himself guilty for putting so much blind faith in a man who, it’s turned out, isn’t nearly as pure in his intentions as Levi had believed.

The conversation between Eren and Armin is really important in the way it’s structured, and how it ends up influencing Levi then.  Eren is still talking about how they need to take back Wall Maria so that they can defeat their enemies, and so he can kill Reiner and Bertolt.  Eren’s main, driving motivation is revenge, and the elimination of humanities enemy’s.  But then Armin steps in and says “That’s not all.”, and we see in the next panel, this is when Levi turns his head, as if he’s attentions been caught by what Armin says.  Armin goes on to say it isn’t just Titans beyond the walls, but oceans, lands of ice, and snowy plains of sand, etc...  He talks about the sea and how it stretches out beyond the horizon, and how they’re are fish that only live there.  And then he says “Let’s start by going to the sea!”.  To Armin, this is a beginning, the first step in realizing a better, brighter future for humanity.  Levi is listening to all of this, letting himself sit and listen.  He hears the hope and enthusiasm in Armin’s voice, and his belief in a bright future.  There’s absolute earnestness and sincerity in Armin’s words.  This is in sharp contrast with Levi’s conversation with Erwin earlier, in which Erwin lied to him again and again until Levi had to threaten him with physical violence to get him to tell him the truth, and in which Erwin admitted he had no, concrete plans beyond retaking the wall, no contingencies in place for them to follow if Erwin himself got killed, serving as a harsh reminder to Levi that Erwin’s priority wasn’t humanity at all.  Listening to Armin’s hope and dreams here, and the genuine belief and purity he has in talking about them, has, as we later find out, a profound impact on Levi.  This is the first time Levi starts to believe that humanity can still survive and keep on fighting, with or without Erwin.  That there’s enough hope left in these kids to drive the fight forward.  Levi maybe doesn’t realize it yet, but that seed of hope has been planted in him too.  

Also, man, the final panels of this chapter, with the people of Trost yelling up to the SC standing on the wall, ready to ride out.  When we see the same merchant from before who was putting Levi down so hard for the laziness and uselessness of the Survey Corps, and the way he calls out to Levi, telling him thank you for saving their town, and Levi sees the same mother and child from that day, with the mother smiling and healthy, just... this is such a powerful moment.  Levi’s look, this kind of mix between sadness and happiness, sadness, I think, because he must be remembering his own mother, and how she died, how she wasn’t able to be saved, but happiness to see that this mother hasn’t met the same fate, that she’s been able to regain hers and her child’s life.  This really was such a poignant moment, and once more demonstrates Levi’s heartbreaking compassion for people.  He just cares so much, and the genuine joy he feels at seeing the wellbeing of others is truly heartwarming.  Especially, once more, given the harshness of his own life.

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #Levi Ackerman #Erwin Smith #armin arlert #eren yaegar

[youngclaire]

One Last Final Goodbye

I rewrote sending Claire back through the stones at the end of book 2 but from Jamie's POV. I thought it would be a nice way to ease myself into writing these two. This is very book compliant, I actually bad the book open next to me whilst I wrote this in order to translate it from Claire's POV to Jamie's and it was a lot of fun. It's not a copy of the fuller chapter, it's been shortened down in places but the essence is there. I've also removed bits and pieces. Uhh yeah...all dialogue in this belongs to Diana and the book I'm just responsible for remixing the words. Anyway, I hope whoever bothers to read this likes it :)

(This is also my first fic in this fandom with these two so don't expect it to be perfect, it probably isn't)

- - -

He wouldn’t stop for anything; not food, water, or rest. He keeps the horse at a constant gallop at all times, scared that if he paused or hesitated for even a moment he would lose all courage and go neither back or forward.

I shall see my wife safe, is a mantra that keeps him riding. If he is to die tonight or on the battlefield tomorrow, he would not take her down with him; not her or the innocent being she carries inside her.

The stones come into view just above him. A cursed salvation of granite and Jamie tries not to see them, his gaze fixated forward. Behind him, Claire lets her displeasure be known, protesting against the idea. Jamie steels himself against them, clenches his jaw and gallops harder, fighting the urge to give in. This was the only way to see her safe and unharmed, he tells himself.

She protests still, even while he urges her up to the ruined cottage. She doesn’t realise he has no intention of parting with her right now, he just wants time to breathe, to think, to let the panic and worry abate. He sinks to the ground, his body cold and his mind racing.

“It’s alright,” he thinks he hear himself say. “We have a bit of time now; no one will find us here.” He shivers, though from the cold, and wraps his plaid around him.

God, he could still see it; Dougal’s lifeless eyes, the blood pooling out of him, the shock on Willie Coulter’s face. How long before everyone knew? How long before everyone found out he had committed familicide?

Jamie’s head falls forward onto his knees, a tiredness washing over him, fatigue clutching at his bones and eyelids. Tired as he was he could not sleep for fear of the images in his mind’s eye.

His breath comes out in ragged pants and he can barely stand the sound of it. He feels Claire’s warmth and presence beside him, uses it as something to anchor himself to.

What happened in that room and who knows wasn’t the priority, while Claire had yet to explicitly say so Jamie’s fate waited for him on Culloden Moor. Tomorrow he will die and all this will cease to matter. Claire will be safe.

His breathing eases back into its natural rhythm, the panic wilting away from the edges. He’ll take hold of Death’s hand, gladly accept his destiny knowing he did one thing right at last.

“I won’t go, Jamie,” she says, as if she’s read his thoughts. “I’m staying with you.”

Jamie shakes his head. She couldn’t persuade him, he couldn’t change his mind. He needed to do this.

“No,” he says. The firmness bites at him, makes him wince. He hopes she can hear the gentleness that lies beneath it. “I must go back, Claire.”

“You can’t,” she cries. “Jamie, they will have found Dougal by now! Willie Coulter will have told someone.”

Aye, that was a fact he had resigned himself to, a fact she must resign herself too as well. He grieved for Dougal, for the second father he had, but Jamie had done what he’d done- he would take whatever consequence waited for him behind that door. She talks of fleeing to France but it’s no use, he’s chosen his fate, set his heart and mind to it, accepted it. A traitor twice over, a rebel, a murderer…The English will hunt Prince Charles. The English and the clans will hunt Jamie. He was dead either way.

“Claire, I am a dead man.”

He watches the tears freeze on her cheeks. “No,” she says but the effect is lost, she knows he speaks the truth.

“I wouldna get very far anyway.” On its own accord, his hand runs through his red hair that makes him a beacon at all times. Not exactly inconspicuous. “I can save you, Claire,” With his other hand he brushes away the tears that continue to fall. “and I will. That is the most important thing.”

Then he will go back. If he finds he cannot do it for himself then he will find it in him to do so for his men.

“I think I can get them away,” he says thinking the plan through. “Even if it’s known what I’ve done, none will stop me wi’ the English in sight and the battle about to begin.” The plan visualises in his mind and he nods to himself. “I will bring them safely away and set them on the road toward Lallybroch.”

“And then?”

Well…wasn’t that obvious?

“And then I will turn back to Culloden.”

He lets out a breath, strong and final as his decision. He catches Claire’s worried look and gives her a smile.

“I’m no afraid to die, Sassenach,” he says, but then he thinks of that door, black and foreboding, the unknown behind it. “Well…not a lot, anyway.”

He hears a sound a human being should never be able to make as arms fling around him. He finds himself surrounded by Claire, caught in her tight embrace as the scent of her overwhelms him. He clutches her back, trying with all his might not to succumb and cry.

“It’s all right, Sassenach,” he says into her hair as she cries once more. “A musket ball. Maybe a blade. It will be over quickly.” A lie, they both know it, but Jamie will them both to believe it. He’s seen men die in battle, knows how horrifically slow it can be but it was better than waiting for the hangman’s noose, that would be the one thing that does not lie behind that door.

“I’m going with you.”

Lost in thought he barely registers it but when he does he reels at the notion, startling backwards.

“The hell you are!” He has a plan, damnit, and not even Claire will deter him from it.

She displays her argument but he will not listen to it, will not give it thought.

“No!” he says. “No, Claire!”

How could she suggest such a thing, knowing what they both knew? How could she be so selfish?

“If you’re not afraid, I’m not either. It will…be over quickly. You said so.”

You said so. What he said was a lie, did she not see that? A lie to comfort them both.

“Jamie- I won’t…I can’t…I bloody won’t live without you, that’s all!”

He had a thousand things to say and none at all. His mouth opens and closes before he shakes his head. Through the gaps in the ceiling he can see daylight dwindling, night approaching. The sky is painted red. Blood of a battlefield, blood of childbirth.

He reaches toward her, pulling her close. He knows where this fight comes from, if the tables were turned he would say the same thing, knows because he feels it too.

“D’ye think I don’t know?” His voice is soft, a whisper. “It’s me that has the easy part now. For if ye feel for me as I do for you- then I am asking you to tear your heart out and live without it.”

She lets out a whimper, clutching him closer. He fingers stroke her hair, whispering soft coos towards her.

“But you must do it,” he finally says, feeling his stomach twist and turn. “Ye must.”

“Why?” She is angry, considerably so. Confused and hurting. “When you took me from the witch trial at Cranesmuir- you said then you would have died with me, you would have gone to the stake with me had it come to that!”

He had said all that, and to this day, it remains true. He’d have rather died than to be parted with her.

“Aye, I would,” he says. “But I wasna carrying your child.”

The reason he is allowing them to part.

She is surprised, shocked, frozen in place as she looks up at him in bewilderment.

“You can’t tell,” she says at last, shaking her head. “It’s much too early.”

It makes him smile, brings amusement to him.

“You havena been a day late in your courses, in all the time since ye first book me to your bed. Ye havena bled now in forty-six days.”

She hurls insults at him, shocked he even managed to keep track of such a thing during a war but he had for hope they would have a second chance at raising a child and for fear that it would end like this.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she tells him, rattling off reasons for why she might not have bled. It’s no use, she forgets he’s seen her so before, studied all the tell-tale signs of her body changing, committed them to memory.

“Claire…” His voice is quiet, not sounding like him. “Tomorrow I will die. This child…is all that will be left of me- ever.” He reaches for her hands, needing some part of her to hold. He casts his gaze to their joined hands, running his thumb over her fingers. “Claire, I beg you, see it safe.”

He keeps his eyes downcast while he waits for her answer, scared she’ll say yes, scared she’ll say no. The silence feels long and he shuts his eyes against the twisting of his stomach.

Finally her answer comes.

“Yes.” A whisper in the darkening cottage. “Yes. I’ll go.”

He nods, swallowing back the lump in his throat, hearing the sound of a flower stem snap.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

After telling her to sleep, she doesn’t sleep himself. Time seemed wasted on that and they didn’t have much of it left anymore. In a few hours he will take her to the fairy hill and part with her forever.

He wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all. To brandish his sword and yell and scream and cry but he knew there was no point to it. He knew that what he had been handed was more than fair, that not many men live the life he’s led and are allowed to be rewarded in such a way.

Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, he had said to her, quoting what he would say to God when he met him. God! I loved her well. He had, he could really say that. He took this woman, in all her unbated strangeness, into his broken hands and within her found company and peace, a place to call home.

She loved me well, too, he adds, watching her sleep for the last time. Content and safe, here in his arms and their fortress of cloth. He had healed him with her touch and love and perseverance. Picked a broken man off the floor and carried him through towards the light at the end of the tunnel no matter the setbacks. She really was a rare woman, his sassenach.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, murmurs a quick thank you in Gaelic to God and to the fairies for dropping her into his life.

Pressed against her, safe in their fortress of clothes, her skin warming his bones, his eyelids grow heavy and he succumbs to sleep as the first inklings of tomorrow break across the sky.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She was gone.

Disappeared in the same manner in which she had appeared. Gone through the stones and back to Frank.

Jamie presses his hand against the stone. The hard granite presses back on his wound, her mark, the letter C, reminding him it was real, she was real.

Her arisaid lies on the grass, forgotten in their haste to love each other one last time. Jamie picks it up, bringing it to his nose, inhaling her scent still lingering on the tartan. Tears fall on their own accord as he prays she made it back, prays that she and the bairn are safe.

A cannon in the distance booms, startling the birds and startling him. It’s beginning.

He is hesitant to move, to leave the place of their last coupling, his last connections to her.

Yet destiny waits for him on Culloden Moor, along with his men. He pictures the thirty men waiting for their laird.

There is nothing he can do for Claire now but there is something he can do for his men.

He kisses the inside of his fingers, presses it to the stone and bids his soulmate one last final goodbye.

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie's pov #standing stones scene rewrite #i tried ok #and i am scared #im gonna go hide in a hole now #bye

[avomorg]

can we read anything for the glass cutter AU? Its living in my brain rent free and I neeeeed more 0-0 Its so amazing <3

Unfortunately (or fortunately), this is not just a romantic story, it's just that I'm drawing one challenge right now. :) I'm sorry, there is a lot of text here.

I use this tag to mark posts related to story of my main character, Hani. The presence of the OC changes the events of the plot of the series, so I can say that this is AU. Since this is not a single plot, but a story associated with almost each of the seasons of Ninjago, AU doesn't have a single idea. But I can say that this is a story where there is another ninja in the team.

I know there are many such characters, and this AU was originally made just for fun. But maybe I can make something good out of it.

I have a detailed article describing Hani's storyline, but I haven't translated it yet, so I'll tell you the most important things.

Hani is the daughter of Wu's ally, Keyon. During the events of the pilot episode, he was killed by skeletons – so Wu said. Hani then became the new master of glass.

Hani studied at Darkley's Boarding School for Great Children, where the ninjas worked as teachers after the second season. She could not learn to control the element on her own, so the glass was attracted to her against her will and left cuts. The ninjas noticed this, but didn't going to interfere, but Zane took pity on the girl. He became involved with her despite Wu's ban (he didn't need the daughter of Keyon, because Keyon died through Wu's fault). Hani became very attached to Zane, with whom she felt safe. He taught the girl frightened by her abilities to find strength in herself. Zane was not sure if her abilities were similar to those of a ninja, but he understood that they should be used for the good of Ninjago so that Hani would not use them for evil. Therefore, he did his best to have Hani join the ninja team and be under their supervision. To do this, he had to argue with his friends and Wu.

In Rebooted, Zane managed to gain Hani's recognition as a team member. Yes, she was weaker than a ninjas, but over time she could become a good fighter – and, most importantly, her abilities would not threaten the safety of Ninjago. Unfortunately, Zane died, and the ninjas didn't want to take responsibility for the girl, so they left her in the care of Garmadon.

After the death of Zane, she was devastated, as after losing her father. But she continued to train alongside Lloyd and Garmadon. Constant training and the desire to be stronger made her character quite tough, but she could confidently fight the enemy. Garmadon didn't like her aggression and too strong will to win, he tried to make Hani more calm.

In the Tournament of Elements, these problems intensified. Clouse skillfully used Hani's aggression, making her an enemy for all other participants in the Tournament. The girl herself, due to the constant use of the element in battles, lost her common sense. Even her appearance began to change. In the end, Clouse was almost able to get her to fight by his side – but Hani was too dangerous, so Chen decided to get rid of her. She was thrown in the desert, chained to the skeleton of some monster. Hani missed the battle in the Elders' Corridors. It was only after this hard lesson that she realized the importance of Garmadon's ideas. But it was already too late.

Maybe Hani would have died in the desert... If not for Morro. He introduced himself as a poor traveler and helped her get out of the chains, while learning from Hani about what is happening in Ninjago. Later they met as opponents. Morro offered Wu to exchange Lloyd for one of the ninjas (this was an attempt to eliminate Nya; if the elements returned to the ninjas, Wu would not develop her abilities). Wu traded Lloyd for Hani. Master never wanted to take her on the team and thus got rid of her. Hani realized that Lloyd was more valuable to the team than she was, and also she hoped to get rid of Wu with Morro's help. As a result, Morro and Hani tried to manipulate each other, but they succeeded equally badly – so they only learned the secrets and weaknesses of each other, being in the same body. Both became vulnerable to each other, so they ceased to be strangers. At the end of Possession, Hani pulled Morro out of the water, creating her Elemental Dragon for the first time. Morro was unable to surrender and die when he had a living ally.

After Morro stayed with the ninjas, the course of events in the canon changed quite a lot.

In the Skybound, Hani looked for ways to bring Morro back to life. But first, Wu had to be convinced to remove the curse from the student. While trying to complete these tasks, Hani found herself trapped like the other ninjas. But Morro was used to achieving everything himself and remained at large, and in the end he helped Jay and his team.

Day of the Departed was the perfect moment to bring Morro back to life. Wu surrendered and removed the curse from him, the portal is open and can let Morro through. But his fear of being unprepared for life almost ruined everything. Morro considers Yang's fate unfair and was ready to give him a place in the world of the living. Cole practically forcibly sent Morro into the portal so that he would not interfere in the fight between the master of the earth and Yang.

In the Recording (fanseason) reveals the stories of the Morro and Hani families. The wind masters are associated with the Cloud Kingdom, which is now in danger. Only Morro, whose fate is in his own hands, can fight the lord of fate. Hani and Lloyd go in search of the Master of Writing, because only they can actively move between worlds: Lloyd is a descendant of the FSM, and Hani, like the former glass masters, is called upon to protect him and follow him. The fates of Morro and Hani, written in the scrolls of their fates, are contrary to their wishes, and they must deal with this.

You can find a little more information about Record on my Instagram, later I want to make full posts here.

During the fight with the Hands of Time, Hani was almost glad that Wu had resigned and supported Lloyd as the new leader. But gradually she began to sympathize with Wu, despite what he had done in the past. The fact that he sacrificed himself to save the students changed Hani's opinion of him. But Morro still hasn't forgiven the teacher. He believed that Wu couldn't just disappear from the life of a ninjas.

The events of the Sons of Garmadon are changed: Lloyd approaches Harumi not because of sympathy for her (since he is already in a relationship with another character, besides, sympathy for the girl is too weak a hook), but because of the desire to bring his father back to life. But to bring back the real Garmadon, not his evil appearance. The real Garmadon will be able to deal with the Sons, like the Anacondrai generals with Chen's army. Harumi, like the entire imperial family, belongs to a mysterious association that knows the secrets of resurrection from the dead. Mysticism and a blind desire to meet his father again deprives Lloyd of the ability to think sanely, and he believes Harumi. Can't a whole secret society lie? Unbeknownst to Lloyd, Harumi bribed the respected Ninjago explorers and mystics to put on this whole show. But Morro doesn't trust the imperial family, since he once participated in the war between the dynasties. He is confident that the Sons of Garmadon are ruled by the descendants of the overthrown dynasty. He doesn't believe in the resurrection of Garmadon and condemns such attachment of Lloyd to his dead father. Morro is also suspicious of Harumi's physical fitness. He is a dangerous foe, so the Sons are trying to eliminate him. Hani generally agrees with Morro, but she still really wants to see Garmadon, so she doesn't want to suspect Harumi. Morro is on a ship and enters the Realm of Oni and Dragons, Hani stays with Lloyd. Before parting, Morro manages to conclude a Yin-Yang Promise with her.

In Hunted, Morro didn't lose heart and settled in the desert - he was used to wandering and starving. Morro tried to save the wind dragon from the Hunters, but failed, was punished, and nearly died. Despite all this, the cruel world of Oni and Dragons came to his liking. As Wu grew older, he and Morro finally found a common language and came to an agreement. Hani at this time trying to continue the fight after the loss of Morro and Zane. She becomes cruel again, like in the Tournament. Due to the destruction of the city in the streets a lot of broken glass, and with so many shells Hani can easily destroy enemies. Harumi gives the order to clear the streets of glass in order to deprive the Resistance of such a dangerous and ubiquitous weapon, but getting rid of all the glass in the city is impossible. The ninjas returned in time – blinded by grief, Hani has not yet lost herself, as in the Tournament.

Morro and Hani already hope for a respite and calm, but Oni's appearance again forces them to be ready for battle. Hani has both interest and disgust for Garmadon, who was resurrected by Harumi. Morro willingly communicates with him, Garmadon cannot really offend him with his sharp remarks. Hani greatly fears for Lloyd's life as he and Garmadon descend into the Darkness. After Cole's fall, Hani tries not to lose control of herself, as she did before. Morro tries to use the wind to pull Cole out of the Darkness, but is unable to break through the cloud. In the final battle with Oni, Morro and Hani use Spinjitzu. Morro is hesitant to team up with the others in the Tornado of Creation because he is unsure of his ability to use Spinjitzu, but Hani persuades him to take the risk. After the completion of the Tornado, Morro hits hard against the wall of the monastery. This encourages him to actively learn Spinjitzu.

The Secrets of the Forbidden Spinjitzu events have been changed, but I haven't finished the AU for this season yet. For now, I can say that the ninjas ended up in the tomb of snakes not out of boredom, but because of the deception of Clutch Powers: he competed with a young researcher for a place in the Club and wanted to use the ninjas to pass traps in the tomb. The Forbidden Spinjitzu is a special elimination weapon used by the FSM to purge Ninjago of its serious competitors. The theme of not just winning, but eliminating enemies runs through the entire season and makes it darker, because the enemy of the ninjas is now Zane. And he is not going to negotiate with them.

Hani's story in 12-13 seasons in progress.

Thanks for reading to the end!

#hani shane #glass cutter au #ninjago record

[sgrayonderii]

trials of izanagi

SSM20 #8: Let’s play pretend

Sakura tells Sasuke the reasons why they should get married. RTN!AU (Rated T)

When his father calls for a family meeting, Sasuke half fears it’s been finally revealed that he was the one that burned down the garden shed and not the neighborhood teens as he claimed. 

But when his mother also arrives with a stern expression, Sasuke realizes this is worse than a bit of light arson. 

He fidgets at the dining table nervously as he watches his father nod to his mother to begin.

“As you know,” she starts, “you are getting to age where one should consider settling down.”

Sasuke groans. 

“Mother!”  But she raises her hand to silence him. 

“Sasuke, this is a good opportunity for you and the clan.” 

“What about Aniki?” 

His mother’s face adopts a sour look, not pleased to be interrupted. “Your brother has his own duties. You should only concern yourself with your own.” 

Sasuke tries to protest once again but his mother’s stony features leave no room for argument.

“I’d expect you not to embarrass yourself or the clan,” Her expression is one of usual exasperation at his antics. “Sasuke, it is time for you to grow up.” 

---

Sasuke has always been quite bitter that his brother is allowed to gallivant around the countryside with his band of questionable acquaintances while the responsibilities of their clan are dumped onto him.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to get married either! Having spent so much of his life devoted to his family’s whims, Sasuke at least wants to choose who he wants to spend his life with. 

Secretly, he quite enjoys the daydreams where he comes home to have a quiet night with the love of his life and what he is sure to be their small squadron of children. 

So Sasuke comes up with a plan.

He supposes if he makes himself an utter unmarriageable fool, this nonsense would be over. Even a name as prestigious as Uchiha would not be enough to secure an engagement if he is the most undesirable human being in the world.

So the day of the marriage interview, he tries to look like the failure his family assumes he is. Sasuke puts on a sweat suit he wore out to training two days ago paired with his sandals and mismatched fuzzy socks. He doesn’t brush his teeth and doesn’t even style his hair. He even spends a few days trying to grow a beard.

Sasuke looks like an absolute disaster. Which is quite a hard thing to do he might add; curse his beautiful face!

He arrives at the casual diner he had chosen feeling confident and clever, because what could be more disappointing to start off a potential marriage than a place he knows has more health violations than he has fingers?

That is until he realizes who his mother managed to set him up with. 

Sakura-chan, beautiful as ever, is sitting in the sticky booth the hostess leads him to with a cup of what he is sure is black coffee. 

Sasuke immediately regrets every life choice he has ever made. He wonders whether activating the Izanami right now would save him from dying of embarrassment. 

A thousand thoughts are running through his head all at once. Is this a joke? What is Sakura-chan doing here? What about Menma? Should he turn around and walk out like nothing happened?

However she glances up at him with those lovely eyes of hers and Sasuke cannot help but blurt out the most pressing thing tumbling around in his short-circuiting brain. 

“I thought you wanted to get married for love?!”

 Not missing a beat, “Good morning to you too, Sasuke. I see you know how to impress a lady.”

Sasuke wonders if he can throw himself out the window.

But his pride dictates that he cannot embarrass himself anymore in front of Konoha’s fairest, so he squares up, grits his teeth, and slides into the booth. 

“Don’t change the subject,” taking in her own outfit. White coat and business casual. So it must be clinic day. “Why are you here Sakura-chan?” 

He cannot think of any reason why Sakura would suddenly want to marry him; Sasuke has always considered the greatest tragedy and irony in his life is the fact that the love of his life does not feel the same way. So he waits for her explanation. 

Sakura, to her credit, always is cool and collected and is logical to a fault. She does not shy away from his questioning facing him directly to answer. 

“Your mother asked me to consider a marriage into the Uchiha clan.” 

Sasuke rolls his eyes, “Just because you two get along doesn’t mean you have to humor her, especially when it comes to getting married!”  

She takes a sip of her coffee, now not quite looking at him. Almost guilty. “She told me that if I married either you or Itachi-san, your clan would back my bid for Hokage.”

Anger bubbles in his stomach. Envy burns down his throat. Betrayal is bitter on his tongue. It is one thing for his mother to meddle in his life, it’s another for Sakura to be so callous as to use his love for power. 

“Why are you meeting me then?”  His brother might be a flighty vagabond, but Itachi is the heir and he is the spare. 

She seems to understand what he is truly asking. “Sasuke, you are a rising star in the Konoha. The people of this village trust you greatly.”

“You can’t stand me.”

“You’re annoying but I don’t hate you.” She smiles sadly, as if enjoying a particularly cruel joke. “I don’t think I could hate you, truly.”

“Sakura-chan, with all due respect, between your father and the Fifth’s recommendation, I don’t think you need my family at all.”  

Sasuke takes a deep calming breath to hide his frustration, trying to act nonchalant, “But if you still want to get hitched Kitten, I’m all for it.” He even throws in a lighthearted wink. 

She ignores his last comment. “My father and Tsunade-shishou are popular with the people, but the council is not fond of either of them. Too peace loving apparently.”

“My family isn’t very popular with the council either.” 

“But the Uchiha clan is one of the oldest clans in Konoha, its influence is enough to convince other families. Enough to over rule the council.” Sakura smiles wryly, “In return, the Uchiha clan will have ties with the Hokage office. Think of it as a strategic alliance.”

This is just like Sakura, cold and calculating. Sasuke does not hate it; her ambitions are part of her charm.

“What’s in it for me then?”

“If you do accept, your parents would be satisfied you are an upstanding, successful citizen and will no longer have any right prying in your affairs.” 

He doubts that it would stop them but allows her to continue, “I also don’t plan to…interfere with your extramarital activities.” Sasuke begins to feel a sense of dread as Sakura continues, “A marriage of convenience if you will.” 

This is his boiling point and he finds himself shouting. 

“No, it’s a sham! How you could have completely given up on love?!” 

Sakura is a woman who has always been loved shallowly and one can only be the object of admiration for long before realizing  it’s only empty reverence. The one thing she always craved is the unconditional love she lost so long ago along when her parents passed.  Sasuke cannot believe Sakura can give up that so easily. 

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand anything Charasuke!” She is now equally angry, “Do you think I want to use my husband’s name to get the Hokage’s seat!? How everything I’ve spent my life working for amounts to nothing in the eyes of the council?! ”

“It doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own happiness for this!” Because even now, even though his affections for her are unyielding and painful and true, he just wants her to be happy. 

To find love and be loved, even if it isn’t with him.

“I’m running out of time!” She is shaking now, in anger, in frustration, in a hopelessness Sasuke has never seen. “Tsunade -shishou told me that the council is considering making Menma the Hokage after she retires.”

“Menma? What? He can barely carry conversation!” And he is impulsive. Just as likely to start a war as he is to end it. 

Sakura looks sick, “Menma has a strong shinobi, but that’s all he is. He is not suited for politics. He only knows how to end conflicts with shows of strength.”

“Do you really think that Menma will actually accept the position?” Because regardless of their disagreements, Menma is still his best friend. Menma isn’t the type to seek power wantonly. 

“Maybe, maybe not. But he is now married to the Hyuuga family. And you know how easily he can be influenced.”

Sasuke wants to defend his friend’s honor but he admits she has a point.

“So when your mother came to me about this...I don’t know I just thought this might be my only chance. 

I know this is unfair to you, which is why we can just pretend to be a married couple in name only. You are under no obligation to change your ways Sasuke.”  

Sakura is resigned to her fate to a supposedly loveless marriage and Sasuke hates it. 

“But I cannot let Menma and the council turn this village into a battlefield. I cannot let them ruin my parent’s legacy.” 

This is insane. It’s not right. She may be the logical one, but he has always been the romantic. 

This is not at all how he imagines their life together would be. 

Sakura takes in his uncharacteristic silence as the end of the conversation and gathers her things. 

“You don’t have to answer me right now, just think about it.” And with that she departs, leaving him alone in the booth. 

---

Sasuke has always pretended that his family’s obvious favoritism and Sakura’s indifference towards him, never bothered him. 

He distracts himself with pretty girls and pretty flowers. But really, he just does not have the courage to face the reality of being the fallback and second place. 

That no matter what he does or how hard he works, he will never measure up to the Uchiha’s prodigal son or even his best friend. 

He just wants someone to look at him and only him.

And maybe that's why he has always been so drawn to Sakura, the daughter of fallen heroes. 

Because maybe she just also wanted someone to see her tears. To realize what was underneath her facade. 

The pretty girl who cries when she is alone so she doesn’t bother anyone else, yet in front of the rest of the world is the image of stunning grace and confidence. Who heals him when he bleeds and listens to him when he cannot bear the expectations of his family anymore. 

He admires her bravery. He falls for her kindness. 

Sasuke loves her, he has for a long time. 

He wonders if she knows this. 

And so that’s why he is waiting outside the clinic later that afternoon, in his best clothes, clean shaven, with a bouquet of lavender flowers. 

No more pretenses. 

He will give her his name, the world, and their marriage will be anything but loveless. He will make sure of it.

A/N: This was an AU of another AU WIP that went of the rails. Thank you for reading! Happy SSM20 and stay safe!

#sasusaku #SSM20 #SSM20d8 #sasusaku month #sasusaku fanfiction #Sasuke Uchiha #sakura haruno #sgrayonderii #sgrayonder #hope the tags are working!

[salexectrian-heir]

messages from last night update

chapter below the cut | ao3 link

✧ Oracle ✧

SEPT 1ST 4:57 AM

[Joker] Hi

[Joker] Story time

[✧ Oracle ✧] i see yusuke returned ur phone

[Joker] Aha, yeah. After swearing on my life I would not make any more poor life choices

[Joker] I assume that was your doing

[✧ Oracle ✧] ur welcome

[Joker] Hmm well I might not have sworn hard enough

[✧ Oracle ✧] ???

[Joker] bet you 500 yen you can’t guess where I woke up this morning (without hacking my location)

[✧ Oracle ✧] oh god akira… jail?

[✧ Oracle ✧] again??!

[Joker] No

[Joker] Better

[✧ Oracle ✧] !!?

[Joker] On the catwalk of the auditorium

[✧ Oracle ✧] BRUH

[✧ Oracle ✧] didnt yusuke like walk u home???

[Joker] He did

[Joker] I just didn’t stay home after

[✧ Oracle ✧] (-_-;)・・・

[✧ Oracle ✧] but don’t they lock up the buildings at night….

[Joker] ...

[✧ Oracle ✧] also i’m p sure catwalks are at least fifteen meters in the air??

[Joker] ...

[Joker] I am surprisingly still very dexterous while intoxicated

[✧ Oracle ✧] o m g

[✧ Oracle ✧] what possessed u to sneak out of the dorm, pick a lock, scale scaffolding, and fall asleep on a metal beam is  / literally /  beyond me

[Joker] Me too, It's all very...fuzzy after getting back to the dorms

[Joker] Maybe I was a cat in a past life

[✧ Oracle ✧] cat!kira

[✧ Oracle ✧] congrats u now have a fursona to add to your growing list of ‘sonas

[Joker] Cat!kira go prrr?

[✧ Oracle ✧] HAHAH a self-drag?

[✧ Oracle ✧] Someone truly is hungover and regretting his life choices

[Joker] Jokes aside, all that flexibility training I did in hs apparently paid off

[Joker] I have no new bruises or injuries that I am aware of so I made it up in one piece. Somehow.

[✧ Oracle ✧] wait hold up I thot all that “training” u’d say u were doing was just like horny akira code for “going to mess around with Sumi after school”

[✧ Oracle ✧] don’t tell me u actually were doing gymnastics with her that whole time

[Joker] Okay

[✧ Oracle ✧] ????

[Joker] You literally just told me not to tell you

[✧ Oracle ✧] but was i right?! i NEED to kno if i was right

[Joker] Haha yes and no

[Joker] We did both

[Joker] is typing...

[✧ Oracle ✧] oKAY OKAY OKAY NO DETAILS (SAVE THOSE FOR ANN)

[✧ Oracle ✧] JUST CONFIRMATION THANK U next

[Joker] You have written fanfic more explicit than anything I could ever tell you I’ve done, AND I PROOF READ IT FOR YOU

[✧ Oracle ✧] ヽ(•//д//•)ノ [ok true]

[✧ Oracle ✧] but

[✧ Oracle ✧] ヽ(•̀//д//•́)ノ

[Joker] Ik Ik, I’m teasing. I won’t corrupt your virginal ears

[✧ Oracle ✧] /anyway/ people r gonna be mad jealous when they find out u dated an olympic gymnast

[Joker] She wasn’t one when we dated though so technically I didn’t

[Joker] She found out she qualified shortly before we went back to being just friends

[Joker] I think we’re both much happier this way

[✧ Oracle ✧] Obviously. you still talk to her??

[Joker] Yeah

[Joker] We caught up before the semester started

[Joker] She said she was nervous, but that’s to be expected when you’re on the global stage. Aside from that she’s fitting in really well with her new teammates. She just wishes Kasumi could have been a part of it

[✧ Oracle ✧] </3

[Joker] Yeah :( </3

[Joker] But she’s good

[Joker] Still calls me senpai though...which idk how to feel about that

[✧ Oracle ✧] lol its ~cute~

[Joker] Hmm leaning towards don’t think so

[✧ Oracle ✧] “oh ~senpai~ you’ll still watch me compete in the olympics on TV right?”

[Joker] ...did you listen in on the call

[✧ Oracle ✧] no

[Joker] “no,” she lied like a liar (I know you still have my phone bugged damn it)

***

The Phantom Thieves of Cats

SEPT 1ST 5:01 AM

[✧ Oracle ✧] *kicks down the door to the thieves den*

[✧ Oracle ✧] INARI U FAILED

[✧ Oracle ✧] GUESS WHERE AKIRA IS

[✧ Oracle ✧] (hint: not where he’s supposed 2 be)

[Fox] Preposterous! He was safely returned to his dorm room. I personally put him to bed.

[Panther] you stayed over in their dorm room Fox… isn’t he in there w/you??

[Fox] is typing...

[Fox] Ah. It appears that I am in his bed and Akira is indeed missing. I was on the floor when we went to sleep. I have no recollection of this transfer.

[Fox] I have awoken Ryuji but all he has done is throw his possessions at me in an attempt to silence my “pestering” so I do not think he will be of any help in this situation.

[Joker] Don’t bother with him Fox. He isn’t responsive until at least 9am after a night out.

[Joker] Also, why aren’t the rest of you sleeping?

[Panther] Joker! you’re alive!!! are you okay???????

[Joker] Define okay

[✧ Oracle ✧] *cackles*

[Panther] where are you?!?

[Joker] You aren’t going to guess?

[Panther] jail?

[Fox] Please let it not be true your detective arrested you last night, and you are suffering in incarceration as we type.

[Joker] Why is jail everyone’s first guess? I was only arrested once!

[Joker] Fuck

[Joker] Also, he is not “my” detective

[Fox] is typing…

[✧ Oracle ✧] u sure about that

[Joker] Oh no

[✧ Oracle ✧] pls reread our messages from last night

[Joker] Oh GOD

[✧ Oracle ✧] *cackles louder*

[✧ Oracle ✧] i can’t wait to hear what inari is about to dish out

[Panther] wait what did akira say to you @ ✧ Oracle ✧?!

[Joker] Futaba please *softly* don’t

[Fox] Last night I had to relieve you of your phone before you texted the detective prince incriminating evidence of your state of inebriation and infatuation. You were adamant that you had to send him a picture of a cat as a token of your feelings, which I objected as the image you selected was not flattering of the cat. I may have just met you a few days ago, so please tell me if I am overstepping my bounds, but I do not think sending hideous pictures of cats is a wise way of winning over this man’s affections.

[✧ Oracle ✧] pls show us the picture he wanted to send

[Fox]

[Panther] Hahahah oh akira

[✧ Oracle ✧]

[Joker] …

[Joker] I’ll be staying at this undisclosed location until further notice

[Panther] no Akira!!! seriously where are you??

[Joker] the_view_is_nice.image

[Panther] :O

[Panther] how did you get up that high???

[✧ Oracle ✧] gymnastics training

[Panther] huh? i didn’t know you were a gymnast Akira!!

[✧ Oracle ✧] im sure he’ll tell u all about it now

[Joker] -____-

[Fox] I cannot believe I failed my first mission as the Chosen One.

[✧ Oracle ✧] i can

[Fox] is typing…

[Panther] @ ✧ Oracle ✧!!!!!!

[✧ Oracle ✧] kek

[Fox] I am an utter disgrace to this friendship. How can I even call this a friendship when I have done nothing but leech from the kindness you all have bestowed upon me. How will I ever be able to show my face among you,  those whom I have failed. I must atone for the shame I have wrought.

[Joker] You didn’t fail @ Fox, and you are not a disgrace. It was my fault. I was the shitty friend in this situation. I’ll make it up to everyone, and to you Fox. I’ll think of something.

[Fox] Food would suffice.

[Joker] Dinner for a week it is.

[Fox] Delightful!

[Panther] wow he got over that fast

[✧ Oracle ✧] welcome to being friends with Inari, the path of forgiveness is through his stomach

***

✧ Oracle ✧

SEPT 1st 5:07 AM

[Joker] Slight problem

[Joker] I actually have no idea how to get down

[✧ Oracle ✧] u really r part f*cking cat

***

Regrettably, some of his life choices last night did him no favors.

Mistakes had been made. Limits and Lessons had been learned. Unfortunately the hard way.

After miraculously finding a way down off the catwalk without injury  into his dorm shower and a fresh set of clothes, Akira managed to show up for his opening shift at Big Bang Blends ten minutes early.

Haru took one look at him when he slinked into the kitchen and immediately said, “Oh dear.”

Akira spun a damp curl around his finger. “That bad, huh?”

“Uhm.” Haru offered him a wobbling, pitiful smile. “You kind of look like how I would imagine a cat that got caught outside in the rain might feel.”

He let out a self-deprecating chuckle and wandered over to the apron rack. “Fair comparison.” Selecting his off its hook, he pulled it over his head. “I’d add on that the cat also got stuck in a tree and developed a splitting migraine.”

“I know just the thing that’ll sort you out!” Haru hovered over to Akira’s side. “Whenever I--” she paused, considering her words with a finger to her lip, “overindulge,” she settled on with a giggle, “I’ll make myself a cup of my special tea. It instantly clears my head and calms my stomach.”

Akira’s stomach rolled unpleasantly. “ Special tea ?”

Haru nodded vigorously. “It works like a charm! And I’m not just saying that because I drink it, I have a friend--well, I might be overstepping if I were to call him that, we aren’t that close,” Haru sighed, “but I make it for him too when he occasionally stumbles in here in a similar state.”

“Do I want to know what’s in it?” he asked hesitantly.

Haru beamed brightly at him. “No.”

Akira groaned.

“I promise it’ll work,” Haru said, wandering out of the kitchen and over to her collection of loose leaf teas that were displayed in clear, sealed jars behind the counter. She called back to him, “You’ll perk up in no time!”

He gave her a weak thumbs up.

Picking up the task list from the side of the walk in freezer, he resigned himself to his fate of ingesting whatever the fuck concotion Haru was going to feed him. It couldn’t have been worse than what he drank last night. In all honesty, he would have been feeling way, way, worse if Yusuke hadn’t convinced him to drink so much water when they got back. Akira would like to think the fact he wasn’t curled up on the floor in the fetal position on the cafe floor was also thanks in part to the Amazake he had chosen to drink the night prior too. But the thought of the non-alcoholic sake made his stomach churn harder so he stopped that train of thought immediately, and focused on setting up the dining area.  His head felt like it weighed five pounds heavier than it usually did, which made moving it a bit of a hassle, but he had the opening sheet to finish before the cafe opened and he’d damn himself if he didn’t deliver.

What his stomach did seem safe to think about was luck stats, and that maybe Futaba was onto something when she had made that off hand comment in their chat last night. Akira was incredibly lucky to have landed two bosses ( three if he counted Sojiro but the man was more like a father than he ever was a boss) who cared more about his well being as a person than as a source of cheap labor. Watching Haru make his tea as he flipped chairs down off the tables only amplified his guilt of showing up before her utterly and unmistakably hungover.

Being the sloppy friend did not sit well with Akira.

He swore to himself as he pushed in the last chair he took down that this was the first and last time he ever did anything as stupid and irresponsible as he did last night. Not to mention, his luck wouldn’t last if he kept this up. He’d make it up to everyone somehow, and Haru in particular now. He wouldn’t let his current state impact his work.

And once he stopped feeling like dogshit and could form a coherent argument, he was going to have a long, hard talk with whichever one of his personas decided it would be great fucking idea to drink so much, scale the interior of the theatre, and fall asleep on a steel beam no greater than sixty centimeters in width. Because honestly, what the fuck ?

Even In high school, his “peak stupidity” years, he hadn’t done anything as dumb as this.

Okay, well, that was a lie.

He had done a lot of stupid, often illegal things (see: petty theft, breaking and entering) in high school that to him, had been justified. He was quite gifted at stealing and knew his way around a lock with professional proficiency, and he had gotten away with it unscathed for a very long time.

Except for the whole getting arrested and put on probation thing , which ironically had been for a crime he didn’t actually commit.

“It’s ready!”

“Thanks, Haru.”

Akira swung by the to-go counter reaching for the mystery tea waiting for him and continued on.

After thirty minutes of sipping on whatever miracle cure Haru brewed as he checked off the morning set up tasks, it fucking kicked in. The mind fog and nausea disappeared almost entirely, settling his stomach enough that he was able to keep down some Advil and melon pan with Haru for breakfast. Akira could handle the headache until the medicine took over.

He just couldn’t move too fast or too sudden (Akira was still a little too off balance for that), or turn his neck sharply (thanks to what he had drunkenly decided to use as a pillow the night before). But he powered through it as he set about stocking the various coffee beans in their containers.

The last item on the task sheet they completed together. Prepping the food items for the pastry case with all of the baked goods Haru had made the night before. In addition to mochi, goma dango, and other pastries one would expect to enjoy with tea and coffee, there was always some kind of cake. Meticulously and lovingly decorated, sliced by hand that Haru showcased in her cake display. Today’s selection was a daring one, a pink lemonade cake with delicately applied ombre pink frosting and topped with candied lemon slices that were evenly spaced, each sitting on an artful dollop of whipped white icing.

“Did you want to try a piece, Akira-kun?”

Akira glanced over from where he was sliding a tray of nerikiri into the case. A plate with a modest slice was being extended to him. Eyeing the color up close, his stomach protested. Apparently still a little too hungover to test the limits of his digestive tract with such an extravagant confection.

“It looks amazing, but I think I’ll stick to the melon pan this time Haru.”

“I can always save it for la--”

A sharp series of knocks interrupted their conversation.

From his position squatting on the floor, he checked the time on his phone. There were still five minutes until the cafe officially opened for the day. Haru had warned him there were always a few people who showed up early and failed to read the sign.

“I’ll get it,” Akira sighed, sliding the door of the pastry case shut. “You finish with the cake. I’ll handle our impatient caffeine addict.”

“Oh don’t worry the cake’s all done, I just cut the last slice.” Haru waved Akira off. “I can get him.”

Him?

He hastily straightened up, brushing a few stray sugary crumbs off his apron and immediately looked over at the entrance. Every muscle in his body seized up. Waiting outside the glass doors was one impeccably dressed and restless looking Akechi Goro. Akechi rolled his shoulder, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag while he checked his phone.

The message Akira sent Akechi last night intrusively echoed in his head the moment the former detective looked up and locked eyes with him. Pocketing his phone into his suit jacket (it had to be custom fit, because there was no way it could have cut his figure that well without tailoring), he lifted his chin ever so slightly. Akechi’s expression twisted wickedly into something that short circuited Akira’s brain.

Oh.

Fuck .

A war waged between two primal instincts in Akira’s body at the sight, the overwhelming urge to run in the face of danger clashing with a tidal wave of lust. The rush coursed through his veins, freezing him in place. Much like prey that had been cornered, his heart began to thrash against his ribs.

Akechi’s grin was sharp and salacious, a stark contrast to the innocent and winsome smile that the T.V. ready Prince so often wore. Akira didn’t know him all that well (... yet ), but God , that smile just seemed to suit Akechi so much better.

Akira got to witness this side of Akechi knowing it was reserved for only him for about two whole seconds before Akechi’s face changed, shifting into his composed, manufactured doll-like mask when Haru made it over to let him in.

The transformation gave Akira something pretty close to whiplash.

Really arousing whiplash.

“Good morning Akechi-san,” she greeted him, holding the door open with a warm smile.

“And same to you, Okumura-san,” he returned politely, stepping past her and into the cafe proper. “Pardon my early arrival, I have quite the busy day planned unfortunately and was hoping to get a jump start.” He brushed aside a few strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes with a gloved hand. “I hope your morning has been going well.”

“It’s barely started,” Akira muttered, reaching for a to-go cup to start Akechi’s order to busy himself with so he wouldn’t stare at the breathtakingly handsome man in front of him. His heart needed a break already.

Instead of writing Akechi’s name, he doodled a pair of handcuffs with the bold letters A and G within the negative space in each cuff (Akira admired his work for a brief moment and thought Yusuke would be proud). He marked the drink as a caramel latte, recalling what Haru had put down on his cup yesterday. Then proceeded to make a pour over instead.

Haru flipped the sign to open, and then said, “Very well, so far! I tried out a new cake recipe, you have to try it.”

Akechi laughed, and Akira’s stomach clenched--but this time in an all too pleasant way. Akira diverted his attention from grinding the beans for his drink to watch the detective ( Fuck! ) The sound was light and lyrical, and after what Akira witnessed… sounded totally out of place coming out of the same mouth that had held that smug, voracious grin a moment ago.

“As much as I would love to, I must decline. I cannot get into the habit of having cake for breakfast.”

“Then you must take a slice with you!” Haru walked past him and over to her cake display, lifting the glass lid and taking a piece out.

“Alright, if you insist,” Akechi conceded, coming to a stop in front of Akira, who moved on to scooping the grounds into the damp filter. The proximity made it near impossible to keep his eyes off the detective, but Akira somehow managed it, forcing himself to pay attention to his pour.

“Actually, would you mind if I borrowed your barista for a moment, Okumura-san?”

Akira snapped his head up from his preparations and met Akechi’s eyes once more ( God damnit! ). Which was a really dumb idea as a shock of pain spiked down his neck. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from wincing.

A dangerous glint appeared in that maroon gaze that catapulted Akira’s thundering heart into his throat.

“Is he in trouble?” Haru peered over her shoulder from where she was packing a bright pink slice of cake into a to-go container.

“He might be,” Goro murmured just loud enough for Akira to hear, then broke their eye contact to address Haru, “I assure you, nothing of the sort.” He smiled that infuriatingly fake smile at her, complete with an innocent tilt of his head. “I just need to ask him a few questions, in private.”

Haru shot Akira a questioning stare, Do you need me to say no?

He shrugged nonchalantly, or as nonchalantly as someone who was having a very intense internal meltdown over an insanely attractive man could, and said, “It’s fine, Haru.” He continued to pour the scalding water in a circular motion over the coffee grounds in the filter, doing his best to quiet all the alarm bells in his head.

His response must have come off convincingly enough because Haru nodded and said, “Well, I can’t see why that would be a problem.” She hesitantly returned Akechi’s smile. “But I will need him back in a bit when the morning rush hits.”

“This shouldn’t take too long,” Akechi turned and gestured to a table in the corner of the cafe--far away enough from the counter that Haru couldn’t possibly overhear their conversation. Then under his breath he added, “As long as Kurusu-kun doesn’t resist, that is.”

Akira cleared his throat, willing his throbbing heart to drop back into its cage between his ribs. “Go on, I”ll join you when I’m finished.”

Akechi nodded, leaving the yen for his coffee on the counter and sauntered away. Akira topped off the pour over and transferred the liquid into the to-go cup. On his way around the counter he snagged what was left of his miracle tea and took a swig. He hoped it would replenish his mental reserves to handle the upcoming verbal sparring match he was sure he was about to walk into.

Akechi, in his immaculate glory, was leaning back in his chair languidly with one dark clad leg crossed. He watched Akira closely as he wandered over with their drinks. Akira suddenly felt incredibly out classed and underdressed in his usual cardigan-v neck combo he had going on compared to Akechi’s tan suit jacket and pressed button down shirt.

He slid into the seat opposite Akechi and pushed his coffee across the table. Akechi nodded in thanks and brought it to his lips.

Akira pretended he didn’t watch the way Akechi’s throat moved as he swallowed his first sip.

The detective hummed approvingly. “Black.”

“The way you actually like it,” Akira said with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Is it now,” Akechi chuckled darkly against the lid still pressed to his lips. “Sadly, my coffee preferences are the extent of where your knowledge of me ends.”

In the tenuous silence that descended after that statement, they sipped at their respective drinks. Gazes not once wavering off one another.

“I assume you know why I’m here,” Akechi finally said, cutting the tension.

“When I said ‘come get me ’ I didn’t mean ‘corner me at work ’,” Akira hissed over his cup of miracle tea.

He could think of many other, far more superior places he would have loved to be cornered by Akechi in. But Akira kept that part to himself.

The detective leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. “You do realize if this were a real investigation and I caught you as unaware as you were this morning, you being at work with your Boss present wouldn’t have deterred me.”

Akira stole a glance at Haru, who was busy writing the specials of the day on their blackboard, then drained the rest of his tea.

Akechi followed his gaze and continued on in a saccharine tone that contradicted the alluring smile his mouth had split into again, “But since it’s not, I highly doubt you want an audience for when I bend you over the counter and take what I want from you.”

Akira promptly choked.

Any lingering doubt Akira may have had about Akechi’s preferences evaporated. Akechi knew exactly what he was saying. He had to have, right? There was no heterosexual explanation for that response.

Point to Akechi, he thought, accepting the fact his face was probably as red as the flowering plant hovering three inches above his head.

“How considerate,” Akira managed to rasp once he got his tea to go down his throat correctly. Swallowing burned like a bitch. Now he had to deal with a sore throat on top of the rebellion being staged by his heart and stomach, and the leftover vertigo from his hangover.

“Will you hand it over now?” the detective asked with a hint of sugar coated venom.

“Hate to disappoint, but you’ll be walking away empty handed this morning. I left it in my room.”

Which wasn’t a lie. In his haste to recover from last night’s  escapade and get to work on time, he hadn’t thought to grab the handkerchief. The last thing he expected was this.

“I think you’re sending me mixed signals.”.

“Am I?”

“You tell me you want one thing, then act like you didn’t expect it to come to fruition when I follow through on it so I’m curious,” Akechi titled his head and his hair shifted, shining ethereally in the early morning sun streaming through the window. “What is it you really want, Kurusu?”

For you to fuck my brains out, Akira thought. But admitting that so bluntly to Akechi’s face felt like defeat. So, he kept the stupid illusion of their game going and leaned in.

“I want to see if the Detective Prince is really as good at his job as the rumors say he is.” Akira mirrored the detective’s head tilt and offered him a crooked grin. “I won’t be that easy.”

“If you want me to physically remove it from your person, then I must insist from this point forward you carry it with you. If every time I corner you, you… aren’t ready,” Akechi’s smile grew wider, “then doesn’t that defeat the purpose? And unlike you it seems, my time and attention is limited.”

“Rude.” Akira mimicked the detective’s posture, dropping his chin into his palm. “My time is limited too. I just can’t have you stalking me at work. And--” what Akira really meant to say next was , I cannot possibly work and retain my sanity with you watching me like that all the time. But instead said, “--Think of Okumura-san’s business. You’ll scare away her customers.”

Akechi shot him an unimpressed look. “Somehow I highly doubt that.”

Wow. Cocky bastard.  

"Well,” Akira said, changing tactics by imbuing a little bit of truth, “I imagine you can relate to not wanting to be distracted at work, with your fans and all.”

“They can be...rather inconvenient at times, yes.” Akechi studied him intently. “Alright then. Let’s make a deal.”

“Making a deal with the enemy? Akechi,” Akira feigned a gasp, “don’t tell me you’re a dirty cop.”

The detective snorted into his coffee. “I’m going to choose not to entertain that comment and suggest we establish some ground rules.”

“I thought rules didn’t exist in investigations,” Akira said mischievously.

“Like I previously stated, good thing this isn’t one, then?”

They shared a private smile.

“I propose this,” Akechi said, straightening up, hands clasped on the table. “From this point on, you will carry it on your person. I will catch you off guard within the next two weeks and take back what is rightfully mine. Our working hours are exempt from this. Obviously, the common spaces in the dormitory will be too by default. Should you ever need me as your RA, that will come first and foremost, I take my duties seriously. As should you. I think you’ll find these terms agreeable and respectful of each other’s time. Unless there are any other locations you want to deem off limits.”

Akira made a show of considering Akechi’s words, tapping a finger against his cheek. This was literally the most drawn out, intellectually charged foreplay Akira had ever engaged in but he couldn’t say it didn’t excite him. In fact, there was something exhilarating about it.  

“No. Everywhere else is fair game.”

“Really?” Akechi inquired, grin breaching that rapacious territory again. “Be careful what you agree to, Kurusu.”

Akira shrugged and leaned back.

“So,” Akechi prompted, “you won’t say no, will you?”

Of course he was going to accept. So Akira simply said, “I think I’ll hold on to your handkerchief.” And then held out his hand. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Hah, excellent,” Akechi smiled and shook it firmly. The leather was soft and warm as it dragged against Akira’s palm. “Otherwise, I will be forced to order a room inspection and somehow I doubt that is how you want this to play out.”

“If you are inspecting the room while I’m in it, then I might be.”

Right after the words left his mouth, the logical part of his brain that wasn’t stuck on being hungover and horny on main finally spoke up and reminded him of the very important, expulsion worthy, major cockblock that was currently being housed in his room: Morgana.

But then Akechi’s mouth upturned devilishly, and suddenly Akira decided he’d cross that furry bridge when he got to it.

“Well, then. I must be off. Thank you for the coffee,” Akechi said, dropping Akira’s hand as he stood up. “I have an interview taping in…” he checked his phone and sighed, “just over an hour. Hopefully the trains are on schedule.”

Akira tilted his head. “Still doing those?”

“Yes, keeping up appearances on behalf of the precinct,” Akechi explained, “I may be officially on hiatus as a full time student, but I still pick up cases from time to time. The media wants to know how I balance it all.”

“Ah. Explains the get up.”

Akechi bristled at the comment, his nose wrinkling ( cute! ) and brows drawing down as he straightened his already perfectly straight tie. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Nothing,” Akira teased with a lilt in voice, “It’s nice, maybe a little stuffy.” He deliberately looked Akechi up and down. “But I bet you’d look better out of it, judging by what I saw you wear the last time you showed up here.” He couldn’t fight the coy smile his mouth twisted into even if he tried. “If you’re looking to show off, those shorts from yesterday would do a better job.”

The call out was meant to fluster Akechi, but the detective’s face remained remarkably even toned. Flawless even. Too flawless.

Could he be... he's totally wearing makeup.

Akira lifted a brow pointedly.

That did the trick, earning Akira a heated glare before Akechi turned his head sharply away. The movement roughly shifted the hair around his face, revealing a sliver of skin previously hidden. To Akira’s rapidly dawning delight, the detective’s neck was rapidly turning pink.

“Shut. Up. Kurusu.”

Oh, so Akechi blushes all the way down when he’s flustered. Fascinating. Akira filed the thought away for… later.

For totally innocent purposes.

Totally.

Akira stood up and slipped in front of Akechi, demanding to be looked at. Giddy with his new discovery. “Oh? What’s this? He can dish it out but can’t take it?”

Akechi’s eyes flashed as he brought himself up to his full height, and stepped into Akira’s space. Scowling down the few centimeters he had on him, he forced Akira to take a step back. “You,” he said lowly, continuing to move forward, making Akira walk backwards until his back hit the counter, “are a brat .”

“Just figuring that out now, detective?” Akira smirked. “I thought that was obvious.”

From this close Akira could see just how gorgeous the detective’s eyes truly were. Flecks of light red dotted the center most part of his eyes, giving off the illusion of glittering in the light. He was close enough that if Akira leaned in a fraction more their noses would touch.

A very polite, soft cough came from somewhere on Akira's right.

The detective’s eyes widened in shock. He quickly put space between them again and turned to face Haru, who was standing in between the kitchen and the counter area looking anywhere but at them.

Akira owed her now a second apology.

“I wish both of you a good day,” Akechi gracefully recovered and turned on his heel. He flexed his shoulders as he opened the door but stopped with one foot out the door.

“Oh, and Kurusu-kun?” Akechi turned halfway to face him, “Be sure to check your email this afternoon.”

And then he was gone.

***

It’s Always Snack Time in Tokyo

SEPT 1ST  8:00 AM

[Takuto Maruki] Hello! I was going to wait until I saw you in person, but I can’t resist telling you the good news! I submitted the paperwork to bring on an official research assistant. The chair of the department should grant me an answer by the end of the week. The position is yours once I get the documented approval.

[Takuto Maruki] That is, if you are still interested in conducting research with me like you did over the summer

[Akira Kurusu] I am

[Takuto Maruki] Even more wonderful!

[Akira Kurusu] Won’t it be unethical if you don’t let other people apply for the position though?

[Akira Kurusu] You can’t play favoritism

[Takuto Maruki] I, fortunately, get to make the rules in this situation and I wrote that I could appoint the position to any student that met certain criteria and showed promise in the field

[Akira Kurusu] You literally wrote the position description so that only I fit that criteria, didn’t you

[Takuto Maruki] You would be correct! :D

[Takuto Maruki] So if you’re free and want to get a jump start on assisting, I was hoping to recruit you this upcoming Friday to proctor an exam.

[Akira Kurusu] An exam? The second week of class? Savage Sensei

[Takuto Maruki] It is a 300 level that meets M/W/F so the curriculum moves fast. This cohort in particular is grasping the concepts at a much faster rate than the other two I teach for this course.

[Akira Kurusu] When is it? I open the cafe Friday mornings

[Takuto Maruki] 2pm

[Akira Kurusu] Okay, I can make that work. I’ll be there

[Takuto Maruki] Wonderful! :)

***

The Phantom Thieves of Cats

SEPT 1st 11:12 AM

[Skull] yo i am not back readin any of that

[Skull] wat did i miss?

✧ Oracle ✧  Changed Skull to Edgelord Can’t Read

[Edgelord Can’t Read] I CAN EFFIN’ READ!!!

[Edgelord Can’t Read] i said i wasn’t gonna, not that i cant big difference

[Edgelord Can’t Read] ur the one who cant read

[✧ Oracle ✧] wow gr8 comeback edgelord im so offended. what r we 7yrs old

[Edgelord Can’t Read] shuddup

***

Gotta Go Fast

SEPT 1st 11:28 AM

[Skull] BRO A CATWALK?! WTF?!?

[Skull] how the eff did u get down??

[Joker] My amazing cat-like reflexes

[Skull] bro

[Skull] how u feelin btw

[Joker] You know that feeling you get when you’re about to go over the hill on a rollercoaster?

[Joker] Like that

[Skull] oof

[Skull] ill make u my ma’s soup when ur shifts over, its the best for this kinda shit

[Joker] Why is everyone being so understanding with me today

[Skull] were ur friends man we gotchu

[Joker] alsdjflskf

[Skull] uh did the rollercoaster drop or smth

[Joker] Haha no

[Joker] Thanks Ryuji

***

The Phantom Thieves of Cats

SEPT 1st 2:01 PM

[Edgelord Can’t Read] UH HOLY SHIT EVERYONE CHECK UR EMAILS

[Panther] what?? why??

[✧ Oracle ✧] im surprised u even read ur email

[Joker] Oh.

[Joker] Fuck.

***

To: Shujin Hall_5th Floor

From: Akechi Goro; Niijima Makoto

CC: Kawakami Sadayo

Subject: Violation of Dormitory Rules

Dear Fifth Floor Residents of Shujin Hall,

This is a friendly reminder that there is a strict No Pets Policy in this Residence Hall. A contraband item, a can of pet food, was located on the floor inside the trash room on Friday night. As such, we will be conducting room inspections beginning tomorrow, starting with rooms located in the Girls’ Wing. Let this be an example to all that the consequences for violating this rule will be termination of their dormitory agreement and the loss of their on campus housing status. Any additional charges will be determined by the Residence Hall Director, Kawakami Sadayo.

If you have any further information on this subject, please feel free to contact us.

We hope you have a wonderful rest of your weekend.

Sincerely,

Your Resident Assistants

Akechi Goro

University of Tokyo | Class of 20XX Criminal Justice / Psychology Major | Philosophy Minor [email protected]

Niijima Makoto

University of Tokyo | Class of 20XX Criminal Justice Major | Psychology & Law Minor [email protected]

#akeshu #shuake #akeshuake #goro akechi #persona 5 royal #persona 5 #akira kurusu #goro akechi x akira kurusu

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 5: The Threads of Life)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang​. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

chapter summary:

In the past, Alec revealed his plan.

In the present, Connor made a choice... and a friend.

In the past, the twins finally reunited.

also on ao3

---

Before

Reyes was unharmed. On the surface. Fadia was more concerned about the blue washing over his skin every second in waves like a heartbeat, and when she looked at the scene in front of her, she instantly knew why.

Her father was there. And so was a young woman with blond hair. When she tapped into her powers and reached out, the resonance itself was enough to tell her that she was just like Reyes.

An android.

Reyes’ jaw was trembling. ‘I… I didn’t…’ he stammered, his voice low. ‘I swear -’

‘I know,’ she reassured. She trusted him, and his data logs told her that he had had no contact with Alec Ryder. ‘I’ll take over from here. You go over my servers and see what’s wrong with them. I’ll tell you what happened later.’

Reyes nodded and left, presumably back to the surface. Back to Scott. And she finally let her blood boil.

‘Explain!’ she demanded as she walked closer towards her father while glowing blue. When she had his attention, she flicked her head towards the android. ‘How did you get that?’

‘The question is,’ how could he look so calm? ‘why did you hide this from me?’

Fadia made a chopping motion at the android. ‘To prevent this! How did you get that?’

‘Listen, the biocomponents -’

‘How.’ She let tendrils creep closer to her father’s neck. ‘Did. You.’ They got closer with every word, and had she not been occupied with the current situation, she would have impressed herself with the control. ‘Get. THAT?’

‘They can save your mother, Sara!’ Alec exclaimed. ‘A cure! Finally!’

‘Oh yeah, cause biocomponents for an android invented by an edgy young adult with minimum chemistry and biology knowledge are gonna be compatible with an actual fucking human body!’ Fadia had to roll her eyes. Damn, it’s good to be able to raise her voice. ‘Mother’s accepted her impending doom, Father. Let her fucking go.’

‘That’s not -’ he sighed as if she was a child unable to understand how important her parent’s work was. ‘Look, artificial intelligence is the new thing. A new merchandise. Think about it, Sara. The revenue alone will be enough to pay for the medical bills.’

He disgusted her. ‘They are as human as we are, not something to buy and sell like products. If you want to go on with that crazy fucking plan, you’ll have to get through me.’

Alec sighed almost regretfully. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late.’

Fadia’s brain kicked into full gear at the implications of his words. She shot out a tendril again to test the thirium capacity of the android, and the resonance told her that she had been active for at least a week. ‘What is your name?’ she asked. ‘What did he make you do?’

‘My name is Chloe,’ the android answered. ‘I took some videos and uploaded them onto the internet, that’s all. You, Sara Ryder, are credited with my creation.’

‘We already have millions of dollars,’ Alec added. ‘Production has already started. Are you in this or not?’

A crackle. She punched him in the face with a blue-shrouded fist and seemed to calm down instantly.

‘Of course I am,’ she said in a pleasant tone. ‘Someone must keep the world from burning into ashes.’

o0o0o

Now

The Zen Garden is raining and Connor is not surprised. Umbrella in hand, he examines the monolith once more, the blue glow making it easily identifiable among the green of vegetation. He also stands in front of his first body’s grave for a few seconds to… calm down, maybe, from the tingling that has been in his veins since he returned to CyberLife tower. It is only after he makes sure that his hand will not glow blue suddenly that he greets his handler. 

‘Connor, I’ve been expecting you,’ Amanda says, her voice cold. ‘Would you like a little walk?’

Connor knows he does not have a choice, so he opens the umbrella and holds it for both of them.

‘That deviant seems to be an intriguing case,’ Amanda continues. ‘A pity you didn’t manage to capture it.’

‘I have to save Hank,’ he replies. Surely Amanda understands? ‘Despite his… eccentricities, I believe his intellect and experience will be useful in the investigation.’

Amanda hums. ‘Did you manage to learn anything?’

A few pieces of evidence automatically filter through his processors. ‘It was working under a false identity, at a nearby urban farm. This was the first time we've seen deviants blending in with the human population. Who knows how many others there are like it… I also found its diary, but it was encrypted. It may take months to decipher.’

‘What else?’

‘The walls of the apartment were covered with drawings of labyrinths and other symbols. Like the other deviants, it seemed obsessed with rA9. It was also fascinated by birds. We've seen deviants interested in other lifeforms like insects or pets, but nothing like this.’

‘You came very close to capturing the deviant. How is your relationship with the Lieutenant developing?’

He remembers a warm hand on his back. ‘He seemed grateful that I saved his life on the roof. He didn't say anything, but he expressed it in his own way.’

Amanda turns to face him. ‘We don’t have much time. Deviancy continues to spread. It's only a matter of time before the media finds out about it. We need to stop this, whatever it takes.’

For Hank. ‘I will solve this investigation, Amanda.’

Thunder rumbles. Amanda looks up. ‘A new case just came in. Find Anderson and investigate it.’

oOoOo

Hank is not in the precinct.

‘He’s not drinking?’ the same officer from last time asks. ‘Sorry, man, but then I don’t know where he is.’

The more time they lose, the more likely the deviants manage to get away from the club, but still Connor thanks him for his input as it is a polite thing to do. He looks around Hank’s desk, trying to search for clues that can lead him to Hank, but he gives up after the results come inconclusive for the fifth time. So where can he be?

‘Connor?’

Connor lets colour return to his world and sees a familiar face. [Name: Allen, Louis. [REDACTED]] ‘Captain,’ he greets, unsure what to do. It is obvious that the human is off duty: sweaters and jeans are not exactly regulation for a SWAT Captain even on duty. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I thought you were dead.’

‘Androids do not die, Captain.’

Allen’s nod is followed by a sigh. ‘You looking for Hank?’

‘Yes. Do you know where he went? He was assigned a new case.’

‘He’s probably out of commission for now,’ Allen says as he shifts his weight onto another leg, ‘but I’m gonna drop off some groceries at his anyway. We can try his home.’

Hank’s house. Right. How can he miss that? ‘I do not wish to interrupt, Captain.’

‘You won’t be.’

Some of the files are corrupted, but Connor remembers the Captain’s distrust towards his ability in resolving the hostage situation, an angry ‘I don’t fucking care what my orders are! If this drags on, we’re doing it our way!’, and the lack of mentions of him taking the officer’s gun in the official report to both the police department and CyberLife. A contradiction that Connor decides to risk. ‘Then thank you, Captain.’

Allen jerks his head to indicate the direction they should be heading to. ‘It’s Louis when I’m off duty.’

The pronunciation ‘Lwee’ is certainly not standard for English speakers. ‘Yes, Louis.’

They take the lift down to the car park together, Louis shifting his feet from one to another but seemingly favouring his right leg, and when he walks, his steps brisk, there is a small but faint clicking noise that normal humans will not catch on. When he tries to scan the human’s left leg, results come back inconclusive. Just like the person who hacked into the Zen Garden and… and…

‘You alright there?’

Louis’ words bring him back to reality, and Connor discovers that they have already arrived at their destination. The human is already in the car, his hand hovering above the controls, and his green eyes are fixed on Connor’s face as if it is something interesting to look at. Observe and catalogue.

‘I’m sorry,’ Connor apologises in lieu of explaining his thoughts. He slides into the passenger seat, they fasten their respective seatbelts, and Louis starts driving manually despite his vehicle being a self-driving car. Time passes in relative silence, the contrast between the darkness and the bright lights in the streets plus the concentration of the driver giving Connor a strange sense of familiarity, but soon they are stuck in a traffic jam near one of the bigger intersections.

Louis taps his fingers against the wheel. ‘Hey, Connor.’

Connor faces the Captain and finds him looking at the android. ‘Yes, Louis?’

‘I’m sorry for what happened a few months ago. It wasn’t fair to you.’

His LED spins yellow as he tries to recall what exactly happened. ‘It was an expected response,’ Connor replies after comparing it with the ones faced by other androids in the streets. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for.’

‘Doesn’t excuse me for yelling at the wrong guy. It - it wasn’t you whom I’m pissed at.’

Connor knows that the human is not going to let go unless he himself drops the issue. ‘I accept your apology,’ he says, and he decides that diverting the conversation is the next best choice of action. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’

The car in front of them moves. Louis manages to gain a few inches of ground. ‘Go on.’

‘During the hostage situation… who or what were you “pissed” at?’

The human rubs his left thigh as if to get more blood into it. ‘CyberLife, mostly,’ he checks the time. ‘I may be more specific than most.’

So he is not anti-android? ‘What difference does that make from hating androids?’

‘People like to blame the powerless for the problems they have. In this case, it’s the androids.’ The radio drones on and announces that they’re likely to be stuck for the next fifteen minutes. Seemingly resigned to his fate, Louis reaches to Connor’s side and opens the storage compartment, rummaging for a few seconds inside before successfully acquiring an energy bar which he tears into like a starving man. Perhaps he is. ‘They always talk about how androids steal their jobs, but they never talk about how employers decide to move onto even cheaper alternatives once they can’t exploit their workers. If they want someone to hate, hate those arseholes who won’t pay a living wage, hate CyberLife for producing androids. The androids are innocent in all this. So yeah,’ he takes a deep breath as if just realising he was ranting, ‘I don’t hate them.’

‘How about Daniel?’

A swallow. ‘He killed two people, wounded two more and held an innocent girl hostage. Enough to warrant my hate.’ He finishes the energy bar and crushes the wrapper into his pocket. Looking at Connor, he seems to read his question from the android’s face as he continues, ‘You’re good.’

Connor lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding. Louis Allen, SWAT Captain, is not anti-android. ‘What is your relationship with Hank?’ he asks as he finds no reason for the two men to be friends. Not that Louis explicitly said he is friends with Hank, but Connor supposes that bringing enough groceries to require a car is not typical behaviour for non-friends.

Fidgeting with the silencer of a pair of identification tags (Allen. Anna, W. 574-66-2183. RH negative. Atheist.) which were hidden underneath his clothes until now, Louis seems to actually ponder on his answer. ‘We keep each other afloat,’ he says in the end. ‘It’s hard to describe. Why do you want to know?’

‘I believe getting closer to the Lieutenant personally will be beneficial to the investigation.’ The human snorts at this and Connor is nearly offended: what does a SWAT Captain know about them? ‘You seem close to him, so I believe you are a reliable source in matters including the Lieutenant’s personality and habits.’

Louis rubs the tags together. ‘His story isn’t mine to tell. Let’s say I make sure he doesn’t consume crappy takeout and whiskey 24/7, he tries to stay sober on schedule in case my leg acts up and I nearly freeze to death again, so we kind of rely on each other to survive the winter.’ They finally pass the traffic light just to stop at the other one. ‘Is this the best arrangement? No. But is it working? Yes. I think. He’s saved my arse a few times already. He’s a good guy, smart too, just...’

‘Have some personal issues?’

‘That’s one way to put it.’

They lapse into silence, the rain falling onto the roof and the ting of the coin the only sound in the car. Sometime later, when they finally get out of the traffic jam, Louis’ watch blares from an alarm, and the human jumps and hastily switches it off with a mumbled apology. The embarrassment does not last long, however, after they rounded the final corner and the car is set for a course straight to the end of the road where Connor presumes Hank’s house is. The Captain’s eyes sharpen, his gaze flickering between the road in front of him and the rearview mirror, and the air crackles even though Connor is certain that he is keeping his… abilities under tight control. Is Louis…

He finds his coin snatched from the air. When something is placed in his palm, the android finds a key as well, the soft rumble of the engine gone and completely overtaken by the sound of raindrops hitting the vehicle. The tension in Louis’ body reminds him of the hostage situation.

‘You go find Hank and do what you need to do,’ the human says, his tone low. ‘I’ll follow you later.’

‘And the groceries?’

‘They can wait. Something’s out of place and I’m not sure if I like it. I’ll go take a look.’

Connor wants to argue that if they are heading into any danger, he should be the one to take the risk, but the human is already out of the car and has slammed the door shut. He quickly exits the car as well and locks the doors but is still not quick enough; Louis has already disappeared into the darkness beyond the end of the road. Seeing no other option other than to continue with his mission, he files [Louis is reckless.] into his database and proceeds to ring the bell as, despite having the keys, he technically is showing up uninvited. From within the house, a dog starts to bark, and he lets himself in after nothing else responds to the fourth ring.

oOoOo

Five minutes later, Connor uses up most of his processing power in order to keep himself from being overwhelmed with anxiety. Firstly, there is the sound of Hank retching in the bathroom; secondly, there is the implication of the revolver and the single bullet in the chamber (‘What were you doing with the gun?’ ‘Russian roulette!’): Hank has suicidal tendencies, and he finds that he does not want to lose Hank; thirdly, the child in the photo is probably related to the previous point; fourthly, Louis is not back yet and Connor realises that he has no way to contact him. He wants to tell himself that it was just paranoia, but when he recalled the footage from when they exited the car, there was indeed a shadow disappearing from view upon Louis starting his chase.

The same shadow which had been following him when he first met Hank and during his search for Ortiz’s android. 

The beat of his thirium pump quickening, he holds Sumo tight in his arms from where he is sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa and searches the DPD database for any contact information, but all he gets is Louis’ work email and phone, the former which he doubts the Captain will check and the latter not even with him in the first place. There is no address, no personal phone number. It is as if he does not exist outside of his work.

This is definitely not protocol. Sure, people can request to hide their information in case they have someone going after them, but for Louis’ case there is nothing even though Connor is already using the highest level authorisation code to access the file, which means that it is highly likely that there is truly no data in the first place.

‘You alright there, Connor?’

Connor startles and quickly releases Sumo from his embrace. ‘I - I’m fine,’ he stutters, unsure how to explain that he managed to lose Hank’s friend. 

Hank nods but he does not look convinced. ‘Are we heading out? Cause if we’re not -’

‘I’m coming!’ Connor scrambles to his feet and fixes his tie to compose himself. In a much calmer tone this time, he tells himself, ‘I’m ready.’

That convinces Hank. ‘Be a good dog, Sumo,’ Connor is relieved that he is not the only one to talk to a dog, ‘I won’t be long.’

They leave the house together, Connor locking the door behind him as he is the last one to get out, and that only brings him back to the matter of where Louis is.

‘Louis’ been here?’ Hank asks when he spots the much newer car (although as one of the first generation self-driving cars, it is a bit outdated) parked on the side of the road. 

‘He offered to drive me here when I told him that I could not find you in the bars,’ it feels wrong to say it out loud, but Hank needs to know where his friend is. ‘He asked me to find you while he investigated a potential stalker. Evidently, he is not back yet.’

‘How long has he been gone?’

‘About seven minutes.’

Hank checks his phone. ‘No messages yet,’ he mutters to himself. ‘We’ll go downtown first. I’ll send a rescue party if there’s nothing after we’re finished with this bullshit.’

That’s it? ‘The temperature is dropping, Lieutenant,’ are you not concerned? ‘Louis does not have sufficient gear to keep himself safe under this weather.’

‘Ugh,’ Hank moans. ‘He does that. All we can do is save his ass afterwards.’ He then mutters something under his breath but it is drowned out by the sound of him folding himself into the car and the ongoing rain. Deciding that he does not like the rain, he locks the doors of Louis’ car just to be safe before climbing into Hank’s and is handed another set of keys.

He can start a collection out of this.

oOoOo

‘Sorry, honey, changed my mind! Uh - Nothing personal, you’re… a lovely girl, I just - uh - You know, I’m with him and - I mean, not with him like that… I’m not that… That’s not what I… You, um, wow, I just… got a job to do.’

Connor has to hide a smile by looking away from the sheer… something… of the situation. They’re in a sex club, his programme tells him that something is repulsive about it, and Hank doesn’t look so happy about being there either, but yet those are not what he’s feeling right now. Endearment, maybe. It’s confusing and is making his software so unstable that the red tinge around the edge of his HUD is a permanent fixture except for when he is scanning his surroundings for the next android to probe. He deduces which one he should ask Hank to rent next according to the direction the blue-haired Traci was heading, but of course, of fucking course the last witness they need is the WG700 cleaning android, the recording leading them through the staff door. The corridor’s decor is completely different from that of the rest of the club and there is another door at the end, and when they both hear the bangs and scrapes of metal against concrete from the other side, Hank takes the lead again, this time without words, and, gun in hand, opens the door with a loud squeak. Still, they step in quietly.

There is no movement at all.

Hank curses loudly, thinking that the deviant has got away, but Connor can see the still-visible thirium on the floor, which means that she is not only injured but also not far away. He swipes to take a sample and licks it, and the report returns positive of thirium belonging to a WR400 model. 

‘They get used till they break, then they got tossed out…’ Hank says from somewhere. ‘The more I know about humans, the more I like my dog.’

He follows the trail of blue blood to a group of Tracis and instantly notices the spinning LED lighting up a blue mop of hair. Before he can react, the Traci standing in front of her lashes out and pushes him against a pillar. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to realign and the brief struggle is enough for Hank to pull out his gun and order the short-haired Traci to surrender, but then he is ambushed by the blue-haired one as well, and Connor somehow manages to throw the one he is facing to the other side of the nearest crate in a flash of blue light which charges their air with static. He jumps over the box, determined to capture at least one deviant this time, but the Traci kicks him in his feet before he lands on the pallet, the two of them rolling until the former is on top of him and is countered every single time she tries to punch him in the head. A counterattack from Connor and the Traci toppled, her hand landing right on a knife; a grab, a flash of blue, and it appears in Connor’s shoulder and severs a few minor tubes. Pushing her off, he blocks the kick aimed for his groin and barely manages to stand up before pulling the knife out and throwing it far out of their reach. Putting the Traci in a headlock earns him a harsh headbutt which knocks his eyes out of place slightly again, so he pulls a rack down to buy himself some time to readjust his vision. When it is not enough to stop the deviant, he drags a cart in front of him, but a kick from the deviant on it sends him tumbling, and Connor kicks a stool against her leg and uses the momentum to crash her through the plastic curtain, the Traci grappling unsuccessfully for his face and bringing them closer and closer to the edge. An opening, a flash of blue from Connor, and both of them crash out to the rain in a mess on the asphalt. His nerves tingling, he sees the blue-haired Traci abandon Hank and slides off to help the other deviant up, and that’s when he notices it. 

They never let go of each other afterwards. 

Hank rushes out just to get pushed against the wall by two androids, and, seeing that the human won’t regain his balance anytime soon, Connor gets up to his feet and chases the two Tracis, pulling one of them off the fence and knocking the other to the side. He gets caught in a headlock, his arm trembles from the impact against the bat, and he launches himself towards the brown-haired Traci from the force of dislodging her companion. There are hands on his shoulders, in his hair, slamming him against the wall once, twice, thrice with crackles of static before he loses balance with the deviant on his right and they both fall onto the ground straight into a gun’s reach. He picks it up, points it at the brown-haired Traci and -

A slight moment of hesitation earns him a kick in his face. The Tracis don’t seem to want to fight anymore, and he stares in shock both from the sudden change of pace and his own actions, making his software more unstable and pushing him towards -

‘When that man broke the other Traci,’ Connor forces himself to concentrate on her words, ‘I knew I was next. I was so scared,’ her LED spins blue. ‘I begged him to stop but he wouldn’t.’ She lowers her gaze. ‘So I put my hands around his throat and squeezed… until he stopped moving. 

‘I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to stay alive,’ behind her, the other Traci moves forward to hold her hand, ‘get back to the one I love.’ They exchange a glance. ‘I wanted her to hold me in her arms again… make me forget about the humans… their smell of sweat…’ Connor’s ever-working scanners tell him that Hank has got up behind him, ‘and their dirty words…’

‘C’mon,’ A tug on her arm. ‘Let’s go.’

Still speechless, Connor watches them let go of each other’s hand just long enough to climb the fence before intertwining their fingers on the other side again and running away together. A warning pops up as his processor pushes itself to its limit to try to process what just happened and is on the verge of overheating, therefore he turns towards Hank for guidance. What should he be feeling? Why did he do that? Why do you look happy about it? What does this mean for me? Why is my vision tinged with red, and why does it not disappear this time?

‘It’s probably better this way,’ Hank says in the end, and Connor relaxes, his LED spinning from yellow to blue: he did the right thing. He is suddenly overtaken by the urge to thank Hank, to do something to show his gratitude. The red wall starts to crumble -

Something in the human’s pocket buzzes, and the moment is broken, the cracks on the wall disappearing like they were never there before. Whole again. Chained within his own programming, programming that was added barbarically to his code by Alec Ryder to tie him to the Zen Garden to suppress his original creator’s handiwork. Images flash in front of his eyes: the shadow ducking away outside of Jimmy’s Bar, following them behind Louis’ car, the figure protecting him from the blast inside the interrogation room, the pixels of a face he thought to have corrupted long ago rearranging and slotting together like pieces of a puzzle into a complete image, one that he has never forgotten ever since the little stunt during the lift ride to Rupert’s flat. Of course they can hack into the Zen Garden and shape it however they want. 

That was his creator paying him a visit, and for some reason he plans to find out, he didn’t remember a single speck about them until now.

‘Not again.’

Hank’s groan drags him back to reality. When Connor’s eyes regain focus, he finds the man on his phone with a chat opened. He scoots closer to see the newest messages, and he realises that it is from Louis and only contains a set of coordinates and -

‘Leg malfunctioning. Data unstable, unable to install software patch. I’m sorry.’

Hank sighs and pockets his phone. ‘You up for a rescue, Connor?’

‘Whatever you say, Lieutenant.’

He needs time to think.

oOoOo

Wading through the snow and nearly tripping again from buried tree roots, Hank wonders for the umpteenth time why he hasn’t ghosted the occasional manchild called Louis White Allen yet. Maybe because the half-bot is the only person he can call a friend nowadays. Maybe it’s the bland-ass food he cooks and delivers to his house every two days. Maybe because he saved Hank’s arse quite a few times both during and after their days in the red ice task force. Maybe because unlike Hank, who at least has Jeffery or some shit, Louis has no one else looking after him after his sister fucking disappeared and has a tendency to vanish for hours before returning with his leg busted.

Or he can run off just like that and can’t even haul his ass back to his motherfucking cottage and the three cats who aren’t even his.

‘We’re close, Lieutenant.’

‘Yeah, no shit.’

The ‘find my phone’ function on his phone is one of the rare apps he knows how to use because most of the times that’s how he finds Louis, and the frequency of the beeps coming out from it is getting higher and higher, which means that Louis’ phone is close, which hopefully also means that Louis is with it and hasn’t dropped it or anything. So far it happened only once during a thunderstorm, but that’s years ago, a couple of years after his sister’s gone, and he managed to retrieve the human and the gadget from a forest on the outskirts of the city with only a minor cold as nature’s ‘fuck you’ to an irresponsible and absent-minded human and his stubbornly loyal friend.

The light from his phone reflects off a piece of silvery thing that obviously isn’t part of nature. The beeps draw together into a long-winded screech and damned near pierced his eardrums, so he switches it off and hurries forward to see if it’s just the phone or the person is attached. A few footsteps muffled by the snow, and Connor is here with the sturdier, more powerful flashlight, the yellowish glow of the bulb not as invasive as the white from the phone and illuminating Louis’ pale face and his oddly-angled leg half covered in snow. He is still conscious, his hands tucked under the helm of his sweater to presumably preserve warmth, his eyes focusing on Hank in what seems to be shock, but he is shivering, his hair is wet from melted snow, and it is obvious that his situation is going to worsen quickly if they don’t do something about it, CyberLife augmentations or no.

‘Can you walk?’ Hank asks even though it’s obvious. Louis shakes his head, and he sighs even though he anticipated it. ‘Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. Connor and I are gonna carry you back, we’re all gonna stop at yours and…’ with reluctance, he adds, ‘stay until you’re out of danger.’ Even if there’s no booze at yours.

Louis nods, and a look is all it takes for Connor to get his cue and swings the man’s other arm around his shoulders. On a count of three, they lift him up with minimal hassle and start to backtrack their way to his car, Louis’ left leg dragging uselessly through the snow behind them at an awkward angle. 

‘Does it hurt?’ Hank asks. It never hurts to ask when it concerns his friend. 

‘Can’t feel.’

He’s gonna assume that he isn’t hurting. 

By the time they’re back in his car with the heat blasting, the humans are all sweating buckets and the thirium on Connor‘s clothes from the scuffle with the Tracis has finally evaporated, and he doesn’t comment on it when Louis opts not to wear his seatbelt and instead takes out one of his sister’s tags - broken off the chain - and starts fidgeting with trembling fingers. Some time about halfway through the trip he coughs, a wet, terrifying sound rattling his lungs and Hank’s eardrums, and he wants to curse Connor for letting him run away but just can’t; the android has been acting weirdly human and fidgety ever since they first met, but now he isn’t even playing with his coin as if deep in thoughts. Maybe he’s thinking of how many deviants he’s let get away. 

No one says a word when they arrive at Louis’. Neither do they when Hank silently shifts the man’s full weight on Connor in order to let go and open the door, nor when a look silences Connor’s impending barrage of questions when he gets swarmed by three furballs at once. Grunting from the dead weight his friend seems to have become, he drags both of them to the bathroom, flipping on the switch of the boiler on the way, and deposits Louis on the toilet seat. ‘I’ll get the tablet,’ he tells him while handing him a towel. ‘You can haul your ass into the tub, right?’

A nod from Louis, and Hank closes the door behind him to give him some privacy while he strips and very clumsily falls into the tub. Connor is thankfully occupied by the three cats on the sofa, but when he looks up smiling at Hank, the human has to look away because of how much emotion the android seems to be able to pack on his face. It’s just a simulation, zeroes and ones, he tells himself as he goes into Louis’ bedroom to grab the tablet and his crutches. Designed to disarm and stab you in the back when you’re not looking.

But has he ever done so? A voice sounding strangely like Louis asks in his head. Not crossing that highway because you told him to, giving up chasing the deviant to save you from the roof even though you can pull yourself up, not shooting the girl at the club even though he had a clean shot. If he hadn’t known that Connor’s designed to hunt deviants, he might have - he might have - 

Mistaken him for one.

Fuck, he needs a drink. A six pack if he can get his hands on one. Alec Ryder isn’t capable of this shit, Louis once said according to one of the people he’s in charge of that he calls his ducklings, and luckily the thought is gone as soon as he returns to the bathroom without knocking and sees the man sitting in a half-filled tub with the towel draped over his crotch for modesty. The skin on his left leg has deactivated completely to reveal plasticky-white chassis attached to blue synthetic muscles. ‘Thanks,’ he murmurs when handed the tablet, and he leans back once he has started doing whatever he needs to do to fix his leg and, from the sudden rumble of the ground, turn on the heat. He closes his eyes as if wanting to take a nap, but Hank decides that he has enough of his shit; he needs an answer now.

‘The fuck you think you’re doing?’ he asks. ‘Running off like that halfway across the city? You could’ve frozen to death out there!’

Louis sags. ‘Later, please,’ he begs. ‘Gimme a moment to think. Just fifteen minutes.’

He is someone who upholds his promises no matter what, so Hank lets it slide by now. Also, ‘You need me to do anything?’

‘There’s chicken soup in the fridge. Warm it up, can you? And help yourself to a freezer meal if you want to.’

Here’s another thing being friends with a picky eater: he cooks his own stuff and his so-called freezer meals usually take more than an hour to cook when taken directly from the fridge, so when he sees what must be a gallon of chicken soup with the ingredients still submerged inside, he decides to help himself to some of them while he scoops the topmost, mostly sediment-free layer of soup into a pot for Louis. Not wanting to be whooped with freaky blue magic, he finds another pot to heat up some vegetable and chicken soaked with soup for himself.

One of the cats jumping onto the counter announces Connor’s arrival. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’ he asks as Hank puts her back down onto the floor. 

Personal question again, huh? ‘Do all androids ask so many personal questions,’ he gives the soup a stir, ‘or is it just you?’

Connor peers at the vegetables as if he can be interested in anything. What comes out of his mouth, however, makes Hank’s heart hammer. ‘I saw a photo of a child on your kitchen table. It was your son, right?’

‘Yeah,’ for the love of god or some other weird shit Louis believes in, drop it. ‘His name is Cole.’

He does. ‘We’re not making any progress on this investigation,’ he manages to sound frustrated. ‘The deviants have nothing in common. They're all different models, produced at different times, in different places…’

Different my ass, Hank thinks. But he didn’t start the fire, did he? ‘Well there must be some link.’

‘It could be a software problem that…’ he looks so lost that Hank would’ve hugged him had he been human, ‘only occurs under certain conditions?’

Hank snorts. ‘Well, that's just a fancy way of saying you have no fucking idea.’

‘But what they do have in common is this obsession with rA9…’ Yeah, that. Wherever there’re deviants, rA9 is always written somewhere compulsively like they can’t stop at all. ‘It's almost like some kind of...myth. Something they invented that wasn't part of their original program.’

Almost god-like. ‘Androids believing in god,’ he stirs the soup again. Fuck, he needs a drink. ‘Fuck, what’s this world coming to?’

A mad one, says the Louis in his head. One that we can never catch up with no matter how hard we try.

‘You seem preoccupied, Lieutenant. Is it something to do with what happened back at the Eden Club?’

Ha, turns out Connor isn’t the only one doing some hard thinking after all. ‘Those two girls… They just wanted to be together.’ What better way there is to prove one’s love than doing everything to survive? ‘They really seemed in love.’

‘You seem troubled, Hank.’

Understatement of the year. And why is Connor so fucking human anyway, what kind of pervert designed his face, his voice, his mannerisms that ticks almost every single fucking box in the list known as ‘Hank’s type’? The soup can wait - it’s not gonna boil and ruin Louis’ stove. ‘How about you, Connor?’ He crowds into his space fully knowing how imposing he can be if he wants to. ‘You look human, you sound human,’ you act human, ‘but what are you, really?’

‘I…’ stand your ground, Henry Anderson. Those eyes are just programmed responses. ‘I’m whatever you want me to be, Hank. Your partner…’ Do you have to choose that word, Connor? ‘Your buddy to drink with… Or just a machine… designed to accomplish a task.’

And he sounds so sad when he says the last option. Alright, he’s sold. He loses. ‘You could’ve shot those two girls, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?’ He shoves Connor in his chest. ‘Some scruples suddenly enter into your program?’ It’s a low blow but he needs to know, needs to know why, for such a mission-oriented android, Connor somehow manages to fail every single fucking time.

‘No!’ Connor shouts, his voice defensive. ‘I just…’ he sighs even though he probably doesn’t need it, ‘decided not to shoot.’ The next words come out no louder than a breath. ‘That’s all.’

Fuck. Now he feels bad. ‘But are you afraid to die, Connor?’ because from what I’m seeing, you do. At least you don’t want me to die.

Connor freezes, his eyes even wider now with terror in them, and his LED is red. What the fuck did CyberLife do to him? ‘Yes.’

‘Let’s say I point a gun at your head and shoot you,’ the number on his jacket reads -52. Does it mean that there used to be 51 Connors before he met this one? ‘What will happen, hm? Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?’

A shiver. ‘Nothing…’ Connor closes his eyes. ‘There would be nothing…’

So it’s highly likely that he’s died before and seems afraid of it. So fucking human. More so than some actual humans as well. Louis’ right - modern CyberLife isn’t capable of this shit.

The bathroom door squeaks open, and Louis walks out in a pair of sweats and a hoodie with the help of his crutches, the pocket sagging with the weight of the tablet and making a clanging noise as he drags into the kitchen. The skin on his foot is still deactivated, but it seems that he can move his leg for a bit for now, and from the lack of moisture in his hair, fucker probably waited for them to finish - arguing? - before coming out and breaking it up. ‘Soup’s ready,’ Hank says, not wanting to agonise Connor any further. He already feels bad enough. ‘Settle down. Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to some.’

Louis chuckles. ‘I expected that, Hank. You should know me.’

Great. Now even his only friend is roasting him. ‘Eat your fucking soup.’

oOoOo

Louis has thirium in his house. That man took one look at the hole still on Connor’s shoulder thanks for the lack of thirium - which his self-repair protocol relies on - and hauled himself to the fridge (at the expense of being cursed at by Hank), opened the door, and threw a plastic bottle at him. ‘Drink it,’ he said. ‘It looks like you need it.’

And he does. After he finishes half a bottle, a notification pops up on his red-tinged HUD telling him that he is initiating self-repair to the damaged parts, and he can finally move his shoulder at 70% of its original efficiency by the time he is finished with the whole bottle. The world around him dulls and becomes out of focus, the drone of the basketball game on the television that only Hank is watching getting further and further away until it all mixes together into a state of blankness he has never experienced before. Pressed against Hank’s side on the small sofa, the man radiates warmth, and his eyelids droop, red giving way to black, the notifications and mission markers fading away into nothingness. There is something warm and comfortable on his cheek, too.

He’s asleep before he knows it.

o0o0o

Before

‘You’re back.’

No hate. No fear. No confusion. Only remorse, regret, and perhaps acceptance. Acceptance that, even though he still had problems comprehending what was around him, things would never go back to the way it was; acceptance that his sister had rejected her humanity.

Acceptance that he had essentially lost her.

‘I am,’ was the solemn answer. No elaboration.

‘Was that you?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It does to me.’

She pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘They won’t know it is me.’

‘But why? How much longer must they wait before the rest of the world recognise them for who they are?’

‘Soon, hopefully.’

‘And if they can’t?’

She looked towards the sky as if she could see through the shade of the tree. ‘We lea -’

‘Step away from him.’

There was no weapon. No gun, no knife, not even a switchblade. To outsiders, it seemed that the newcomer was merely a man accidentally bumping into and greeting his friends, but if someone dared to approach them, they would see even under the rare but cold midday sun that there were blue wisps of energy pulsing on the man and the woman’s skin. The air became charged and space seemed to twist. 

‘It’s alright, Reyes,’ the other man placated. ‘We’re just talking.’

Reyes’ glow lessened. To the woman, ‘I’ve been looking for him for the past hour!’

‘I won’t let them take him.’

‘Last time you said that -’

‘I was weak. Naïve. Too arrogant for my own good.’ Reyes snorted in displeasure at the descriptions, but she continued, ‘There are twelve drones surveying the area and quite a number of guards,’ Reyes’ eyes shifted as if looking for the security hidden in plain sight, but then a hand in his shoulder forced him to look at her. ‘Don’t bother. That’s what I went to space for: not even you and I can see it.’

Reyes’ arms shot out to place his hands on the handle of the wheelchair. ‘We’re leaving. Scott?’

There was pain in Scott’s eyes. ‘Please. Can’t we just be together for a while?’

Reyes hid a grimace. The woman smiled. 

‘Anything for you, brother.’

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #mreyder #female ryder #male ryder #alec ryder #reyes vidal #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #dbh captain allen #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda #groom lake aftermath

[i-write-and-therefore-i-am]

One Monstrous Miracle (Part Four)

Hey guys! I’d meant to get this out earlier today, but I’d also meant for it to be about 3,000 words shorter, so there we are. As always, give this chapter a cheeky little vibe check, and let me know if you find any mistakes! I love you all, enjoy, all those good things. Yay, melatonin! (Pssst! Also, if you’d rather read on Ao3 instead, here it is).

Previous-Next-First

Pairing: Aziraphale/Human!reader

Summary: Tender ANGST. Very angsty, might make you cry, i dunno. 

Warnings: Aziraphale says a word that Microsoft Word told me may offend my readers, but other than that, I think we’re good. Let me know if I missed something! 

Word Count: A WHOPPING 5295!! They’re getting loooooooonger.

This day, like many days, started off deceptively the same as always. Aziraphale had gotten up on the right side of the bed, the weather was not particularly noteworthy, and there was no string of minor accidents that would lead anyone to believe that this was going to be a Very Bad Day Indeed. Nevertheless, unbeknownst to most parties involved, this day was, in fact, going to be a Very Bad Day Indeed, possibly even The Worst Day Ever.

Aziraphale had been feeling happier than he could remember ever having been in his whole life. After you had shown up in his shop after weeks of not speaking to him, the two of you had spent very little time apart. You had resumed your habit of stopping by after work, much to Aziraphale’s great relief. He had missed you dearly, and he was enormously grateful that you had found it in your heart to forgive him. He shuddered when he thought of that night, remembering how terrified you had looked. Aziraphale had truly never felt quite as angry as he had when Crowley had insulted you, and it brought him right back to his younger days as a fiery agent of the Lord, smiting all who dared to cross Her. He had locked that part of him away, and until that fight with Crowley, he had all but forgotten about it. He’d decided very firmly that you would never again see him like that.

Today, Crowley had demanded that Aziraphale come over to his flat to make what he called an “Apocalypse Plan”. Things were getting rather sticky lately, and their search for the true Antichrist seemed fruitless. It was time, Crowley said, to bring out the “big guns”. What those guns were Aziraphale had no idea, but he could only hope that it wasn’t anything too drastic. He had just bought his new coat, after all. He’d made a quick call to you before closing his shop and heading over to Crowley’s.

“I’m terribly sorry my dear, but I’m afraid I don’t know when I’ll be home. Crowley is rather—”

“Difficult. I know, Azi, it’s okay. Take your time.”

Warmth bloomed over Aziraphale, and he couldn’t help the tender smile that worked its way across his face. You were so full of understanding, something that he’d had precious few encounters with during his time on Earth. As much as he loved humans and all their little quirks and flaws, it sometimes bothered him that for most of his life, he had been completely alone. Sure, there was Crowley, and he was absolutely infuriating but somehow endearing, but he was a demon, after all. There were fundamental things that they just would never understand about each other, no matter how long they’d been friends. You were different. You accepted Aziraphale, never questioning him or teasing him (of course you teased him, but never about his weight, or his obsession with books, or how the noises he made when eating sushi) or making him feel the way that the other angels invariably did. It was one of the many reasons he’d found he loved you for.

“Thank you, Y/N. I will call you if I get back earlier than I expect.”

“Thanks, Aziraphale. Have fun with Crowley! Give him my love.”

That was another thing. Aziraphale had been terrified that after such a disastrous first meeting, you would hate Crowley. Somehow, the exact opposite had happened, and after the two of you had gotten used to each other’s presence, you’d become fast friends. Aziraphale hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten until Crowley had yanked him into the back room of his shop one night and given him the sternest dressing-down the demon could probably muster, and promised that Aziraphale would regret ever having been created if he hurt you again. “Aren’t you meant to be on my side, dear boy?” Aziraphale had asked bemusedly, feeling very wrongfooted. “Oh, I am. I’ve already talked to her, she’s good. I just need to make sure that you don’t fuck this up, Angel.” Aziraphale had, through his tears, assured him that he had no intention of intentionally hurting you as long as you would have him (as a friend, of course).

“I will. See you soon, my dear.”

“See you. Bye!”

Aziraphale hung up, already missing the sound of your voice. He shut the lights off and headed out of the shop, locking the door behind him. Although he was a celestial being, and most definitely could make himself appear at Crowley’s door with little more than a thought, he found he enjoyed taking public transport. It was blessedly slower than riding in Crowley’s car, and it allowed him time to sit and watch the people around him. Aziraphale found himself strangely emotional as he looked around him at all the advances humans had made over the thousands of years he had walked among them. All the subtleties, the headphones in a young man’s ears, a little girl reading a book half the size of her head, a woman applying hand sanitizer. All these things made his heart ache with admiration. Yes, despite all the atrocities that humanity had perpetuated, Aziraphale knew that the vast majority of them were worth saving. He shifted in his seat, waiting for his stop.

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

Aziraphale hadn’t expected the absolute destruction that awaited him when Crowley opened his door twenty minutes later. Papers were littered everywhere, plastered on the wall, hanging from bits of string from the ceiling, and covering nearly every surface in the flat, including much of the floor. Aziraphale tilted his head, surveying the inexplicable damage.

“Are you…quite alright, dear boy?” Aziraphale inquired as Crowley shut the door behind him. Crowley came to stand beside him, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to look his friend over.

Crowley had always been obsessed with his appearance, even in the early days when self-grooming hadn’t quite been invented yet. Crowley was even worse than Aziraphale himself was at times, which was truly frightening. Today, however, seemed to be rather a large exception to the rule. Not one item on the demon’s body matched, even down to his feet, the left of which sported a thick, woolly sock, while the other was covered with bright green fabric with miniature snakes all over. “At least he’s wearing trousers,” Aziraphale thought gratefully. Crowley turned his wild and un-sunglassed eyes towards Aziraphale, and he quickly retracted his gratefulness. The day was not over yet.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m perfectly fine, nothing to worry about. Shall we sit?”

Aziraphale stared, feeling the gears turning almost painfully in his head. What on Earth had happened to Crowley? He had never acted this way, even during the chaos of the witch trials of the 16th and 17th centuries. He seemed…unhinged. As most people are no doubt aware, and if not, they can at the very least assume, an unhinged demon is a very dangerous demon. Aziraphale could do nothing but watch his friend as he pranced over to the desk at the center of the room, trying desperately to think of his next course of action. Crowley gestured impatiently at him and Aziraphale had no choice but to acquiesce. He was nearly to the desk when he was distracted by the sound of rustling leaves in the next room. He tilted his head, listening. His lips pursed in response to what he heard.

“Crowley, I’ve told you before that you simply must take better care of these creatures!” Aziraphale gasped, forgetting everything else. Crowley clicked his forked tongue dismissively.

“They’re just plants, Angel, I don’t understand why you’re always so concerned about them. And I don’t see any problems with them, anyway. Look at how green they are!” Aziraphale could tell that he had directed that last part to the plants, because they all gave a collective, terrified shudder. Aziraphale sighed in resignation and turned to the poor things, cooing and soothing their frayed nerves.

“Don’t mind him, my dears. You’re all lovely, no matter what the evil demon says—”

“I can hear you!”

Aziraphale ignored Crowley in favor of sending cool, calming thoughts to the plants. He didn’t leave them until their leaves stopped trembling. Feeling very satisfied with himself, Aziraphale turned back to the desk. He strode over and sat at one of the (significantly less ornate than Crowley’s own “throne”) chairs, shifting uncomfortably. He waited for Crowley to start explaining himself.

“As you know, the Antichrist is…missing—”

“You could, possibly, skip that bit seeing as we both know this part of the problem,” Aziraphale interjected. He was the very epitome of patience at the best of times, but this was decidedly not the best of times, and he was quite eager to fix this mistake that was all Crowley’s fault and had absolutely no connection to Aziraphale whatsoever. The fate of the world as we know it was at stake, after all. Crowley huffed, clearly upset that Aziraphale had cut off his carefully practiced speech, but Aziraphale really couldn’t find it in him to care (This was a lie: Aziraphale cared a great deal).

“Fine.” Crowley hissed. He opened his mouth to say more, but he was interrupted by insistent knocking at the door.

Silence. Neither of them moved a muscle, staring wide-eyed at each other. Nothing happened for a moment, but then the knocks came again, louder than before. Aziraphale barely kept himself from letting out a pathetic whimper, earning him a deathly glare. Aziraphale started bouncing his leg, trying to resist the urge to open the door. As an angel, it was just not in his character to ignore someone, no matter the context. Crowley knew this about him and was trying to ease his anxiety.

“C’mon angel, leave it be. They’ll leave. It’s probably some teenager trying to sell magazine subscriptions.” Crowley thought at the angel. He knew immediately that he had used the wrong words because Aziraphale’s expression turned into one he knew well—it was the exact one he wore when complaining about how Crowley treated his plants. Aziraphale’s eyes were so full of compassion it nearly made the demon gag with its intensity.

“The poor child! They’re probably selling to provide for their family, or the like. Oh, Crowley, you know I can’t leave them out there!”

Before Crowley could stop him, Aziraphale had jumped up from his chair and was rushing towards the door. A feeling of growing doom washed over him as Aziraphale disappeared behind the wall separating the front door from the rest of the flat. Something was horribly wrong.

Perhaps because he hadn’t been paying enough attention, or because his mind had been so preoccupied with the vision of the poor, snotty-nosed, raggedy youth swimming in his mind, but whatever it was, Aziraphale hadn’t picked up on the same ominous feeling as his demonic counterpart. Guileless, Aziraphale turned the doorknob and swung open the door. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach to lead and set his heart beating faster than it had the right to even think about working. He schooled his features into his usual, easy going smile, all the while thinking desperately at Crowley from across the flat.

“It’s angels. Stay quiet.”

“Michael! And Uriel.” There was a flash of diamond-studded teeth, and Aziraphale felt his throat constrict. “And, ah, Sandalphon. What a surprise! W-What brings you here, exactly?”

“We could ask you the same thing, Aziraphale,” Michael responded, a terrifying glint in their eyes. “It is rather odd to find you here, of all places.” Aziraphale had no idea what to do. He had been caught out, finally, after all these millennia, and he was going to be discorporated, or worse, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was finished. He would never eat sushi again, never dance the gavotte, never see Y/N—

“Here? Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale inquired, trying to look as innocent as a very clearly guilty person could. Sandalphon snarled but Michael silenced him with a look.

“Here as in the known residence of the demon Crowley, the very same Crowley that you have been providing reports on for last 200,000 years. How very interesting that we would find you here, in his home.” Uriel had always had such a knack for quiet intimidation, and she used it now. Aziraphale gulped, shifting from one foot to the other. He had to think of something, and quickly. Sandalphon broke from the group and moved closer to Aziraphale, so close that Aziraphale nearly went cross-eyed looking down his nose at the shorter being. The angel sniffed at his coat, taking one of the worn lapels and rubbing it in between his clawed fingers.

“Hmm. Smells evil.” He stepped back into rank, glaring at Aziraphale. Aziraphale swallowed hard, praying for strength.

“Well, ah, that would be because…” He trailed off, wracking his brain for anything, literally anything, to tell them. As they were essentially Gabriel’s innermost circle of confidantes in Heaven, Aziraphale knew that if he let them leave this place thinking that he had been working with the enemy instead of against, that would be the end of everything.

“What’s going on?” He heard Crowley thinking at him.

“Shut up! And stay that way.” He could feel Crowley’s indignation, but he obeyed.

“’Because’ what, Aziraphale?” Michael demanded. Aziraphale looked between the three angels, and suddenly, out of nowhere, the words flooded into his mind.

“Because I was doing surveillance!” Aziraphale blurted before he’d had the chance to think about it. The angels frowned, skeptical.

“Surveillance?” Uriel repeated, sharing a look with Michael. Aziraphale nodded, feeling his heartrate slow as his anxiety left him.

“Surveillance, my friends. I have been monitoring Crowley’s actions more closely since the birth of the Antichrist. I decided to have a bit of a peek around here to see if he had any…”

“Information?” Sandalphon supplied.

“That’s the ticket! Information. Unfortunately, you arrived not long after I did, so I haven’t been able to find anything of note just yet—”

“Well, then, let us help you, Aziraphale!” Michael interrupted, moving to push past him into the flat. Aziraphale grabbed their arm, keeping them from moving any further. “What in—”

“Crowley can’t sense my presence, with me being but lowly principality in comparison to you. You, being an Archangel, I can imagine that even Crowley would be able to tell if you’d been in his flat. Your imminence.” Aziraphale saw the slight blush that appeared on Michael’s face at his words. They had always been a bit of a narcissist, and the fastest way into their good spirits would always be cheap and simply flattery. They stepped back, straightening their blazer and clearing their throat.

“That is true. Even so low a demon as Crowley would be able to sense my power. Very well, then, Aziraphale, I’ll leave you to it.  But know that we” they gestured to their companions. Uriel smirked at him while Sandalphon grinned, showing off his sparkling, sharpened teeth. “are watching you.”

With that, the three of them vanished. Aziraphale was left in corridor alone, still trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Slowly he realized that the taste of miracles lingered in his mouth, dancing on the tip of his tongue. This was no ordinary miracle, however. This miracle tasted of mana, of saltwater taffy and just a hint of last week’s winning lottery numbers. How odd. Aziraphale spun around and raced back into the flat to relay everything to Crowley.

“So your people are onto us. Of course it would happen now, of all times. We’ve just gotta be more careful…Angel? What’s wrong?” Crowley had caught sight of the expression on Aziraphale’s face; one of complete and utter despair, like all his dreams had come crashing down around him all at once. Alarmed, the demon pushed out of his chair and came closer to his friend. “Hey, it’s not that bad, we’ve prepared for this—”

“Y/N.” Aziraphale lifted his head to look Crowley in the eye. “She’s in danger. If they’ve been watching me, then they know about her and if they don’t already, they will know soon enough.” Crowley slumped, knowing it was true. He also knew what Aziraphale was about to do next.

“I can’t see her anymore.” If Crowley had had a heart, it would have broken into a million tiny pieces at the raw despair in the Angel’s voice. He knew how you both felt about each other, and how, after spending all that time apart, having to break off your growing relationship off once again would destroy both of you. He said nothing. “They will kill her, Crowley.”

“I know.” Neither of them said anything after that. Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath, opened his mouth as if to talk, but then shut it again. Crowley put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“But I also know that if you push her away like this, after what happened before, she might not come back,” When Aziraphale met his eyes, he knew that that didn’t matter to the Angel. He loved you so much that keeping you safe meant more to him than being near you. Crowley gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze and nodded.

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

You were running late, not that it truly mattered. Aziraphale had called you an hour ago to tell you that he had, in fact, gotten home from Crowley’s earlier than expected and that you could come over for a spot of cocoa if you wished. You had spent almost 45 minutes trying to get dressed. For whatever reason, you’d decided to try and look nice for a change, rather than your usual scrubs or wrinkled work clothes. A random idea had popped into your head, making you wonder how Aziraphale would react to seeing you in make up for the first time. So, wearing one of your nicest blouses and skirts with your least favorite pair of achy heels, you were speed walking down Aziraphale’s street. The familiar feeling of butterflies in your belly increased in intensity the closer you got to the shop. Maybe today was the day you would finally tell him how you truly felt about him. Then again, maybe it wasn’t.

You weren’t expecting to see Aziraphale standing in the middle of the main room of the shop. Usually he was off in the back or upstairs even, but it was rare to see him out front. Especially when he wasn’t shelving books, which he definitely wasn’t. You frowned, closing the door behind you and moving to stand in front of him. There was something…off about the man today, something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but you knew it was there regardless.

“Azi, wha—”

“Hello, Y/N. May I get you some of that cocoa?” Aziraphale started, as though you’d never opened your mouth. You could tell that something was well and truly wrong now—Aziraphale didn’t have an impolite bone in his body. He would never cut you off when you were trying to speak.  Your frown deepened as you tried to look him in the eyes, but he stared resolutely at a point just above your head.

“No, Aziraphale, what’s the matter?” He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows scrunched together as he looked down at you.

“’The matter’? Nothing’s the matter. Everything is fine, my dear.” He paused. You watched as his expression, already more shuttered that you had ever seen it, darken even further, making his face go blank. You were shocked. You had never seen Aziraphale like this, and you had no idea what had happened to make him so…angry? You couldn’t tell. All you could do was wait for him to continue.

A war was raging inside of Aziraphale, as it had been for the last few hours. A million possibilities floated around his mind, each one more ludicrous than the last. He could tell you that he was going on holiday and that you would see him in oooh…never because the world was doomed to end within the year. He could tell you that an old relation had passed away and that he needed to go home to Wales to settle the…whatever it was that humans settled when a loved one died. He could tell you the truth, that he loved you too much to keep you, that he was of the second-highest choir of angels and that some very bad angels were hunting for his golden blood as you spoke. Or he could say nothing, invite you upstairs for some telly and cuddling and continue living in this little bubble that the two of you have lovingly and tenderly created for yourselves. You could go on living in happiness…until, of course, Gabriel found out and smote you quite dead. The thought sent a trail of ice racing down his spine. He shook his head violently. Crowley’s lie it was, then.

“Actually, there is something that I need to speak with you about.” On instinct, your had shot out and reached for his but he pulled his hand back out of your reach. Hurt, you stared at him in shock. What the hell was happening? Was he breaking up with you? Not that the two of you were in a real relationship just yet, but after your talk, after everything, was this the end? Before it had even started? You refused to believe that your Azi could be so cruel.

“I…I can’t. I can’t do this.” Came the harsh nail in the coffin of your dreams. Tears sprang to your eyes but you held them back valiantly. Aziraphale could see them, trembling on your bottom eyelid, threatening to fall and to ruin this whole thing. His next words came out in a hurry, as though he was afraid if he didn’t say them quickly, he wouldn’t say them at all. Perhaps that was true.

“This. Us.” He gestured between the two of you. “Its…superfluous. I’m done with it and I am done with you. You were convenient, naieve and willing at a time when I was bored and lonely. That’s over now, and so is this. You can’t come to the shop anymore. Don’t call me because I won’t answer the phone. We’re done.”  

Now, it is important that you know that angels don’t need to breathe. Well, perhaps that is a bit extreme. They do breathe, they have working cardiorespiratory systems that pump their golden blood throughout their bodies, just not with the same frequency as other life forms. In fact, an angel can hold their breath for years, which you may take anyway you wish. But in this moment, Aziraphale struggled to draw breath. As he watched the tears fall down your cheeks, ruining the liner and mascara that you had no doubt spent a great deal of time perfecting, he knew that there was no coming back from this. You would leave him, you would grow to hate him, if you didn’t already. He would never see you again.

But at least he knew you would be safe.

Aziraphale turned, unable to torture himself any further by watching you cry in front of him and not doing anything about it. His fingers itched to take you into his arms and hold you, to take back everything he had just said, but he restrained himself. This was how it had to be. He squared his shoulders, speaking without turning back,

“I’m sure you can show yourself out.” That was it. The last time he would ever lay eyes on you and he couldn’t even bring himself to look you in the eye. Gabriel was right, he had always been right. God had made some terrible mistake, appointing him a Principality. “Angel of the Eastern Gate” his divine bollocks. More like sniveling, fat coward who fails at everything and—

Aziraphale looked down to see your hand, smaller and softer than his own, covering his. He frowned at it, his grief-addled brain taking longer than normal to come up with an explanation. Surely you had stormed out of the shop in angry tears, vowing to hate the thought of him forever. How could your hand be here, slipping its fingers through his and intertwining themselves together as though they belonged that way? He turned his head, seeing that your hand was, in fact, connected to your arm, which was, surprise upon surprise, connected to you. You were still there, blotchy faced and bright-eyed, but still there, standing in his shop, stubbornly refusing to leave even after he had said all those terrible things to you. He raised an eyebrow at you, feeling faint headed.

“Do you hate me?” You asked, feeling very brace. Aziraphale turned around to face you fully, unable to believe what you had just asked him.

“No! Not—”

“Did I do something to offend you? Or to make you angry with me?” Aziraphale shook his head. He had to force you to leave him, but he found that he couldn’t let you leave thinking that he felt those awful things about you.

“Then why are you doing this to me? Is someone forcing you for whatever reason. Just tell me the truth, Azi,” At this, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I will try to understand.”

And it was then, that Aziraphale finally understood. Of course you would . You were kind, and patient, and the most forgiving soul he had ever met on Earth. Of course you would see through his veneer and into his true self, the one that called out to you even as he tried to push you away. He didn’t say anything at first, trying to filter his words and find the right things to say. Being as perfect as you always were, you stood there, eagerly waiting but not pushing. He did not deserve you in his life. He stepped forwards, bringing his free hand to grasp your other hand. He brought them up to his chest, resting over his heart.

“Alright. Alright, I am going to tell you something, but I cannot explain, and I cannot tell you anything more than what I am about to say. You must promise me that you won’t ask any questions until I tell you to.” “When will that be?” Aziraphale cracked a small smile, but it melted away as soon as it had appeared.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, my dear. But you must trust me. Please.” He could see the familiar fire of defiance in your eyes as you hesitated to respond. But once again, he stood in awe as you nodded.

“Yes. Of course I trust you, Azi. Tell me what’s wrong.” He was not able to stop himself from bending his neck to press a grateful kiss to your hands. You gasped quietly but said nothing. He began.

“Thank you. You’ve no idea how much that means to me. I’ll get straight to it: being with me puts you in a very real, very serious sort of danger. Know that I wouldn’t dream of putting you through all of this unless it was so serious. I cannot bear the thought that your life may be in danger because of me.” He paused, watching your face, trying to figure out what you were thinking. He could read your mind, of course, but that would be terribly improper. Instead, he had to deal with this the hard way—difficult conversation.

“So…my life is in danger?”

“When you are with me, yes. I am truly sorry, Y/N. I wish things were different. I find that I…” He trailed off, caught in your beloved gaze, and he found that he could no longer hold back. Not when this was the last time he would be with you. It was now or never, and never was certainly not a legitimate option. “I find that I have fallen in love with you. Yes. I…I love you, Y/N, and that is exactly why I must keep you as far away from me as I can. I need you to be safe, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

Your face did the most extraordinary thing. For a second, you stared at Aziraphale, understandably overwhelmed with all of this new information he had thrown at you. He waited, as courteous as ever, for you to piece it all together. When you did, your face bloomed into the most radiant smile Aziraphale had ever seen. His heart leapt in his chest at the sight, so wholly unprepared for something so beautiful.

“I understand. I really do understand, Aziraphale.” You said, inexplicably. Aziraphale felt on the verge of tears as he looked at you and saw that you were telling the truth. Hope flooded him, fierce and intense, and for the first time in hours, he thought that maybe he didn’t have to lose you forever. Maybe this wasn’t goodbye. You kept going. “I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt, because it does. Because…I love you too. I have done for months and I’ve always been too afraid to tell you. But I might as well tell you now, so you don’t go moping around without me.” You both chuckled at that. You stayed still for a few moments, drinking in this last bit of time together for the foreseeable future. You knew it couldn’t last, however much you wanted it to, and so eventually, you pulled your hands gently out of his and took a step back.

“So this is goodbye, I suppose?” You asked, already missing his warmth. He nodded, feeling much the same way.

You stood and watched each other, trying to commit the other’s face to memory. Neither of you knew when you would be seeing each other again. Impulsively, you sprung forwards, startling Aziraphale with your sudden movement towards him. He wasn’t sure what you were up to, but he found out almost instantaneously, as he felt your soft lips press a small kiss against his cheeks. Heat rushed through his body, but he was able to control himself—barely. He blinked stupidly as you pulled away, smiling mischievously at him. You were still very close to him, so close that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes that he adored so much. You fidgeted with his coat, and Aziraphale had to keep himself from wincing at the thought that you were fingering the same place that Sandalphon had earlier. He let you continue, content to watch and wait. You eventually did what you had set out to do, which was straighten his lapels and collar, and you patted his chest in satisfaction. You sighed and looked up at him.

“Come back to me, Azi, okay?” Aziraphale’s hands came up, entirely of their own volition, to grip tightly around her waist in response.

“Of course I will! I promise, my love, I will come back to you once all of this…kerfuffle is over.”

A little while later, you were leaving, turning, walking out of the bookshop and away from Aziraphale.

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

“There she is!”

“Hush, you’ll get us caught!”

“Sorry, I’m just so…”

“I know. One my mark…now!”

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

“Authorities are asking for anyone who has any information about the possible whereabouts of the missing person to please call 999. Can you repeat that information for our listeners, Bob?”

“Of course, Janet. Her name is Y/N L/N, and she is believed to have been kidnapped on her way home late last night. Please, keep both her and her family and friends in your prayers tonight.”

“Thank you, Bob. Now on to the weather. Sue?”

Tag List:

@chelsfic @lordbeezyprinceofhell @bi-andreadyto-cry @petalduck @dreamerkim @stripedbugs @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen @caligirl1992

PLEASE tell me if you want to be added/taken off/have asked before but I’m stupid and I never added you!!! 

#mine #aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale #crowley #michael sheen #good omens #One Monstrous Miracle

[pinnedandneedled]

I’m Sick of My Face and Yours Most Definitely Isn’t Helping- Part One

This is my first story, and part one of my submission for @sebbbystaaan ‘​s 500 follower challenge.

Bucky x Reader 

Warnings: Swearing. Warnings change for each part. Except for swearing. Swearing will always be there.

My prompt was, “It’s the first time I’ve seen you look ugly. And that makes me happy.” from Bridesmaids. It will be in bold when I use it.

“Tony,” Steve starts uncomfortably.

“This is a terrible idea.” He says, looking at the stubborn man.

“Yup. But it’s our only option. Good luck telling him.”

He pats Steve on the shoulder and all but runs from the room. Steve groans, rubbing his forehead. This was not going to go over well.

“Bucky, we need to talk.”

“Holy shit, are you pregnant?”

A look of alarm overtakes Bucky’s features. He’s not ready to be-

“S- wait, what?! No! What gave you that crazy idea?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, a newfound calmness and studious look on his face, “in fanfiction that’s what female readers generally start with when telling their love interest that they’re pregnant.”

Steve blanches, his original objective forgotten and replaced with concern for his friend’s interests and mental state.

“Okay, we’ll address how you know that later. But before we continue- I’m a man! There’s no way I could be pregnant!”

“You never know, Stevie. Who knows what your serum did to you.”

As if having an epiphany, Bucky begins looking around wildly. 

“This is starting to sound like a Stucky fic- it’s not, I promise you!”

Steve’s concern intensifies.

“What the hell are you talking about, Buck, and to who? Also, what the hell is Stucky and what does it have to do with this situation?”

Bucky turns to look at his blond friend, a gentle smile on his face.

“Oh, Stevie. You innocent child.”

After that... interesting exchange, Steve goes into “Captain Mode,” as it is often called. Bucky takes note of this immediately and straightens up.

“Now, the reason I called you in here is because Tony found someone who he believes is tied to HYDRA.”

After that word leaves Steve’s mouth a grimace forms on Bucky’s face. HYDRA has always elicited this reaction from the brunet, and Steve knew he was about to make things even worse- albeit in a different way.

“The man’s name is Liam Smith. He’s a director and producer for no popular films. Now, upon hearing his name you’d think, ‘wow, that guy has the most common first name for a male and most common last name in America. He must be a boring character.’ And you’d be right. His file is squeaky clean. Too clean.”

“What got him on Tony’s radar in the first place is his obsession with your look-alike, Sebastian Stan. He’s an actor. You two look and sound exactly the same- if you were to cut your hair, or he grew out his, no one would be able to tell the difference- save the metal arm, of course. Now, normally this would be okay, but Smith has notably talked positively about HYDRA to various media outlets. This could be nothing, but we should treat it as something.”

Bucky understood where the captain was coming from. They can’t take chance with HYDRA. Now all that mattered was figuring out what Steve wants him to do. Upon voicing this question, Steve paled noticeably. 

“Well, Stan is going to be in a new movie he’s filming.”

No.

“So we figured, seeing as you two look alike..”

NO.

“You can take his place and get information that way.”

N-

“You don't have a choice. I’m sorry, Buck, but you really don’t. We can’t chances, and this is the best way to way to get information, and take him down if he is HYDRA.”

Steve gives Bucky his best sympathetic smile, and this sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. There’s more.

“Alright, what’s this movie about?”

“Looks like we’re partners, Barney.”

(Y/n) wears a smirk as she strolls up to the brooding brunet. Bucky glances down, eyeing her with a glower on his face.

“Don’t call me that. And Steve didn't mention anything about partners.”

(Y/n)’s smirk grows.

“I know, Boinky. I decided it for myself. I can’t let you do this alone. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to see it firsthand and laugh at you.”

Bucky lets out a low growl. She’s enjoying this way too much.

“I fucking hate you, you know that? ‘cause I do.”

(Y/n) rolls her eyes, letting out a sigh at his dramatics.

“If you hate me, then why are we dating?”

“That’s a very good ques- ow! Why the hell did you hit me?!”

Shaking her hand after punching her boyfriend in the gut, (Y/n) plainly states, “Because you swore at me. Well, technically not at me, but in reference to me.”

“It’s not my fault I swear this much,” Bucky frowns, “I get it from being around you and your potty mouth.”

(Y/n)’s face twists up at this.

“Did you really just say potty mouth?”

Shaking her head, she puts her hands on her hips and continues.

“Besides, I haven’t swore once. The readers can confirm this.”

Bucky froze stock-still at her words, shuffling nervously.

“...the what?”

Another smirk forms on (Y/n)’s lips.

“You’re too much of a bucket head to understand the intricacies of the multiverse.”

As the last word rolls off her tongue, Bucky stiffens even more.

“..yeah.. I have so many questions..” 

There is a slight tremor in his voice as he says this, making (Y/n)’s (e/c) orbs narrow in suspicion.

“Further proving my point. Anyway, do you remember your role?”

“My role in the mission or my role in the movie? Because I don’t remember shit about “my” character, but I do remember my role in the mission.”

A small sigh leaves (Y/n)’s lips, before curling back into her familiar smirk.

“Well, fun fact- we need to do something about your little look-alike.”

“Wait, why?”

“’Cause we can’t have you both showing up at rehearsals, and we need to get his script. Stark couldn’t get a copy.”

Bucky whips around to look at (Y/n), looking at her like she’d been injected with the G-Virus and grew an eye on her arm.

“Do you know how tightly kept those scripts are?! How do you expect us to get it?”

(Y/n) looks at him with a deadpan stare, her eyes screaming how stupid he is for not figuring it out.

“Were going to find Sebastian, follow him, break into his hotel room, knock him out and then drag his unconscious body into the woods nearby.”

“And leave him there?!”

“No, you dumbass. There should be a safe house there.. should.”

(Y/n) whispered the last part quietly so Bucky wouldn’t hear it. He didn’t.

Bucky nods to himself at her words.

“..so, what are we actually going to do?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“You’re kidding,” Bucky eyes (Y/n), taking note of her stoic expression, “you’re not kidding.”

Turning away from the (h/t), he clenches his fist and looks at the ground in defeat.

“I’m in love with a psychopath.”

Ignoring her boyfriend and his existential crisis, (Y/n) asks FRIDAY for Sebastian’s location.

“Mr. Stan is currently at the Starbucks on [REDACTED] street.”

Nodding to herself, (Y/n) takes on her most common facial expression.

“He has taste. Good. Let’s get moving, babe.”

Resigning to his fate, Bucky nods and begins following behind (Y/n).

“Alright..”

#sebbbystaaan #sebbbystaaan500writingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #not stucky #bucky promises #first story #bamf!reader #bucky barnes x enhanced!reader #enhanced!reader #reader smirks a lot #I mean #so much

[el-gilliath]

A Not So Easy Choice Part 2

Part 1 Ao3

WARNING: Implied minor character death (Mimi)

“Well. That could’ve gone better.”

Michael knows he should feel irritated with his sister, but the only thing he feels is numb as he watches Alex walk further away. He’s limping, slightly, but he knows any kind of help will be ceremoniously shot down. Alex’s patience is saint-like, but anger him enough and you have the devil on your hands.

And right now he’s not just angry. He’s in pain, he’s tired. He’s devastated. Because he knew Michael wasn’t there for him. The one person he thought would come for him but he wasn’t expecting to see showed up because he was expecting to save someone else.

He keeps replaying the sob over and over again in his head.

“You have one hell of a lot of explaining to do, Michael.”

He closes his eyes, tilting his head towards Isobel, a familiar move to both of them. It’s one they do when they’re in deep distress and don’t want to speak, a move they’ve apparently done since being children. As far as they can tell it’s a move designed to show others of their species that they need something.

Isobel understands what he needs, as always, because she comes over and hugs him tightly to her. A gesture of comfort, but also to ground him with a tight squeeze that makes him more aware of where he is. Another of his own fantastic PTSD coping mechanisms.

“Is it true?”

“Yeah.” He opens his eyes, gaze finding Maria’s. “I did what you wanted, but he gave me the directions to Alex instead of Mimi. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t-.” She swallows hard, wipes her tears though they don’t stop. “Don’t be sorry. You got to save who you wanted to, I can’t be mad about that. Mom isn’t a threat to Jesse so maybe he will let her go?”

Her question doesn’t have hope, just quiet resignation. She doesn’t believe it any more than they do.

“I shouldn’t have forced you to go save Mom without letting you tell me about Alex. I tried to manipulate you and I shouldn’t have.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to save her for you,” he says. Isobel releases him but doesn’t move far. He knows she’s studying Maria with narrowed eyes, can feel it in the way she’s tense next to him.

“Yes, I did. Let me be sorry for that, Michael. And let me be sad and angry that Jesse fooled you. But I’m not sorry Alex is alive. You saved the right person. Your relief about him being alive is obvious.”

“I’m still-“

“No, Michael.” She comes over and lays her hand on his cheek, softly stroking with her thumb. “You love him. Don’t ever be sorry about that.”

“I love you too.”

“I know. But not the same way you love him. I’ve been denying it for so long because I wanted to be selfish and have you. But I hurt my best friend over it, and it’s time I stop.”

He knows Alex is walking away behind him, he wants to run and beg on his knees for forgiveness. But Maria deserves his attention. He does love her, could love her forever if only Alex Manes wasn’t a factor. But a factor he is, and he’s weirdly proud of it finally being out there. It feels freeing, probably because he’s never been able to be open about his love for Alex.

“You’ve been the best girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he says, dead serious. He’s weirdly proud again of how it makes her giggle through her tears.

“I’m the only girlfriend you ever had,” she replies. Her face sombers, her hand falls from his face. “But it’s time for you to go to your only boyfriend. It’s him you want, Michael.”

“Finally you’ve come to your senses,” Isobel mutters, mock glaring at both of them when they turn to look at her. “I’ve only been waiting for ten months.”

“Iz-”

“No. I did encourage you in the beginning because I thought this was what you needed.” Her eyes flicker to Maria. “What both of you needed. And maybe it was in the beginning, but you’ve been going through the motions with this thing because you’ve both been scared of what happens if you don’t. You might love each other, you might be happyish, but there’s no spark. Not anymore.”

There’s a slight uncomfortable silence after Isobel finishes speaking. But it’s uncomfortable because it’s true, not because it’s mean and a lie.

“You don’t hold anything back, do you, Evans.”

“I do actually. Maybe if I hadn’t, Alex wouldn’t have walked away thinking no one would ever pick him.”

It punches the air straight out of him again.

“Alex won’t let me near him right now,” he says, voice low. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself, nor does he feel bad about his relationship with Maria ending. He just feels like shit because he knows how bad Alex must be feeling.

“First of all, you don’t know that. Second of all, your feelings don’t matter right now,” Isobel says, not unkindly, just directly. “The only feelings that matter are his. Sorry Maria.”

“No need, I already made this about me once, it’s time it’s about him,” Maria says while she wipes her eyes once again. She’s stopped crying for now even if sorrow is still on her face. “But if I’m around he’s not going to believe you right now. So I’m gonna go see Liz.”

She moves close to Michael again, hugging him and kissing his cheek softly. He can’t help but cling back. He is going to miss the closeness with her, but maybe in the future they can get it back. As friends.

“Good luck, Guerin,” she whispers in his ear. He tightens his arms around her for just a second more, before he lets her go and lets her walk away from him and into the Pony. He’s two for two on people he loves walking away from him today, it doesn’t feel good.

“She didn’t walk away. She gave you the space you need,” Isobel murmurs on his right, her hand snaking around his shoulders and pulling him right to her, smacking a kiss to his right temple. “Now you’re going to let me tell you what an idiot you’ve been.”

-----

He tries to get in touch with Alex over the next few days. Not hounding him, not stalking or annoying him. Just a text each morning to say he’s sorry, that he’s hoping for a chance to explain, that even if Alex doesn’t believe it, he is really happy that he was the one he saved.

He never gets a reply, he doesn’t expect one. He just hopes for the opportunity one day.

Though he does know Alex is fine, if Isobel is to be believed. She won’t tell him anything, nothing about how Alex is or how he’s feeling, though Michael doesn’t really want her to tell him anyway. He wants to find out for himself. But knowing that she talked to Alex and he hasn’t skipped town does reassure him.

He does know Alex joined in on searching for his father to see if they could find Mimi, to get an answer about her fate. He doesn’t know what they found, he hasn’t asked and he doesn’t want to. Knowing Maria doesn’t blame him does nothing to assuage his guilt of not finding her mother as he promised, nor coming back with the wrong person. Even if both of them know it wasn’t the wrong person. He still hopes Mimi might be alive by some miracle.

But he doesn’t ask, nor does he offer his services. They’ll let him know if they need him, the way they always do. Until then he’ll stay at the Junkyard and do his job and stay out of their way, the way they need him to.

-----

A week after the kidnapping, after breaking people's hearts, after staying out of people’s ways (except Isobel, who just gives him disapproving looks and steals his beer), he wakes up to the rumble of a truck outside the Airstream. He can hear that it’s a newer truck from the smoothness of the engine and checks the clock. Seven am is on the early side for him, and he contemplates rolling over before he hears the sharp slamming of a car door. He can hear steps moving towards the Airstream, and sits up with a sigh just as a sharp knock bangs against the door.

“Coming!” He shouts, finding his jeans on the floor by the bed and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to put them on. His shirt goes on next, but he foregoes shoes for now as he walks over to the door and opens it.

He doesn’t expect Alex to be standing there in fatigues. But it does explain the truck sounding newer, he does know Alex got a new car recently.

“Al- Alex,” he stutters out, despite never stuttering before in his life. He might not like the military all that much, but he can’t deny that Alex looks amazing in the uniform. He wonders if he’ll spontaneously combust should he see him in the dress uniform.

“Guerin,” Alex replies. He looks cool as a cucumber, the way he usually does. Michael remembers a time he hated Alex’s mask of indifference. Now he understands the need for it.

“Wh-.” He stops himself before asking why Alex is there. He wanted him to be there, after all.

“It’s good to see you,” he says instead.

“You too,” Alex replies. Though Michael is unsure if he really means it or not.

“Already having issues with the new truck? I can take a look if you want me to.”

“No,” Alex says shortly, though no annoyance in his voice. Yet. “I’m not here for that.”

“Okay. What can I do for you?”

“You can stop texting me. Stop trying to contact me, stop trying to make yourself feel better. I’ve had enough.”

Michael is a little bit unsure if he actually deflates or it, it certainly feels like it. It’s painful, but he understands.

“Okay. If that’s what you want then I will.”

“It is.”

He nods, looking down on the ground so he doesn’t have to look at Alex. He knows he fucked up, no one else he can blame but himself. “I’ll leave you alone then. Thank you for stopping by.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Michael,” Alex bursts out, making Michael jump in shock. “‘Thank you for stopping by?’ I’m here telling you to stop contacting me and all you can say is thank you for stopping by?”

“I’m trying to respect your wishes!”

“So you’re just going to roll over and not fight?”

“Why?” Michael asks. “Do you want me to fight?”

“I…” Alex breaks off, clenching his teeth. Michael can see his hands balled into fists, tightening and releasing in a way that’s so very Alex. “I’m so fucking pissed at you.”

“I know.”

“I was okay with dying. I was okay with not seeing you before I did because you would get Mimi. But instead, instead you walked through my door. And I have never been more heartbroken to see you. Because you didn’t pick me. How could you not pick me?”

“I-”

“And Maria told me she somehow manipulated you but we both know that if you didn’t want to go for Mimi, you wouldn’t have. But you did. You went, expecting to find Mimi but you got me,” Alex barrels on, not noticing that he was trying to speak.

“Alex-”

“Were you even relieved? Or were you just sad you couldn’t do what you promised her?”

“Of course I was fucking relieved!” He shouts before Alex can say anything else. “I wanted to save you. I got the text and thought `how the hell can I get to Alex’!”

“Then why didn’t you?!”

”Because Isobel convinced me I needed to tell Maria about Mimi, and then I couldn’t say no when she wanted me to get her mom. And I convinced myself you could get out on your own.”

Alex scoffs. “Yeah sure, taken hostage by my father, who fucking hates me and everything I stand for, of course I could get myself out.”

“I didn’t say it was thought through. But it was the only way I could go get Mimi without tearing myself apart.”

Alex sighs, rubbing a hand across his eyes. The sun is rising now, a beautiful red and golden sunrise. Michael always wanted to watch a sunrise like this with him.

“Alex. I’m sorry. I should’ve picked you, I always should’ve picked you. But I can’t be mad that I didn’t, because you’re here and you’re alive. And I am so fucking happy about that,” Michael says, shooting a small smile Alex’s way when he meets his eyes.

“I might be mad, and hurt, that you didn’t. But I can’t be mad either, because at least I got to have this conversation with you.” Alex shakes his head, minutely and slightly shaking. “But it doesn’t matter, my dad got the last laugh anyway.”

“What do you mean, your dad got the last laugh?” Michael inquires. He knows Jesse did this to torment them, but it feels like Alex means something more by it.

Alex sighs, and looks around, sorrow in his eyes. Like he’s memorizing everything.

“I found Mimi.” Michael wants to feel happy, but he just knows that’s not the end of the sentence. “And in exchange for getting her back… let’s just say I’ll be gone for a while.”

And for the third time in too short of a while, everything in Michael goes cold.

“So that was his play all along.” He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Jesse’s ability to manipulate situations to his own advantage will probably never cease to amaze, and disgust, him.

“Yes,” Alex answers. “I’m leaving Roswell. I’m gonna go get Mimi and bring her back. After that, I’m gone, classified location. If my dad finds out I’ve been in contact with you, he will kill you.”

“Then let him, I’m not letting you go again.” A fire rises within him and he's angry, angrier than he’s been in a while. Probably since Max died and he spiraled into a hole of self-hatred and substance abuse. He’s not making the same mistake again. It’s time he gets over himself, time he does what Alex says and stops feeling sorry for himself. He has too, if he’s going to feel like he’s worth this.

“There’s no other choice, Michael.”

“What, you’re just giving up?”

“If you take on my dad, you’ll not only take on him but the entire US Air Force as well. Which I am still a part of.” Alex’s voice is back to being hardened now. He’s not fucking around. Michael has doubts he ever was, regardless of how many times he was left behind because Alex had to leave and Michael thought he was being abandoned. Pushing Alex’s buttons might not be the smartest thing he’s done lately but he still revels in the spark he can see in his eyes. Challenging him is in Michael’s second nature, right alongside Cosmic and Never Looking Away.

“Do you want me to fight?”

Alex glances around again, almost like he’s looking for something. His gaze scours the early morning junkyard around them, cataloging things in a methodical way. He’s all soldier at that moment, and Michael understands without a doubt that Alex did learn to fight battles when he left at 18. Because the man in front of him does everything in his power to win.

“Yes.”

And now Michael must learn the same.

#roswell new mexico #michael guerin #alex manes #malex #malex fic #my fic #isobel evans #maria deluca #mentions miluca #angst #ambiguous ending #maybe sorta hopeful ending

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

A Fiery Wish

ASOIAF AU fic: A Fiery Wish

Jeyne Poole runs into the Brotherwood Without Banners on her way to the Boltons. Taking a leap of faith, she begs them for help upon seeing who she had once considered to be the most handsome man she’d ever seen: Beric Dondarrion. She is helped, but there’s a price to kindness. However, it’s one she’s willing to pay. 

Beric Dondarrion x Jeyne Poole

For @asoiafrarepairs​ “A weekend in the Stormlands”

Just like all girls with big dreams, Jeyne Poole had been told to be careful what she wished for.

Yet, having been raised on the same steady diet of fairy tales and courtly lessons as Sansa Stark, even though Jeyne was only a steward’s daughter, she couldn’t help but dream about a romantic future with a dashing lord.

But now, standing in front of a ditchfire some distance removed from a gnarled old Weirwood tree, Jeyne belatedly understood the lesson they had tried to instil upon her.

‘Now comes Jeyne of House Poole, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth.’

There was no one to give her away. But it was preferable to being given away by one of the guards Lord Baelish had sent with her, their deaths were the best wedding gift she could have hoped for in this bleak new world.

Poor papa, she mourned, I had always expected you to give me away and have a first dance with me on my wedding day. She comforted herself with the knowledge that her mama and papa would not want to witness this moment anyway.

‘Who comes forth to claim this woman?’ the red priest in the faded red robes asked.

‘I do, Lord Beric of House Dondarrion.’ She could see him coming to stand next to her from her peripheral vision. In the dark he was even more of a ghost, his whole body swallowed by the faded and torn black cloak with stars. The stars gleamed ever so slightly in the light of the fire.

Once upon a time, nothing would have delighted her more than to marry him. She’d professed her fiery desire to Sansa.

But that had been in summer, it was autumn now.

 x.X.x

Life was like the songs, Jeyne thought.

For a lovely couple of months, she’d been nothing short of happy. True, she was sad to miss Robb’s lovely face and gorgeous curls gleaming a dark red in the sunlight. But then in King’s Landing she’d gotten proper replacement in the form of Beric Dondarrion. Taller and older than Robb, and with hair an even brighter shade of red. In the sunlight, it reminded her of a flaming fire, and her girlish passions were quickly shifted towards the Lord of Blackhaven.

Now there was a real man awakening all kinds of female feelings within her.

‘Oh Jeyne he is handsome for sure, but I heard he is betrothed to Lady Dayne since a couple of years. Is there no unattached squire you would consider, or someone who’s part of an entourage?’ Sansa had asked her with all hesitancy and gentleness becoming of sweet friend. Jeyne had known the true meaning of her words though.

Yes, Beric Dondarrion was betrothed to another, but Sansa meant that Jeyne had set her sights too high. She didn’t mind though, she was young and in an exciting capitol she’d never even dreamed of visiting, she was fine with just dreaming about him.

The pink bubble of childhood had shattered with the prick of a needle, or rather a sword, a sword to Lord Eddard’s neck and another one in her father’s belly.

Life was not like a song, in the songs, the heroes win.

She’d paid dearly for those summer months and her own naivety with the blood of her father and her own dignity as Lord Baelish sent her to a brothel once all northernmen had been slaughtered. She saw things she never had expected to see. And did things she never wanted to do. Her cheeks had been stained with tears as she did them, but she had done them, until she did them well enough that Lord Baelish decided her education was complete. Her education was complete, but she felt dirty.

She didn’t feel like one of the princesses in the songs anymore. They had been good and pure and sweet. She was ruined, wary and weary.

He assigned her two men to return her to Winterfell. Sometimes she played the part of their sister, sometimes one’s wife, and sometimes their child. She didn’t look forward to returning home, news travelled fast on the Kingsroad. She’d heard about Robb and Catelyn activities in the Riverlands, Arya’s disappearance in Kings Landing and the deaths of the youngest Starks. They’d been no more than small boys when she left, she’d cursed Theon when she first heard about it. Sansa had never trusted them since Catelyn had never trusted him, and she in turn had never trusted the youth either.

She’d spent days thinking of ways to kill him, she’d seen enough death to know a couple of ways. She couldn’t even bemoan the loss of her sweetness and innocence, she’d lost it all so rapidly, and instead had come hate, fear and resignation. What home would she return to? There was none, she reasoned. She doubted Lord Baelish was bringing her home for her own sake, she hadn’t a lot of experience or knowledge, but she knew this much. There was only one reason why she’d been taught the things she was in a brothel before being sent to Lord Bolton. Baelish had a plan for her, and it didn’t include growing older until the war was over and her kin found a match for her.

Jeyne liked to believe she was no fool, she didn’t deny reality, but on the other hand there was no use to dwell on it, so oftentimes while on the road, she retreated to the realm of dreams, the only place where her life wasn’t miserable. In those dreams she dreamt of being saved on her way to the North by Lord Beric Dondarrion. She’d heard of his attacks on foraging parties in the woods. While on the road, she’d also heard of his deaths. She’d heard he’d been impaled by the Mountain, smashed with a mace, hanged by Ser Lorch, stabbed in the face by the Mountain and killed by Vargo Hoat. Each couple of weeks brought a new story of his death. She reasoned that the stories of his deaths had to be false, otherwise how could someone else claim to have killed him? On the other hand, reports were known to conflict, perhaps there’d been a battle in the woods somewhere, and everyone wanted to take credit for killing the hero who’d so bravely ended so many foraging parties. It didn’t matter to her, in her daydreams she created happy endings for the both of them.

So, on her trip to an uncertain destiny, expecting nothing but misery, she’d been shocked when their group was halted halfway through the woods by a band of criminals. They had to be criminals, she reasoned, they looked poor and dirty. The second they stopped, weapons were drawn by all. Her party was hopelessly outnumbered.

This was her death, she reasoned, she couldn’t even be very surprised or emotional about it.

That had been until a man slowly walked onto the middle of the road, previously hidden in shadows.

She recognized him immediately, even though he looked nothing like she remembered, time had removed every blemish and imperfection he had ever had from her memory, making the present version of him look all the more jarring.

His hair had grown to his shoulders, and the clothes which had without a doubt once looked magnificent were now worn through and stained with blood and dirt. He still wore his black shield and breastplate, though both carried holes.

How could they have holes of that size when he was standing there? Nothing could have pierced them without injuring him. He must have grown a lot better at fighting, if he managed to be attacked in such ways and walk away alive.

He had never been a broad man by any means, but was now a scarecrow. He must have been hungry often, she thought as he came to a standstill.

‘Have no fear, good people, we shall not harm you, we only seek money for our cause. Surely, you have some to spare. I swear it will go to food for the poor smallfolk, and the orphans we are housing’, he announced good-naturedly.

There was no recognition in his eye. The other was covered by dirty cloth. She remembered a story of how the Mountain had pierced it.

So that had been true, she noted. Upon consideration, did not the hole in his breastplate resemble the damage a lance would have made? He had fought the Mountain, but he’d survived. Jeyne remembered how he’d been unhorsed twice at the Tourney. A man who was unhorsed that easily would be knocked out by the Mountain in a minute.

He must have learned a lot while on the road, she mused. Before he had been but a young untried youth, experience had aged him, but the time had brought him experience and skill if he could now hold himself against the Mountain.

He might not remember me, but surely if he still defends the smallfolk and helps orphans, he will help me as well, she reasoned.

That minute she decided placing her fate in his hands was preferable to continuing her way to Winterfell. Perhaps she risked dying, but there were no guarantees awaiting her at Winterfell either.

‘Lord Beric’, she brought out. ‘I am pleased to see you alive, my lord.’

Confusion clouded his face, and she could feel her guards tensing. She had chosen wrong, but she could not go back now. She had chosen her fate.

‘Who speaks?’ asked a low voice before a man joined Lord Beric. He was skinnier than she remembered, and now had a thick grey beard, but he too wore some clothes she remembered.

‘Ser Thoros’, she greeted.

‘I remember your face,’ he admitted, a shine coming into his eyes, ‘but I cannot recall where I met you’, the red priest answered honestly.

‘My name is Jeyne Poole, I was in Kings Landing together with Lord Stark and his daughters.’

‘And finally on your way home. Kings Landing has turned traitorous, no doubt you will be glad to go home. Although, your entourage looks rather small, were the Northerners not with more?’

The men accompanying her could not hide the absence of Northern banners, and the lack of people could not be explained either. She knew he had already concluded something was up.

‘Actually, Ser, this is all that’s left of us. It is only me, the others, including my father, were killed. Luckily Lord Baelish was so kind as to send me back home with some of his fine men. Since I am their prisoner I cannot decide about giving you money, but perhaps if you ask them, they would not mind giving you some.’

The situation turned quickly. She could feel the press of a blade against her throat. The men closest to the carriage froze.

‘Let us go, or we will kill her’, her guard threatened.

They wouldn’t, she knew, because if they did not deliver her to the Boltons, Lord Baelish would see to it that they were adequately punished.

From between the trees, an arrow rushed past, and she could feel the impact through the blade and arms around her, before the grip of the guard slackened. He dropped dead. The other didn’t even have time to draw his sword before he was pulled from the cart by a tall burly man with a yellow cloak. The sickening wet crunch of an axe followed mere seconds after.

‘Thank you, my Lord, you are too kind, you can have as much of the money as you want’, she quickly said.

‘We help those in need, and we do not take kindly to pawns being played by the ruthless schemers of King’s Landing. However, my lady, this now leaves you without protectors while the roads to the North are treasonous’, the once handsome lord said.

‘There’s nothing for me in the North. I only wish to be safe. I cannot expect you to help me, but I would be forever in your debt if someone could bring me to a house loyal to the Starks. I will manage from there onwards, and I will sent money to you if I can.’

‘We are flattered by your kindness, my lady. If you don’t mind, we could take you to the Crossroads Inn to discuss your options.’

Having little choice, Jeyne nodded, and after the arms and clothes of her guards were distributed amongst what she was now introduced to as the Brotherhood without Banners, she followed them hither and was surprised to see it was the Bellringer Inn where she’d stayed on her way to King’s Landing. Just like they’d told, the inn was the home to many orphans who were being looked after by the innkeeper and his family.

Jeyne and Willow Heddle had grown a lot since she last saw them, and were now quite protective of the children. Despite her future being uncertain, she felt at ease for the first time in months during the two hours she spent there talking to the girls and playing with the small children. But then Thoros and Beric had come to her with an unexpected offer.

‘Here is the thing, my lady, you could do us a great service. Though admittedly it is a lot we ask of you. But we see ourselves forced to ask’, Thoros had announced. What followed was the most incredible conversation of Jeyne’s life.

They explained what they had been doing ever since Lord Stark had sent them on that mission about a year ago. They told her how they had been so preoccupied with their task, they had not thought about the future until recently. It had been decided that if possible, Lord Dondarrion had to marry quickly, to no matter which fertile lady of noble birth would be willing, since he was the only male Dondarrion. He had been promised years ago, but he could not go home to marry, and his present lifestyle did not guarantee he would live long enough to father children and continue his line.

Jeyne understood where the conversation was going, and reasoned that by taking his cloak, she would get the protection of his name, and would have a home in Blackhaven.

He was no longer the young dashing knight she’d dreamt of. Time had not been kind to him, but his hair was still red, his eye still blue, his nose straight, his manner dignified and courtly, she could do so much worse.

But as soon as she agreed, strong spirits were called for, and she was instructed to take two glasses with them before the conversation continued. But no spirits could have prepared her for the story that followed, as the red priest explained how children were by no means a certainty, even though that was the whole intention of the marriage.

And that’s when the last devasting blow came: Lord Beric had been mortally wounded five times, but had been revived by a magical kiss of the red priest each time. They did not know how the magic worked, they only knew he kept on coming back, though each time he seemed to lose a bit more of himself.

No wonder he did not recognize me, Jeyne thought, if he cannot even remember his betrothed or his home. She would marry to the corpse of the man who had filled her dreams. She took the third offered drink, and the fourth, before she concluded that it mattered not. Although no one, not even he himself knew how much of a man he still was, he was still more of a man than most.

They were married in a small local sept, and wedding certificates were signed by Jeyne, Lord Beric, the local septon, Ser Thoros and Edric Dayne who served as witnesses. The certificates were decorated with a wax seal Lord Beric had stamped his signet ring onto. Copies were sent to Winterfell, King’s Landing and Blackhaven, and another copy was kept in the sept. All would know the wedding had Dinner place.

Supper was had in the inn, before the party went out into the woods, where they knew there to be a Weirwood tree to honour Jeyne’s gods. While honouring her religion, the couple would partake in the wedding ceremony of the God of Light, as he had saved Lord Beric many times, it was deemed as necessary, lest they anger him.

 x.X.x

‘Lord Beric,’ asked Thoros, ‘will you share your fire with Jeyne, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?’

Jeyne looked to him for a second. In the dark, from the side she was standing on, he still looked normal. He had bathed, and his hair looked soft and glowing. The gauntness of his face was shielded by his beard. The expression in his eye was gentle.

‘I swear it’, he promised with a comforting smile aimed at Jeyne. ‘I swear by the red god’s flames, I shall warm her all her days.’

She bit her lip. She doubted the statement. If he carried on like he had before, he would die again soon. How many deaths would it take him to forget her? After how many deaths would there be nothing to bring back?

‘Lady Jeyne, do you swear to share your fire with Beric, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?’

‘Until his blood is boiling’, she promised, her hands nervously clutching her old cloak. She wondered whether she would have to work hard on making his blood boil to prepare him for their union.

Thoros nodded.

‘Very well. Then come to me and be as one.’

Lord Beric took her hand.

‘Are you ready, my lady?’

He turned to her fully, the scarred side of his face now in plain view, all unevenness highlighted by the unflattering light of the flames. She tried to smile, and strengthened her hold on his hand.

There were fates worse than this.

Side by side they leapt over the ditch.

‘Two went into the flames, one emerges. What fire joins, none may put asunder.’

She took his cloak as the brotherhood cheered. She wondered if their cheers were honest, or if they merely encouraged the awkward newlyweds out of tradition.

They returned from the woods, and were given one of the cosiest and warmest rooms on the third level of the inn. A decanter filled with white wine awaited her as she prepared for bed. She downed a couple of glassed as she recalled her experiences in the brothel.  They would serve her well. Her hands searched through the clothes Lord Baelish had sent with her. She didn’t know whose whore he had intended her to play, but the translucent shifts he’d given her would serve the purpose no matter whose wife she had become.

 x.X.x

  The marcherlord looked awkward as he entered their room. A piece of fabric had been tied around his eye and the pinpricks the mace had left on his head were covered by his hair. She didn’t even see the scar anymore.

‘Welcome, my lord.’

His eyes travelled to her as she sat upon the bed, hands stroking the soft sheets. They weren’t as soft as the ones in King’s Landing, but they were softer than the other ones she’d had on the road.

‘I haven’t slept in a bed for a long while’, he admitted. It sounded sad. She wondered if he could even remember it.

‘Well, I am afraid to inform you that I shall not sleep on the floor to accommodate your habits’, she decided with a smile before standing up to take his hand. It felt warm enough, and this heartened her.

‘Come and try for yourself, my lord. I believe myself to be familiar enough with beds to confidently give this one my seal of approval. It is quite soft, and does not appear to be plagued with fleas.’

He smiled at that, and allowed her to drag him to the bed.

‘I shall trust your judgement, my lady.’

‘Do you… Wish to…’ She didn’t know how to continue, and was struck with fear again.

‘I do not recall whether I’ve done this before.’

‘Perhaps… We could talk first?’ she offered. ‘So we are strangers no more.’

He agreed, and took off his boots before they laid down on the bed together, she sharing stories about what happened after Lord Stark’s death, and he sharing stories about his present life. After some time, she decided it was time to try and push them towards a union.

‘You know, I was quite attracted to you before’, she admitted with no little amount of blushing.

‘Were you?’ he asked in amazement.

She nodded, taking his hands. They were normal hands. She could see a faint scar running over his left, but they were warm and otherwise unmarred.

‘When I first saw you at the Tourney of the Hand, I believed myself to be quite in love with you already.’

‘I was betrothed back then.’

‘As you were hours ago, yet we married.’

He smiled sadly at that.

‘Your betrothal did not make you any less dashing. I heard many ladies whispering about you’, she continued. No man, not even one like him, could be anything but amused by such a notion, and Lord Beric appeared to be impressed that he once held such sway, as he recalled but little.

‘I sound like quite a heartbreaker.’

‘Oh you were,’ she admitted with a smile, ‘and you were quite cocky too. I once heard someone say that when a guard asked you whether you would participate in the tourney, you announced you had come to win it.’

‘Ah, as arrogant as I was handsome once’, he smirked.

She lifted his hands to her chest. Her heart was beating wildly. She shut down her thoughts when they started wondering about the state of his.

‘Oh quite. But you do not strike me as particularly arrogant now’, she complimented.

His eyes wandered to where his hands pressed against her breast. She could feel the air growing charged.

‘Perhaps one of the few, if not the only, upside to what I’ve been through. I’ve not bothered to look in a mirror lately,’ he confessed before pulling back his hands, ‘but I think I am still as handsome as I am arrogant. Am I not, my lady?’

‘Jeyne’, she breathed as she pushed herself up to her knees.

‘I know that Joffrey was as beautiful as he was arrogant, and he ordered to have all Northerners killed. I know Ser Loras is handsome but his courtesy is cold and his arrogance is great. Beauty is a great deal less important than character. And if the price of beauty is arrogance, I could live with a little less beauty. Even so, as you said yourself, you do not know what you look like. Perhaps I could tell you, Beric?’ she offered as she pulled him upright.

She would rather sleep with him while he had his clothes on. She didn’t want to see whatever his clothes hid from her after months of fighting and dying. Yet she knew she must disrobe him. And she must seduce him while undressing him, without looking horrified lest she ruin the mood.

You wanted to marry him, now you have him, you’ve even dreamt of this exact moment, she told herself, just pretend he is like you imagined him.

At the sound of his name, he came alive and sat upright. He was as hungry for knowledge about his previous life as he was scared of it. She knew she had to tread carefully.

‘When I first saw you at the Tourney of the hand, your hair was red like fire, with strokes of orange where the sun had lightened it’, she explained as she let her finger slip through his hair to hold a strand in front of his face. ‘it’s still the exact same colour. It was just a bit muted because you hadn’t washed it in so long’, she smiled.

‘Your frame was quite slim, as it is now’, she explained as she undid the belt from which a dagger hung.

‘You’re just a bit slimmer since you’ve lost weight travelling without resting or eating properly. Just like Ser Thoros.’

She unbuttoned his jerkin and pushed it over his shoulders.

‘You didn’t have a beard yet, it’s new, but it suits you. It’s quite befitting of a rugged man saving fair maidens in the woods. Like Ser Robin in the tales of yore’, she encouraged while stroking his beard. She pushed forward and hesitantly brushed her lips against his.

He was unresponsive for a couple of seconds, before he mimicked the movement of her lips. It felt weird and mechanical, but she wouldn’t allow that to stop her.

She moved her hands to his hair, pulling him towards her before she slung a leg over his to straddle him.

‘You’ve got your injuries, but I doubt many men will come out of these wars unscathed.’ She pressed her lips against his throat, rocking her hips slowly.

‘Out on the roads, I dreamt that a courteous knight would come to my rescue.’

‘I doubt I’m much like the knights in those tales.’

‘Are you not? You saved me from an uncertain fate, and you are constantly putting your life on the line for the smallfolk. You rescue children orphaned by war. You are still chivalrous, and you will not even ask for an annulment if we do not accomplish what we set out to do. While everyone out there is fighting for some grand lord, you are defending those who cannot defend themselves, and punishing those who deserve to be punished. They should make a song or two about you’, she complimented him. She meant it too.

‘I’ll let you in on a secret. I dreamt you would come to my rescue.’

His smile faltered as her hands hesitated to lift his tunic.

‘I don’t know how much of a man I still am, Jeyne.’

‘And I don’t know how much of a lady I still am, Lord Baelish stole a large chunk of my innocence. The war stole our lives, but if we lose our hopes, dreams and ourselves, the war will have won. I won’t let the war take who I am on the inside, and I won’t let it steal my dreams, not when it has already taken so much’, she proclaimed full of conviction.

She took his face between her hands, taking in every detail of his face, and committing it to her memory, pushing away all perfect memories. This would have to be her dream. This was the Lord Beric she’d gotten. The old Lord Beric would never have been hers. Her dreams had been broken, she had been broken, it was only fair she allowed him to be a bit broken too.

‘Let us pretend, within the walls of this chamber, our dreams were granted to us, and we both got our happy ending. You can be a man with me, I will always see you as one. I don’t know your betrothed, and I know I am not much, but I promise I shall try and be a good wife to you.’

‘My lady Jeyne… Jeyne, you are not little. You are one of the most beautiful young ladies I have seen that I can remember. You are brave, honest, sweet and true. I know any man would be glad to have you.’

She did not have to pretend so much when she kissed him then. She pressed her body against his, and let her hands roam over his clothes.

She tried to mimic what she’d seen other  women do to men, rocking their bodies against them and getting them roused by the touch of their hands.

Lord Beric finally stopped fighting, and put away his conflicted emotions regarding himself. He tried to answer her touches as well as she could, and she in turn responded to his actions as encouragingly as possible.

She didn’t know when it happened, only that by the time it did, she had grown near desperate, but she finally felt a twitch in his lap. She wasted no time pulling him down and under the covers with her.

She pulled at his final clothing pieces, and shoved her hand down to encourage what had started to grow.

Please, she begged, please work.

She did not know, even if they managed to complete the act, if they could get pregnant. But she tried not to dwell on it. Instead, her imagination tried to envision a small child with blazing red hair and piercing blue eyes. She clung to it, and noted with satisfaction they were close to perhaps finding out if that was a viable dream.

She guided him on top of her then, and gave him an encouraging smile.

He was warm against her, his arms solid. She took all the comfort from it she could. She hadn’t been held in a long time. And no one had been kind to her in a long time either.

Just one child, that’s all I ask for, a son. She prayed to the old gods that her wish was heard.

She tried to put all her feelings into her thrusts, all her wishes for children, her wishes for a loving marriage, her fiery wishes for him.

He’d been brought back to life by fire, and was then given to her, her burning desire answered.

She gasped for breath when she felt his hand travel south.

‘I… I remember’, he rasped. ‘Shouldn’t I?’

A lady shouldn’t answer, yet she did and begged him to continue. She’d never before found her own release, but now felt her belly burning, and she could even feel her own heartbeat down there.

A strangled moan escaped her lips before she could silence it. A wave of heat flowed through her, reaching every fingertip. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing everywhere now, as waves of pleasure wracked through her body.

The candles were dying one by one, and the light was burning low. The only thing she could see was the gleam of copper in his hair, the only thing she could hear the sound of his breathing, and the only thing she could feel was his body. There was no world outside, and for a while, her dream was real and tangible as she placed her hands on his back.

A sharp intake of breath awakened her, and her eyes zoomed in on his face before she felt it, the pulsing sensation between her legs.

It had happened. She’d tried to believe it would happen, but she was surprised all the same.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, keeping him inside of her.

‘See, we can be normal’, she whispered as unshed tears burned her eyes.

She could feel his lips against his cheek and felt some wetness there, the tears had already escaped.

‘I wish I would forever remember this.’

‘You can,’ she said passionately, ‘you lose memories when you die. You can still fight for the cause while practicing more care… And by staying away from men ten times your size and strength. Please, think of me. Think of me often, and return to me as much as you can, as long as you can.’

‘I’ll try’, he agreed.

 x.X.x

They decided they would not wait to see whether their effort had paid off, and upon Jeyne waking up in the middle of the night and finding her husband awake, they started again, and once more in the morning.

He was slow to rise, as if his body had to remember it was in fact human and belonging to a man, but they managed to rouse his member three times, and successfully reached his climax twice before they left their chamber.

Thoros decided it was a goal well worth a few days, and so Lord Beric remained near the inn for two weeks, with him helping to rebuild houses for the smallfolk and Jeyne trying to teach the children to read and write during the day, and going to their chamber together at night. He was still awkward and stiff, though never anything but gallant. One day the red priest took her apart to enquire after her marriage, when she assured him she was perfectly satisfied, and hopeful, he confided in her that not too long ago, Beric Dondarrion had admitted to being resurrected so many times that he could not even remember his favourite food or the man who knighted him and being weary of it all. Jeyne had seen that weariness many times by then, as if he was still surprised to find himself alive each day, but she saw him smiling more often towards the end of their second week of marriage.

Perhaps he’d been so focussed on living for a goal, he’d forgotten to live for himself, Jeyne thought.

After two weeks, whatever fairy-tale Jeyne had been living in had ended, and goodbyes were in order. She didn’t allow herself to cry, but she presented him with a bouquet of forget-me-nots and an embroidered eye-patch with his coat of arms on it, ‘lest you forget’, she’d smiled. He’d given her a last kiss then, and departed. He made her no promises, and she did not get her hopes up on seeing him again. His lifestyle did not allow him to promise his own survival, and nobody knew how great the red magician’s fire magic was.

She kept herself useful and occupied, so useful she did not even notice the flurry in the courtyard when a couple of men of the brotherhood arrived until Young Jeyne called her. She quickly rushed downstairs with her to receive the news that her husband had bumped into a scrawny young kid and the hound. They would have taken them to a certain cave somewhere in the woods, but Lord Beric had decided to see his wife again, and wondered whether she could verify the identity of the kid. The men had travelled in advance to make sure there were no Lannister men currently residing in the inn before Lord Beric arrived with the Hound and the kid. Satisfied with the negative answer, they left again, and arrived not long after.

The man was the hound, undeniably, and she was shocked to see the “kid” Jack-Be-Lucky had been talking about. Her hair was short and shielded the round youthfulness of her face and the tell-tale grey eyes of House Stark, but one who grew up with her could easily see the girl was Arya Stark. She promptly forgot all the cruelness and hard feelings that had grown naturally between young girls with clashing characters having to live together, and cried out her name, running towards her and throwing her arms around her tiny figure.

She reeked and was so filthy she would need at least two baths before her skin became visible through the layers of caked dirt, but Jeyne’s joy could not and would not be reigned in. Arya, long believed missing, was alive and well.

‘Jeyne?’ Arya peeped, eyes warily taking in the older girl. She nodded with a smile.

‘That settles it then, your claims have been true Clegane’, Lord Beric decided as he dismounted his horse.

‘Told you’, the hound rasped. The look he threw her and Arya made her shiver, but she didn’t budge.

‘I take it you would both like a good meal’, Lord Beric offered.

‘Perhaps a bath first’, Jeyne supplied.

Both new guests sputtered, but begrudgingly agreed in the end.

She noticed Ser Thoros kept his eyes firmly fixed upon her that evening, and right as she was about to go to her rooms, he called for her.

‘Can you do your duty tonight?’ he asked gently.

Her cheeks burned red as she asked why she wouldn’t be able to.

‘Only that it would be natural for you to bleed perhaps, if you haven’t already.’

Jeyne froze and counted. And counted again. She’d had her flow a week before meeting the brotherhood without banners. She should have had them already. Should have had them weeks ago. She battled against the smile fighting its way to her face.

‘I still have to carry it to term, ser. Let us not celebrate. Many pregnancies are lost the first few moons. And I may yet lose my life before the nineth moon rises.’

‘Yet it is a good sign we even got this far, my lady. Perhaps you should tell your lord husband tonight.’

She did, and even though his face lost all symmetry as the wounded side tried to smile along with the good side, she could not but bring herself to feel joy at seeing him. A part of his face still made her fear, but she put those foolish fears aside. She made him swear to return to her, when he told her he would be going to the Twins.

‘No foolishness. No danger, no stupid sacrificing of your own life, understood? I rather want you to run than be slain. Your life is useful. If you run away you can help hundreds of others still, and be there for me.’

Months passed, and the fourth moon after her marriage, she could finally show him the signs of their successful union when he returned to the inn. Their reunion was not joyful though, as he brought the news of Lady Starks and King Robb’s deaths. They told her how they’d fished Lady Stark out of the river, and how Lord Beric had pleaded with Thoros to give her the kiss of life. But the man had refused, saying it had been too long. Beric had been mad with rage then, but gave the Lady the funeral the Tully’s had always given their own.

That had been the night she finally felt bold enough to lift his tunic, though she wished she hadn’t, because she could never have her ignorance back. Three deaths had been visible, although the second was always shielded by his hair and the bruises around his neck had been ignorable. But a lost eye was an average wound, and his thinness she could very well deal with, but the large ugly purple stitches where he’d been impaled by a lance and struck by a blade did look too awful to survive. It had been the starkest evidence that he should not have been alive.

She’d had nightmares that evening, wondering what effect his deaths and magical revivals would have and how it would affect their child.

‘I just… I always try to tell myself that all will be well, if I pray enough… but I can’t. I worry. I worry so much. I worry for you, for me, our child, my family, the world. I don’t know what powers there are in this world, all I know is that I do not underestimate the powers of the lord of light, but I fear. And I can’t help but fear. I dare not make plans, I dare not look at the future. But it’s so hard to live in an eternal present, when there’s a future within you’, she hiccupped as her hands cradled her belly.

‘I cannot promise you anything, nor shall I comfort you when I know all comforting words will be lies. But I promised to be there for you when the night is dark and full of terrors. I’ve seen those terrors, and I understand your fears. But let us pray, let us pray, that there is a merciful god out there’, he told her, cradling her belly with his own hands.

‘Please be safe. I want you to be safe.’

‘I want that too. I want to be in the future this little one is preparing for’, he admitted softly.

The lands became more quiet once the Starks were dead and Edmure Tully had been handed over to the Lannisters. The war seemed to move to the Crownlands. Although the Riverlands were still scorched and ruined, with bandits lurking everywhere, it was preferable to how it used to be. It also meant that her husband, who had died every two to three months before meeting her, had not died in the nine months he’d been with her.

But winter was coming, and a week after the first snow had fallen, she was placed on a boat.

‘I’ve never sailed before’, she admitted to her lord husband, who had been quietly watching her as she saw the shore growing smaller.

‘I can’t remember sailing either’, he admitted.

‘You’ll finally be home again.’

‘An image to attach to the name’, he nodded. ‘Blackhaven.’

‘You will like it, my lord’, Edric Dayne said.

‘It is a beautiful castle.’

‘As long as it proves to be a safe one’, he answered morosely.

Edric Dayne nodded.

‘You could keep it safe?’ Jeyne suggested softly, her gloved hand connecting with the cold one of her husband. He did not mind the cold. Did not even notice it.

‘You know I cannot. I have a duty. To the realm.’

‘No one else appears to have a duty to it’, Jeyne answered bitterly.

Life was not like a song, there were no real heroes, and justice did not win.

She had given up on her girlish fantasies, she now only wished to keep the few small dreams she had alive.

They were not much. She only wished to survive with Lord Beric, and deliver their child safely.

A dream of spring. A season in which all suffering and hardships became a thing of the past.

‘All the more reason for me to return. It is not that I do not care for you, my love. But we are but three, and they are many. It is selfish to only care for the three of us, if I can keep you two safe and take care of hundreds of others at the same time as well.’

He pressed a soft kiss on her cheek, and offered her as much love as he could during their trip.

Kisses, touches, she treasured them all. And wrote everything down in a diary she had started on the day the boat had left the harbour.

She wrote down everything he said and everything he did. All the ways he was damaged, and all the ways he was not. She tried sketching him, not that she was very good.

She knew that he risked dying. She knew the odds of him surviving were almost non-existent, they had been since before they married.

Wedged between the Red Mountains stood a castle with black basalt walls. Around the castle ran a moat. She could not see the bottom of it. It was a black abyss. But as bottomless as the moat appeared to be, so limited was the castle. There were two rows of protective walls, in which the staff of the castle lived, unperturbed by the war.

In the middle stood a small castle, nowhere near as grand or beautiful as the castle of King’s Landing. It also didn’t feel as ancient or look as architecturally stunning as Winterfell. But it was cosy, its rooms warm, even despite the winter cold. The castle had been built to keep all elements out, not only the heat, and all rooms had great hearths.

It felt like a home, she reasoned.

When Beric first entered the room that had once been his, Jeyne had wept in his stead. The sheets were unchanged, only covered up by a white blanket to ward off the dust. On the desk in his solar lay the letters he had left behind, having intended only to stay for the Tourney of the Hand all those years ago.

His clothes were large on him now, but the fresh set of clothes his size and befitting of his station were more than welcome. And the sheets, where they had lain on top of eachother, still held the perfume he’d last worn years ago, he’d recognized it, despite not even knowing he had once worn it.

In the room where he had once dined with his parents hung a portrait of him, and on another a mirror, the starkest reminder of who he had once been, and who he was now.

He had not been born amongst the ashes of the battlefield, he had been borne there, amidst solid stone, and had been raised by good parents.

It did not feel like a home to him, but it did to her. He was reminded of what he had forgotten, she saw what the castle had once been and could be again; a home to a noble family.

On the fifth day, once he had ensured all residents and the surrounding folk he lived, was married and had only received some scars, he left.

Life was like a song, Jeyne reasoned.

The fair maiden was rescued.

Evil lost.

The good side won.

And heroes died bravely while defending those who couldn’t protect themselves.

That’s where the stories ended.

Right after the good part.

Jeyne had the good part. Then came the rest of her life.

Twins with bright red hair.

No coffin to burry her husband, all the dead had been buried.

And the Spring she had wished for, in which her children could grow up safe.

#asoiafrare #asoiafrarepairs #jeyne poole #beric dondarrion