#it will get even worse since its guaranteed that one of their kids will die. whoever gets fucked over will have the worst time of their lif

[rakkuntoast]

honestly i hope after this all of team bolas members cannot get out of the trauma bond pack bond deep rooted co-dependency they just built in this event

they themselves admitted the only way they can function is if they're together, you can totally spin this into something more

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #something something sepparation anxiety something something they have to be together all time after this or they'll spiral down #it will get even worse since its guaranteed that one of their kids will die. whoever gets fucked over will have the worst time of their lif #i imagine one of them typing in the team chat 'hey guys can one of you join today i cannot be alone :('

[freeleyenrashespeakstruth]

We are all just wasting time

You know, I'm giving upon listening to politics and believing anything that I hear. It's all the same and we all talk about it, and talk about it , and talk about it but nothing ever gets done. The politicians got us all convinced our votes matter, so we trust them and we think strongly that changes will be made because we say so, but they don't care, we don't matter. We work for them, they don't work for us. Then the next generation takes over. Nothing gets better, only worse. And those of us in my generation will all be dead already because we saw it happening 30 years ago and we all talked about it and talked about it, and talked about it, and talked about it, but the politicians had us all thinking our votes still mattered so we strongly fought and voted but it only got worse, never better.

And the older generation all died off and a new generation came out. (Funny, as i write this I'm listening to a Pink Floyd song and the words I heard were "sometimes it feels to me that I'm just being used." Classic, and perfect timing.) And at the time people saw things were not going right and they talked about it, and they talked about it, and talked about it, but then the politicians actually worked for us. Or at least it seemed that way. What We The People of the United States of America are seeing is a communist takeover of the best kind. We can't even fight it anymore. Our kids have been indoctrinated for years and each new generation is more liberal than the previous one.

This all started after, or before, world War 2 and it just keep getting stronger every year. All of our politicians know all about it. Any arrests these days are of mostly the good guys and never the bad guys, who literally get away with murder, and we the people don't ever seem to do anything about it at all. Every generation is the same. We start out more liberal and then as we grow up we start paying attention. But by then it's too late. Then we sit and wonder why isn't anyone doing anything about this especially after all these years. Then we die off and it just continues. It's evil. A communist takeover for sure, and yes, the end of the world as we know it.

Not to mention, the Democrats are much more obvious and blatant, although the Republicans pretend they are against it but get the same paycheck. At lease back in my day they pretended a lot more and a lot better. Not these Democrats. They come right out and tell you they want immigrants to flood the country, all on the backs of the citizen. And as it gets closer to an election they boldly lie and accuse the other party (see Biden's State of the Union Address) or just drop the subject in the media (no more talk about the lgbt agenda and indoctrinating our kids since before the last election, but I guarantee its still going on) and all we do is talk about it, then we talk more about it, then we talk about it., etc, etc, etc...

Then the older generation dies off, the new generation comes in and the cycle continues.

Our only hope, and our best hope at all times, is that Jesus is coming.

Jesus IS our Best hope.

Jesus IS our ONLY hope.

Come Lord Jesus!

Amen!

[poppy-in-the-woods]

The Sandman is dead, long live The Sandman! (or People are being dramatic on Twitter and I don’t get why)

Before I start, I have to make 3 things clear:

Much to my regret, I have read very little of Sandman (coincidentally, almost everything I read was what they adapted in the first season).

I still felt like it was a very good adaptation, I liked it a lot (yes, even the episode I cannot watch twice because of its content).

Some spoilers might appear, so you have been warned: if you didn’t watch The Sandman and you would like to do so in the future, maybe don’t keep reading.

Having said that, here’s what I want to talk about: So, I was scrolling twitter, and I saw some people say they didn’t like The Sandman adaptation Netflix did (which is a valid opinion to have), expressing this dislike in a very dramatic way (or should I say “DREAMatic” way?), saying things like “The Sandman is dead!” and I genuinely don’t understand the need to use such words. Even if you think it has gone soft in the series, you still have the original comics, and the audiobook if you prefer that version.

"In order to appease everyone, they have taken the Sandman, our most representative work, from us, postpunks! The Sandman is dead, long live Kid Eternity!" said someone whose opinions I usually respect and agree with (not that I don’t respect this one, I do, but I don’t agree with it). They also added "I get sadder with each episode" and "It was queerer before" (which I don't get since we still have a lot of characters to meet in the TV series).

Another person whose opinions I respect and that is also, like the first one, very well versed in The Sandman comics, said that they liked the adaptation. They also said that they saw the changes as an improvement, and that the influence of Terry Pratchett was very present in those changes. I think the words they used also involved touching grass and speaking with more women, in that way us millennials and gen z sometimes speak, which I think in this case they actually meant “this person is wiser now, they might have lost some edge, but they have gained sharpness”.

And I agree with this. Having Neil Gaiman himself involved in all the aspects of the creation of the series not only guarantees that the show stays true to the source material, but also that all the changes made are author approved. If Neil Gaiman was okay with changing races or gender of some characters, why should I be mad about it? If he was okay with lowering the explicit violence and opting for a more psychological horror approach, why should I think that is to appease a “woke” crowd? And make no mistake, albeit somewhat more concentrated in one episode, The Sandman has plenty of violence and gore.

You can disagree, of course, on how the things are in the series. Some changes have been also made because Vertigo/DC is a very extensive universe of comics that often intertwines and very little has been adapted to screen. If The Sandman wished to have all their characters as they are in the comics, they would spend more time building the Vertigo/DC universe rather than their own. So what if Lyta’s character is different? The outcome is pretty much the same. So what if Alex’s fate was much worse in the comics? Do you consider sleeping eternally not enough punishment? Have you ever had a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from until you did so, screaming and/or sweating? I had plenty of those, and I wouldn’t like to spend eternity in this nightmare-prone mind of mine, knowing I cannot wake up ever.

As some of you may know, I am an aspiring writer myself. I, too, would strike a deal with Morpheus in order to create dreams that survive my mortal body, as Shakespeare did. My urban fantasy book hasn’t been as influential as The Sandman comics by a very long shot, but if they did an adaptation in which I was heavily involved, and someone said “Born to Die is dead!” I would get very sad.

I don’t know how Neil Gaiman feels when he sees that sort of comments, maybe he doesn’t see them, and he sure is tougher than me, but I would feel sad. To me is like you’re saying “this is subpar, I liked it better when you were more edgy”. Not that you can’t have that opinion, but why the need to be so dramatic, when you still have the original source material available? It’s not like a squad of book-burning ninjas is coming to your house to steal all your copies of the comics and burn them in a pyre once the TV series premieres.

I don’t get it, I truly don’t.

Enjoy the series or don’t, just don’t ruin the mood for everyone else.

#poppy's thoughts #the sandman #the sandman netflix #twitter

[makeste]

is it too late now to say sorry

anon I agree with almost all of this for the most part, but if you don’t mind I would like to come to Kacchan’s defense here a little bit. while he absolutely does need to apologize to Izuku, there are reasons why he hasn’t done so yet which boil down to a lot more than simply “he’s still a dick.”

anyway, so for my next trick, I will take the thesis statement of “Kacchan is afraid to apologize to Deku for both selfish and unselfish reasons, and Deku doesn’t realize how much he needs to hear the apology because he pays no attention to his own needs”, and somehow transform that into a 3500 word rant lol.

first of all, I’ve said this before, but on the topic of whether or not Katsuki actually needs to apologize to Deku at all, my answer is an emphatic “yes.” is it necessary in order for him to earn Deku’s forgiveness? no. in fact I’m pretty sure Deku has already forgiven him. because that kid doesn’t have a petty bone in his body (not that wanting an apology from your friend who basically turned on you and made your life miserable for ten years and told you to go kill yourself is in any way petty at all), and because he has staunchly held on to what he could of their relationship throughout that entire time, hoping that one day they could somehow be friends again. Kacchan never stopped being “Kacchan” to him. Deku never stopped caring about him. and that goes beyond him simply being a good person; there’s also just an attachment there, for lack of a better word, that he is simply unwilling to give up. their friendship is that important to him. Kacchan is that important to him.

but just because Katsuki is almost guaranteed forgiveness from Izuku doesn’t mean the apology isn’t still owed. putting aside that it’s really the least he could do, I think an apology is also necessary in order for their friendship to ever move past the level it’s currently stuck at, for one simple reason: Izuku doesn’t actually know that Katsuki cares.

more specifically, he doesn’t know that Katsuki actually cares about him. because Katsuki, for various reasons which I’ll get to momentarily, has done such a spectacular job of hiding this fact that he even fooled a lot of us for a very long time. before chapter 284 came along, there was hardly any evidence at all that Katsuki actually cared about Izuku as a person beyond just the requisite, bare minimum level of “well I don’t actually want you to die or anything, because I’m not a complete shithead.”

because he hides it. and he hides it on purpose, which is a mind-blowing revelation I’m still only just starting to wrap my head around. it’s an act. all of his continued hostility toward Izuku since the Endeavor internship arc -- and possibly going even further back than that; possibly going all the way back to their second Ground Beta fight -- has been an act. here he is, continuing to bitch at him at every turn and basically doing everything he can to remind Izuku that They Are Rivals And Nothing More, and he has played that role so perfectly that hardly anyone suspected what was actually going on.

he cares about Izuku. not just subconsciously on a level where he’s in denial about it, but to a fully conscious and aware degree. he’s dedicated himself to helping Izuku as his way of trying to make amends. that’s a decision he consciously made, something he’s given a lot of thought to. he worries about Izuku. he worries about his selflessness and his recklessness and that one day he’ll take it too far and it will go terribly wrong. he worries about One For All and All For One, and about the legacy his friend has inherited that’s so much bigger than him, and which he knows Izuku won’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for if it ever comes to that. he worries. he cares.

and Izuku does not know this. and he deserves to know this. and that’s why the apology is so important. not because it’s a magic sentence that will miraculously restore the ten years of friendship and trust that was lost between them, or heal the ten years of pain and misery that Izuku went through alone and friendless, because nothing can ever restore or heal that. as a gesture, an apology is nice, but it’s also fairly useless, at least on its own. it’s meaningless without action to support it, and rather pales in significance when held up against the LITERAL DECADE of misery that it’s trying to make up for.

but the reason it’s still so, so important in spite of all this is because Izuku doesn’t know that Katsuki cares about him. he doesn’t know that their friendship isn’t just one-sided. he does know that Katsuki is a good person, and that he has a good core beneath his prickly exterior. and he’s more adept than most people at seeing past Katsuki’s outer shell of bullshit and understanding what lies beneath. but he has a blind spot, and that blind spot is himself.

he hasn’t made the connection between “Kacchan is a good person who cares about other people and is trying to do the right thing” to “Kacchan cares about me.” because Kacchan has been diligent in making sure that every time Izuku does start to make that connection, that he shoots it back down and disproves it as vehemently as he can.

which, just to be clear, is actually a huge load of bull, as we now know. huh.

but anyway. the point is that Katsuki is still hiding this part of himself from Izuku. the fact that he actually cares. the fact that their friendship is reciprocated on a level that goes beyond just rivalry and shared secrets and a mutual admiration for All Might. Izuku doesn’t know yet how much Katsuki cares about him, and he deserves to know.

and that’s why the apology is important. not because the words themselves are important, but because he deserves to know that Katsuki is sorry. he deserves to know that Katsuki cares about him. he deserves to know that he’s valued, that Katsuki sees him as someone who has value. he deserves that. and that, more than anything else, is why the apology is needed, and why it’s important for him to actually hear those words. because Katsuki was spot on when he said that Izuku doesn’t see himself in the way that he should, and I think he needs this to help him understand a little better just how much value he actually has.

so that’s part one of my rant! and now we move on to part two, which can basically be summarized as “okay but then WHY has Katsuki not just FUCKING APOLOGIZED TO HIM ALREADY.” because yeah, though. at the end of the day, this is all on him. and he does care, and he is sorry. so then what is still holding him back??

and that... is complicated. and it basically boils down to four things.

1. it’s insufficient.

ten years. all the way back to when they were four years old and Izuku first learned that he didn’t have a quirk. ten years of Katsuki bullying him and distancing himself from him. ten years of pain and isolation and unhappiness that Izuku absolutely did not deserve.

and yes, it ultimately stemmed from a misunderstanding, but that doesn’t make it right in the least. there’s absolutely no justification for it. Katsuki knew that it was wrong and he acted like that nonetheless. and anyone who says that Izuku in any way brought it on himself, that it’s in any way his fault or that he invited it on himself by not leaving Katsuki alone -- you can miss me with that, tbh. he was a child and he was lonely and confused and didn’t understand why his best friend had suddenly turned his back on him. this was the most vulnerable period in his life, and the person who should have had his back ended up being the person who made it even worse for him instead. and even after Izuku grew out of the so-called stalking and actually did mind his own business, and just admired Katsuki from a distance -- that still wasn’t enough to appease Katsuki either. even just the mere mention of Izuku wanting to go to U.A. was enough to set him off worse than ever before. that was absolutely not Izuku’s fault in any way, and I’m positive that even Katsuki himself would agree. Katsuki was terrible. I can’t emphasize enough just how terrible he was.

so yeah. ten years of that. and now Katsuki finally realizes just how awful it was. and he’s sorry! and he regrets it, a lot, and he wants to atone for it.

but now here’s problem number one: when you put it up in comparison to ALL OF THAT, an apology just feels overwhelmingly inadequate. almost laughably so. and Katsuki may be a bit emotionally dense (although perhaps less so than we always thought), but he’s sharp enough to realize this much, at least. it’s almost pathetic to simply try saying “I’m sorry” after all of that, and expect it to mean anything at all. it’s not enough. it’s so much not enough that I imagine he must almost feel helpless just imagining it. the weight of everything he’s done is so much, and an apology isn’t enough to undo any of it. it’s not even close.

Katsuki isn’t someone who backs down from things easily, but the sheer scale of the mistakes he’s trying to grapple with now is enough to give just about anyone pause. how do you even begin to address something like that? how can you even begin to make up for it? and Katsuki isn’t stupid, and I have to imagine that everything he saw during that first week of interning with Endeavor only cemented this for him. an apology simply isn’t enough. not for something like this.

2. it’s unfamiliar.

reason number two! and this one is a bit selfish on his part, yeah. but Katsuki is still just a kid too. and his falling out with Izuku didn’t only have a negative impact on Izuku; it hurt Katsuki as well. he lost that friendship too. he thought Izuku was looking down on him, and I’m certain that hurt him a lot more than he ever let on. if you trust someone and care about them only to have them turn on you like that (even though he got it wrong and it was ultimately all just in his head) -- that hurts. it’s not a coincidence that he became closed off and mean afterwards, and that even now he’s resistant to letting other people get close to him. for all that it was more or less self-inflicted, it still had a huge impact.

but now he’s learned that Izuku was never looking down on him at all and that he had it wrong this whole time. and as a result, he’s gotten this chance now to try and rebuild the childhood friendship that he almost destroyed. and make no mistake, this is something he wants too. it’s not just Izuku who’s grateful to have this chance to have normal interactions with the other again. this is something both of them value, and Katsuki doesn’t want to ruin it this time.

so he’s picking up where he left off! only the thing is, this involves him reverting to a blueprint that hasn’t been updated since the two of them were four years old, lol. “normal” for them is him being a bossy little snot, and Izuku happily shrugging it off with all of his limitless nerdy enthusiasm as they go about their various misadventures together. it’s a script that hasn’t changed since they were children, and one they’re both still more than content to use, but it is an outdated script nonetheless. Katsuki is playing the role that Izuku expects him to play. and it’s not like he’s being dishonest or anything like that, because that’s still him; he’s still his same old short-tempered, argumentative self, and it’s not like his personality has done a complete 180 or anything like that.

but at the same time, there’s a calmer side to him now which he is deliberately keeping hidden from Izuku because it’s off-script for them. it’s unfamiliar ground. with Izuku, he’s always been this Kacchan:

and again, it’s not like he isn’t actually that person, especially when it comes to his old rival. but at the same time, there’s another side to him that he rarely if ever lets Izuku in particular see. Izuku never sees the quiet Kacchan who avoids other people’s eyes while he fiddles with his water bottle and calmly asks questions about the OFA successors. Izuku never sees the insightful Kacchan who opens up about his own regrets and weaknesses. there’s a level of emotional intimacy, for lack of a better term, that Katsuki has been unwilling to let them cross into. and if I had to guess why, my guess would be that it’s because Katsuki is afraid that changing up the formula now will lead to unfamiliar territory which may or may not end up completely upending their relationship just as it’s starting to grow into something actually solid again.

which brings me to reason #3!

3. he’s afraid.

Katsuki already experienced what it was like to fall out with Izuku. and again, for all that he was the cause of it, and that Izuku had it much, much worse, that doesn’t change the fact that it was a pretty terrible experience for him as well.

and look, we know Katsuki is afraid of losing Izuku. that’s confirmed canon now. he actually admitted that he was worried about Izuku, and that Izuku’s tendency to recklessly disregard his own wellbeing unsettled him and made him want to keep his distance. and he sacrificed himself to save Izuku’s life!! and did it automatically, unthinkingly, because the decision-making on his part was so fast it didn’t even register. that’s how much he cares. enough that his desire to protect Izuku now ranks higher than his own self-preservation.

and when something is that important to you, you will fight not to lose it. and Katsuki does not want to lose this. Izuku is important to him. by extension that means their friendship is important to him. and he wants to preserve that.

and the thing is, the apology is an obstacle to that. and he knows it. he knows he has to face it at some point, because he can’t atone without it. he has to take responsibility for what he did. he can’t keep running away from it forever.

but he also knows the potential consequences. he knows that apologies don’t always end in reconciliation. he knows falling-outs don’t always have a happy ending. he knows that forgiveness isn’t automatic, and that years of pain don’t just disappear just like that. and he recently got to see firsthand one possible way how it might all turn out.

he knows Izuku doesn’t have to forgive him. he knows Izuku might not forgive him. and he knows that he probably doesn’t deserve Izuku’s forgiveness, and that ultimately he does not have a say in the matter one way or the other. it’s Izuku’s choice, at the end of the day, and whatever he chooses Katsuki is going to have to accept it.

but you can know all of that, and accept the fact that you’re going to have to take responsibility, and yet still be afraid to face it. and yes, maybe it’s selfish of him to feel that way. but that selfishness is also human. it’s human to fear rejection, and it’s human to go through the various stages of trying to postpone having to face that. Katsuki is a brave kid, but he is just a kid, still. and this is going to be very hard for him to do. that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still have to be done. but I feel for him and I have a lot of empathy for the situation he’s currently in.

and there is also one last reason why I think he’s putting it off as well, and it just so happens that this reason actually isn’t selfish at all.

4. he doesn’t want false forgiveness.

and this one is ironically kind of at odds with reason #3! Katsuki fears the possibility of Izuku not forgiving him... but at the same time, I think that strangely enough, there’s also a part of him that fears being forgiven, just like that. easily and gladly and unconditionally, with the trademark selflessness that defines so many of Izuku’s other decisions.

“he just... deep down, he doesn’t take himself into account, y’know?”

Izuku rarely if ever takes himself into consideration, and Katsuki knows this. he’s selfless to a fault, and Katsuki knows this. and so if Katsuki were to come up to him and apologize, there’s the possibility that yes, Izuku might decide not forgive him. he might in fact be all “nah, you know what, fuck you,” as would certainly be within his rights.

but this is a very remote possibility, and we all know it. and Katsuki knows it too, I think. because that’s not who Izuku is. he puts other people’s welfare above his own, every time. and so if Katsuki were to break down and tell Izuku that he was sorry, and if he were to ask him for forgiveness, nine times out of ten that is something that Izuku grants instantly. this is the same kid who put his own life at risk to try and save Katsuki less than an hour after Katsuki told him to dive off a roof. Izuku’s instinct is to protect and save. and so if he sees that Katsuki is hurting; if he sees that Katsuki feels guilty for what he’s done and that it’s eating away at him in much the same way as when he was blaming himself for Kamino -- he is going to do what he always does. he is going to try and save him.

and he would do that even if it meant shoving down his own pain. he absolutely would. he would prioritize Katsuki’s feelings over his own. and if he did still feel any lingering resentment at how cruelly he was treated, he would still put it aside if need be. and he would forgive him.

in other words, the risk exists that Izuku might grant Katsuki forgiveness that he doesn’t actually feel. if Katsuki is granted Izuku’s forgiveness, he doesn’t have any way to actually tell for sure if it’s real. there would be that element of doubt there, that question of whether or not it’s really sincere. and something like that could ultimately poison their relationship, if things were allowed to play out that way. it would prevent them from being fully able to trust each other. ultimately, it might lead to them drifting apart again, and something like that might ultimately be even more painful than Izuku rejecting Katsuki’s apology outright. and there’s also an argument to be made that Izuku doesn’t deserve to be put on the spot like that, and forced to make that decision one way or the other when he might not be ready to yet. so there’s that to consider as well.

so yeah. four reasons why Katsuki has not apologized to Izuku yet. and they are good reasons, in my book. complicated reasons, too. but none of that changes the fact that at the end of the day this is still something he has to do. his current way of trying to atone through action is great, don’t get me wrong! and it’s necessary too for sure, because like I said, the apology just on its own is never going to be enough. he needs to commit to doing the right thing, and trying his best to make it right between them from here on out. and saving his life is certainly a decent start! but you still gotta say the words too eventually bro.

but there is just a ton of stuff at play here and I find it all fascinating tbh. they are just so, so bad at communicating with each other. and the thing is, they both actually want the same thing! but they want it so badly that ironically it’s almost holding them back right now, because they don’t want to put it at risk. but ultimately this is a leap of faith that Katsuki in particular is going to have to take sooner rather than later in order to finally restore that last bit of trust between the two of them.

so yeah. just two stupid teenage boys who fail at emotions, and who are probably overdue for another of their famous Get It All Out In The Open stupid shounen therapy battles lmao. round 3, featuring Deku’s new robot arms vs Katsuki and his shiny new “like father like son” All Might torso scar. sob.

#bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #asks #anon asks

[windless-hurricane]

Sparks

Chapter Three: The Beauty of a Devil

A Reiner x Reader x (Eventual) Jean Fanfic

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

SUMMARY: After the fall of Shiganshina, you joined the military along with your brother. You had hoped to bring peace to the world by doing so, but the world was a cruel place. You seemed to lose more than you gained, but there was always someone - someone who made losing just a bit…easier. You hoped you could keep them forever, but was there ever a guarantee in this world?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi, all! I know it’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything, but I’m back to finish this series. I want to catch up to where the anime left off. Therefore, as an apology for taking awhile, I’m posting two new chapters today (chapter four will be posted an hour or so after this one)!

WARNINGS (for entire series): Language, explicit violence, talks of death, suicide, trauma, and mental illness, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, and sexuality.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

TAGLIST: @lovethemilkteasis @grayxblaze @theyoungblood13 @flowersgirl02 @noodlenerd101 @hanabihwa @drowned-pathetic-rat @bestgirlb @bleepop @miinnttyy @1-800-thanos @lovelime

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• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

“I need your help, (Y/N),” Eren proclaimed as he slammed his hand down on the table, causing you to look at him instead of your soup.

If you hadn’t known Eren prior to this, you would’ve been startled by his actions, but you practically grew up with him. You were both from Shiganshina and while you were good friends, you weren’t as close as he, Mikasa, and Armin were. You were closest to your brother.

“With what,” you questioned, your spoon hanging from your mouth.

“Learning the maneuver gear,” he explained, an eager look in his eyes.

“Well, haven’t you asked Mikasa? She was really good at it,” you recalled.

“I did, but it still didn’t work,” he sighed. “So, I thought maybe you had some advice, seeing as you were nearly perfect.”

You blushed at his compliment as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well,” you breathed. “It’s kind of like a swing.”

“A swing,” he asked confusedly.

“It’s hard to describe…maybe Viktor knows how to say it. Hey, Viktor.”

You nudged your brother’s shoulder with your own, but he didn’t respond. So, you and Eren looked over and were surprised to see him in a deep conversation with Krista as Ymir glared at him from across the table. You both smirked.

“He’s going to die,” you remarked.

“Yeah,” Eren agreed with a chuckle, causing you to sigh.

“Well, I’ll try my best to describe it then. When you look at the seat of the swing, you can see that it is completely balanced. Then, once weight is added onto it, it still manages to stay upright. That’s because it balances the weight throughout itself equally. You have to think of your body as a whole and seek balance within yourself. That’s the best way I can describe it. Does that…sorta make sense?”

He gazed at you with wide eyes, not necessarily mesmerized by what you said, but how you said it.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he confirmed excitedly and you smiled.

“If you still need help, you can ask some of the guys,” you suggested. “A few of them did well too.”

“Got it, thank you so much, (Y/N)!”

“No problem,” you waved, watching as he made his way back to the table where Mikasa and Armin were sitting.

You noticed Mikasa glaring at you, but you decided to ignore it and focus on your food instead. However, you were only able to get two bites in until someone else came.

“Do you mind if I sit here,” a deep voice asked and you looked up to see a tall, blonde boy with a muscular build standing in front of you. You realized you remembered him from orientation.

“Yeah, go right ahead,” you said, motioning to the seat in front of you. He sat down with a small creak and you gazed at him for a few moments before turning back to your food.

“You’re (Y/N), right,” he questioned once more and you nodded.

“(Y/N) Bauer. I would introduce you to this oaf,” you gestured to Viktor. “But he’s too busy taking his final breaths.” Reiner let out an airy chuckle as your brother was now arguing with Ymir over something ludicrous.

“I’m-“ Reiner started to say, but you cut him off.

“Reiner Braun, I remember you. You’re the ‘save humanity’ guy.”

“Huh?”

“During orientation, when Shadis asked you why you were here, you said ‘to save humanity.’”

“You remember that?” You nodded.

Reiner hadn’t thought you noticed him, let alone even remembered what he said. The surprise made him oddly happy.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, playing with your food. “The only reason I did was because you looked just as scary as Shadis.”

“What,” Reiner laughed, causing you to smile.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ I mean, look at you. You’re a tall, muscly guy with a sharp face. Intense eyes and a deep voice. Who wouldn’t be scared of that?”

“Not you apparently,” he stated with a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, (Y/N), I’d say you were flirting with me.”

Your cheeks reddened.

While you did find him extremely attractive, especially when you first laid eyes on him during orientation, you couldn’t let him know that.

You couldn’t let him know that you were taken aback by his strong and unwavering stature, the way the muscle within his jaw flexed with determination, and how his amber eyes burned when Shadis asked him why he was there.

When he answered with “To save humanity,” his voice was deep, but so sure of himself. It permanently caught your attention, but still. He couldn’t know that.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Braun,” you finally countered. “You only interested me because of how overachieving your goal was.”

“Really, how so,” he asked with half lidded eyes. He could tell you were bluffing. You had to save your ass.

“Well, don’t you think saving humanity is quite ambitious? How could one person manage to save millions of people,” you commented.

“Why does one join the military to begin with?” Your eyes widened.

While you were shocked, you were also impressed at his question. You couldn’t help the amused smile that made its way onto your lips.

“A good portion of the kids here are either looking to live comfortably within the inner walls or wanting to earn bragging rights as they slack off in the Garrison Regiment. Why do you think the number of people joining the Scouts every few years is so low? ‘Cause in the end, most people don’t want to leave the walls to fight for humanity. They just want to stay back and watch others do the work.”

“Is that why you joined?” You snorted.

“Course not.”

“Then, why’d you join?”

‘Why did I join,’ you thought to yourself.

Then, it hit you. Their words.

Mommy loves you so much. She loves you. Please just do this last thing for her and hide.

Get my brother and sister out of here! I’ll take care of the Titans! Just go!

I’m sorry, (Y/N).

You clenched your spoon tightly as you gazed into Reiner’s eyes with a newfound intensity gracing your own.

“I joined because-” but you were cut off by a large thud and your brother groaning right after.

You and Reiner looked over to see Ymir pushing his face into the table.

“How’s that for a rude awakening,” she sneered, tearing herself away from him soon after. “C’mon, Krista.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Krista whined, but Ymir had already grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the mess hall.

You sighed.

“What did you even say to them?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, holding onto his head.

“Honestly, you’re either great at talking to girls or extremely poor at it. There’s no in between,” you commented as you pulled him up by his hair.

Reiner hissed shortly after and you winced at the sight of his face.

“We’re going to need bandages for that.”

__________________________________________

“What’re we doing out here,” you questioned, following your brother through the dark forest. “Can’t we get in trouble for this?”

“Not if we aren’t caught,” he mused with an almost crazy smile on his face.

“I think Ymir hit you too hard. Are you seeing double right now?”

You glanced at the bandages around his forehead and were becoming genuinely concerned that he had a concussion.

“It’s because of Ymir I’m doing this,” he revealed, chuckling breathlessly. “She’s going to hate it when I prove her wrong.”

“You still didn’t tell me what you told her,” you mentioned.

“I tried comparing Krista to a lotus flower and Ymir’s convinced that no such thing exists.”

“Really? Then, what was the whole rude awakening thing?”

“I just told her she was in for a rude awakening and she did that. The audacity.”

“You’re a real idiot, you know that,” you stated, causing him to gasp offensively.

“What?!”

“So, you’re trying to find a lotus flower to prove her wrong.”

“Yeah.” You came to a stop.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“If I’m remembering what we read as kids correctly, those only exist outside of the walls,” you exclaimed in disbelief.

“I mean, yeah. They’re from Asia, but the Asian clan lived here for some time anyways,” he mumbled to himself.

“Huh? You’re talking too quietly.”

“Oh, well, what I meant to say is that humanity once lived outside of the walls, right? So, they had to have brought some with us!”

You watched your brother in confusion as he turned away, moving forward once again. That was weird, you thought.

As you followed behind him, you heard rustling nearby.

“Do you hear that,” you asked and Viktor shook his head.

“It’s probably just a deer or something.”

“I don’t know…”

The rustling grew louder and you both stopped.

“I don’t know if that’s a deer,” you murmured, grabbing onto his jacket.

Then, the both of you could make out footsteps and started to tremble in panic.

“What if it’s Shadis,” you whispered. “I didn’t plan on bothering him today. I’m not prepared to swim again…or worse. Clean the restroom after Sasha’s used it.”

Viktor nearly gagged at the idea.

“This was your idea, Viktor.”

“Well, you’re the one who decided to follow the kid with the possible concussion out here,” he retorted.

“You, idiot. Let’s just find a hiding spot, but move very quietly.” He nodded as you led him through the trees, tiptoeing carefully. You turned the corner of a tree and unexpectedly bumped into a firm chest.

You didn’t get the chance to see who it was as you and the owner of that chest started screaming.

You fell back into your screeching brother and heard three more masculine yells follow suit.

You opened your eyes and saw Reiner, Bertolt, Eren, and Armin all huddled together, panting with terrified looks on their faces.

“Huh,” you gasped, but they didn’t hear you as your brother was still screaming. “Shut up!” You elbowed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“What the hell are you guys doing out here,” you questioned, attempting to recompose yourself.

“We could ask you the same thing,” Reiner countered, clearing his throat.

“Uh…good point. This idiot behind me wanted to find a flower to win a bet against Ymir.”

“Bertolt and I just wanted to show Eren and Armin the lake.”

“That’s a better reason than ours,” you chuckled, finally having calmed down. “I’m just glad you weren’t Shadis.”

“You and me both.”

__________________________________________

“Wow,” you gushed, staring at the moon’s reflection from the water. “It’s like a mirror.”

“I know. Isn’t it insane,” Reiner smiled.

It was. It really was. The moon was big and bright, while the water was still and black. They complimented and contrasted each other all at once. It was like a painting that lit up the night. It was stunning.

“I honestly never pegged you to be a softie, Braun,” you teased with a smirk.

“Well,” he smiled. “I thought Eren could use some inspiration for tomorrow.” And you felt your lips lift into a sweet smile.

You meant it. You didn’t expect Reiner to be so caring or considerate, yet he was and you found yourself liking it a lot.

He was big and strong on the outside, but gentle on the inside.

“Well, Eren. Are you inspired,” you asked softly and he nodded with a big grin, causing you to giggle.

“Ah hah,” Viktor shouted and you sent him a glare.

“Hey, why are you ruining the moment,” you questioned.

“I found it, I actually found it!”

“What?”

He sprinted to you in an instant and your eyes widened once you saw a lotus flower resting in the palms of his hands. It was pink and gentle with mud underneath it. It really was…beautiful and the rest of the boys gathered around to witness its beauty.

“It only blooms in mud,” Viktor stated excitedly and you smiled. It had been so long since you had seen him this way and you didn’t want it to end. You wanted him to continue being happy.

“It’s beautiful,” Reiner commented. “A true beauty.” You all hummed in agreement, listening to Viktor’s rant that followed.

However, Reiner never started listening. He was still too focused on what, or rather who, he had actually been looking at when making that comment.

He was looking at you - admiring the way you shone just as brightly as the moon and thought…

How could a devil be this beautiful?

#attack on titan #aot #sparks #reiner #reiner x you #reiner x y/n #reiner x oc #reiner x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x you #reiner braun x y/n #reiner braun x oc #reiner braun x reader #jean #jean x you #jean x y/n #jean x oc #jean x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x you #jean kirstein x y/n #jean kirstein x oc #jean kirstein x reader #reiner braun fanfiction #jean kirstein fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #fanfic #eren yaegar #mikasa ackerman #shingeki no kyojin

[strange-lace]

Did you think I was joking when I said my Monkie Kid, Nagi, becomes a pseudo therapist for the team? FOOLISH, SHAPESHIFTING MEANS FREE THERAPY! But I have no idea what this is, I just started writing for some hurt/comfort (I think) post episode 9 and wanted to post it without editing because why not? Plus I just wanted to do some more with Nagi since it’s been a hot minute since I talked about her.

Enjoy and hopefully you get some chuckle worthy mental images like it did for me!

It was an odd sensation to Nagi, shapeshifting that is.

The closest way she could describe it is like that of her body becoming clay, free to be morphed into anything that she desired as long as she had a clear image in her head and enough practice. Hair length, color, height, weight, vocal cords, all were free for her to change and allow herself to fit into any setting like a chameleon. Or more accurately, like a snake camouflaged into its surroundings, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at its prey.

The sensation of always feeling like she was hiding among others was one Nagi had felt since birth.

It had only gotten worse with the sacrifices forced on her that made her shapeshifting even stronger.

Some days, she felt like her ability to become anyone was more trouble than it was worth.

But this was certainly not one of those days.

“Are you sure about this kiddo? Remember, the moment it becomes too much for you, all you gotta do is say something and I’ll shift into something else. This is meant to help you above all else, got it?” Nagi lectured for what felt like the third time, wanting to hammer in the point to MK before they began. When the little guy had entered her cave at the crack of dawn asking for a favor, this was certainly not what she was expecting.

Then again, Nagi was still a sluggish mess when MK had shaken her from her slumber in a frantic desperation.

“Uhhh, what’s goin’ on kid? What time is it?” She slurred, noting the faint rays of blue, pink, and orange barely providing a break from the darkness in her cave. The last traces of sleep snapped away from her eyes once she took notice of MK who, to put it bluntly, was an absolute mess.

Dark rings circled his eyes, hair a tousled mess without his signature headband, and clothes rumpled as if he had slept in them. Though Nagi genuinely questioned if he had even slept throughout the night. Wait, were those bruises?

“Nagi can you… can you shift into someone you’ve never met before?” MK asked, completely ignoring her questions. He seemed almost tense as he stood at the edge of Nagi’s nest, a giant cluster of pillows that she had collected over the years.

“That depends bud. If you give me a detailed enough picture, then sure. No guarantee I’ll have the voice right, but it can be done. Why do you ask? You need my help with something?” She pulled herself out of her nest, letting out a groan as her stiff bones cracked yet kept her eyes on MK. He seemed almost relieved at this answer, heavy shoulders relaxing the slightest bit before pulling out one of his many sketchbooks from his jacket. Pages were flipped through with frantic speed before he found what he was looking for, practically shoving the book in Nagi’s face.

At first she had thought it was a drawing of Sun Wukong until she took notice of the dark fur and, more importantly, the almost sadistic smirk on his face. He was surrounded by shadows that seemed to sprout from the ground at his feet, all with matching grins and empty purple eyes. Overall, it was certainly an ominous picture of an individual that Nagi hoped to never have the misfortune of meeting.

But evidently, MK did.

“Would that work?” Okay, now MK was starting to make her worried.

“Uhhh… sure, yeah. And not that this isn’t a wonderful art, but you mind telling me who this guy is? A friend of Sun Wukong’s perhaps?” Nagi asked and internally winced when he seemed to flinch at the question. MK was silent for a moment, as if debating with himself whether to tell her, before simply giving a sigh.

“That’s Macaque. I… I’ll tell you more later, I promise. I just need you to do this important favor for me.” She was starting to not like where this was going. But the demon could never say no to the kid, the heavens help her.

“Alright, you already know I’m willing to kill for you so out with it bud.”

“I need you to shift into Macaque and just… I don’t know, whatever with me. I just want to not be afraid of his face anymore,” MK mumbled, his knuckles white at how tight he was holding on to his sketchbook. All sorts of alarm bells were going off in Nagi’s head at this and a part of her wanted to push for more information now, so she can find this Macaque and skin him alive. But that wasn’t going to help MK right now, so she pushed that heat in her chest down.

“Alright, that I think I can do bud. Let me go get my rollerblades and KO!”

And that led to where they were now, at the outskirts of the city with Nagi wanting nothing more to ensure that MK was comfortable.

“I know, I know Nagi! Just… do it before I chicken out, please?”

“Alright, alright, as long as you’re sure.” With that, Nagi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She focused on the image MK had given her and felt her very being soften like clay to be molded. Her hair morphed into thick, black fur which spread over her body, clothes shifted to match the armored garments in the drawing, and she gained a familiar tail and large ears. It felt none too different to when she shifts into the Monkey King himself if she were to be honest.

Yet the look of uneasiness and fear Nagi was met with when she opened her eyes made her want nothing more to shift into anybody else.

“You still with me MK?” She asked tentatively, remaining perfectly still despite her wanting to scoop him up in a hug. MK gave another flinch, this time at hearing Nagi’s squeaky, hissy voice coming out of what looked like Macaque yet at the same time he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bizarre contrast. It quickly became a full on laugh as Nagi gave him an expression of exaggerated offense, the demon quickly catching on to the best idea on how to make this face less terrifying.

“I’m- I’m sorry, but hearing your voice come out of Macaque’s mouth is too funny!” He stuttered and the ache in her heart started to lighten up, just relieved to see the young man not as tense.

“I’ll have you know I have the voice of a goddess, young man!” Nagi said with an over-the-top huff, hands on her hips and a pout on her face. That only caused another bout of uncontrollable giggles from MK and she couldn’t help the smile on her face before taking the opportunity to put on her rollerblades. She was completely aware of how ridiculous she looked since said rollerblades were bright pink and decorated with numerous stickers courtesy of Mei.

Oh, Nagi was going to have so much fun ruining this Macaque’s reputation, whoever he was.

“Now, do me a favor and push me. I’m gonna skate down this entire hill backwards!”

“Isn’t that, I don’t know, kind of dangerous?”

“Oh it is, which is why I’m doing it and not you.”

Despite the look of skepticism on his face, that was enough for MK as he gave her a hearty shove. Nagi didn’t bother to hold back the scream of both terror and joy as gravity pulled her down the hill, frantic giggles punctuating the air. MK merely watched the spectacle with amusement as Nagi continued on into the city streets. She practically flew past confused pedestrians at the speed she was going, a number of those did double takes to be sure of what they saw.

The sound of a crash caused him to wince and quickly use the staff to pole vault over to where the demon had come to an unfortunate stop.

“You okay?!” Despite being covered in trash and hit a dumpster hard enough to make a dent in the metal, Nagi looked giddy as a child.

“I’m all good bud, thankfully I didn’t break my spine so it was totally worth it!” She said, prying herself out of her dumpster crater and happily brushed herself off. Seeing such a toothy but genuine smile combined with Macaque’s face was strange to MK, but he managed to not flinch as Nagi rose to her full height so it was a start. “Want to hit the arcade next? Or are you too afraid of your big sister beating you at all your favorite games?”

That certainly perked him up.

“Oh you’re so on!”

“That’s the spirit! Race you!” And like that, Nagi was off again though at a much more controlled speed and MK wasn’t too far behind.

“Hey that’s not fair, you’re on rollerblades!”

Up above the streets on his nimbus, Sun Wukong watched the two with an unidentifiable expression.

“No way, you absolutely cheated!” MK repeated for the third time, being carried on piggyback by Nagi as the demon skated down to Pigsy’s Noodles. It was now dusk and the both of them were still riding the high of spending a whole day goofing off for therapeutic purposes. 

“I don’t know, that sounds like sore loser talk to me. But… did you have a good time bud? How are you feeling?” Nagi asked, tone turning completely serious. MK was quiet a moment, tightening his grip around her shoulders the slightest bit before speaking.

“Yeah, yeah I had a great time. I feel… weird. Because a part of me knows that I spent the day with you, not… him. But at the same time, I’m gonna remember you crashing into a dumpster if I ever see his face again and possibly die from laughing.”

“Then it sounds like my work here is done, ruining reputations is my forte after all!” She came to stop in front of the noodle shop, ears downturned in disappointment. Yet the demon still put MK down, knowing that Pigsy would have her head if she kept the kid out after dark when he had work the next day. “But I’m glad I could help you out kiddo. You get some good rest, alright? I’ll be around to bother you and Pigsy tomorrow.”

And Nagi thought that would be that, until she found herself pulled into a tight hug by MK.

“Thank you.”

She returned the hug without hesitation.

“Don’t mention it.”

Nagi stayed put until she was sure MK made it inside his apartment safely before turning around to return to her cave. After such a busy day, she was ready to curl up in her nest and finish that book Tang had loaned her weeks ago. Maybe brew some tea while she was at it.

Or that was the plan, until she caught the scent of peaches and mischief on her serpentine tongue as she stopped at the entrance of her cave.

“Oh no, not him,” Nagi groaned, secretly hoping that was just the remnants of MK’s scent. Unfortunately that was not the case as she walked inside to find the Monkey King lounging about her home like he owned the place and eating her apples. Resisting the urge to lose it for that alone, the demon took a deep breath and forced a smile that was all teeth.

“Sun Wukong, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She said as if it were anything but a pleasure to be around him. Despite the venom in her tone, the Monkey King continued to lazily chomp on an apple as he finally faced her. Her displeasure quickly evaporated once she noticed how tense he seemed despite the forced nonchalance.

“Hey Nag, took you forever to get here! Saw you hanging out with the kid today.” And despite his attempt to sound serious, Nagi could only blame hanging out with Mei and MK for what she said next.

“R-Rebecca it’s not what you think!” 

“I won’t hesitate bitch!” Seems the Monkey King has been around the kids too long too.

They were both silent for a moment in an attempt to process what happened before the tension broke as they both giggled.

“I don’t know what to tell you man. He just woke me up this morning, asked me if I could shift into this guy called Macaque, and we just did dumb, fun stuff all day. Went out of my way to make the kid laugh until I was sure he’d lose a lung. But he never did tell me why he was so afraid of this face…” Tea. She really needed tea right now. So tea she began to make, not even realizing she had grabbed two cups and was making peach tea until it was too late.

“Oh he didn’t, huh?” Nagi gave him a silent nod, tail twitching in agitation as silence took over again.

“What did this guy do to the kid Wukong? What happened?”

“It’s a long story but let me say you don’t need to hunt him down because we beat him up plenty, it was mainly the kid though.” His pride in MK was infectious as she found herself smiling at that, handing Sun Wukong a mug of warm peach tea as she sat down next to him.

“Good, saves me the effort of doing it myself. I won’t push if either of you don’t want to tell me. But… listen, I’m not just here to help the kid and the others. You annoy the hell out of me but I’m here for you too Wukong. That’s what family does, right?”

The Monkey King was silent at that yet leaned in when Nagi wrapped her tail around his shoulders to gently pull him closer.

“Thanks Nag.”

“You’re welcome.”

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #sun wukong #monkie kid oc #nagi #fanfiction #my writing

[1-lightofjustice]

Choice and Fate

Preview :   

("I made it in time to be with you at your final moment and share your destiny. I am satisfied with that.") -July, 1999

("It may come to be that you'll share my destiny and have to die with me." "Then so be it.") -December, 2013

Two Kings, two knights, and their shared destiny.

Pairing : Fushimi and Munakata, Habari and Zenjou. No romance but a very deep bond

Tags : Metafiction, Angst with Happy Ending, Zenjou Gouki P.O.V

Notes : I was re-watching Side Blue Seven Stories, and boy do I fangirling hard when Zenjou talked about "shared destiny" (It's the same word, unmei!). Especially since Munakata and Fushimi's secret plan is my favorite thing on K : ROK. Then when I read about previous Blue clan's tale, it occurred to me that Habari/Zenjou/Shiotsu really has some similar dynamic with Munakata/Fushimi/Awashima. Responsible and doting beautiful King, serious and disciplined Lieutenant and second in command, and the wild card "can't wear their uniform properly" private force of the King. Their situation is also somewhat familiar, but of course in Munakata/Fushimi/Awashima's case, they ended with happy ending *pats Zenjou and Shiotsu*

Link of this fic on ao3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/31751149

Throughout the surprisingly long life of a Zenjou Gouki, he has encountered many crazy situations. Hell, he managed to see the Kagutsu Crater incident right in front of him and stayed alive. But what happened last night can be included in one crazy thing that happened in front of his eyes after a long time.

It started with him following his current superior (not King, Munakata Reisi is never his King) to a small plain room. It was furnished exceedingly modestly, having only a desk and a bed. Zenjou thought that this boring place must be the perfect place to discuss something like a secret plan. Munakata seemed to notice his thought, informed him with a light tone.

"This is my private room. Not many people know about this room, so it will be convenient for our secret meeting.[1]"

"So you really have a place to rest. I've heard rumors about you are some kind of creature who doesn't need sleep." surprised Zenjou. Zenjou has heard many rumors regarding what a bizarre creature the current Blue King. From he has an infinite set of glasses to he lives inside network and doesn't need rest, because no single person ever see him in any condition except straight and sturdy. Although, he also never saw Habari slept either.

He wondered if that was Blue Kings' stubborn trait, to never let people see their crumbled form even on the brink of their death. Yes, he already knew the state of Munakata's Damocles Sword, but the current Blue King's eyes never waver in fear of his own fate.

Just like Habari on that damned day...

A disapproving tongue click voiced his thought, also turned his attention toward its source. Entered a lanky boy with a scowly face that maybe can rival Shiotsu. Of course, he knew immediately the identity of the boy. Fushimi Saruhiko, the number 3 of current Scepter 4. The wild card of the King, Munakata's favorite [2], who has given authority to act freely as his liking [3], much to the discipline Lieutenant Awashima's frustration.

("Zenjou, don't just face the enemy head out! I ordered you to wait, didn't I?!"

"So what? Habari said it's okay, didn't he? You're too stuck up, Shiotsu..."

"Sigh... Habari, you're too sweet with Zenjou.."

"It's fine, isn't it? This guy does a better job when he runs freely.") [4]

"As weird as he looks like, Captain is a human too. Obviously, he does things like resting and sleeping like the rest of us. He just works all the time like a moron and spouting nonsense like King doesn't get tired or something like that." Fushimi's sarcastic quip brought him back to the present. Zenjou has to tell Shiotsu that as delinquent as his past self, this boy is way way worse than him.

At least he never called Habari a moron.

Captain didn't look offended at the insult, though. He greeted the boy with his usual amused tone.

"Ah, Fushimi-kun, you finally came. Have you finished your work?"

The boy shrugged and sat on the only chair in the room, facing Munakata who was seated on his bed. Zenjou himself was content to stand leaning on the wall, away from any of them as possible.

"Tsk, after the alliance agreed on Silver King's plan, I have so many things that have to be prepared. You are the one who asked me to come to your room after today's work is over without getting noticed by other people. Do you realize how wrong it sounds?"

Munakata only smiled at Fushimi's insolent words.  

"I'm sorry, but there's something important that I have to discuss with you in secret. It's related to Silver King's plan that we've heard this noon. After listening to that, I am planning to make a backup plan in case his plan is failed."

Backup plan...quite a natural move for the current Scepter 4's Captain. For a Blue King, he had a quite pessimistic mindset. Once again, Zenjou ascertained that Munakata is not the same as his bright and optimistic Habari.

But, a doubtful thought entered his mind. Was Habari indeed always optimistic?  Suddenly he recalled his conversation with Habari about birds dropping, and Zenjou mulled, maybe Habari knew about his upcoming tragic fate earlier than he thought. [5]    

Fushimi looked at Munakata with a curious gaze, devoid of worry or mistrust upon Captain's words.

"You think his plan will be failed?"

"I can't say that his plan will surely fail, but for a King who runs in shadow all this time, it's weird for Green King to make such an open attack. I have a feeling that Green King has something on his sleeve and it potentially can mess up Silver King's plan."

"Why didn't you say something at the alliance meeting earlier?" asked Fushimi, fully aware that the usual Munakata Reisi should not hesitate to say anything on his mind at the earlier alliance meeting. Munakata pushed his glasses in a somewhat weirdly embarrassed gesture.

"Because I'm still not sure what is Green King's hidden trick so so that my suspicions can seem like paranoia for no reason. I also don't want to discourage other Kings before the battle. Anna-kun is still a child and Isana-shi seems to...have quite a weak mental strength. Besides, the fewer people who know about my backup plan, the better."

Fushimi scanned around the room, seemed to have just realized the absence of Lieutenant Awashima and other Scepter 4 members.

"Lieutenant and the rest of Scepter 4 members are not included in your plan?"

"Yes, I just need you, Fushimi-kun, and you, Zenjou-san. I don't plan to include other clans either but I can't control their action. Is there any more question?"

Looks like finally the curious youth ran out of his questions. Zenjou himself refused to say anything unless he was asked directly.

"Alright then, will the two of you hear what I have to say?"

Zenjou felt a sudden deja vu. Three of them, a king and two wild cards, this situation mirrored their meeting before Kusuhara's avenge mission.[6]

"Fine, let's hear about your plan."

"If our defense on Mihashira tower is defeated and the Slate gets stolen by Green clan, I need you to enter Green clan, Fushimi-kun."

Zenjou froze upon hearing the sentence. He threw his full attention toward Munakata, to see what kind of face he made after uttered such a crazy task. But Munakata didn't seem going to take his words. The current Blue King switched his gaze at the boy Fushimi, who had an unnaturally speechless look on his young face.

"Infiltrate Green Clan, get as close as possible to their secret quarters and the Slate, then give us chance to attack them."

Fushimi's shocked face lasted for a few minutes. Then he finally found his voice to spoke up.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to be Green King's clansman. That means betray Scepter 4. Betray  you ."

Munakata maintained his unshakable serenity.

"Yes, we will have a fake quarrel in front of everyone and you are supposed to leave me in anger."

The youth gradually lost his shocked face. In exchange, his mouth morphed into a twisted grin, and he let out a quite long crazed laugh. Captain just stared at him in silence with no intention to stop his subordinate's bizarre action. In the end, the boy regained his composure and threw Munakata a bitter smile.

"I see, it's such a fitting job for a traitor like me."

Munakata lowered his gaze, but his voice remained steady.

"Indeed you are the only one who can do this task, not only because you have switched clan before, but also I have complete faith in your ability to fulfill this mission."

"Faith, huh..."

Hearing his favorite subordinate's mocking tone, the Scepter 4 captain stood up and walked to the table near the boy. He gently put his hand on the table and spoke softly.

"But I understand that it's not an easy task to accept so you have all night to consider this. In the morning, please give-"

"I'll do it."

"Fushimi-kun?" Munakata's composure shook a little, jolted at Fushimi's resolute words. The person in question stared his Captain head-on with a determined expression.

"I accept this mission. Truly annoying, but I understand the importance of the backup plan, and your plan seems logical enough."

"Fushimi-kun, I advise you to think about this matter carefully. This is a mission with no guarantee that you would return alive. You can refuse it."

"Tsk, don't you say that you have faith in my ability?"

"I have absolute confidence that you can perform this task successfully. But after Green clan is aware of your espionage, you will be trapped in the middle of enemy's territory alone, especially since this mission is kept as a secret from everyone except me, you and Zenjou-san."

Fushimi took his eyes off Munakata and looked at Zenjou, as if just noticing the veteran's presence in the room. He looked at the scarred man slightly annoyed, probably because he didn't like other people to see his last (maybe) mental breakdown.

I don't want to see it either, kid. I don't even know why I am here.

"I understand to keep it from Lieutenant and others to make my betrayal will look real, but why does Zenjou-san is included in this plan?" protested Fushimi, not caring a little bit about Zenjou's demonic popularity. Then again, that kid once (maybe) deliberately passed him and taunted him with his own Captain's condition [7].

Truly no wonder that he's Munakata's favorite.

"After you give a chance to attack, I plan to confront Green clan and Zenjou-san, I need you to be my only companion."

If before Zenjou froze, now he felt like he was being doused by cold water. No one in the room didn't understand the hidden meaning of the Blue King's sentence. Munakata walked toward Zenjou and stared at him sternly, signified how serious the situation that Zenjou was getting into.

"I do not plan to include other Scepter 4 members since Awashima-kun and the rest should handle clan's matters in my absence. Zenjou-san, I will rely on your ability to give me the best possible protection while facing Green clan."

So he refused to say outright about the elephant in the room, huh. How hilarious. Voicing his thought, the youth snorted sarcastically.

"Pft, best possible protection, isn't he your executioner? Or what do you call him? Your Sword of Damocles, part of your destiny."

Wow, ain't that familiar words. So the boy overheard his conversation with the current Blue King on Kusuhara's avenge mission. Munakata didn't mind his subordinate's provocative words at all and firmly addressed the elder man.

"Zenjou-san, are you willing to accompany me and obliterate any threat that can harm humanity?"

Zenjou-san was well aware that the said humanity's threats meant by Munakata are not only about Green Clan and their grand plan. Munakata planned to push his Weismann's level past its limit to face Green clan, and when his Damocles Sword is at the risk of getting down, his life will be the obstacle that must be removed to prevent massive destruction.

(”Zenjou, you will always do the right thing. You will cut what needs to be cut.”)

"I will cut anything that needs to be cut."

"That's good then" nodded Munakata, who seemed satisfied at the confirmation of his own execution.

Silence engulfed the small room. Neither of them intended to open break the ice, probably busy with thoughts of each great burden on their shoulders. After a few minutes, the boy spoke up with an amused yet depressed tone.

"Lieutenant will not be happy about this."

"I bet she won't," chuckled Munakata softly.

"If somehow we can survive in the end, she will choke us with massive ankos."

The boy suppressed his giggle. He was aware of his impending fate, the high possibility of his death with his King...

And he laughed.

On  that day , didn't he also laughed at the possibility of his death alongside Habari? Wait, no, he laughed about how angry Shiotsu to be left alone and has to handle all the mess after their death. And in the end, Shiotsu still had to take care of all Scepter 4 matters because Zenjou after he cut his own king is truly dead in everything but breaths.

Glad that Shiotsu isn't obsessed with anko. Not that he dislikes anko, though.

Captain's chuckle disappeared, seemed that he didn't enjoy Fushimi's newest humor.

"Fushimi-kun, are you sure-"

Fushimi stood up to silence Munakata's mouth, fixed his eyes to his Captain steadily.

"Shut up, I said that I will do it, didn't I. Just like you said, I am the only one who can do it. Instead of nagging me, you should think about yourself."

Fushimi turned around, refusing to face his Captain. The boy muttered petulantly.

"....I am not the one who will walk toward a practically suicide plan."

Munakata sat back on his bed, staring at the room ceiling.

"Your mission has a very high risk, it can be considered a suicide plan, though. It may come to be that you'll share my destiny and have to die with me."

"Then so be it."

Seeing the despairing scene unfolding before his eyes, Zenjou looked away, hard. He didn't like it. The scene he saw right now, is too similar like on that day.

("I made it in time to be with you at your final moment, and share your destiny. I am satisfied with that.")

"Well, there's nothing left to discuss, right? Then I'll go, there are so many things that need to be prepared for tomorrow's plan, also for this new backup plan."The boy hurriedly walked toward the door, still refuse to turn back and saw his Captain.

"Fushimi-kun?"

"Yes?"

The current Blue King took his eyes off the ceiling, focused his attention at his subordinate's back.

"If there's a time when you can choose your fate, please choose the best option for your safety."

The boy was silent for a few moments. Then, still with his back to his Captain, he grabbed the doorknob

"I'll keep that in mind."

The door was opened, and Fushimi was ready to walk out of that room. But, he turned back facing Munakata and stated with a soft yet clear voice.

"When the time comes, I have a feeling that my body will do what I think it's right to do, reason doesn't matter. Just like that night when I stepped to your side. So, I can't promise you anything that I myself can't understand."

"I see... Then, whatever your choice later, do not hesitate."

("Do not hesitate, Zenjou.")

"Yeah, I will not regret it."

I don't understand. Why did I must kill you that time, Habari?

The former right-hand of late Blue King silently watched as the youth's figure completely disappeared from the room. The current Blue King rose from his bed and also walked to the door.

"The meeting is over. Looks like we have so many things to be prepared, aren't we, Zenjou-san? Or do you have any questions?"

Questions? He has so many of them. He felt like he didn't understand anything at all. Blue Kings. Munakata.

Habari.

But there's one thing he had to make sure of.

"You will not let the boy share your fate, aren't you?"

Munakata just smiled softly and walked out of the room, as if his smile is enough for an answer. But the right-hand man of the late Blue King understood the meaning of that damned familiar smile.

The answer is as clear as the blue sky.

King, Zenjou thought, is truly the cruelest being.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

As Munakata predicted, Mihashira's plan was failed and Green clan succeed in stealing the Slate. As per Munakata's plan, he had a nasty verbal fight with Fushimi and the boy left in anger (he wondered how much it was acting and how much it was their scream to each other for the last time). Then, just like Munakata's prediction, the boy managed to be Jungle J-ranker, the current Blue King was fired from his job, and the rest of Scepter 4 were not allowed to leave home base.

The final stage had been prepared.

"I wish I knew what they were thinking, both Captain and Fushimi-san!"

A young energetic blue clansman's voice of frustration echoed in his ears, while he accompanied the Captain walked toward Green clan's base. Funnily, he wondered the same. He glanced at the current Blue King, hoped to catch a glimpse of emotion regarding his impending death. But the current Blue King walked straight as usual, there is no hesitation in his steps and his regal posture.

Habari, when you stood straight facing my sword, surrounded by destruction, what were you thinking?

Did he think about his duty as King to preserve society?

Did he think about his fate to die for everyone's sake?

Did he think about the benefit of his disappearance?

Is it... Is it so wrong for Zenjou to think the opposite?

To think that the world can crash and burn as long as he can be on his King's side?

("The country would be destroyed."

"I see... None of my concern. I fight with you, I die with you. That's all I need to do. Let Shiotsu take care of the rest.")

Losing on his thought, and let his body automatically slashed anything that came across their path, he halted when Munakata suddenly stopped in the middle of the road.

"Now we wait."

Wait, for what?  

Zenjou got his answer quickly after. The road in front of him trembled and shifted. Green clan members around them yelled in panic, confused why and how the gate of their secret base was opened.

But the former right-hand of late Blue King understood. The boy did it. He chose to stay on his King's side and fight for his sake, disregarding his own life.

This means that for the boy, opened the gate for his King is the right thing to do.

Again, he hurriedly took a glance at the King beside him. The Blue King smiled softly, relief in his eyes tingled with immeasurable fondness.

"Fushimi-kun. You have done it."[8]

("That's right, Zenjou. That's fine.")

As if his mind wasn't already filled with painful nostalgia, a familiar person appeared from the gate. Ootori Seigo, the Gray King, another person who lost his everything because of Kagutsu Crater.

"Good grief, the gate really did open. Nagare's foresight is quite accurate."

Of course, the Gray King acknowledged Zenjou as Habari Jin's right-hand man. It's been 14 years ago, but no one will ever forget everything that happened in the middle of Kagutsu Crater. Not that he had any business with Ootori Seigo, now.

He was Munakata's problem.

As the Gray King summoned Damocles Sword, Munakata also summoned his. The broken Blue Damocles Sword clashed with the solid Gray Sword.

The Blue King unleashed his sanctum, pushing his Weissman level.

Green clan had been aware of the boy's infiltration.

The countdown of their death has begun.

So far, everything has gone according to Munakata's plan. But then many unexpected things happened. The first was the arrival of the red and white clansmen who entered the entrance that had been opened by Fushimi. Indeed, the Blue King had said that he cannot control the movements of other clans, but what happened after that certainly completely deviated from Captain's prediction.

Scepter 4 members, who were supposed to be confined in their home base, disregarded the orders from above and came to assist their King. For a supposed genius, Munakata is truly stupid to think that he stopped being their leader after he was fired. As if any clansman will accept that a single piece of paper dictates them to abandon their King.

("Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau, Civil Registry Department, Annex 4 is just a facade. Our true identity is the proud Scepter 4 clansmen of Blue King, Munakata Reisi").

Supported by his clansmen's sanctuary, the Blue King rose from adversity and managed to turn the tide. In the end, he succeeded to land a fatal blow on Ootori Seigo and made his Damocles Sword disappeared. Every blue clansman rejoiced for it before suddenly Munakata's whole body crackled with uncontrolled Blue power.

Scepter 4 Lieutenant suddenly rushed to his side and prevented other people to come closer to her King.

"Everyone, stand back. You too, Zenjou-san."

Not too long ago, he challenged Lieutenant Awashima to kill her King. He didn't really think that it had to be her job to slay her King and stop her King's Damocles Sword. Maybe he was testing her. Maybe he was just annoyed because she nagged him about his role in killing King in the past (not that she was worse than Munakata about that). Maybe he was a little resentful because people like her remembered him best as the person who was credited with stopping Habari's Damocles Down by killing his own King.

No matter what reason, it was clear that Awashima took his words seriously. She immediately went to Munakata's side and kept everyone away from him.

"I am his lieutenant. If necessary, I will..." declared Awashima firmly, But her hands were shaking, indicating the heavy feeling raging in her heart.

("Zenjou, as always, you never do wrong things. You will cut what needs to be cut.")

The current Blue King just kept calm with his crackling body. Maybe he already gave up on controlling everything that happened around him and allowed himself to go with the inevitable flow of fate. What did he say before? 'There are times when you want to throw out reason and let fate take its course'.

"Awashima-kun, when the time comes, do not hesitate."

("Do not hesitate, Zenjou.")

Too focused on what was happening, no one noticed the gray king's departure from his previous place. Zenjou just noticed it for a while, and let him be. With the old man's battered body, Ootori couldn't do anything except mustered his last strength and limped toward his purpose of life.

"At least, he can die where he wants."

Which is certainly couldn't be said for Zenjou. All he can do is to live and observe the next tale of Blue. Blue that did not belong to him.

Wild power in Munakata' body was intensified. Crack in the huge blue sword grew exponentially. Lieutenant Awashima strengthened her grip on her sword, gritted her teeth.

Will history repeated itself?

Will the right hand of the King, the most devoted clansman of Blue, killed her own King?

Suddenly, crackles that enveloped the Blue King stopped. The broken Sword of Damocles disintegrated into blue sparkles, diluted in the clear blue sky. Lieutenant Awashima drastically relieved her tense posture, utterly grateful painted her pretty face.

Munakata himself didn't show any sharp change of expression. With the same serene and peaceful smile, the former Blue King whispered softly.

"It seems my life has been spared."

"Captain!"

Munakata turned his back facing his Lieutenant. He noticed the strong woman's refreshed face, as if she was just relieved from a huge burden and all is well. That's exactly what happened, indeed.  

"I must admit that I was a bit curious to see if Awashima-kun would be able to slay me. However, I appreciate your efforts. Thank you."

Asshole. Even just after be free from the brink of certain death, the young captain is as cynical as ever. The Lieutenant's emotion didn't change much, but if someone looked closely, a spark of anger flashed her eyes.

"With all due respect, Captain. Your gratitude alone will not be enough."

"Huh?"

"Excuse me!"

A loud, well-deserved punch, streaked Munakata's baffled face. Zenjou snorted, silently cheered.

Serves him right.

He was truly satisfied to accompany Munakata today.

A huge earthquake shook underneath them. The Scepter 4 Captain in everything but an official title (not for long) quickly ordered his clansmen to evacuate. He himself stayed in the place he stood, stared forlornly at the remnant of Green Clan base below him. Come to think about it, Munakata had been staring at the Jungle entrance ever since he defeated Gray King.

As if he dropped something precious in there.

Do you regret hoping that he doesn't share the same fate as you, now that you survived?

Suddenly, a green light appeared behind him, carrying the bruised but clearly alive Blue's youngest clansman. The newly former King turned around, and finally met his private soldier's eyes for a long time since their hurtful (fake) quarrel. There are so many things that happened to them, so many things that should be discussed, but the youth casually spoke up, as if they're in a normal day of normal daily Scepter 4 life.

"Mission accomplished, sir.."

"Well done."

Seeing the serene scene in front of him, Zenjou suppressed the bitter envy in his heart.

If only he and Habari's situation ended up like them...

Kagutsu bastard... if he wanted to destroy everything so much, he should destroy the damned Slate when he was at it.

0000000000000000000000000

"So, have you found your answer on the last incident?" asked a man with a scary face beside Zenjou. His name is Shiotsu, the former Lieutenant of Habari's Scepter 4 and Zenjou's closest comrade after Habari. They were on a drink together in the same oden store as the last time [7].

"What answer? I was simply watching the current Blue King." replied Zenjou while sipping his drink. Shiotsu scowled.

"You certainly watched him because of  that time . You said that you want to understand Habari after all.[9]"

Smoothing his frown, Shiotsu raised his glass and pondered.

"To be honest, I am curious too. How did he feel when he stood between his own life and massive destruction? How did he feel when he asked you to kill him?"

"Habari didn't ask me to kill him. I chose to do it."

The bespectacled man suddenly stated, put his glass down slowly.

"That's my answer I guess."

"What?" perplexed Shiotsu. Zenjou Gouki is the absolute loyal dog of Habari Jin. For him to admit that he chose to kill his King... the former Acting Captain of Scepter 4 couldn't believe his ears.

"On the recent incident with Munakata, The Blue-I mean former Blue King didn't ask Awashima to kill him. Still, she rushed to his side, just like I did in the past. She's prepared to do what needs to be done, for Scepter 4 and society's sake. On the other hand, that boy Fushimi chose to risk his life for Munakata, opened the gate that became the entrance for Silver King and his alliance to enter Jungle, and indirectly caused Munakata's Damocles to disappear. Both of them didn't move because of command. They just did what they think is the right thing to do, without hesitation."

Zenjou took a dejected breath, and continued calmly.

"At that time,  maybe it happened to me as well. All Habari did was to let me do my choice and accepted his fate."

Shiotsu was silent, stared at Zenjou's contemplative look. The former guard dog of Blue King's face was melancholic just like how he always is while thinking about their King, but he could feel that finally, his closest comrade found peace in himself.

"I see... Then, did you regret your choice?"

Zenjou smiled wistfully.

"Part of me still wants to die alongside him on that day, but I will try not to regret what's already happened."

Shiotsu still remembered the days after the Kagutsu incident. Zenjou's blank hopeless look, as if his soul went with his king to the afterlife. Zenjou who left Scepter 4 right after Habari's death, and withdrew from everyone. Zenjou who refused to come out, and chose to grieve in silence.

Looking that his friend's sorrowful yet serene smile, Shiotsu felt very grateful that his friend was still alive and sat in his side.

"Good for you, Zenjou."

Looking at his comrade's unusual fond smile, Zenjou chuckled.

"So you can make a smile with that scowly face, Shiotsu."

"Shut up. I was born with this face, but you and Habari's recklessness certainly didn't help me to hold back my scowl."

Zenjou let out a crisp hearty laugh. Then, as if he had just remembered something, he grinned.

"Speaking about recklessness, Lieutenant Awashima is also not happy with both the current Blue King and his boy's recklessness. She's so angry when knowing that they literally walked toward suicide plans without her knowledge, intended to leave her alone to stay in Scepter 4 HQ and handle Clan's matters after their death. The discipline Lieutenant punched his superior and tried to break the boy's back with her hug."

Hearing that, Shiotsu couldn't help but snicker. Oh, he knew the feeling of that Lieutenant's frustration and exasperation very damn well.

"Of course she is, and they deserved it."

"On  that day,  Habari left your side to face Kagutsu alone. I also followed him and tried to die with him. To think about it, perhaps we both could be that reckless because we know that you can survive and take care of the rest of matters after our death. Like Awashima, do you ever feel angry-"

*BUGH*

A hard-boiled punch followed by a back-breaking hug answered Zenjou's question.

Reference :

[1] Case Files of Blue volume 2 chapter 3

[2] Fushimi Saruhiko side story

[3] Days of Blue Chapter 4

[4] Side Blue Oneshot- A Dog Reminiscence

[5] Zenjou Gouki ~ Dog Droppings, Bird Droppings

[6] K Seven Stories Side Blue

[7] K Countdown Chapter 6 : Damaged Blue

[8] K Return of King Manga Chapter 12

[9] K ~ Seven Stories ~ Piece 7: Habari Jin

#k project #Fushimi Saruhiko #Munakata Reisi #zenjou gouki #habari jin #Awashima Seri #shiotsu gen #scepter 4 #Zenjou Gouki P.O.V #angst with a happy ending #My fic

[shadystranger]

Bernardo character analysis cuz yes

The major hindrance of Bernardo's life was actually himself all along.

Bernardo is a smart guy and as much as he holds expectations he's never satisfied, worse he is the first to feel the most disappointed with himself (ex: him emphasizing on how pathetic and loser he actually is) Bernardo used to see himself as an incompetent third rate book-smart, even after he became the second highest ranked member in the organization he still thought of himself as a loser.

Bernardo's negative view of himself probably stemmed from only one thing and that's that he was too demanding of himself. Bernardo always pursues the finest of things be it liquor, cigarettes, etc he doesn't settle just for any quality, the reason he does such a thing may be because he knows enough just how inferior they would be. You only know something is good when you have experienced what is inferior. Bernardo fancies the finest of things because he's too familiar with the worstes of them Bernardo used to be quite poor not to a great extent at all but his modest family situation posed to him more hurdles in life than it did him good.

Near the end of Bernardo's route after Gian finds Bernardo under the rain, he shares his beer with him Bernardo first got disgusted by how awful it tasted compared to the wines of highest quality he's used to but finds himself later content with it. Bernardo's attitude with the finest of things x otherwise could be also said for Bernardo's aspired self in his mind and what he's in reality. I like to think that moment is more of a metaphor that even his self who does wrong-doings, cries in the rain and is miserable at times is fine on its own without being prefectured and Gian loves Bernardo for who he is anyway.

Bernardo's life used to be quite a series of pure downs and no ups. He emphasized how awful his time in the army had been (which he had to serve in to be able to get into university), no sooner he's imprisoned and is targeted too much for his own good, worse he ends up in the Mafia (the least place he likely wanted to be associated with) and finds himself with no choice but to miraculously work his way in the stocks in a dying stock market or else his life ends. The only time life works Bernardo's way is when Gian helps him and quite literally saves his life, this is probably the beginning of Bernardo's fixation with Gian.

Bernardo is not perfect, he proved to have self-doubt and self-aversion issues at some points but he is not the type who sees less worth in himself and such.

A good chug of Bernardo's mindset is the incarnation of reason. He does not carry out decisions unless he has re-thought them thoroughly and his actions are bound to be from the utmost consideration of the organization than anything, he for the most part knows how to base his actions on his logical side rather than his emotional side and the benefits it has on the organization.

However both the army and family proved to be discard-able means, Bernardo's history in army is kinda vague though it was clear he hated every bit of it and his plans of a family was destroyed because the one he truly fell in love with was a man (and with Bernardo's attitude It probably was never that any women was fine as long as she gives him a child, it was never that any woman would "work" rather it had to be the "specific person he genuinely fell for" unfortunately for him Gian was a man, so that led to smartass plan B of them using any women to hitch two of their kids which is a dick plan overall because it shows that as long as it means he'll reach his goal Bernardo'd not mind using anyone even if he won't go out of his way to, needlessly. Basically Bernardo is an extreme the end justifies the means kind of person) back to the point Bernardo for a long while didn't know how exactly he should spend his life, to Bernardo life is a mere means, probably an empty stage where you've to fulfill your duties and that's it.

In the grand scheme of things, Bernardo has three main factors to how his mindset works: number one is his strong sense of responsibility and reason, number two is his indecisiveness, oftentimes due pessimistic approach and number three is contradiction (which is usually because of Gian).

Bernardo originally strongly believes that he and the organization are in a kind of dutiful relationship. He must be logical, wise, steadfast and completely discarding his own real emotions. Bernardo adopts more of an old and robotic approach to life he is aware he was born for a reason and that's to put his all into being useful, have a family and die. but all of these are mere means for him to fulfill that desire in him to leave a proof of him existing. When you serve your country (ie army, later → the organization) when you get married (ie → a child) both are what you'd most likely think of when you want to bury yourself down into even one person's memory after you die. I don't know if his fixation with the thought is out of self-doubt or low self-worth but one thing for sure It's the only way of life he adopted.

Kind of nearly everything Bernardo searched for (be it, purpose, investment, money, and companions) was given to him by the organization. Maybe it's because of that that he holds the organization this highly in his list of priorities.

CR:5 was in a way the light that guided him through the tunnel. It's no exaggeration to say it played a big part in him continuing to live because he's now actually tied up with an "existence".

The organization keeps on giving than anything and Bernardo'd never really have any reason to betray it you'd think but then you see him turn around and help Gian ditching CR:5 if he wanted to or giving Gian the money he got rather than maybe investing it in the family's ledger especially when CR:5 wasn't in its best shape then.

I'm pretty sure aside from Gian followed by the capos no one matters much to Bernardo. (I included the capos too because Bernardo does admit to Ivan that he's a dick but he would never does harm to someone close to Ivan even when it was convenient for him to)

Bernardo literally has no reason to betray the family, but because he considers keeping Gian safe of greater priority he decides to, this doesn't lessen his loyalty per se but just shows how he sets his decisions based on his own list of priorities, Bernardo would be the biggest asshole if it means he gets the end he desires and Natasha's case was no different as the organization. Bernardo loved Nastasha, he had no reason to ill-treat her but because he knew only through her he could set up Dave, which getting rid of him was beneficial to the family and probably work as a self-satisfaction to Bernardo, he used her. It's not that Nastasha never mattered to him but rather that the organization and maybe his desire to settle scores with Dave had the upper level in his priorities than her.

Another thing to put into consideration Is that in Ivan's route Bernardo did say that he had a "naive image" of the family. He joined expecting better but the reality was disappointing. Bernardo does have his iffies about the ordeal of things but he'd usually just stay still in the sidelines, he doesn't take a step more than his line of sight allows he's cowardly in a sense.

I believe Bernardo's indecisiveness and hesitation lies in the fact he's the type of person who considers the negative what-ifs of any situation most and bases his train of thought on the worst outcome and even when he does not, his fear of the numerous dead-ends and no guarantee 100% that "that thought" would work is due that. In essence he limits his own self through his cautiousness and pessimism.

He's the one who chains and limits himself this much. That's why I think the scene on the bridge at the end of the route symbolizes him managing to rid himself of his constant indecisiveness and cowardice.

Bernardo knew Gian approximately around the time he was with Nastasha. But the difference is that Bernardo truly loved Gian whereas he didn't have as strong feelings towards Nastasha.

Since day one Bernardo had always kept making sure his love for Gian stays hidden if Gian does not notice he will not tell him, the thought was not even considered to him because he was cautious more than anything to protect his relationship with Gian the risk of it changing by Gian becoming aware of those feelings he held for him was too high and not worth it, Bernardo would have never taken the intuitive unless he *knew* the chances were in his favor and he wouldn't lose their current relationship.

In the general pessimistic predictions Bernardo had, Gian and him had no future. Despite adopting the mindset of expecting the consequences of every step he took, that rational valve of Bernardo gets inherently broken when it comes to Gian sometimes. The moment Bernardo decided to make his feelings for Gian blatant he did not regret it. Even if it meant he was fucking up their relationship, he didn't regret it (Though it could also be because Gian makes Bernardo lose all his original sense of reason, since Gian is the cause of Bernardo's "contradiction" or who knows?)

As I already said, Bernardo doesn't get to act based on his emotions due his position in the family. Acting sensibly is commonplace and default for him. Bernardo is not a man who can be tied up by bonds: to him partners can be used, promises can be broken, companions can be betrayed, Bernardo is much more unsympathetic than he lets on (with expectations to that maxim).

When it comes to Nastasha though I don't think It's that he's a mere dick to her because Bernardo is actually not (even if overall he is)

Let's put some things straight Bernardo originally gave her a better life and was the one who gave Nastasha her only source of income (her shop). And it was heavily implied that Nastasha did think if Bernardo abandoned her, she'd have nowhere to go. Bernardo himself is not heartless. So he probably for that reason didn't want to end their relationship of nearly 9 years. It's not that he had much romantic feelings for her (even if he did love her at some point) and was switching between her and Gian because he can't decide and making Gian a side-track in progress. It was more like he was being considerate of her whereas Gian was the one who mattered to Bernardo the most and whom he has the strongest feelings for (not just romantically).

So even If he wasn't interested, Bernardo would still speak sweet nothings over the phone to Nastasha, still give her flowers, and such. He was maintaining their relationship, but he did not intend to give her a future with him. (Is he shitty for acting and leading her on? absolutely. Was it not with good intentions here and there? to be fair, No)

Despite the fact Bernardo took the bystander stance on Nastasha and let her be r worded by Dave, fully aware of the consequences he still regretted his actions and cried under the rain which would seem quite hypocritical of him.

Bernardo continued to hold the bouquet of flowers then, not because he was holding on his love for Nastasha and past, It was because the bouquet of flowers resembled his self that acknowledges Its own incompetence, wrong-doings and failure (also the scene where Gian said he should give him those flowers and Bernardo replied he'd buy him another one but Gian insisted on the one he was holding means a lot more when you view the bouquet as Bernardo's unfiltered self).

In the Best Ending when Bernardo shouted his love for Gian in the void, It could be interpreted as a kind of rebirth for him.

I mean Bernardo originally could not face his genuine probably overwhelming love for Gian (now you see his Gian whoring traits all over the place be it in his own route, the other capos' or the neutral one)

Because of numerous reasons, had Bernardo remained the same as his past self he would still have been stuck, unable to get out of the dark dilemma he had gotten himself into. But through Gian he was able to change and overcome his mental fears.

To sum it up, Bernardo lived his life searching for a reason to live and the meaning of life and family. He wanted to prove himself through his constant efforts and "deeds". You'd think overall such a man has no emotions in him and is incapable of loving thanks to his strongly logical mindset. But he loves Gian like the biggest dumbass ever in love and CR:5 as well (saying this cuz Bernardo did say that spending time aimlessly with the five of them is like a dream-like reality).

#Tumblr broke while I made this #lucky dog 1 #Bernardo Ortolani #This is pure thoughts and brainfarts on Bernardo #The character writing in ld1 is hella neat

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 25: Martin Prime

“Well, she was right about one thing,” Jon said dryly, a moment or two after they pulled away from the curb. “I definitely don’t care much for the original Helen Richardson.”

Martin forced a smile, although he knew his heart wasn’t in it. “Our Helen said that, did she?”

“When I was in her domain. Or, well, when I was on her doorstep, anyway. She told me I wouldn’t have—how did she put it? I wouldn’t have liked ‘Helen Classic’ all that much.” Jon sighed. “I’ll give the Distortion credit for that much, anyway. She—it—never really lied to us.”

Martin hummed and turned his face in the direction of the window. “She didn’t need to. Why lie when the truth would disorientate just as well?”

“That’s a fair point. God knows our world was confusing enough as it was. It was never very hard to get us—well, me, I suppose—turned around just by presenting me with a truth I’d never considered before.” Jon went quiet, but it was the sort of quiet he usually got when there was something he wasn’t saying and really ought to.

Ordinarily, Martin would have pried at him, tried to prod him to open up and just be honest, but right about then, he was just too tired. Not physically, mentally. Partly it was the edge of navigating a new place while blind. He’d been at one time intimately familiar with the Archives, and he’d had at least passing familiarity with both Tim’s house and the tunnels, back before. But he’d never been to the house they’d just toured before, had no frame of reference, and he’d decided to go without the cane despite Jon’s objections—he was still sort of learning how to use it properly, since it was mostly trial-and-error on his part, and he’d also got it in his head that Helen would probably be the sort of person to look down on someone visibly disabled like that. The fact that he strongly suspected he was right wasn’t helping his mental energy levels. He’d spent the last—God, four months? Had it actually been that long?—surrounded by people he knew, trusted, and loved, for varying definitions of love, and who reciprocated those feelings. Helen Richardson was the first person he’d interacted with outside of the Archival team, and he hadn’t been prepared for the way she’d acted around him. Around them, really, and he wasn’t sure if it was Jon’s appearance or the fact that they were two men in a relationship or both. That, at least, was something he was well used to—he’d been out since he was fourteen and Jon was by no means his first boyfriend, although he hadn’t really dated much since starting to work at the Institute—but it didn’t make it any less upsetting, or exhausting.

And despite that, despite the fact that she was objectively not a particularly nice person, Martin felt a weariness settle over him as he realized they probably weren’t going to be able to save her. They’d known they probably couldn’t prevent every horrible thing that had happened to the people they knew, of course, but both Jon and Martin were determined to do what they could. And since Helen’s initial statement had been rather…imprecise about how long after her experience it had been before she decided (or, as they’d later learned, was pushed) to come to the Institute and give her statement, they’d decided to see what they could do to warn her, as best they could. It probably wasn’t a surprise that it hadn’t worked. Martin didn’t need any special powers, or indeed the ability to see her face, to know that she’d been deeply skeptical of Jon’s questions about the door. He believed her when she said she hadn’t seen it—Jon had said from the beginning that the Distortion had been lucky to grab her on the first go—but he’d kind of hoped she would at least be on the alert for it, and he somehow didn’t think that was going to be the case. The Spiral was going to target her, and now Martin wondered if they’d inadvertently drawn its attention to her. God knew they’d accelerated enough other things in the timeline.

There was also something else preying on his mind, something fairly major, but he knew better than to bring it up.

Finally, Jon spoke again, in a voice so soft Martin almost couldn’t hear it over the engine. “She was selective about what truths she told me, though. It was easier to remember that when I wasn’t alone.”

Even though he knew it wasn’t meant to be a censure of him, Martin felt a stabbing of guilt in his stomach, and he had to swallow hard before he could answer. “You know I wouldn’t have—”

“I know,” Jon said immediately. Martin felt his touch on the back of his hand and instinctively laced their fingers together. “I could have…I’m not blaming you. I didn’t even realize how hard it was until I was in her domain.”

“Alone,” Martin reminded him. That was the sticking point. Jon wouldn’t have been alone when he faced down Helen if he hadn’t realized how badly Martin didn’t want him to see what his domain was like…or more accurately, what Martin in his domain was like.

“I could have waited for you. I could have gone into your domain and tried to find you. I could have taken the path that avoided Helen entirely and dealt with the spiders. I had options, Martin, and I chose to take the option that led me through Helen’s domain alone. That’s not on you.” Jon forestalled any reply Martin might have had by lifting their joined hands and kissing the back of Martin’s gently. “I don’t care what your mother said to you. You don’t bear the responsibility for anyone but yourself.”

Martin managed a smile. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know.” The smile in Jon’s voice was audible. “I love you, too.”

They lapsed into silence for a while. Martin almost thought that was the end of it, until Jon spoke up again. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Martin repeated, although he was pretty sure he knew what Jon meant.

“Martin. I don’t need the Eye’s power to know that there’s something on your mind.”

Martin considered denying it, but in his heart of hearts he knew he wasn’t going to do that. They were trying so hard to communicate, and they’d been doing really well at it. He wasn’t going to break that now. Best to just say it and get it over with.

“That took a bit more out of me than I thought it would,” he admitted. “Not just dealing with—pre-Distortion Helen, or, you know, trying to maneuver around a space I didn’t know without being able to see it—”

“I told you to bring your cane.”

“I know, but she was having enough trouble being civil to us as it was. Why make it worse? Not like it would have helped all that much.” Martin sighed. “That’s really only part of it, though. Not even the most significant part, if I’m being honest.” He bit his lip. “I just…I didn’t realize how much I wanted that.”

There was a short pause before Jon spoke, sounding confused. “The house? I-I mean, we can probably buy it, if you really want to.”

This time, Martin’s smile was at least genuine, if small. “Look, Peter Lukas might be a bit oblivious when it comes to technology, and he might have more money than he’ll spend in a lifetime, but even he’d notice a sudden payout of two and a half million pounds to a real estate firm.”

Jon snorted with obvious amusement. “Probably closer to three by the time Helen was done working us over.”

“Point still stands. Anyway, it’s not the house I’m talking about.”

“Then what is it?”

Martin took a deep breath. “It’s just—I never thought about a future for us. I mean, yes, of course I knew by the time we’d been in Scotland for a couple weeks that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I-it’s just, well, once the world ended? I never really thought about the rest of our lives actually being that long. Yeah, we had the plan to stop Jonah Magnus and save the world and turn things back the way they were, but—let’s be realistic, Jon, I think we both had it in the back of our minds that we were both going to die. I guess I just never considered the possibility of a future beyond that, because I figured we didn’t have one. I figured the best I could hope for was dying with you and there being a life after death we could spend together. Even when we came back here to fix everything, I—I didn’t really think beyond immediate goals. Stop Jonah, save Tim, save Sasha, save the world. I didn’t think about what might be ahead for us. But then we were in there talking to Helen, and I was listening to you spin that story for her, and—and something just clicked, you know? I suddenly…it suddenly hit me how much I really wanted all of that. How much I want to have that—that future. That life together. A home. A cat.” He swallowed hard. “Kids.”

Jon didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Martin closed his eyes and lowered his head. He shouldn’t have said all that. He should have just left it at wanting them to have a future. He shouldn’t have mentioned how right everything Jon had lied to Helen about felt. It was too much pressure, and God knew Jon probably didn’t want it, didn’t want to risk…now Jon was going to think he had to let Martin down gently. Hell, there was no guarantee Jon even wanted this to be forever. Martin knew he loved Jon, would love him until there was nothing left of either one of them to love, but what if Jon didn’t feel the same way? Especially since most of their relationship had developed while slogging through a literal hellscape. Could they even survive a future free of conflict? But he was trying to get better about not assuming, so he pressed his lips together to keep from saying anything else and tried to fight back the tears.

At last, Jon spoke. “Do you remember the first person who came to give a live statement when we started working in the Archives?”

Leave it to Jon to change the subject rather than break his heart. And of course Martin remembered Naomi Hearn, but—wait. “Right, the—the civil engineer?” He didn’t trust himself to say much beyond that, still trying to get his emotions under control, but he remembered now. The man had found a book he thought might have been deeply cursed and been sent down to the Archives to give his statement. They’d eventually found out that the leather-bound book with its holographic, eerily styled illustrations and weird stains and symbols scattered throughout it was part of an ill-conceived but ultimately harmless viral marketing scheme for an independent horror movie that tanked at the box office and bankrupted the filmmakers.

“Mm-hmm. He brought his daughter with him, and when I came out to give him space to make his statement privately, you were keeping an eye on her for him. I don’t think you saw me—or Tim, for that matter, when he got back in—but I was…captivated. Didn’t know why then, but I just stood there watching you pacing around the Archives singing nonsense songs.”

“Polish,” Martin said softly. Jon was right—he hadn’t seen anyone else there. He’d offered to watch the little girl so she didn’t interfere with the recordings, or get scared, and he honestly hadn’t noticed another soul until the man came back for her. God, he didn’t even remember the man’s name. The girl’s name was Juliana, though. He remembered that mostly because of the children’s song he’d sung at her that had her name in it.

“I should have known. Still…my point stands. It’s…it’s a memory that’s stuck with me.” Jon exhaled. “You’d make an excellent father, Martin. I think I’d like to see that.”

A sudden weight lifted off of Martin’s chest, and he drew what felt like the first free breath he’d drawn in ages, even though it had really only been a few minutes. “Yeah?”

“Very much so,” Jon replied. “I…you’re right. I never let myself consider the future beyond…well, beyond stopping the Apocalypse. But you deserve so much more. We deserve it. So yes, Martin. To all of it. If—when we survive this, I’d like to have that future with you.”

Their fingers were still laced together. Martin turned his hand over and squeezed Jon’s tightly. “You know, that…was not how I imagined proposing to you.”

Jon’s laugh was a balm on the raw edges of Martin’s nerves—warm, affectionate, and maybe a little surprised. “Technically, you didn’t actually propose. You mentioned a lot of things you wanted, but—”

“Fine, you overly-precise bastard.” Martin laughed, too, then turned his head and hoped like hell he was actually looking at Jon. “Jonathan Sims, will you marry me?”

Jon’s hand tightened around Martin’s, and Martin could have sworn there was a hitch in his voice as he replied, “Yes, Martin Blackwood, I will.”

Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever stop smiling, even if his face hurt. “Sorry I don’t have a ring to give you, but…”

“I think I’ll survive,” Jon said dryly. He was audibly smiling, too. “I love you. So very much.”

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

For a moment, Martin let himself be content. They’d had more and more moments of happiness and comfort since coming back in time, and even in the short month they’d been living in the tunnels, emerging at night to let Jon feed off of statements and try to figure out what to do with the table in Artifact Storage without getting caught by Jonah, there were periods of time where they were almost as happy as they’d been in Scotland. But this moment right here? Sitting in a car with his boyfriend—his fiancé—and talking about a future Martin couldn’t have even imagined was possible even a year ago? This was the closest thing to heaven he thought he’d known since the first time Jon said I love you.

So, naturally, it all went to hell almost immediately.

Martin couldn’t even really say for sure what happened. He just felt the sudden waves of tension coming off of Jon. Jon’s fingers clenched briefly around Martin’s, then slowly relaxed and slid away. It was all done carefully and naturally, but Martin knew something was wrong. He fought down the instinct to apologize—the lingering remnants of his mother’s conditioning. It wasn’t always his fault and he knew that. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. Which meant that whatever was upsetting Jon was something external.

“Jon?” he asked carefully, worried and maybe a little afraid. “What’s wrong?”

Jon took a slow, even breath, which told Martin he’d maybe considered saying nothing before remembering that they were being honest with each other. “We’re being followed.”

“Oh.” Martin rested his hands on his lap and tried to resist the urge to bunch his trousers up in his hands. “By who?”

“It’s a police car. Which I know isn’t all that helpful, all things considered, but I’m reluctant to use the Beholding’s power more than I have to, so I don’t know who’s in it. It could be just a regular police officer on patrol who thinks we’re out of place in the area. It could be a complete coincidence. But it’s beginning to get dark and this isn’t a well-populated area.”

Martin swallowed. “So what are you going to do?”

Jon took another deep breath. “I am going to obey the exact speed limit and—”

The single whoop of the siren made Martin jump, and Jon sighed. “Shit.”

“They want us to pull over, whoever they are,” Martin guessed.

“I am pulling over.” Jon paused. “Martin, just—please let me handle this. Promise me you won’t—just, please.”

Martin fought back his instinctive response and nodded. “Okay, Jon. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Jon said softly.

Martin forced himself to sit still and stare straight ahead, even as he heard the faint squeaking of the window rolling down and Jon’s voice of forced calm. “Good evening, Officer.”

“License and registration,” a voice said. Martin bit back the gasp that instinctively rose in his throat. He knew that voice, even though he hadn’t heard it in a while—low and faintly menacing, unmistakably one Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner, still part of both the police force and the Hunt.

There was a sound of fumbling, and then a short pause before Daisy said, “Know why I pulled you over?”

Martin could guess, but he’d promised to keep his mouth shut, and he knew why Jon had asked—begged, really. Even with a regular police officer, if Martin mouthed off to them, Jon would likely take the brunt of it. And with Daisy, that would be worse. Jon was likely hoping to protect Martin, but Martin would do whatever he had to in order to keep Jon safe, too.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Jon was still keeping his voice even, but Martin could hear that it was shaking, just a little.

“Step out of the car.”

Martin stiffened as fear shot through him. This isn’t a well-populated area. Was it secluded enough, abandoned enough, that Daisy might do something to Jon? Even with him sitting right there? Quickly, he chastised himself. That wasn’t the Hunt, that would be the Slaughter—purposeless violence, violence for violence’s sake. The Hunt was about the chase, the tracking and following. Prey that did what you wanted it to wasn’t very interesting, and even if Daisy had sensed Jon wasn’t fully human, she wouldn’t hurt him the first time she met him. She would threaten him, let him know she was on to him…

He had to try very hard to keep his breathing even and keep from climbing out of the car himself when he heard Jon’s door shut. The window was still down, so he could hear Jon’s voice, a bit fainter but still audible. “What is this about, D—Officer?”

“You really can’t guess?” Martin had to strain hard to hear Daisy, and he tried to breathe as lightly as possible so he wouldn’t miss anything. “Let’s start with what you’re doing in this neighborhood.”

“We had an appointment to view a house.”

“That I’m sure you can’t afford. Doubt the Magnus Institute pays that well.” There was a faint hint of malicious satisfaction in Daisy’s voice, Martin thought, and she probably had that sharp, smug little smile of hers.

“There’s no law against looking, even if we won’t be able to buy,” Jon said. “A-and there’s always a chance we could manage it together. There’s—there’s a lot we can do together.”

Martin noticed then that Jon was putting slight stress on we. Like he was reminding Daisy that he wasn’t alone. He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking as he listened. The knowledge that Daisy was the only person who’d tried to help Jon when Martin couldn’t had made him try to trust her, and he’d thought a lot over the last however long it had been about her lowering her gun and letting Elias live rather than risk Basira dying, but try as he might, he could never shake the memory of Jon standing in that office, disheveled, frightened, and neck still tacky with blood. This Daisy wasn’t their Daisy, the one who’d forced Jon to listen to The Archers to ground him to humanity or asked Basira to find her and kill her once she’d saved the Institute. This was the one who would shoot Jon, or slit his throat, and not lose a moment’s sleep over it. God only knew what she’d do to Martin, even though he was—in theory anyway—human.

“Mm-hmm. Of course,” Daisy replied. “And you certainly didn’t have any…designs on anyone in the neighborhood.”

“I don’t mean harm to anyone.”

“Sure you don’t. Does the real Jonathan Sims know you have his car?”

Martin’s body ran cold. He knew Daisy hadn’t met Jon this quickly after Basira’s first visit to the Archives—she’d come with the third tape—so there was no way she knew the Jon in this timeline either. She couldn’t possibly. How could she know—?

“I am Jonathan Sims,” Jon insisted.

“Uh-huh. And who’s in the car with you?”

“My fiancé.” The pride in Jon’s voice overrode his fear, just for a moment, and Martin’s lips twitched involuntarily. Jon had always taken an inordinate amount of delight in claiming Martin as his boyfriend, regardless of the tone whoever they encountered addressed them in; he should have known Jon would be even more thrilled to tell people they were engaged. Fleetingly, he wondered what the Archival team would think of it, or if they were going to mention it before everything was over. He didn’t think Jon would manage to keep it a secret.

“He have a name?”

“Of course he does.”

A faint growl came from somewhere, and the hair on the back of Martin’s neck stood up. There had been a time when he would have considered his inner animal or daemon or Patronus or whatever you wanted to call it to be some sort of small squeaky mammal, because growing up, whenever he came up against a choice between fight, flight, or freeze, his body inevitably chose to freeze, or more accurately to curl in on itself and fight the urge to cry because that made things worse. Since escaping his mother’s clutches, and even more since becoming part of the Archives, he’d drifted towards a weird blend of fight and freeze that usually manifested in him getting angry and doing something stupid. That growl, though, made him want to hunker down in the grass and pray not to be seen. Not even metaphorically. He shrank back against the seat and swallowed hard, willing Jon with all his heart to get back in the damn car already.

The sudden sharp rap on the window right next to Martin’s ear made him almost jump out of his skin, and he couldn’t stop his frightened gasp this time. It took him a second to realize he was probably expected to put down his window. He fumbled for the crank and managed to wind it down.

“Step out of the car,” Daisy’s voice ordered.

Martin scrambled to get the safety belt undone, then reached for the car door to open it. He gave a fleeting thought to his cane, but he couldn’t quite remember if he’d brought it with him or left it at Tim’s house when they’d borrowed Past Jon’s car and he didn’t think he had the time to ask. The door suddenly jerked from his hand, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. He only barely managed to keep himself steady and get out without falling.

Keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut, he chanted to himself as he braced himself against the roof of the car. This could still go badly for Jon—for both of them, really, but if Martin mouthed off Daisy was likely to take it out on Jon.

“On the curb,” Daisy ordered.

Martin nodded, making what he hoped were being taken as noises of agreement, and started around the car, keeping one hand on it to make sure he didn’t wander off into the street and get run over. Jon had mentioned it was starting to get dark. Besides, the last thing he wanted was Daisy to think he was trying to run.

“Leave him out of this.” Jon sounded more scared than Martin thought he’d heard him since they’d been separated in the Lonely house. “He hasn’t done—”

“Shut up,” Daisy growled. She—or something, anyway—prodded Martin sharply between the shoulder blades. “Hurry up.”

Martin’s hip slammed into the side of the car. He bit back a grunt of pain and tried to pick up the pace, but moving faster meant he didn’t have time to figure out what was ahead of him and he almost tripped over the curb when he finally reached it. The slap of his hand on the car’s hood echoed loudly—which was good, he supposed, it meant there was something for the sound to echo off of, which meant they weren’t in a completely isolated area—and he pulled himself onto the sidewalk and edged around the car. He bumped into the mirror and stopped moving. Daisy would tell him if she wanted him somewhere else. He hoped.

“Jon?” he whispered as loud as he dared. Hopefully he was still quiet enough to cover the thin edge of panic.

“I’m here, Martin,” Jon whispered back. It wasn’t soft enough to cover his panic, or maybe Martin just knew him well enough to hear it. He doubted that, though. Jon had admitted, simultaneously not long ago and forever ago, that what Daisy had put him through was still one of the most terrifying things he’d experienced, and even though they’d later become friends, it was hard to forget what she’d nearly done. And this was the Daisy who would do that. Add in the fact that Martin was here, and far more vulnerable than Jon was, and it was going to terrify him.

Martin took a deep, steadying breath. He had to hold it together. He had to. If Jon was that scared, the last thing he needed was to know how scared Martin was.

“What’s your name?” Daisy demanded.

“Martin Blackwood,” Martin answered, managing to keep his voice even.

“Oh, interesting. I don’t suppose you’ve got any ID on you to prove that.”

Martin pressed his lips together hard for a moment. He might, actually; his wallet was somewhere in one of their bags, unless he’d lost it slogging through the Apocalypse, and they’d made sure to bring everything out of the tunnels with them, just in case Leitner went snooping around and tried to do something. But there would be a lot of digging around involved in that. “Not handy, sorry.”

Daisy’s snort was close enough that the air from it curled against Martin’s cheek, and he flinched. He hadn’t realized she was so nearby. “Of course not. That would be easy, wouldn’t it?”

Martin swallowed back his instinctive response and kept as still as he could. He strained his every sense to listen, but apart from the usual sounds of a late summer evening, he couldn’t hear anything. Daisy could be right next to him, or right in front of him, or right in front of Jon. She could be anywhere, doing anything, and it set his every nerve on edge.

“So,” Daisy said finally. It sounded like she’d moved, but Martin couldn’t quite tell where she was. “The two of you are claiming to be half the staff from the Archives at the Magnus Institute. You’re driving around a tony neighborhood where neither you nor the people you’re pretending to be belong. And you’ve stolen car and ID. If I were to call the Magnus Institute, I wonder what I would learn?”

“Likely nothing. I-it’s well past closing time,” Jon answered. He sounded a little breathless. Something brushed against Martin’s hand, and he almost jumped before his mind registered the familiar feel of the roughness and slight ridges of Jon’s worm-scarred hand. He flexed his fingers slightly, and Jon gripped him like a dying man might grasp a lifeline. Martin rubbed his thumb over the back of Jon’s hand as gently as he could, hoping to give him at least a little comfort.

“Hmm. Then maybe I should reach out directly. Or maybe…” Daisy’s voice shifted slightly, and Jon gave a small, frightened gasp and tightened his grip on Martin’s hand, which set Martin’s heart rate kicking into overdrive. “Maybe I should just handle things now.”

“Y-you wouldn’t.” Jon was obviously trying to sound confident, but the fear overrode everything. “Not here. N-not so close to—people. Whatever I am, Martin isn’t—”

“What gave you that scar?” Daisy demanded.

“I—I have—”

“That one,” Daisy growled, and Jon let out a choked gurgle that told Martin she’d probably jabbed a finger into his throat. “Looks like something already tried to shut you up.”

“You did,” Jon gasped.

There was a long pause, and Martin heard a faint crunching noise, like Daisy had taken a step back. “What?” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Not now.” Jon’s breath was coming in short, panting gasps, like he’d been running—or like when they’d been in Scotland, when he’d woken from the worst of the nightmares. Martin wanted to wrap him up and soothe him, but he couldn’t, not here, not now. “We’re—we’re from the future. We’re here to—to stop something awful from happening.”

“Oh, what, the end of the world?” Was there maybe a little bit of uncertainty in Daisy’s voice?

“Yes. Actually. The world ends and—and so many people died. You died. You—we were friends. Later.” Jon sounded a little desperate. “I-I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true, Daisy, I swear it.”

Daisy inhaled sharply. “What did you just call me?”

“D—oh, shit.” If Jon squeezed Martin’s hand any harder, he was going to break Martin’s fingers or his own or both. “I—look, I told you, we knew each other in our timeline. Your name is Detective Alice Tonner, but everyone calls you Daisy. You don’t really tell people why, but i-it’s because of the scar on your back. I—we know you. We’re here to save you. You, and Basira, and—and everyone else.”

The silence stretched on so long that Martin wanted to scream—anything to fill it. He wanted to bundle Jon back into the car and get out of there. He wished, more strongly than he’d wished in ages, that he could see, so he could see to get them away, to know if they were safe, to make them safe. He didn’t know what Daisy was about to do and he couldn’t anticipate it without being able to see her. And of course the Hunt would keep her hidden from anyone who couldn’t see her, so he couldn’t even hear where she might be.

Finally, Daisy growled, “Whoever you are—whatever you are—I’ll let you go. This time. But if we ever cross paths again, monster…you’re mine.”

A door slammed, making Martin jump again. An engine revved, tires squealed, and then it was just the sounds of a summer night and Jon’s desperate bid for air.

“Jon?” Martin managed to maneuver around the mirror and reach for Jon with his free hand.

Jon latched onto Martin even more tightly than he had during the thunderstorm, his arms wrapped around Martin’s neck and his face buried in his chest and his body pressed so close to him it almost hurt. Martin wrapped him up securely in a hug and rocked him back and forth, trying to murmur soothing words, but they got stuck in his throat. He was only just realizing how scared he’d actually been.

“Jon, I’m here, I’m here,” he said instead, clinging to his boyfriend—his fiancé—to reassure himself that he was still there. It had been one thing to hear Jon tell him later about Daisy holding a knife to his throat in the woods, another to see that portrait of her menacing him, but living the moment they’d just lived through…

Martin realized that he’d never truly been afraid of Daisy. Not really. He’d had a hard time trusting her, he’d been angry about what she’d done, or nearly done, to Jon, but he’d never actually been afraid to be in a room with her, even when she’d been in full cop mode all but accusing him of being an accessory after the fact to murder. This was probably the first time Martin really, truly realized how close Jon had come to dying in that forest. How scared he must have been. How hard it must have been to trust her after that, to call her a friend. It was sobering. And humbling. And terrifying as fuck.

“She still scares me,” Jon whispered into Martin’s shoulder. “I meant what I said, we were friends, I cared about her. I did. I trusted her. But…”

“But she was the only person who could hurt you after the Apocalypse for a reason,” Martin murmured.

“Not the only one. Just the only one who would.”

Martin blinked hard, then decided to unpack that later. “We’re—we’re safe now. For now. We’re safe for now. It’s okay, Jon, we’re both here. We’re here. She won’t—she didn’t—” He pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and tried not to cry.

He couldn’t fall apart. He had to be the strong one. He was good at that, at pushing down his emotions and being the steady one. The hardest part of being with Jon had been learning to lean on Jon too, to let himself have emotions and weaknesses and moments where he was the one being held and comforted. And this was a situation, a tiny part of his brain clinging to rationality told him, where they could, and probably should, lean on each other. They both needed comfort, they both needed reassurance. But Martin had been pushed too far in his fear, and when he went this far, he defaulted into caretaker mode. He could fall apart later, when he was alone and had the time, even though he knew he would never be alone, Mum would make sure of that, and even if he was alone he’d have so much he had to do, there would never be time…

“Let’s get out of here,” Jon choked out.

Martin didn’t want to let go of him, but he eased back anyway. Jon didn’t let go of his hand, either, instead leading him around the car and opening the door for him. Even then, he didn’t let go of Martin’s hand, but climbed into the passenger seat.

“Jon, I cannot drive us,” Martin protested, even though instinct was telling him to do exactly that. Jon’s upset, he won’t be able to concentrate, you need to get us home safe…no, he needed to remember that he was blind and that, even in the throes of a panic attack, Jon would get them back to Tim’s safer than Martin would.

“No, I just—come on.” Jon tugged on Martin’s hand, which he hadn’t let go of, and as Martin ducked under the roof of the car, he heard grunts and rustling noises and realized what was going on. Jon had climbed over the center console from the passenger’s seat rather than let go of Martin’s hand for an instant.

Neither of them bothered with the safety belts, and Jon kept a tight hold of Martin’s hand even as he managed to put the car into gear. They didn’t speak the rest of the drive. Martin couldn’t tell how fast they were going, but it hardly seemed like they’d been driving any time at all before the engine cut out, and then Jon was crawling back across the console and into Martin’s lap.

They clung to each other tightly. Martin could feel Jon shaking, and honestly he wasn’t doing much better himself. He tried to hold back the tears—he didn’t have the right to be scared, not like Jon did, she hadn’t really been threatening him—but then Jon whispered brokenly, “I thought I was going to lose you,” and Martin’s control shattered.

“You thought—Jon, I thought she was going to—” Martin choked off the words and tightened his arms around Jon, hoping he’d tell him if he was hurting him. “You were—she could have—a-and I couldn’t see her, I didn’t know where she was, I—God, Jon, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?” Jon parried. “I-I couldn’t—when she told you to get out of the car, I—I didn’t want to—I was afraid to Know anything about her, I didn’t want her to sense it and—I know you couldn’t, not really, b-but she’s part of the Hunt and her whole thing is hunting monsters and—oh, God. I was afraid she was going to hurt you to punish me and—a-are you okay?”

Martin tried to figure out how to answer that question and finally said, “She didn’t hurt me. And I asked you first.”

Jon made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t know. I asked how you were because I—I can’t be okay if you’re not okay.”

“Yeah, that goes both ways,” Martin said. He managed a shaky laugh and added, “Weirdly, despite the fact that I’m an absolute mess over here, I’m feeling better than I did before.”

“I-I know. You…you don’t let yourself…” Jon broke off. “I know.”

A long silence settled between them, broken only by Jon’s choked, stuttered breathing as he tried not to burst into tears. Martin could feel the panicked flutter of Jon’s heart in his chest, and he knew he was crying too, but them being together and alive and safe, or at least relatively safe, went a long way towards calming him. He rubbed Jon’s back, grimacing at the unfamiliar feel of thin silk barely masking the ridged scars that still mottled Jon’s back.

“You don’t feel right,” he said without really thinking about it.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how they sounded, but before he could take them back, Jon huffed lightly. “Neither do you. L-let’s—if they’re home, m-maybe Tim will let us change back into our regular clothes before we head back. I—I’d rather wear your sweater. I-it makes me feel safe.”

God, how was it possible to love this man any more than he already did? Martin pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s head, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

It took a bit of awkward gymnastics for them to get out of the car without letting go of one another, or falling to the ground, and Jon wrapped his arm around Martin’s waist as soon as they were both standing upright. He fished one of their bags out of the backseat—Martin presumed—and the two of them shuffled up to the house like some sort of odd four-legged creature. Their height difference made it hard, but Martin understood. He didn’t want Jon that far away from him, either.

He’d thought they probably still looked fairly presentable, but that idea was dispelled when they stumbled into the kitchen to be greeted by Tim’s shocked and horrified shout of “Jesus Christ!”

“Are you all right? What happened?” The only reason Martin knew it was Past Jon asking and not his Jon was because it was coming from the wrong direction.

“Here, sit down,” Past Martin added. “Let me—um, I can get some tea—”

“It’s fine. We’re fine,” Jon said, despite all evidence. “Just—we’re fine. Tim, can we—borrow your room to change?”

It was probably a mark of how worried Tim was that he didn’t reply with something along the lines of No, you have to strip right here in the kitchen. “Sure. You know where it is. We’ll—go get comfortable.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Martin said softly as he and Jon headed through the kitchen.

They made it to Tim’s room without too much difficulty, and by the time they reached it, Martin guessed they’d both calmed down enough that they didn’t have to be attached completely—which was good, since that would have made getting changed awkward. That didn’t mean they wanted to be far away from each other, though. Martin sat on the edge of Tim’s bed and listened to Jon rummaging around in the bag for clothes while he undid the first couple of buttons on his too-stiff shirt, then paused. An idea began to form in his head.

When Jon came over and draped a sweater in his lap, Martin reached out and caught Jon’s wrist gently before he could move back. “Will you let me help you?”

He would have given almost anything to be able to see how Jon was looking at him just then. Was it confusion or resignation or annoyance? When Jon spoke, though, it was in a voice that was soft and laden with affection. “Only if you let me help you in return.”

Martin nodded. “I’d like that.”

There was a bit of fumbling and murmured apologizing, but they managed to arrange things so that Martin could undo the buttons on Jon’s shirt while Jon unbuttoned Martin’s. It was something they’d done before, although not since coming back to the past, but Martin remembered the first week they’d been in Scotland when he’d managed to convince Jon to come on a walk with him and they’d been caught in a sudden rainstorm. They’d run back to the safe house breathless and dripping, both of them fussing at the other to get out of their wet clothes before they got pneumonia, and they’d both moved in to help each other at the same time. By the end of it, their cheeks had hurt from laughter and Martin’s shirt was missing two buttons, but since it had been the shirt he’d worn to work the day everything happened—just like the shirt Jon had been wearing had been—they’d agreed it was no great loss.

This felt different. Well, it was different. That had been two men just starting to feel out the edges of their relationship, coming out of a time of stress and uncertainty and into what they’d thought would be a time of peace, struggling to find their place in the world and how they fit in around each other. This was…well, it was two men who’d been through literal hell together and come out the other side, who knew what they were to each other. It was about taking care of each other, but it was also about reassuring themselves that the other was there and whole and well. They took a little more care with getting each other’s shirts off, partly out of respect for the quality of the shirts—although Martin was already silently wagering with himself about whether they’d ever be able to wear them without thinking about Daisy threatening them—and partly because they were both still more scared than they were willing to admit. Martin could tell exactly how scared Jon was when he stepped forward and silently embraced Martin instead of getting dressed again once their button-downs were off.

“Are you all right?” he asked again. His voice was soft and raw.

Martin hugged Jon back, pressing their foreheads together and soaking in the calm that Jon’s presence could always draw in him, no matter the circumstances. He nodded slowly. “Getting there. You?”

“I will be.” Jon shifted the angle and kissed Martin, warmly and tenderly, then pulled back with a small sigh. “Let’s finish getting dressed and go…I don’t know, apologize?”

“I don’t think they’ll let us, but we should probably at least warn them,” Martin said slowly. He was reluctant to let go of Jon, even though they’d both at least stopped shaking. “You know, in case Daisy thinks we’re…actually them?”

“I—I don’t think she does, but you’re right, we should.”

It was probably too warm for sweaters, but the tunnels were underground and made of stone, so they stayed cool year-round. Besides, as Jon had said, the weight was comforting. Martin pulled on the sweater and changed his trousers, then waited while Jon repacked their bag. They were still wrapped around each other when they headed back to meet the others, but at least they were a bit steadier.

That was always the way, though. They were partners; they held one another up, supported one another, steadied and anchored one another. No matter how bad or scary things got, there was nothing they couldn’t face if they held onto one another and stayed together.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) #the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #police brutality cw #panic attacks cw #this was another rough chapter y'all

[ceescedasticity]

Jin Guangyao’s hoarding problem, version 2, part 2

This isn’t so much “not a fic” as a “tell-don’t-show” fic. Not sure there’s a word for that.

(This next section starts out very dark, but just remember: in a more canon timeline, every one of these add-ins died in agony!)

Tingshan He (per novel canon) is a minor sect; its leader He Su speaks against Jin Guangshan's appointment as Chief Cultivator, and for some reason the appropriate response to this is considered to be arresting the entire sixty- or seventy-person on fabricated charges of conspiring to kill Jin Guangshan and giving them to Xue Yang to be turned into animated corpses. (What the hell.) He Su tries to negotiate for mercy for the elders and children; when none is forthcoming, he calls Jin Guangyao That One Insult, and then Xue Yang cuts his tongue out and throws him in a cage of corpses in front of his screaming family. Jin Guangyao in canon is like "…I'll leave you to it," and goes back to one of his innumerable other tasks. May or may not be the same tongue Xue Yang serves later.

(Also, novel-verse, and I am still not over this, this is before Xue Yang wipes out Yueyang Chang. He's still the person who was willing to kill dozens of people over a finger, but we'll never know if he would have actually done it without this example of 'respond to insult by eradicating sect'. Anyway. This is drama-verse Xue Yang, who found his influences and made his choices a long time ago.)

Here, Jin Guangyao goes to put up some silencing talismans between this outer part of the Dizang and the inner part where his high-value prisoners are. He doesn't want to subject Wen Qing to listening to all that — he might someday, if he needs to prove a point, but that's all the more reason not to do it randomly. Besides, Wei Wuxian can't even sit up but he might still come up with something stupid to do if he heard too much screaming, since apparently he's so very concerned about random collateral damage.

He has a thought. He comes back. He tells Xue Yang to hold off on killing any of them for a bit, he wants to do a finer check.

Jin Guangyao picks out a few members of Tingshan He.

He Lei is a cousin of He Su's, and currently the youngest surviving disciple at ten. Hasn't spoken since her parents died in front of her.

He Jian is her older sister. She is twelve. Has a Jin brand on her cheek; missed her parents' deaths while passed out.

He Zhi is their older brother. He is fourteen. He doesn't have a functional tongue anymore. Was technically present when his parents died, but very distracted; also got his face clawed up a bit.

He Gangfen is in his sixties, and has been responsible for training Tingshan He's beginner disciples almost since there has been a Tingshan He. He sees almost all of them killed horribly before Jin Guangyao makes him an offer.

He can save these last three disciples. All he has to do is — voluntarily — give up his golden core. —And convince Wen Qing to do the surgery.

Wei Wuxian's agreement isn't necessary, obviously.

It's not a pleasant conversation.

He Gangfen is so far past caring about Wens or the Yiling Laozu it doesn't even come up. Wen Qing points out there is absolutely nothing guaranteeing Jin Guangyao will keep the kids alive past the surgery — that "saving" them might even mean killing them quickly. He Gangfen says there's everything guaranteeing they'll die horribly now if he refuses, so please. Please.

Wei Wuxian, who has been staring at the ceiling trying to pretend this conversation isn't happening across the room, has a moment of insight and blurts out his conclusion. There is something — not a guarantee, but there is a benefit for Jin Guangyao in letting the children live.

Because what's he going to do as is, if Wei Wuxian or Wen Qing start outright defying him? Kill them? Oh no. Terrible. Hurt Jiang Yanli and deal with Jiang Cheng's reaction? Maybe threaten to do experiments on Wen Ning oh wait. The children would be accessible, disposable hostages.

Which is better than what He Gangfen was hoping for honestly, that might even be long-term, so please.

Being in this situation with accessible, disposable hostages is not remotely appealing, but. But.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Qing he won't ask her to do this but if she wants his consent she has it.

The surgery is a success.

(Jin Guangyao is polite enough to remove He Gangfen from Wen Qing's workroom before administering the coup de grace. He Gangfen thanks Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian first.)

The kids… well. Jin Guangyao had more criteria than just age — that was important, but he wouldn't have gone through with the idea if they hadn't met other requirements.

Not too proud to beg.

Not already trying to swear revenge.

Naive enough not to be instantly suspicious when he asked them if they'd like a chance to save their little/big brother/sister. (They don't know about He Gangfen, much less about their broader purpose as hostages. They think he couldn't come up with any easier way of obtaining menial servants for the Dizang.)

Not more scared of Wen Ning than Xue Yang. (You have to be an idiot to be more scared of Wen Ning than Xue Yang, but a number of people still manage it. Shocking.)

It doesn't hurt that the oldest one, the boy, can't talk.

The older two for sure should be able to remember Sunshot, and all of them should know the blood-curdling stories of the Yiling Laozu (they had better, Jin Sect spent money making sure those stories grew), but exposure to Xue Yang makes even that less frightening. They're cautious, and Wen Qing in particular is trying not to let them close, but — connection is happening.

All according to plan.

(There is something Jin Guangyao has not planned for: Do you know who's not very scary at all even without Xue Yang for comparison? Who is also a prisoner of the inner Dizang, inasmuch as he's hardly ever allowed to leave, at least? Who is also doing a lot of menial chores, and who might end up providing guidance for someone else doing them? Who never had much power to act with cruelty or kindess, before, and who's seen a lot more cruelty than kindness, but who lately has spent a lot of time listening to Wen Qing and Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian? Who certainly wouldn't say no to a boy almost his age respecting him and wanting to spend time in his company?)

(Mo Xuanyu, that's who.)

Wei Wuxian meanwhile is experiencing mixed feelings about his new previously-owned golden core. He feels better. He feels much better. He can tell he'll feel better yet when he's healed more, which is happening, now. He also— Well, he's hoping even more that Jiang Cheng never finds out about the transfer, now, and he wouldn't have thought that was possible. It feels less strange and more his every day, but when he thinks about it— Well. It's upsetting.

So he hopes Jiang Cheng never finds out. He hopes Jiang Cheng can forget him, now. Maybe Jiang Cheng can be happy now. He knows that last one's a long shot, but he can hope.

(Jiang Cheng is… well, he'd not worse off than the usual universe, exactly. Jiang Yanli is alive! Just — he had to face her, with everyone saying he's the one who killed Wei Wuxian and he sort of was, and with his having left her lying there when she wasn't actually dead, and she didn't say anything that sounds like a recrimination but what must she be thinking. She must be so disappointed in him, she's just too kind to say anything. And he doesn't have the distraction of obsessing over Jin Ling, since Jin Ling is still with his mother.)

(As for Jiang Yanli… Jin Guangyao is not, in fact, trying to ensure she's seen as fragile and mad with grief, and not taken seriously, and that she's afraid to push back too much because they might take Jin Ling away, or Jiang Cheng might overreach trying to back her up. She's not on Jin Guangyao's agenda at all at the moment. It's just that very few people in Jinlintai have ever taken her very seriously, least of all the Sect Leader, and 'mad with grief' seems like a reasonable explanation for her turning up in Nightless City so most people are believing it with no extra effort necessary, and Madam Jin thinks she's terribly fragile and wants to protect her, and of course Jin Ling's welfare is everyone's highest priority so if it would be better for him to be elsewhere, well, that's an option. And Jiang Cheng would back her up in a heartbeat, of course he would, but Jiang Cheng is… well, Jiang Yanli thinks he's at least as mad with grief as she is, and she's not sure he'd be careful enough, if it came to any kind of confrontation.)

(Jin Guangyao is, really and genuinely, uninvolved with the incident wherein a Jin disciple attempts to treat Jiang Yanli's 'madness' with musical cultivation and succeeds only in causing heart palpitations. Well, he's involved inasmuch as the disciple's musical cultivation was based almost entirely on spying on Jin Guangyao, but he's unaware of that until the situation blows up. Happily everything is blamed on the disciple's lack of skill and hubris for attempting such a delicate feat as musical cultivation with no proper training. Since it's not like even the adulterated music is supposed to cause heart palpitations, it probably was lack of skill. And it's very embarrassing for Madam Jin, who decided to let an amateur try rather than ask Jin Guangyao, who would have been happy to help.)

(The most important consequence of that incident is how the cultivation world spends a while gossiping about the complexity and difficulty and potential dangers of musical cultivation, so a few months later, when Jin Guangyao proposes Nie Huaisang could play a little of the Song of Clarity, and Nie Huaisang says he's flattered by San-ge's confidence but he's much too poor a student for that. The trip to the Blade Hall doesn't go smoothly by any stretch of the imagination, but as many disciples come back as don't and they do get the sealing done, so… as well as could be expected, maybe.)

(It doesn't make much of a difference in the timeline of Nie Mingjue's decline. It makes a bigger difference in Nie Huaisang's emotional stability and interpersonal support network.)

(Back to the Dizang.)

As anticipated, as soon as Wei Wuxian is well enough to move around/work, he's ordered to work on reconstructing the Stygian Tiger Seal. As a safety precaution, any time Wei Wuxian has his hands on the half-Seal, at least one the Hes will be moved to some unknown location — usually He Lei, as He Jian and He Zhi both have enough facial scarring that people would be likely to take note of them, but He Lei doesn't even talk so Jin Guangyao can just leave her with the scullery drudges for a day or so, or even send her to Moling. So, using the half-Seal to immediately blast out isn't an option. Refusing isn't an option.

But that's okay, though. Wei Wuxian has a plan. He is going to reconstruct the Seal — with safety features this time. No one said not to do that. The whole process is so intuitive and hard to pin down not even Xue Yang can really tell what he's doing. And he is still depressed and mad about the whole situation so that shouldn't give anything away.

(Xue Yang suspects he's up to something of the sort… but telling Jin Guangyao would spoil the game. And CQL-verse he doesn't have any pressing revenge to get to at this point; might as well do some fun adversarial collaboration! In between sneaking out and making trouble just to keep anyone from getting complacent.)

Wen Qing doesn't have anything much to do at the moment. She decides to see if she can get Wen Ning a little more movement back in his facial muscles. If he can move all his fingers, there's no reason he shouldn't be able to move his face.

Mo Xuanyu sneaks a bunch of bamboo slips out of the supplies of the disciples guarding the outer Dizang so He Zhi has something to write notes on.

Jin Guangyao is only getting busier, really.

***

(Up next are Nie Mingjue’s last breakdown and JGY’s marriage, but I still can’t decide on the order.)

#jgy's hoarding problem tellfic #things i'm not writing

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 19

AO3 LINK

 It was over, but not done.

 There were still so many things to do before John could drop everything and go home to Helen.

 He starts by calling Nick.

 “H-hello?” Jesus, the boy really was afraid of him.

 Ironic, John thinks, considering he owes this kid more than he can ever hope to repay for allowing Helen to contact him during her imprisonment. And then looking out for her at the cost of his job, possibly his life if DeLuca had found out.

 “It’s done.” He says, “DeLuca’s going to be picked up by Adjudication. Are you able to stay until someone gets there to pick up Isabella?”

 “Yeah, yeah. Of course. The, uh, the bounty’s dropped then?”

 He exhales and, fuck, it feels so good.

 The bounty is dropped. The contract is closed. And while he doesn’t think either of them will ever be truly safe, no one is coming after her anymore.

 “Yes.”

 “Good. That’s, that’s good.” Nick sounds relieved, too. The younger man pauses for a moment and then tentatively asks, “Would you do me a favor, Mister Wick, sir? She told me if I ever wanted to talk… I just was wondering if you could ask her to call me. When she’s back and settled and shi—stuff. Stuff.”

 And, god, Helen was just      that    good. And it had started as manipulation, he knew. A way to save herself when he wasn’t there to do the job but there was no doubt in John’s mind that Helen would meet with Nick every week, for as long as he needed.

 “Yeah, kid. I’ll pass it along.”

 “Thank you.”

 John pauses, thoughtfully. “When Isabella’s been picked up, head over to the Continental. Ask for Winston. New York is always busy. I know they’re looking to hire another Sommelier. It’ll pay more than Syndicate; I can guarantee that. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

 “Really?”

 “Really.”

 He shakes his head, in disbelief of himself. He knew Helen was his reason, but John couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment he had gone utterly and completely      soft    .

 Maybe she’d have some insight to that, he thinks, smiling to himself.

 And, because he doesn’t want the knowledge that he has gone soft to spread, he adds, “Don’t fuck it up” and ends the call.

 After all, he isn’t done in the Underworld.

 For starters, the contract had been dropped but that didn’t mean the memo had gotten out. And that needed to happen before he brought Helen back home. The last thing he wanted was to bring her back only to have some kid target her because they ignored the notice.

 The hotel buzzes as John walks through the front door.

 He ignores it, as he always does, approaching the front desk. There’s a small queue that has gathered in front of Charon, but the Concierge waves him up.

 “The Manager is expecting you. He is in his office.”

 John nods his thanks and turns towards the hall where he’ll find Winston, only to run into Verdugo.

 The other assassin looks him over, regarding him with vague interest. He’s carrying a weapons bag, slung over a shoulder. A duffle bag resides in his other hand.

 He’s leaving, John realizes. Verdugo was a drifter.

 The only thing that had kept him in New York was the possibility of a substantial bounty that has since been removed.

 Verdugo breaks the silence first, “I’ll admit, when I heard you were trying to get the bounty removed, I didn’t think you could do it.”

 John raises a brow.

 Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

     Oh, no worries. Totally get it. You wouldn’t have wasted both our time if you had only realized sooner that you couldn’t kill my love?  

 “It was just business.”

 Now that, John thinks, is something he’s grown very tired of hearing.

 The Underworld, for better or worse—and right now, John Wick was very much leaning towards      worse    , was all about money and advancement. Status.

 The values he has been exposed to, he realizes, had been very self-serving. No wonder so many narcissists and hedonists thrived in the Underworld.

  And John had survived because he was so self-reliant. He had thrived in a world where favors are currency by being willing to help others and avoiding asking for any help in return. It made him rich, in more than just money. The pile of markers in his collection is unparalleled.

 But he still went home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life, where escapism had been his only fulfillment.

 Drifting.

 In control but, somehow, still empty.

 Until Helen had forced her way into his head, laying claim to his heart.

 And suddenly everything that had once seemed so complicated and out of reach was within his grasp.

 In that moment, he pities Verdugo.

 A man, so much like him in so many ways. A drifter. Free of roots and obligation. Making a name for himself by virtue of skill and competency. But hollow like a tin soldier.

 Verdugo will move on to the next contract. The name Helen Kingston will be replaced with another unfortunate soul, who John is certain will not be as lucky.

 And he’ll make his money and build his legacy.

 And he’ll go home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life.

 John wants to kill him along with anyone else who had hurt or threatened Helen’s life, but it occurs to him that might be a mercy. And maybe Verdugo doesn’t deserve mercy but John didn’t deserve mercy, either. But it had found him.

 Still, he feels the need to say, “If I ever see you anywhere near her…”

 “You won’t.” Verdugo assures him, “Be seeing you.”

 “No.” John says, “You won’t.”

 He leaves Verdugo standing in the hall as he makes his way to Winston’s office.

 The old man doesn’t even look up as John walks in. “It would appear that you had a busy day.” He says as he practically collapses into one of the leather chairs.

 “Busy week.” John amends, “I think I finally understand the phrase      thank god it’s Friday    .”

 Winston smirks, rising to his feet, “Drink?”

 He shakes his head, “No, thank you. I’ve had enough today, while playing politics. Did you happen to hear from Sofia?”

 “Yes,” Winston says, pouring himself brandy, “I already sent someone to collect Mateo. And Isabella. She said you got a confession from the former.”

 “Lorenzo plans to force the counsel to convene on Monday, here in the city.”

 “He wants justice meted out swiftly.”

 “That makes two of us.” John agrees with a nod. “I want this done and in the past.”

 “Understandably. You managed the impossible this week.”

 “Didn’t think I could do it?” John asks, thinking of his conversation with Verdugo and the time that had been wasted pursuing Helen Kingston.

 “On the contrary,” Winston says, taking the seat next to him, “You made me a great deal of money.”

 John arches a brow.

 “You successfully removing the bounty was the long odds over at Dex’s. Fifty to one.”

 And, fuck, but that makes him laugh. He didn’t realize how much he needed that after the stress of the day, “How much did you put down?”

 “Five grand.” Winston looks at him strangely and it occurs to John that he’s probably never laughed in front of Winston before.

 “Well-played.” He says, shaking his head in amusement. While he never intends to tell Helen of the betting odds placed on when she would die and by whose hand, he can’t help but think that she’d get a kick out of it. Either that, or she’d be pissed she never got a chance to get in on the action.

 Yeah. That sounds right.

 “I know the rumor mill will have heard that the contract was dropped,” John says, “but is it possible to get Administration to send out a mass message? To confirm it, and make sure anybody working solo is notified?”

 “I’ll see to it myself.”

 John nods gratefully. That would make him feel much better about taking her back to the city. Although he’s already mentally preparing himself for the wave of anxiety that will surely hit the moment, he leaves her alone to go back to work. He tables that particular worry for now.

 “I have another favor to ask.”

 Winston rolls his eyes, “Indeed?”

 “Nick Russo. Ex-Syndicate. He burnt some bridges today to help keep Helen safe. I’d appreciate it if you considered him for the second Sommelier position you were considering opening up.”

 The old man hums, “I’ll meet with him.”

 “Thank you.”

 And just like that, two things are checked off his list.

 Winston was good like that. As Manager, it was his job to be accommodating and helpful and ensure everyone was getting the best services that could be offered to those serving the High Table. But it was also more than that.

 For decades, Winston had been a mentor to him.

 After being introduced by Charon, Winston had immediately taken to the young, reckless assassin. He’d seen something that others had brushed to the side.

 And John had been skeptical. Untrusting.

 But Winston had been relentless. He offered sound advice that John found hard to ignore. Slowly, John had found himself utilizing the Manager. After moving back to New York, it became clear that Winston knew the city and its inhabitants better than anyone.

 Somewhere along the line, John had begun to trust him.

 Winston had tried to line John up for Management but had accepted his decision when John, respectfully, denied interest in such a path. While Winston mourned John’s lack of ambition, he continued to serve as a mentor.

 Arguably, the closest thing John had ever had to a father-figure.

 John doesn’t doubt, for a moment, his decision to retire. He will miss very little about the Underworld. But Winston would be counted amongst them.

 And while John doesn’t particularly want to have this conversation, he owes it to Winston to be the one to tell him.

 “I’ve decided to retire.”

 Winston’s head turns sharply, “Pardon?”

 John sits up straighter in the chair, “I’m retiring. As soon as everything has been taken care of, I’m leaving the Underworld.”

 “Jonathan, you have obligations.” Winston says, shaking his head, “You can’t just      retire    .”

 “Lorenzo is freeing me of my contractual obligations. I intend to reach out to Viggo to make arrangements as well.”

 “Lorenzo D’Antonio is letting you walk away?” The surprise is evident in his voice.

 John nods.

 “Miraculous in itself, but you cannot expect Viggo to do the same.”

 “I won’t take no for an answer.” John says softly, “One way or another, I’m getting out. And I’ve made up my mind about this. It won’t be changed.”

 He leaves no room for argument. Bittersweet as it may be, there is nothing that can change his mind anymore. Even if Helen didn’t want him, he would have left to keep her safe. His enemies wouldn’t have used her against him if he was no longer a problem.

 But Helen did want him. She loved him, beyond all reason.

 “Whatever will you do?”

 John feels his lips twitch. Aside from keeping house and devoting the majority of his time to ensuring Helen’s happiness—that she never regrets choosing him, he really isn’t sure. He knew he didn’t have it in him, nor did he have the credentials or the qualifications, to work in the real world. At least, for most occupations.

 And, truthfully, he was tired of the constant work.

 Hating his life and coming home to an empty house, John had filled his life with work. Work until the point of distraction. Which meant extra jobs, far beyond working for money. He worked to kill people and time, respectively.

 Decades of working seven days a week, every day of the year.

 He’s looking forward to the break.

 Maybe he’d pick up a hobby. He’d continue to bind books through the coldness of the winter. Maybe he’d even start to sell them or volunteer with a library to fix old tomes.

  Maybe, come springtime, he’d actually open the pool in his backyard which had been closed and unused since he first moved in.

 He planned to cook for her. Maybe he’d get into that. Learn to make things from scratch. To bake.

 The possibilities were endless.

 “I don’t know.” He answers honestly and he’s… surprisingly okay with that. The uncertainty would usually throw him for a loop, but John finds himself completely and unexpectedly happy not knowing. It was freeing.

 “Are you—”

 “Yes.” John interrupts before Winston can say      sure    . “More sure, more certain than I have ever been about anything in my life.”

 Winston nods, slowly. He doesn’t understand, John knows. The old man probably won’t ever understand why John was giving up the wealth, the prestige, the permanent get-out-of-jail-free card that existed for the members of the Underworld.

 “When?” He asks.

 “As soon as possible. I plan on testifying Monday. I’ll meet with Viggo after and inform him of my intentions.”

 “It will not be easy.”

 “I don’t expect it to be. But it won’t matter. Whatever Viggo demands, I’ll do it.”

 And he would. Nothing would stop him.

 They sit in silence as Winston seems to digest it all. It’s odd, he thinks. He knows Winston disapproves, just as he had when John had first told him about Helen. But Winston knows that John doesn’t give a fuck about approval. No one’s opinion influenced him, save Helen’s.

 He missed her.

 It had only been hours since he had last held her in his arms, and he missed her.

 Was this what it was to be in love? To crave the presence of another in any and every form? To hold them in your mind’s eye even when you are away?

 How did people stand it, living like this?

 And yet, John acknowledges, he would not give it up for the world.

 “I find myself at a loss for words.” Winston says after minutes of silence. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You were ready to burn New York to the ground to find her. Ready to declare war on the High Table to get her back.” The old man shakes his head, “And you seem certain. I know your mind will not be changed. But I feel the need to ask you, once more, Jonathan: is she really worth it?”

 John thinks of her smile.

 The kindness in her eyes.

 The warmth of her touch.

 Her quick wit. Her inquisitive nature. The way she just accepted things as they were. The way she shut him down when he was starting to bullshit himself. The books he had mentioned in passing on her bedside table as she made the effort no one else had to understand him.

 John nods, “She really is.”

 ……….

 He parks the car and John feels another wave of relief wash over him. The fact that it’s over, that Helen is safe keeps hitting him again and again. And now, he’s within feet of her.

 John slips out of the car, admiring for the first time since they moved to the Vermont safehouse how bright the stars were when there were no lights around.

 The front door opens and Marcus steps out, his bag in his hand.

 “I take it everything went well?”

 John nods. “You leaving?”

 Marcus nods back, closing the door behind him. “After everything, I figured you two could probably use some time alone.”

 He’s grateful for Marcus’ reasoning. While John had no intention of kicking Marcus out, he’s right. The only thing John wants to do is wrap Helen up in his arms and never let her go.

 “Thank you.” He says, “For everything. I’ll never be able to re—”

 “Don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was happy to do it. More for her sake than for yours. You’re still kind of a dick but… she makes you almost tolerable.”

 John huffs out a laugh, “Who would have thought.”

 “That the only person capable of taking you down was a therapist who can barely form a sentence fragment without coffee?” Marcus exhales in disbelief. “Mind-boggling. Call me when you two get back to the city.”

 “Will do.” John promises as Marcus throws his duffle into the trunk of his car as he makes his way up the short stairs and into the cottage.

 John slips off his suit jacket, hanging it by the door. He undoes the buttons on his vest, one by one, as he walks down the hall towards the living room. He tugs that off, too, draping it over the couch.

 She’s not in the living room or the kitchen. He continues down the hall towards their bedroom. The door is open and, sure enough, Helen is in bed. Her back leans against the headboard, a book is open in her hand.

 John leans against the door, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.

 Before him is a sight he could spend an eternity gazing in wonder at. Her glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose as she reads. He watches as she reaches for her bookmark without looking up, turning the page as she inserts it.

 Without a glance, she smiles, “Hi honey, how was your day?” She asks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He loves her for it. For making him feel some semblance of normality amidst the bullshit and the chaos.

 John swallows even as his lips twitch in amusement. “Oh, you know. Bitch of a commute. Faked a powerful man’s death. Tried my hand at politics. Not a fan. Then I took down a mafia boss.”

 She sets her book aside before removing her glasses. Helen scans him up and down, assessing for injuries.

 His heart swells with love and adoration. It consumes him and makes it almost difficult to breathe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with all these emotions flowing through him.

 And, like she can sense he’s overwhelmed, Helen stands up. She crosses the room, her dark eyes gazing into him.

 He wonders if she can see his soul. And if she can, will she change her mind about him? Will she realize how truly terrible, how awful he is?

 But as he looks into those brown eyes, all he sees reflected back is love.

 She loves him, he thinks, even though he doesn’t deserve it. He was a despicable human being. One who had dragged her into the depths of Hell. Even still, she never wavered.

 Helen was stronger than he ever hoped to be.

 And she loved him. Despite everything.

 It staggers him.

 Helen reaches him and he cannot help but fall to his knees before her. His arms wrap around her middle, seemingly of their own accord, and he buries his face against her stomach. John’s breath escapes him in a shudder as her arms come up around him, holding him.

 She strokes his hair and he can barely hold back a sob.

 “I love you, John.”

 And, fuck it all, the dam breaks.

 He’d lost her, this week.

 Someone had taken her, stolen her from her bed. Had      hurt    her to get to him. Had put a bounty on her head for the sole purpose of manipulating him, simultaneously activating agents to find her and kill his beloved.

 Verdugo, who promised to make it quick.

 Kate, who would have obliterated Helen until there was nothing left.

 The kids in the alley, looking to make a name for themselves, would have killed her.

 Along with the hundreds of others who had searched for her, even idly.

 He had spent a week feeling out of control, out of his depth. Unsure of how to save her, hating himself for putting her into that position. Terrified that one wrong move could lead to her death.

 “I’m sorry.” He chokes out, aware that his tears are soaking into her shirt.

 She steps back, only to drop to her knees, too. Her arms wrap around him in a tight hug as he rests his head at the crook of her neck. A hand comes up to cradle his head.

 “You have      nothing     to be sorry for.” She assures him.

 He swallows, heavily. He’s not sure when he last cried but it had to have been decades.

 “It’s my fault…”

 The arm around his back tightens and she turns her face to his head.

 “I’m so sorry I didn’t… didn’t protect you better… and---”

 “Hey,” the hand on his head moves to his cheek and she leans back to look at him. Her thumb strokes a tear, “You didn’t know. You had no reason to suspect that I would be targeted. But you know what?” Her fingers massage his neck, “I’m glad I was.”

 He tilts his head in disbelief.

 “If DeLuca hadn’t have taken me,” she says softly, “I would have seen you for an hour this week. And an hour next. And the week after that. And that would be it. I would have loved you from afar because that’s all I could do.

 “But now,” she runs her fingers down his face, “I can hold you. And kiss you. And love you. And that is more than worth the price of spending a couple uncomfortable days locked in a basement and a couple more hidden away from the world.”

 John shakes his head, because she is unreal sometimes. “You deserve so much be—”

 “      We    don’t get to decide what we deserve, John. That’s never been up to us.” She echoes what she had told him that day in her office. Hours before she had been taken. “But we do get some say in how we’re going to live.”

 John finds himself swallowing, his breath hitching as he tries to breathe in. “And how are we going to live?”

 “Well,” Helen says with a soft smile, “We’re going to start by hiding away for the rest of the weekend. And you’re going to make good on your promise to fuck me on your tongue until I can’t scream anymore.”

 He can’t help but chuckle at how serious she sounds but      fuck    . Yeah, he’s definitely doing that.

 “And then, we’re going to go home. And instead of picking my lock to sneak inside and watch me sleep, you’re going to fall asleep next to me. And instead of leaving before daylight, you’re going to wake up with me. Every day.

 “We’ll take weekend trips to Vermont, every now and then. I’ll make you go antiquing with me.” He laughs at that. Helen smiles back, continuing, “And I’ll make you take me to that other house you’ve got in Maine.”

 “It’s on a lake.” He tells her, thinking she might like that. He’ll buy a boat. Or a few, unsure if she’d prefer a motorboat or something like a kayak. Whatever she decides, she’ll have. She’ll never want for anything so long as he is breathing.

 Helen moves so that she is high on her knees. Her hands reach to cup either side of his face and she leans in to press her lips to his forehead.

 “We’re going to have a really good life.” She promises and fuck, he believes her. “And we’re going to be so fucking happy.”

 She kisses her way down his face, slowly. Tenderly.

 Her lips reach his. How, he thinks, can a kiss be so gentle? So different than anything he’s ever experienced.

 It was glorious when she kissed him passionately. It drove him wild when her teeth nipped at his lips or her tongue greedily sucked at his own.

 But she’s being so soft that it might very well break him again.

 She didn’t look at him and see the Boogeyman. Even knowing who he was, she didn’t let it influence her opinion of him.

 He felt human in her arms, in her eyes.

 He loves her for it. Among the plethora of reasons that he loved and adored her.

 John wraps his arms under her thighs, rising to his feet, and pulling her up with ease.

 She kisses the corner of his mouth as he carries her over to the bed. “I love you,” she whispers as he lays her down.

 They both undress, taking their time.

 The initial desperation has faded and while John is certain it will come back again, he is more than content to take it slow.

 When they are both naked, John revels in the warmth of her skin. He kisses his way around her body, allowing his hands the time to memorize every curve, dip, and swell of her body. And she lets him, like she knows how badly he needs this.

 And she probably does, he thinks. She’s always been in his head.

 Helen’s hand reaches the top of his head, stroking back his hair as he kisses every inch of skin he can reach from his place atop of her.

 His open-mouth grazes across her collarbone and John soaks in the way her hand tightens in his hair, her sharp intake of breath as his teeth scrape against her skin. He wonders what other sounds he can coax from her body… He’ll spend forever finding out.

 John kisses her lips again. How addictive that feeling, that taste has become.

 One hand tilts her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss while his other stretches down her perfect body, dipping between her thighs. He cups her core, feeling the warmth radiating from within her. He dips a finger between her folds. She’s soaking and it’s all for      him    .

 He kisses her harder, feeling his lips bruise as he gently circles his clit with his finger.

 She moans into his mouth and he swallows it down.

     I love you    , he thinks, and has to remind himself that he can say that now. He doesn’t have to keep it bottled in. He wonders how long it will take until he can say it without hesitation. Until it spills as easily from his lips as it comes to echo in his mind.

 “I love you, Hels.” He tells her, kissing down her jaw.

 “John!” She cries out as he continues to toy with her sensitive clit. He reaches down, coating his fingers in her slick heat before pressing them into her opening. His thumb takes over rolling over the sensitive bundles of nerves.

 Helen whimpers, her nails digging into his back. He nips at her throat with his teeth. She’s marked him well enough. Now it’s his turn.

 He wants to claim her. To leave his mark all over her so that anyone who sees her will have no doubt that she is taken. One day, he swears to himself that he’ll put a ring on her finger, but until then, he’ll be content with this.

 More than content.

 He sucks at her neck and plays with her clit until she is a moaning, writhing mess. Before she can reach her release, however, he removes his fingers from her pussy and brings them to his lips.

 Helen shudders as she watches him suck her essence from his fingers.

 His own cock twitches at the taste.

 When he is done, she grabs his hair and yanks him back for a kiss. She sucks on his tongue, tasting herself and he’s never been harder in his life.

 ..

 John takes his heavy cock in hand and brings it to her entrance. He pushes inside slowly, inch by inch. Letting himself focus on every sensation. The way her pussy yields to him, clenching around him. The way her stomach tightens and her breath stutters. Her grip around him.

 He closes his eyes as he finds himself completely buried inside of her. His hips cannot go any further.

 The hitch in her breath delights him. John draws back out, reveling in the soft changes in her breath, before he drives back in. Helen cries out and he kisses her neck. Her pussy tightens around him at the sensation.

 He’s never needed anyone the way he needs her.

 He knows he never will again.

 This woman is everything to him. She is it for him. And he’ll love her with every fiber, every atom of his being until he dies. And then beyond.

 “Fuck, baby!” She cranes her neck, giving him more access.

 He makes a mental note of how much she loves the attention he’s paying to her throat. He nips and she arches her back, crying out yet again. Clenching around him, again.

 John rolls his hips, careful to ensure steady pressure to her clit.

 Because it’s about her. It’s always been about her.

 He lifts his head, turning her head back to him so he can kiss her yet again. Languidly drowning in her as he takes his time fucking her, bringing her to the edge yet again.

 Helen swears, her nails biting into him. Her hips meet his, grinding against him as she moans. His thrusts increase in speed and John feels Helen’s entire body seem to tighten.

 And all at once, she breaks around him, crying out as a wave of pleasure slams into her. The way her pussy throbs around him is enough to make him lose his resolve and he soon finds himself spilling inside of her with a loud groan.

 His eyes lose their focus as his head drops down to the pillow, nestling in the crook of her neck as he breathes heavily. The rush of immediate pleasure leaves him but he is left feeling glorious as he lies on top of her body, still buried inside of her, still feeling the aftershocks of her own orgasm milking him.

 With an exhale, he raises his head to look back at her. Her beautiful eyes gazing at him.

 Helen reaches up. She pushes back the hair which had fallen into his face before wrapping her hand around to the back of his head, guiding his forehead to rest on hers.

 “I love you, John.”

 “I love you, too.” He says, swallowing back the emotions that overwhelm him.

 And he’s never going to let her forget it. She will never have the opportunity to forget or doubt that he loves her. That she is his everything.

 What she said earlier was true: they were going to be so fucking happy.

 And he was going to do this right.

 John kisses her cheek, “How about I buy you dinner?”

 Helen smiles back, “After all this, you better.”

......

One more chapter of this installment to come

thanks to @meetmeinthematinee​ for reviewing and editing <3

#john wick talk #john wick #john wick fanfiction #john x helen wick #helen wick #john wick prequel #overheard at the continental #the Matrix has queue #john wick fanfic #john wiction

[notasiren21]

#40 from the prompt list please and thank you!!!

I’m so sorry this took so long!!!

Someone You Loved

Rating: Mature for some themes

Pairing: fuckin’ Lukanette boi

Word count: 4,665

Prompt: (40) “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

Description:

Well, Luka sings a song and I pissed @macaknight off with this when I asked her to beta read the start of it. It helps if you listen to the song in the story, Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi. Enjoy lmao

She was around by his side long enough to engrave the little things into his mind.

He knew how it felt to have the soft strands of midnight blues through his fingers as he tangled them in her hair. To have her legs settle on either side of his as he trailed his hand up her small back and waist under her soft cotton shirts. The cheeky grin he grew to love baring up at him when his arms bracketed with her in between he picked her up at home.

How he didn't care for sweets but loved the way blueberry muffins tasted on her tongue and the taste of her mixed with raspberry jelly when it leaked from the corner of her pouty lips.

How the Liberty swayed under his feet against the small currents the wind brought on as they danced in the rain. The feel of his converse bracing both their weights as her drenched skirt blew in harsh waves between them. The first lightning strike reflecting off an anchor necklace he gave her on their first date.

When she kissed his cheek when he started humming absently with frustration as he tried to figure out the melody he wrote. Her small fingers pulling the pencil out of his death grip as she lent her forehead against his to calm him and decipher the jumbled notes he had in his head.

The way her face lit up when he played it back to her.

The way her face fell when she told him she loved him but they couldn't be together.

How her arms stiffly pulled away from his hug and the red of her eyes she showed up with.

How the airy taste of salt from the water didn't compare to the salt of his tears that trailed to his lips as he grounded the palm of his hands to his eyes roughy as sobs racked through his body when he collapsed to the wood of the ship.

The way it left him numb with hurt and he became too compliant with his happenings, too accepting.

Defeated.

Music was harder to hear and enjoy, he couldn't compose anything more than a haunting melody that brought any stranger to tears.

He wasn't sure he even felt the burn to his tongue when he drank his hot coffee as soon as it was handed to him. Or the rough jerk of his shoulder to turn him around as his guitar bounced off his back.

"Hey man, you look worse for wear." Théo, a former classmate of his that now ran the coffee shop, spoke as he eyed him critically. Luka shifted his thick blacks squared rimmed sunglasses up higher to cover his dark circles better. "I'd say it's great to see you, but..."

“Yeah, I’m just tired.” He offered the excuse at the ready, hating how well lying came with sadness.

“Ah, life of a famous rockstar.” Théo teased with a smirk. “No wondering you’re wearing a hat like that backwards to cover your hair and shades for those ‘oh so sexy’ blue eyes of yours.”

“Not famous,” Luka cringed at Théo’s words. “Just well known on the internet I guess.”

“Sorry for overplaying your popular cover videos man.” His old school mate laughed.

"It's fine. What's up?" He forced a smile that came across as genuine despite what he felt.

Théo crossed his arms and made a jerk with his head in the direction of the shop across the street, "New place has been stealing some of our loyal customers." Luka scratched under the brim of his black baseball cap he had on backwards as he followed the movement. "Lunch hour is about to hit and you know much we moved to stop by this part of town for break."

"Yeah, your aunt made good scones." He supplied.

He grunted in response, "Yeah. Well, girls frequent here more from school, and they keep going there," he roughly jerked his chin to the place again, "Just because there's an older guy who takes their order who is attractive, I guess. Or so I'm told."

Luka blinked at the shop before turning to his old friend, "What do you need from me then?"

"Observant as always, Couffaine." He snorted with a shake of his head. "I wanted to see if you -an attractive older guy- would give a small performance just as the girls come."

"What? Why?"

"Are you dense? With your face and body, and that 'sinful voice' of yours the girls cooed about back then and from your YouTube covers, I'm guaranteed to bring in more customers for today."

Luka tossed his half full coffee cup to the trash next to him. His own arms crossing as he wished he was in his cabin instead, laying on his bed while he stared up at the ceiling and trying to not feel the clench of his arm when he smelled Marinette's hibiscus shampoo and berry scented perfume on his pillows.

"I don't know."

His friend clasped onto his shoulder again, "Please man, you can keep 40% of the money you help bring in, I don't care. That shop is a dick and acting like we're not its competition."

“Man, you really don’t have to, I’ll just take a free coffee if you really need this.” Anything seemed better than just wallowing at home at this point, despite the incredible want to do so that swelled within him as he stood on the block he and Ladybug often frequented to patrol. “I mean it.”

Théo smiled, guiding him to a spot that he started clearing out near the cafe’s short fence that caged the outdoor tables and chairs.

“That’s okay, I feel bad to make you work without pay.” He straightened his back that had been bent forwards as he pushed tables, “Consider it repayment for that time you paid for my lunch.”

Luka stopped, “Lunch? When did I-,” he grunted. “Théo, that was four years ago.”

“Well, last Saturday had me thinking about all my debts and regrets when I thought I was gonna die. You came up.”

He flinched at mention of Saturday.

Saturday, the final fight against Hawkmoth who showed up in person with a struggling Mayura and an akumatized sentimonster of Lila. The combination of their powers as well as the wickedness that resided in the girl proving to be a difficult fight for them all when Ladybug and Chat pulled the entire team in.

Including a Chloé Bourgeois who was more than ready to help.

He could’ve sworn he heard Marinette screaming his name in worry when Hawkmoth closed in on him and hit into his side with his cane full force. But that was ridiculous. Because Marinette was Ladybug and Ladybug was Marinette. And Marinette wanted nothing to do with Luka since they had broken up without reason beyond her excuse of not being able to be with him.

He was a bit bitter about the whole ordeal.

Okay, he was more so lovesick and depressed, but his negative energy still stood.

“Yeah,” he flinched again when he heard his voice crack and he thumbed his bracelet -once silver, now a metallic black to hide better, “At least they finally caught Hawkmoth for good.”

“No kidding, now we can just focus on the heroes and the gossip your little girlfriend’s bestie posts.”

A knife. Through his heart. Twisting and gutting.

“Gossip?” He chose the safer option of the sentence, ignoring the onslaught of pitying questions and half-assed supportive promises that correcting Théo would bring.

“Yeah, like how that Ryuuko dragon girl and Chat are definitely dating and that Viperion and Ladybug totally have the hots for one another and the soft looks they give during patrols.”

A chainsaw. Just shredding his heart to pieces.

Luka Couffaine once thought he was a smart kid who made the right decisions.

How wrong he had been.

“Right.” He bit out, gripping the strap of his guitar case and scratching his baseball cap.

Théo shot up and loudly clapped with a whoop, “There we go! Now, I should grab the mic stand from open mic nights and just plug that in and some speakers, then we’ll be good to go.” Maybe Luka should’ve just left. “I’ll get ‘er done in five minutes, tops.”

Luka only nodded, watching as he ran around and set things up, then proudly presented Luka with the lone table he left set up to sit on.

He eyed his skeptically behind his sunglasses before hopping up, testing his weight on the surface before he crossed one ankle across his thigh and took his guitar from Théo who unzipped it for him. Théo pushed the mic stand closer to Luka and adjusted when he peered up at him.

“What do you want me to sing?”

His old friend shrugged with an easy smile, “Anything that comes to mind and draws that big crowd of hungry girls over.” Luka bobbed his head in response and tuned his acoustic guitar as Théo began backing up to inside the store and cheered, “Show off that sinful voice of yours, man! Woo!”

He let out a short chuckle and emptied his mind completely as he shut down, letting his fingers strum a few notes to a song that he began to resonate deeply with.

“I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me,” he closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself for being so open with his feelings as they poured out of him through a popular song. “This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy.”

He could see Théo looking at him carefully when he opened before squeezing his eyes shut in pain. He hated that look of pity, but he already started singing this song and he knew he would have to see it through given that the customers at the shop had already turned their attention to him.

“I need somebody to heal

Somebody to know

Somebody to have

Somebody to hold,”

Did he growl at the end of that last line? He wasn’t sure but the audience seemed moved by it and how he didn’t go weak on the verbs. Maybe he could please someone for once by just following with what worked for him.

“It's easy to say

But it's never the same

I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain.”

He thought he saw the familiar flash of black with red accents that everyone knew as Ladybug’s new suit for a second up on the rooftops. The rooftops that she danced with Viperion on and let her laugh rang over the quiet town under the stars. He wasn’t sure if he was just hopelessly imagining her or if she was there, but he felt the pain bite all at once and his voice became wobbly in a way that the crowd seemed touched by. You’re kidding me.

“Now the day bleeds

Into nightfall

And you're not here

To get me through it all

I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

Weak. He felt weak and it wasn’t the kind where he felt weak at the knees like when Marinette smiled up at him or her nose scrunched in thought.

He always thought he could be emotionally strong to handle whatever came his way. He was so sure of it.

“I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to turn to,” Guess he was weak for Marinette in every way possible after all, “This all or nothing way of loving got me sleeping without you.

“Now, I need somebody to know

Somebody to heal

Somebody to have

Just to know how it feels

It's easy to say but it's never the same

I guess I kinda liked the way you helped me escape.”

There was no blame to place, he knew that. It didn’t make it better or let him throw his anger at her to get it out, but he couldn’t keep punishing himself either.

He felt his eyes sting, shutting them as one tear slipped through and feeling grateful for both his dark shades and the sun beating down on his face past the patio table umbrella, hiding the evidence of his heartbreak.

“Now the day bleeds

Into nightfall

And you're not here

To get me through it all

I let my guard down,”

Who was he kidding? The heartbreak was the clearest part about him as he let the rough notes chip away at his throat and the growls making his voice artistically raw that he would have to worry about later.

His heart stopped painfully when he remembered the way Marinette’s face flushed all smitten like with a wondering look when Luka growled while singing and shot her winks, knowing how flustered it made her to see her calm and collective boyfriend with a soft and careful voice sounding so tortured for certain songs.

“And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.

How that came back to bite him in the ass.

He glanced up to blink away the tears and avoid the view of the large growing audience he couldn’t see from the sun.

He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of black and flecks of red again.

Fingers strummed harder and with more purpose and he let his soft voice fall back as the pain ripped through him and out in his voice.

“And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes

I fall into your arms

I'll be safe in your sound 'til I come back around.”

Fuck. He missed her. He missed her a fuck ton and wanted to hold her again and hear her whisper his nicknames of “Love”, “baby”, “handsome”, “Vipey”, whatever the hell she wanted to call him.

Even his damn name would be enough to sedate him for a year.

“For now the day bleeds

Into nightfall”

Dancing with her into the beginnings of a bad storm on the deck of the Liberty as they belted Cheap Thrills amist her giggles and his laughs he choked down to keep her beautiful voice going with his.

“And you're not here

To get me through it all”

Being curled up on her living room couch the next day with her cuddled into his side. Both sick with the cold, but unable to wipe the weak grins from their faces as Sabine amusingly disapproved of their actions the night before.

“I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug”

Their first kiss when she got flustered at their first date and told him she wouldn’t read too much into it despite wanting to, and him effectively shutting her up for the first time ever with the crash of his lips to hers and hands tilting her head up to meet him in reassurance.

“I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

The first time she called him her boyfriend and the pleased giggle she let out when he gave a startled and flustered noise, his snack flying out of the package he ripped open before he blinked and asked her to repeat what she said as a toothy grin broke his shocked face.

“But now the day bleeds

Into nightfall

And you're not here

To get me through it all”

Did a camera just flash at him? Hard to tell with the sun in his eyes and the dark lenses of his shades. He couldn’t find himself to care either.

“I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

He tried not to think about the fact that he forced himself to change his phone backgrounds to black, tried not to think if she deleted her phone screens of them napping together or the wallpaper of them dancing in the rain Juleka got of them as Luka dipped her over the edge of the stage they always practiced on.

The complete trust in her eyes and smile always made him melt in that picture. Her hands loosely holding her arms as her head titled back in a deep bellied laugh while he held onto her waist tightly with one arm and had the other behind him, the biggest smile that was only found on his face when Marinette was around.

“I let my guard down

And then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.”

Luka still fucking loved her more than anything.

His drive, his inspiration, his happiness and safe space. His melody that always rang loudly in his ears.

Now it sounded just as it did when they were younger.

The numbness took over as he looked up, face contorted into a forced happy expression as he dipped his head in gratitude to see the very big crowd that gathered and was clapping with tears in their eyes. He excused himself to find Théo who ignored how exposed the song made his old friend, conversing with him briefly as he counted the amount of customers before Luka left and promised to give him the 40% the next visit he came and a free coffee.

He put up his guitar, tugging the case back over his shoulder as he headed back to the Liberty and tossed the faux leather casing to the bed, tossing his sunglasses to the the bed as well before heading to the deck and off to take a lap to clear his break up riddled mind.

The third block was a close achievement, before he felt the petite body rush into him and the all too familiar wrap of small and strong legs wrap about his waist with a black latex suit arm winding around his neck. He subconsciously fell back into habit as one of his own dropped to hold under her thighs and one around her own waist as black fielded his vision.

He barely got a curse out before the all too telling sound of a spiritually powered string to the famous yo-yo pinned against restraint and shot them upwards, his unmasked face burying itself in the crook of her neck from the force rush of air to his eyes.

His chest tightened to the smell of hibiscus flowers and berries, clutching her tighter for the first time in a long while. Half aware he shifted her higher against him to have her bring them closer.

Well fuck if he wasn’t the most touch starved and needy ex ever.

The familiar sound of a specific metal railing being bounded by the yo-yo was the only warning he got before the touched surface with his feet and she loosened her grip.

He barely heard the words of her detransformation before he could see the flash of pink through black and pulled back from her neck.

Terror shook through him, and his hands and body trembled against her as he couldn’t force himself to look up. Staring intently at the silver anchor necklace he gave her, bounded in a rope of small teal jewels.

Luka couldn’t look at her face, couldn’t look away from the necklace she still wore. He couldn’t let her go or put her down either.

“Breathe love,” her quiet voice spoke, soft and hesitant, breaking Luka as he dropped them to his knees and brought her closer than before.

An audible sob he hadn’t heard since she walked away from him escaped his lips and heaved for air as his chin rested over her head and he looked frantically in front of him. At her balcony, the plants that littered the space and the wood paneling they rested on, the little ladybug statue he bought her as a cute joke.

Seeing none of it through blurry eyes, forcing himself to drop his head to her shoulder as she quaked with tears and ran a soothing hand through his hair.

“I’m so sorry, love.” He couldn’t get words out as he just grounded his face into her. “I thought I was protecting you, I didn’t realize how wrong I was.”

She pulled his face up, ceruleans magnified as his pupils dilated to the sight of her in front of him once again and the tips of his ears flaring just by her touch for the first time in forever. She caught a steam of tears with her thumb, giving him a tight smile.

“My miraculous gave me the intuition that Hawkmoth would make his final move.” She paused for a second, closing her eyes and she breathed deeply. “I thought for sure I would die when he did. Either by his winning, or ours but I would end up a casualty or sacrifice. You guys weren’t even supposed to be there, but Adrien insisted for backup and I just...”

“You left me because you thought you were going to be killed?” Voice gravelly and sore from the coffee shop, he pressed on, fingers twitching at her back. “Why didn’t you tell me? Even if you had to strap me down just to bench me from the fight, you should’ve told me.”

“You’re right,” she rushed. “Absolutely right, and it was pure hell to leave to that day or say what I did. I’ve never been more miserable with my life than I’ve been since we’ve broke up. I hate it, I hate being away from you so much, Luka.”

“Be mine again.”

“What?” She blinked, choking on air.

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into her touch when she held his face. “I don’t, I don’t fucking care if I’m being selfish anymore. It’s so hard not to be when it comes to you, Marinette. All these small details engraved to my mind, committed to memory and nothing to do with it.

“I keep leaving hoodies I casually wear on my amp for you to take, I keep putting that soft blanket you’re obsessed with folded on the edge of my bed for you to yank off and curl into as soon as you step into my room.” He forced his eyes not to open as he kept going, following the rhythm she provided and he struggled to find words for. “The minute I wake up, before I even open my eyes to see for the first time of the day, my phone is already in my hand with your contact open and a good morning text at the ready for you. Even good night texts when I reset my alarms. I keep leaving your spot open on my bed in case you visit while I’m asleep. Your favorite part on the couch for you. The last cherry popsicle of the package, and the cookie dough ice cream I bought out of habit are still in the freezer waiting for you to find them.

“I’m fucking broken without you.” He rasped, ceruleans meeting baby blues, “I’m missing you emotionally, figuratively, mentally, physically. How the hell am I supposed to be okay when you’ve become such a big part of me? When you’re my literal other half?”

She nudged his button nose with her small one, “I,” she gave a dark laugh that he felt in his core. “I keep airing out my room whenever my sewing machine leaves behind that electrical smell your nose scrunches at so much.” She giggled when she felt him do it at the mention of the scent. “I let the popcorn cook for half a minute longer to get it a little burnt like how you like. I sleep in your hoodies to leave behind the smell of my perfume and shampoo the way you said you like your hoodies to smell when I give them back. I play with my necklace when I grow nervous and can’t talk to you. I can’t go more than five hours without hovering over your contact name or looking at our pictures.”

He sat back on his knees, letting her adjust herself out of habit and moving her hair away from her face. The smile he gave was tight but reassuring.

“I missed you, doll.”

“I missed you too, Luka.” She paused for a second, “Hey,” she started cautiously.

“Hm,”

“Luka, you know I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you, right?”

The glint that quickly came to his eyes didn’t waver like his abused voice did, “I kinda figured from all the times you’ve blushed and stuttered. The times you tripped when I caught you off guard with a flirtatious comment or wink. And the times you kissed me like it was the end of the world.”

He looked up to see her set a false murderous glare above him as he ran his thumb over the teal gems in the rope around the anchor of her necklace, a smirk he hadn’t felt making way to his face as one of his naturally slightly pointer canines became visible to express his pure happiness.

“I forgot how much of a jerk you could be,” she huffed, looking away and sniffing.

“I’m sorry, doll.” He made her look at him, eyes still shining with unshed tears as the stared into hers. His grin was pure radiance, “I love you.”

She let him pull her down to a kiss, feeling those soft pouty lips he loved so much back on his again. “I know,” she replied between kisses, causing him to huff and pull away with his own pout. She held alone his jawline, “I’m kidding, kinda. But, I love you too.”

Her giggle when he let out a happy and short hum was pure music to his ears as her melody finally fell back into the correct time signature and key. Even as he parted with a pant and hugged her close, stroking her hair.

“Just, don’t leave me in the dark again.” He started, seeing her phone that fell out of her back pocket light up with a text from Alya.

Alya: So did you kiss and makeup, or not? I have Nino on the edge of his seat.

Alya: no really, he keeps asking and refuses to do ANYTHING until he finds out.

Alya: for fuck’s sake, answer and let me get laid

He hid his smile in her shoulder from the texts and the fact that she never changed her screens from them. Letting him see her cheek smushed up against his chest and her arm lazily thrown around his waist while his held her close.

“Never, not again. I’m not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice like I once was.” He snorted at the reference to her old crush on Adrien years ago. “But we do have something to talk about.”

He pulled back, eyeing her cautiously. “Did I do something?”

“Yes,” his heart fell and he was ready to beg for her forgiveness. “You know how many girls have your picture now? Videos of you singing a song in such a beautifully tortured way with those growls, and the rough notes and the, stop laughing Couffaine!”

“I’m sorry,” he muffled his laughs behind his hand. “I forgot how much fun I had just by talking with you and your small bouts of jealousy.”

“Oh, I’m bad? Says the boy who sang a song that people keep covering for heartbreak.”

“I’m getting paid for doing it.”

“How much?”

“40% of the customers I brought in by drawing a crowd and a coffee on the house,” he let a smile spread across his face. “You know, I might be able to change it. Can I treat you to a free mint hot chocolate, a date as well maybe?”

She considered him for a second.

“With whipped cream,” he added for extra measure to his small sweet’s addict. He dimpled up at her with a scrunch when she kissed his button nose.

“God, I love you, Luka.”

“I love you too,” he kissed her slowly, “Mari, just don’t let me sing like that again, my voice is killing me.”

“Got it, never leave you again.”

“Pretty much.”

“Hey, you look cute with your baseball cap backwards like this.” She winked, pulling his black hat from the balcony floor where it fell off and back on his head.

“I’d respond with a witty comment, but it hurts to talk now.”

She grinned, “Hm, I love you.”

Luka still smiled despite flinching from the rawness of his throat, “I love you.”

#luka couffaine #miraculous ladybug #luka x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #love #miraculous luka #life #marinette dupain cheng x luka couffaine #miraculous lb #mlb luka #angst prompts #fluffy prompt #requested #requested prompt #ANGST #lmao I wrote this all night until 8 am #singing #heartbreak #broken heart #angsty luka

[i-stan-nct-and-satan]

Not Broken (Jaehyun Mafia AU pt 9)

Not Broken Masterlist 

Jaehyun X Reader

"You don't believe her, do you, boss?" Doyoung asked as soon as the door to the basement was closed.

Jaehyun ignored his underling's inquiry as he walked through the kitchen and into the dining room.

Taeyong was sitting at the table. He had been waiting for them, or more like on standby in case anything happened.

"Call everyone down," Jaehyun ordered his second in command.  

"We're having another meeting."

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After the meeting had been called and everyone was gathered around the dining room table, Jaehyun motioned for Yuta to go over what had happened during the interrogation.

Yuta explained the events in chronological order, making sure not to leave out any details except for those regarding his boss's small outburst. He quoted Y/N's answers almost word for word.

Everybody at the table listened intently to Yuta, not wanting to miss anything.

When Yuta came close to telling his colleagues about the bizarre claim their prisoner made, he looked to his boss as if he were unsure if it was okay to tell them. Jaehyun merely nodded, giving him the go ahead to continue on with his retelling of the previous events.

"She was freaking out and suddenly she claimed that she killed Lucas," Yuta announced.

Everyone in the room except Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Winwin gasped. Many of them started asking questions. For a brief few seconds, everything seemed chaotic. The men kept talking over each other, directing their questions towards their boss, towards each other or even towards themselves. Anyone who would have entered the room at that moment would have surely felt the need to back away from the disorder.

"Shut up!" Jaehyun bellowed, causing all of his men to go silent.

Jaehyun looked back towards Yuta.

"Is there anything else you would like to add?"

Yuta nodded before continuing.

"I know that it seems like she was just saying that as a last-ditch effort to throw us off, but it felt different from that. It was like she was confessing it, not arguing it. She kept saying that she was sorry. Doyoung and I have done hundreds of interrogations over the years and it isn't uncommon for hostages to admit their actions when they know they're about to die."

"It's like a soldier's last confession," Doyoung added.

"Exactly. Not only that, but she seemed genuinely confused whenever we mentioned anything directly involving IU. It was like she thought we were interrogating her for something else entirely," Yuta finished.

Everyone at the table looked towards Jaehyun. His silent facade was as unreadable as ever.

Taeyong was the only one brave enough to speak after having previously been told to shut up only a few moments ago.

"What are your thoughts, boss?"

Jaehyun glanced at the red-haired. He seemed caught off guard by the question, but not because of its content. It was like Jaehyun had forgotten that there were other people in the room with him.

"We need more information before we can discuss the possibility that anything she's claiming is true. I haven't been able to come up with any ways that our interrogations methods up to this point could have guaranteed that she knew what we were interrogating her for. Of course, this is a normal interrogation tactic that allows the interrogators to trick the person into giving out details they might not have thought were important, but I'm not sure what to think," he spoke as though he were organizing his own thoughts.

"What are your orders, sir?" Johnny asked, having gained the confidence to speak since Taeyong wasn't scowled for his own vocalizations.

"Since Y/N is unlikely to feel comfortable around either one of us three, I want you and Winwin to get more information out of her,"

"Me and Winwin?" Johnny questioned.  

"Not to disrespect your orders, sir, but Winwin and I have no experience with interrogations."

"You won't be interrogating her. You'll be talking to her," Jaehyun explained.

Winwin remained unfazed, but Johnny's face continued to contort further and further into one of confusion.

"Since Winwin was the one to patch her up, I assume that she has some feeling of comfort associated with him."

"She'd be the only one," Mark scoffed under his breath, only to be harshly punched in each arm by both Yuta and Taeil.

"And you seem to get along with women for whatever reason, so I figure that you two are the most well suited for this assignment," the mafia boss concluded.

"I get along with women too. Shouldn't I join too?" Mark interjected, earning yet another punch from Yuta.

"Shut up," Yuta hissed at him.

"What do you want us to find out?" Winwin inquired, finally acknowledging his boss's orders.

"I want you to find out as much as you can about what happened between her and Lucas and I want you to record it so that we can find out if her story has any inconsistent. Do whatever you have to do to make her comfortable. As for the rest of you, I want you all to stay close. Don't expect this to be the last meeting we have today."

"Yes, sir."

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After Johnny and Winwin had left the room to get supplies for their mission and the others had wandered off, only Jaehyun and Taeyong remained seated at the table.

"Did we fuck up?" Taeyong asked.

"I don't know what you're implying, but I don't care about such an insignificant casualty."

"Jae, we usually don't involve civilians."

"She isn't a civilian. She's a part of this now."

"But even if she wasn't a part of IU's death, how is she supposed to go back to her life after this? We weren't exactly subtle about taking her."

"That isn't my concern. My concern, and what your concern should be, is killing each and every one of those bastards involved in the death of my sister, no matter what they have between their legs."

"Jae," Taeyong started.

"What?!" Jaehyun slammed his fist the table.  

"Fucking what, Tae?!"

Taeyong kept his gaze on Jaehyun, not letting himself become intimidated by his friend.

"I know that this is what we do, and that we need to carry out our retaliation in order to uphold our gang's image, but that's not going to bring your sister back and you know that."

Before his boss could retort, Taeyong kept going.

"You're hoping she was involved, aren't you?"  

Taeyong uttered the question more like a comment than a genuine inquiry

"What?"

"You want Y/N to be involved in IU's death, don't you?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't have ordered Johnny and Winwin to talk to her if I did," Jaehyun defended.

"You're not letting your feelings get in the way of handling the situation professionally and that's good, but-"

"But, what?" Jaehyun barked.

"I'm worried that you want her to be involved so that you can misdirect your anger on one of Lucas' henchman instead of the actual person behind it. Remember, Lucas is the enemy... that is... if he's alive."

Taeyong noticed as Jaehyun's fists began to tighten.

"I'm just trying to figure out when you started looking for the bad in people instead of the good. That's what used to separate you and IU from your father."

"And look where that got her."

"But look at where it got you, Jae. NCT 127 has grown so much since you've taken over. We've become stronger and it's because of you. Remember when your father told you that Mark would never amount to anything? Yet as soon as he died, you sent Mark over to train with the Dreamies and now you’re training him to eventually take over as the Dreamies' leader."

"He's still a blubbering buffoon," the pink-haired man countered.

"But he's grown so much from when he first joined NCT. You were the only one who saw his potential. Even I thought you were crazy to put any effort into taking him on as a member of NCT 127."

Jaehyun sighed, his anger morphing into exhaustion.

"I'm also concerned about if it would be better or worse if Lucas were alive," Taeyong mumbled under his breath.

Achoo!

Taeyong and Jaehyun looked at each other. Neither one of them had sneezed.

They turned towards the source of the noise, the curtains.

"I really need to start checking behind curtains before meetings," Jaehyun cursed at hmself.

"Jisung, Chenle, come out. Now," Jaehyun demanded.

The two boys sheepishly came out from behind the curtains.

"I'm not going to waste anymore of my breath disciplining you two today, now where is Jaemin?"

"He's a little tied up right now," Chenle answered pressing index his fingers together.

Jaehyun let out a deep sigh. He was not in the mood to deal with his kid brothers, not right now.

"You better not mean that literally," he warned the two.

"Uh... umm," the boys stuttered.

Now, it was Taeyong's turn to sigh.

"I'll take them to go find and possibly untie Jaemin," Taeyong offered.

"Thank you," Jaehyun replied as he waved for them to leave already.

Once they were out of sight, Jaehyun collapsed into his chair.

He had also wondered if it would be better for Lucas to be dead or not. On one hand, the man who murdered his sister would be gone, but on the other hand, if his murder wasn't caused by Nct 127, then it would reflect poorly on the gang itself, yet that wasn't what concerned Jaehyun.

I can't believe that I am actually hoping that Lucas is still alive. Jaehyun thought to himself.

But I just can't stand the idea that the man responsible for Ji-eun's death, won't die by my own hands, that I won't be able to watch him as the life slowly and painfully leaves his body.  

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The tears had stopped, or more like ran out. After an hour of sobbing, I had finally burnt through the little energy that I had left. I couldn't even muster up the energy to think about how I was still alive after having come so close to my demise. Wondering about the meaning behind Jaehyun's sudden exit would only lead to a spark of hope that would surely end up in a greater despair than I was already in. I had come to terms with the fact that I wouldn't survive Jaehyun's wrath, whether it would come today or tomorrow. Considering any possibility that I still had a chance was only being cruel to myself. All that was left to do was to stare at the walls and wait for everything to finally end.

This is where my mind was at. I had given up completely, so when I heard the door to the basement open, I couldn't put in the effort to look towards its source, to see who was surely here to put a bullet in my head.

"Hey there, sweetheart."  

I recognized the voice. It was Johnny’s.

Sweetheart? What does he think he's trying to do? Comfort me? If he was sent down here to finish me off, then why couldn't he just get it over with?

My eyes didn't waver from where they were currently fixed on the wall.

"We brought you something," Johnny continued.

Finding myself intrigued by the mention of "we,"I turned my head to face the two men. Winwin was coming towards me, Johnny walking beside him.

The two men were carrying bundles of blankets along with a variety of other items that I couldn't make out due to my swollen eyes.

Oh God. They're going to wrap the blankets over my dead body.

"How are you holding up?" Winwin asked.

Despite my preference of Winwin over the others, I still recognized that Winwin was a part of NCT, the group that had put me into this sorry state in the first place, so I stayed silent.

"Sorry. That was stupid question, wasn't it?" Winwin commented.

He turned to Johnny and grabbed something from him. It was a water bottle like the one that Yuta had earlier.

Winwin brought the bottle to my lips and tilted it slowly, allowing me to take sips at my own pace.

"That's it. ***** and slowly. Good." Winwin encouraged, his thick accent never failing to confuse me.

Despite my exhausted state of mind, I could tell that they weren't planning on killing me. I mean, why would they put in the effort to make sure that I was a well hydrated corpse? Yet for some reason, I wondered if the delayment of my death was something to be relieved about or if I just wanted to get it over with.

"Okay so here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna get you out of these chains and into some new clothes. Then we are ******. Understand?"

I simply glanced at Johnny, who quickly got the hint that I needed some translation.

"We're going to unbind you, give you new clothes, check your vitals, treat your wounds, and ask a few more questions, okay?"

I nodded slowly. I didn't know what any of this meant, but my mind was too far gone to fully dissect the meaning of their words.

Is there actually a chance that I’ll get out of here alive?

I kept still as Johnny and Winwin proceeded to free me from my binds. When they finished, I remained seated, not wanting to anger either of them by moving without their direct instruction.

They stared at me for a brief second before Winwin asked if I needed help getting up.

I slowly made an attempt to stand up only to wobble briefly before stumbling into Johnny's arms.

Normally, I imagine that I would had started blushing madly from the hold that Johnny had on me, but I was unable to care about how close our faces were. I was too dizzy to feel flustered. Black dots filling my vision.

He slowly lowered me onto the ground, the black dots finally starting to clear from my sight, but I was still in too much of an exhaustive state to take notice of what was going on.

Winwin mouthed words to me, but I was unable to decipher them.

After realizing that I was not going to answer, Winwin started to undress me.

I couldn't fight back, not that it mattered. It wasn't like I thought he was trying to take advantage of me.

Once I was dressed in a pair of velvety soft pajama pants and a new oversized sweater, this one neon green, Winwin returned the water bottle to my mouth.

"You must need the restroom," Winwin commented.

I hadn't noticed since my mind was preoccupied with so much these last 36 hours, but my bladder felt like it was about to burst despite my extremely limited water intake.

"There’s a bathroom in the corner, but I don't think that you'll be able to manage going on your own."

Winwin could see the panic in my eyes.

"Would you like me or Johnny to help you?"

Remembering that Both of the men had already seen me close to naked, I quickly gave in.

I managed to muster out the words, "You, please,"

Winwin's expression remained unchanged as he hoisted me up to my feet, supporting me while we walked towards the small powder room.

Winwin helped me to sit on the toilet, before immediately turning to look away. It felt like an eternity had passed before I finished. Winwin helped me up. Leaning on him for stability, I washed my hands. After drying them on a nearby washcloth, Winwin guided me back towards Johnny.

Winwin pulled out his first aid kit and started tending to my wounds from the previous day along with whatever new ones he found. Johnny simply watched as Winwin checked my vitals. Neither of them said more than a few words at a time. Most of their chatter consisted of Winwin explaining what he was doing and reporting my vitals to Johnny.

Once Winwin started packing up his first aid kit, Johnny went over to where he had placed the stuff they had brought in with them.

"Hungry?" Johnny inquired as he handed me a sandwich wrapped in Saran wrap.

I was starving.

As I unwrapped the sandwich, Johnny wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.

I was so desperate for food that I didn't realize that the sandwich was turkey until I had already scarfed half of it down.

Johnny promptly offered me another sandwich, which I accepted without thought.

They both watched as I inhaled the second sandwich at the same speed as I had done with the first. I must have looked like a starved animal enjoying its first taste of food after a long winter of hibernation.

Johnny leaned down so that he was sitting almost directly in front of me, still allowing Winwin enough space on the floor so that he could also sit down to face me.

"Okay, now I know that you've been through a lot," Johnny started.

"But ************** a little more from you," Winwin interjected.

"You can take as much time as you need. We know that your body is under a lot of stress right now, but we need you to tell us the truth. The whole truth."

"Your only hope of making things better for you is ******* much detail as you can. Lying will only ******** more pain than you've already experienced."

"The boss thinks that we.... might have jumped to conclusions about your relationship with Lucas, which is why we need you to clear up a few things. Do you understand?"

Your eyes switched between the two men as each of them continued each other's explanations.

You nodded in response.

"Good!" Johnny exclaimed as he took a black box out of his pocket. He pressed a button on the device revealing to you that it was an old fashion tape recorder.

"Let's start with the first time you met Lucas," Johnny instructed.

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I had told them everything I could remember, sparing no details out of fear that any forgotten tidbits would result in the most dire of consequences. I was terrified of how they would react to my retelling of the events that night, but I figured that following their orders was my best chance of preventing any further mutilation. If I was going to be killed, I didn’t want to give them any more reasons to make my death a painful one.

At first, speaking was difficult, but once the turkey sandwiches caused my blood sugar levels to stabilize, it got easier. I started my story by telling them about how I was in such a desperate state that night that I resorted to pick pocketing drunks in order to find cash for food. I told them about my failed attempt to steal from Lucas and about how he didn’t turn me in after catching me. I explained how he bought me food and then offered me a place to spend the night, a chance to shower, and a fresh change of clothes.

Johnny and Winwin listened intently, only interrupting to specify small details or to ask me to go into more detail.

When I told them about the drinks, I chose to leave out the details about the drugging until I got to the part where I found out about it myself. I noticed how their eyes widened in interest as I finally got to the... climax of the story. When I recollected the moment when I first encountered the dead body, I went into precise detail about what style of dress she was wearing, the signs of obvious mutilation, and the features of her face that were still recognizable. Johnny had leaned over to whisper something incomprehensible into Winwin’s ear. Winwin nodded in response.

The only event that I wasn’t completely honest about was the actual act itself. I told them what happened, but I didn’t tell them about Lucas’ speech about how worthless I was or about how I lost control. Instead I told them that I only grabbed the baijiu bottle as a last attempt to save myself and that I only hit him with it until he ceased his attack. I told them that I hadn’t meant to kill him, that it just happened.

I thought that I had ran out of tears, but I was mistaken. Tears began to make their way down my face as I told the two men about the single worst night of my life, at least it was up until last night.

I was surprised when Johnny offered me his handkerchief. Neither one of them seemed angry or upset. Instead, they seemed genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. They were probably the most sympathetic looks that I had received since arriving at that hell hole.

When I finally finished going over the last of the events from that night, Winwin asked if there was anything else I wanted to add.

I shook my head.

“No.”

Johnny stopped the tape recorder with the press of a button and stood up off of the floor.

“You did great, Y/N,” Winwin assured me in his most comforting voice as he too stood up.

“Now I’m sure the boss wouldn’t like hearing me ask this, but is there anything else we can get you before we turn this in?”

I didn’t know what to ask for.

Sensing my hesitance, Johnny spoke up again.

“Once we hand this over to the boss, I honestly don’t know what will happen next. You might not get this offer again.”

Realizing that this was my last chance, I made my request.

“Is there any chance that I could perhaps take a shower?”

Winwin turned his face towards Johnny’s. No words were exchanged, but I could tell that they were debating the “grantability" of my request.

Johnny turned back to look down at me.

“I don’t see why not,” he answered.

💚💚💚🖤🖤🖤

“A shower?” Jaehyun questioned.

He and Taeyong were sitting at the dining room table when Johnny entered the room.

“Yes sir. I asked if she needed anything right after we finished taping her story. I think that it is in our best interest to keep her feeling comfortable in case we need to ask her any more details,” Johnny explained.

“Well it isn’t too unusual of a request after being tied up in a room for two days,” Taeyong added.

“About the tape, what do you think?” Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Uh. I think it’ll be better if the tape speaks for itself,”

Jaehyun’s gaze remained fixed on Johnny for a a few seconds before he spoke up.

“Sure. Take her to the shower in the east wing. The one near IU’s old room. It doesn’t have any windows and the vent has been sealed off. Plus, it’s in the east wing where you won’t run into any of the other members.”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, and one of you will need to be with her the entire time to make sure she doesn’t get up to anything. We still don’t know if she is connected to Lucas or not and I’m sure that he would have enough sense to teach his lackeys a few escape methods. Actually, make Winwin do it. He isn’t as emotionally inclined as you are, and we’ll want to hear your thoughts on her story.”

“Yes sir.”

“You may go now.”

Shortly after Johnny left the room, Jaehyun turned to Taeyong who already knew what his boss’s next orders would be.

“I guess we should rally everyone up.”

💚💚💚🖤🖤🖤

Johnny poked his head in the doorway. He didn’t say anything, he merely gave us a thumbs up and jerked his head slightly towards the side indicating for us to follow.

Having regained my strength, I was able to walk without any assistance. The stairs were hard at first, but my legs quickly adapted to the task I had so easily done all my life. The journey to the bathroom felt exactly like that, a journey. The long hallways and winding staircases that I had witnessed at Lucas’ estate seemed like a walk through the driveway when compared to this labyrinth like manor and it was only the east wing according to Johnny.

“We tend to stay within the north wing,” Johnny explained, filling the silence as we traveled the never-ending halls.

“We don’t really come here since...” His voice trailed off.

Despite my curiosity, I chose not to inquire about Johnny’s sudden quietness. Making myself a nuisance would only bring more difficulties.

I was still so confused. For the last two days, no one had really given me any substantive explanation for what was going on or why. I only received demands or punishment.

“Here we are,” Winwin, who had been leading the way, stopped in front of a soft lavender painted door.

I looked up at the two men as if to ask permission to act.

“I’m going to head back to show everyone the tape. Winwin, you know what to do.”

Winwin gave Johnny a nod.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N, hopefully under better circumstances.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to respond, Johnny flashed a small smile before disappearing around a corner.

“You could have thanked him, you know. I wouldn’t ***** that much effort to grant a hostage’s request,” Winwin muttered under his breath.

“Thanked him?” I could feel the anger bubbling inside me.

I was getting too brave and I knew it, yet I didn’t stop myself.

“Thank him for what? For showing me basic human decency after you guys kidnapped me, tied me up, starved me, and beat me?” If I was any louder it would have been considered shouting.

Winwin’s lips shifted into a smirk catching me off guard and shutting me up.

He continued to stare at me with a sort of amusement.

“What?” I demanded.

“I’m just curious as to how a man who’s had countless assassination attempts against him fail, could have been accidentally killed by someone like you,” Winwin enunciated clearly, allowing me to fully understand the meaning of his words.

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you. I don’t think the others will, but I believe you.”

“What makes you different?”

I hadn’t realized how intensely Winwin had been staring at me until now. I broke eye contact, letting out a small cough to ease the suffocating energy that filled the hallway.

“I mean what makes you believe me?”

Winwin who was still staring at me, suddenly avoided me gaze as he shrugged.

“Are you going to shower or not?”

That was a strange reaction. 

“Yeah,” I mumbled softly.

Winwin opened the door, but it led to a bedroom instead of a bathroom. I walked through the door as he held it open for me.

It was a woman’s room, or at least it appeared that it was. The décor was feminine yet mature, so it didn’t feel like a little girl’s room, but it was still trendy, signifying that whoever occupied this space was roughly around the same age as me. Our commonalities seemed to stop there. Besides the fact that I could never even dream of having a room this expensive looking, this room belonged to someone tidy. Everything was organized, the bed was made, the floor was absent of any unnecessary litter. The room almost gave off a ‘non-lived in’ feeling, like it hadn’t been used in a long time, which made sense since Johnny mentioned that the people rarely ever went into the east wing anymore.

“The bathroom is over here,” Winwin announced, pulling me from my thoughts.

I entered the bathroom and became immediately uncomfortable when Winwin followed.

“Wait. What are-”

“You didn’t think that the boss ****** let you take a shower ***** by yourself, did you?”

I was stunned by his words. I couldn’t have heard him right.

“I can’t turn around either, ****** makeshift weapon while I look away.”

Despite knowing very well that this man had already seen you in next to no clothing and not to mention. seen you urinating, you had to draw the line here.

“I’m not going to shower with you,” you asserted.

Winwin scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to get in the shower WITH you, dumb ass,” he barked.

“I’m just***** in this bathroom while you shower.”

I could see my cheeks turning red in the mirror’s reflection. I was embarrassed that I had jumped to such a lewd conclusion.

“You can take off your clothes behind the shower curtain if that makes you feel more comfortable. **** hand your ***** to me after you take them off,” he continued.

I continued to stare at him, feeling awkward.

Winwin let out a small sigh that sounded like it was more out of frustration than annoyance.

“Look, if ****** feel better, I’m not into women.”

“You’re gay?”

I didn’t know why I was suddenly so interested in the sexuality of one of my captors.

“I’m not exactly into guys either. It doesn’t matter. Are you going to shower or not?”

Instead of further probing him, I swiftly stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me.

#Nct #nct 127 #wayv #nct dream #nct au #nct 127 au #wayv au #nct smut #nct dream au #nct 127 smut #wayv smut #Jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct jaehyun #nct 127 jaehyun #yoonoh #jaehyun smut #jaehyun au #nct jaehyun au #nct jaehyun smut #nct mafia #mafia nct #nct 127 mafia #wayv mafia #nct dream mafia #nct fanfiction #kpop #kpop au #kpop mafia au #kpop smut

[ithehellisbucky]

Yellow and Fuckboy- Random People Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Requested: None

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cussing, brief mentions of sexual harassment, brief talks about eviction, general bitchiness

Author’s Note: Ahhhhh, I finally posted something. I know I’m a day late, but I tried my best. I only had enough time to edit the first half, so sorry if there are any errors. This will be a series, with about 5, 6, or 7 parts, it depends on the turn this takes. Requests and taglists are open. Love you, and stay safe out there!

This is the end. Standing on a crosswalk in the middle of a bustling street with people screaming all around you. This is the end. But then again, you never know what the ending is until it's done. But it isn't done yet.

6 years. 6 years at that job. A good job. A job with a guarantee of climbing the corporate ladder. A job that you had just been fired from.

Why the fuck were you fired? Stupid bullshitters caught one whiff of a sexual harassment scandal and booted you out without a second thought. And blamed it on your "work ethic". Stupid Jonah should have been fired instead, he was the one who would wolf whistle and "flirt" (the shitty thing that he tried to claim he was doing instead of sexual harassment) whenever you walking by his desk. Not you.

Then after all of that shit, your landlord evicted you. Said that "you wouldn't be able to pay the rent" because you were fired. You would've been able to throw something together if he had trusted you. If someone had trusted you.

But no one had. You're just standing in the middle of the street. Without anyone. Trying to convince yourself that this wasn't the end of the world.

~

This is the beginning. The beginning of something. The beginning of a whole new future. In the middle of the bustling street, there was only one spotlight. And that spotlight is on James Barnes. 

Today was the day. The day to end all other. Bucky's pulse was the only sound he could make out, even though there was noise all around him. 

"What am I gonna do without you Buck." He turned around to look at a face he had seen almost every day of his life, a face he almost forgot was standing right next to him.

"I don't know Steve, but you’re gonna figure it out." The better question in Bucky's mind was what the hell he was going to do without Steve. Every day of his life he had seen Steve. What the hell was he going to do without the scrawny kid who wasn't afraid of a fight but definitely should be? Possibly survive, probably die.

On the inside, Bucky had no idea what the hell he was going to do. All he knew, is that this was the beginning of something. He didn't know what. All he knew was that it was the beginning

~

An apartment. That's all you needed. An apartment. One bedroom, one bathroom. Maybe even a kitchen, or a living room if you were lucky. Hell, at this point you'd settle for no windows.

Today is hell. It honestly couldn't get any worse.

Something hits your back. It was light, and for a moment you thought it could be a pebble or something. You reach behind you and touch the top of your back, right where the fabric of your shirt meets the strap of your backpack.

Nothing was there. You shrug your shoulders and continue to walk along. The same sensation hits your nose. Nothing, again. All there is is a small wet splotch. Oh. Oh no. This is bad. This is worse than bad. This is devastatingly horrible. 

Looking up towards the sky in horror, you wince as another raindrop hits your cheek. The movies were right. You should never say "it can't get any worse." Because then it’ll immediately start raining. 

At least it's only a small drizzle. Nothing too bad could come from it.

...Fuck.

Almost the exact second that thought ran through your mind that a complete and total downpour washed over you. Thunder was crashing all around you, and everyone started running. You pull up your backpack and put it over your head. Like that would do anything to stop the flood that was coming down to you.

If this was a movie you would be running through the rain to your estranged lover, but alas, this isn't a movie. Instead, you're running to a diner that is barely in your line of vision. 

As you run towards the diner the wheel of your suitcase gets caught on the curb, causing you to fall over. While pushing yourself off the ground, you look down and see that your knees have been bloodied by the fall. 

Sighing, you straighten your suitcase and continue to walk towards the restaurant at a much slower pace; partially because of your skimmed knees, and partially because your mood is just as hurt.

Once you reach the diner you stand in the foyer, thinking about all the horrific turns this day has taken. Wiping your feet on the mat and putting your backpack back on your back you sigh loudly into the universe. Not to a person, place, or thing, to the universe.

You open the door and take a whiff of fresh coffee and warm waffles. You roll your suitcase over the bump in the doorway and hear a clanging noise. 

The diner was more crowded than most of the other diners you had been to in Brooklyn, and you wonder what makes it so special. The funny thing was that most people weren't in there to shield themselves from the rain, the majority of people looked like this was just another day, not the day the world was ending.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you walk towards one of the only empty seats at the countertop. There is one empty seat on your left, and the one on your right is taken by a man in a blue business suit.

You take a seat on the stool and plop your suitcase down on the seat beside you. If someone wants to sit there enough they'll ask. You take a look at the menu in front of you. Within two seconds you had instantly picked out the meal that you wanted: chocolate chip pancakes and a coffee. 

Waiting for the waiter to come over to take your order wasn't easy. You had just been fired, evicted, and then caught in a goddamn thunderstorm; you aren't in the mood to be patient.

For a few minutes, the seat next to you was empty. Then, someone walked up being you, and said the exact words: "Is this seat taken."

~

A rainstorm. Just his luck. Possible the only thing that could happen to take Bucky down a notch had happened, a rainstorm. It may not be the worst thing on the planet, but it's certainly up there.

Almost the exact second he had said goodbye to Steve for the last time in a long time, the sky opened up its floodgates and poured them down onto him. It was almost as if the weather was reciprocating the emotions he was feeling.

While running to the nearest building he could find, the only thought running through Bucky's head was how he would find the airport. He barely left Brooklyn, and when he did do it, it was by subway. 

The bell chimed as he entered the building, which he could now see was a diner from the decor. Panting, he looked around the room for a seat. There didn't seem to be any until he spotted one with a suitcase on it.

The woman that the suitcase presumably belonged to was wearing a purple sweater and blue jeans that stopped midway up her calves. She was (for some twisted reason that was beyond him) wearing cheap yellow flip-flops that looked like they were from dollar tree. Her backpack was black, and the straps were sagging so much that the bottom of the bag reached several inches below the bottom of the seat she was sitting on.

Grumbling, Bucky walked over to the countertop, thinking of how much he didn't want to deal with some crazy lady wearing yellow flip-flops in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Is this seat taken?" Bucky asks the yellow-flip-flop-wearing-lady with grain in his voice.

~

You turn around, trying to make the exhaustion on your face as clear as humanly possible. Turning to face the man who had so *rudely* interrupted your peaceful, if not depressing, brooding, you plaster a scowl over your face.

However, when you turn to see him, you see something that you were without a doubt not expecting. A handsome young man (dear god you sound like a grandmother).

He's wearing a brown coat, and the shirt beneath it is a navy blue. He's wearing a pair of dirty blue jeans, and it looks like the second or third time they’ve been worn without being washed. The black baseball hat he's wearing somehow matches perfectly with the rest of the ensemble. His dark brown hair is tousled in a way that's halfway between "fuckboy" and "my hair is messy because I was busy making you breakfast at 8 AM and I didn't have time to brush it."

But even when you take all of this into account (his flawless body, hair, face, eyes, and general vibe) you couldn’t bring yourself to be nice to him on such a shitty day. "What the fuck is your problem."

Instead of acting offended, or gasping in horror, he simply rolls his eyes. Yep, definitely a New York native.

"My fucking problem is that your backpack is in the seat I need to sit in." He almost looks more annoyed that you... Almost.

You roughly pull your suitcase off of the stool and onto the floor, not breaking eye contact with the fuckboy (that is the option that you have decided to go with since he's pissed you off this much).

He kicks your suitcase out of the way, and for a second he looks at you like he's expecting a big ass reaction, instead, all you do is scoff and stare straight in front of you.

The waiter walks up to you, and within a heartbeat, you can tell that she's new to Brooklyn. She has straight and perfectly combed black hair that doesn't have a single hair loose. She has perfectly straight posture, and the look in her eyes of someone who hasn't seen someone pee on a subway. Not to mention that that makeup matches with her skin tone perfectly, not the half-toned shit that's 2 shades off your skin tone that you wear.

"Can I take your order?" Her voice is far too cheery for a diner in Brooklyn, even the waiters who fake it for the tips couldn't muster up that much positivity.

Feigning a smile you simply say, "chocolate chip pancakes, and coffee as black as my heart." The waitress looked taken aback, and the sickly sweet smile that you choose to plaster on your face remained the same. "Thanks," you look to see her nametag "Manta."

Fuckboy snorts, and you can tell that he is far more amused by the situation than you are. "And all have the eggs and sausage with the-" snort "coffee as black as her heart."

'Manta' has an awkward look on her face, and you can tell that she is trying to push the negative emotions down. Her face soon perks up, and as she takes your menus she responds with: "I'll have that right out for you." 

Your smile remains sickly sweet as she walks away, but it immediately drops the second she leaves your eyesight.

"Why the fuck are you wearing yellow flip-flops?" Fuckboy says with a sneer.

"Why the fuck aren't you wearing yellow flip-flops." You respond, raising both your eyebrows and speaking in a mocking tone.

~

This lady is getting on Bucky's fucking nerves. She acted like she ran the fucking place, when in fact the only thing she had control over her fucking flip-flops. He was trying not to be a sexist bitch, but Bucky was wondering how anyone could be so shit-headed.

In Bucky's eyes, today was supposed to be the perfect day. Starting over. Joining the military. Yet in "Yellow" (the name Bucky choose to call her in his head because of her obnoxious yellow flip-flops) seemed to be put on this earth to make Bucky feel any emotion but happiness. Fine, two could play at that game.

"You know, I was having a decent fucking day, so I would appreciate if you try not to ruin what's left of it." He said while staring at the clock and wondering how quickly he could get out of the establishment.

"We don't always get what we want." She shook her head in a way that made it seem like she was mocking him, which she didn't seem to be doing. Even if she was, she was doing it horribly.

"Can't I get what I want this fucking time." Bucky reaches into his pocket and rolls around a cigarette that he hasn't had the chance to smoke yet, and contemplates what the consequences of him pulling it out would be.

"No, apparently you can't," Yellow responds. Both of them were staring ahead into nothing. 

The waitress, Manta, comes back with Yellow's pancakes. Yellow's fake sugary sweet demeanor returns and Bucky can tell under the artificial smile she seems slightly happy to receive the food.

Manta puts a coffee in front of each of them, and when she speaks she does it with her trademark smile, "Your sausage and eggs will be right out sir."

Putting on a fake smile (unlike Yellow he actually meant to be nice, and not just to be evil) he said: "thank you so much."

After receiving his coffee he turned to Yellow and said: "What the fuck made you act this way? Why in God's name would you be so horrible to someone who had done absolutely nothing."

Her head snaps back over to Bucky, and she makes piercing eye contact. "You know what made me act this way. You know fucking why?" Yellow seemed to actually state this as a question, but before Bucky could respond she continued.

"I was fucking fired because some shithead said he wanted to get in my jeans. Then I was evicted from my apartment by my asshole landlord. I have nothing and no one in my life that needs me, so why the fuck should I act happy." She pauses to catch her breath, then continues on her tirade. 

"I've been nice to people who haven't deserved my entire fucking life, and I'm so fucking sick of it. You have a look on your face that says that the hardest decision you've ever had to make was to fuck someone from the front or the back. Get the fuck over yourself, some people have shit to deal with."

~

Why the fuck had you just explained your life story to a stranger. No idea. It just felt kind of right. In a weird and twisted way, you felted more comforted with this stranger than around assholes you had known your whole life.

"I'm sorry you went through that, but that doesn't mean you get to treat people like shit," Fuckboy said in a tone softer than any that someone had spoken to you in years.

Before you know what's happening you feel tears welling up in your eyes. "You're probably right. Shit, no. You're definitely right. I swear to god that I've never acted this way before. It's just, today is different." You look over to Fuckboy and shrug your head. "I've always had shit days, it's just that today was takes the cake."

Fuckboy looks down at his shoes and then back up at you. "Listen, I'm not sorry for what I said, I just want you to know that I believe you. From the story, you told me I'm pretty sure you're not used to people saying that to you.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot." He says in a tone that you're certain you haven't been spoken to before.

"I do too." You exclaim as you twist your lips around, keeping at least one part of your body busy as your mind roams Fuckboy's mannerisms.

"Here's your egg and sausage, sir." Manta puts a plate down in front of Fuckboy, much to his delight.

Fuckboy immediately stuffs his face with the sausage, and then looks over and glares at you. Understanding what his eyes were saying, you turn to face Manta.

"I'm sorry Manta. I didn't mean to be a bitch. I've had a long day, and, I don't know. It's not really an excuse, I'm just sorry." You look at her in hope, with a neutral expression on your face.

For a second you think she's going to react badly, and then she perks up again, excited by your apology. "Don't worry about it! We all have our bad days, and I just happened to catch you on yours." 

You let out a sigh of relief and smile a genuine smile at her acceptance. "Um, here's my card; I don't work at the place listed there anymore, but the personal number still works. If you ever need a favor, just call me. I'm almost always by my phone, and what I mean by that is that I'm almost always scrolling through supermodels Insta feeds."

Upon excepting the card Manta perked up even more, "Thank you so much."

~

"So, how am I doing?" Yellow asks Bucky.

"...Actually pretty good. I'm super impressed that you can just turn it off and on like that, pretty twisted superpower." He exclaims with a chuckle.

"Thank you, for your overwhelming support," Yellow responds. After hearing her say this Bucky lets out a chuckle, and in his heart of hearts he truly means it. 

"So, what's your life story. I already told you mine." Yellow Pauses to think for a second. "I swear if it's more depressing than mine, I'm going to be super pissed."

Bucky ponders the question for a moment, and then answers with: "Nothing too horrible I have a sister named Rebecca, my mom is my favorite person. I have a scrawny best friend named Steve." Bucky continues to think for a few more seconds and then, like a lightbulb, Bucky remembers something that is very important to his story. "And I am joining the military, today."

Yellow's jaw drops to the fucking floor, much to Bucky's amusement. "I'm so fucking sorry. If I had known I probably would of, well, done the same thing." She pauses and looks the other way in shame. "I'm sorry."

"It's all good, I wasn't really attached to my pride anyway." Yellow feigned shock and Bucky responded by chuckling. He was really liking her more and more as the moments passed.

"Oh, and by the way, my name is-" She started to say, but then Bucky quickly cut her off. 

"I don't want to know your name. I'll probably never see you after today, and I don't want another thing to miss." Bucky knew that he wanted to know her name, but he also knew that he'd regret it if he found out.

Yellow raised her eyebrows in confusion (Bucky was beginning to think that this was a mannerism of hers) but she soon realized what he was getting at and then lowered them. "Okay, so then what do you propose you call me then?"

Bucky wanted to act like he was pondering this question, even when in reality he had made up the nickname in his head. "Yellow, because of your flip-flops."

"Again with the flip-flops! What is with your obsession?!" She counters with a laugh.

"So my name is-" Bucky says with a smile, counteracting her statement.

"Na-ah-ah," Yellow responds, waving her finger in front of Bucky's face as if to scold him, much to his amusement. "If I get a codename, so do you."

"What's it gonna be?" Bucky asks entertained by this entire conversation, and curious to see what nickname she was going to give him.

"Fuckboy." She says, making a definite stance.

"Thank you, for that overwhelming compliment," Bucky responds, slightly taken aback by her brutal remark.

"It's not a bad thing. It's because of your hair." She says, her grin growing wider by the minute.

"My hair?" Bucky responds, not sure of what to do with that piece of information.

"Yes your hair, gives off major Jack Dawson vibes." She counters with a chuckle.

"So Jack is suddenly is suddenly a fuckboy?" Bucky exclaims as he takes another bite of his eggs.

"Need I remind you that he painted women nude in fucking France." She says right before swallowing a bite of her pancakes.

"I get your point, Fuckboy it is," Bucky says with a smile that lights up his entire face, causing a chain reaction on Yellow.

~

Fuckboy was charming. Then again, all fuckboys are charming. But he seemed different, he seemed... Softer. 

"Why are you joining the military, if you don't mind me asking." You exclaim as you twirl your finger around on the rim of your coffee. 

"I dunno; my entire life I just wanted to help people, and I found a way to do that using something I'm good at. Fighting." He exclaims through a full mouth of eggs.

"It sounds like you do know." You say a second before you put another bite of pancake into your mouth.

"Know what?" Fuckboy asks you through a mouth full of eggs.

"Why you're joining the military." You say, your mouth equally as stuffed.

"That's what I tell people." He says, looking over to you with endearing eyes. "I really don't know why. If I think too hard about it I come to the conclusion that it's because I know my life will have come to nothing if I don't do something noteworthy."

His brow creases, and you ponder for a second what your response will be. "How do you know that you'll do something noteworthy in the army? How do you know that your life won't end up as anything no matter how hard you try to make it do the opposite." 

Fuckboy turns to look at you, amusement resting on his features. "Thank you for the vote of encouragement."

"I'm only saying this because I don't think you could ever be nothing. I immediately classified you as a Leonardo DiCaprio type, that's not nothing. You're going to do great thing's whether it's in the military or not."

Fuckboy looks up from his eggs in earnest. "Thank you for saying that, it makes me feel a lot better."

"The trick is to be as brutally honest as possible. You're bound to say at least one thing right if 89% of everything you say is completely and totally devastating bullshit."

You finish off the last bite of your pancake and pick up your suitcase from the floor. "Well, I expect payment from my words of wisdom to be the eight dollars for my pancakes, peace out!"

This conversation had become too emotional, you knew you would have gotten attached if you continued the conversation.

"Wait no!" Fuckboy catches your arm, and your secretly happy that he wanted you to stay with him.

"I don't have to check in until six, so would you like to stay with me until then? I was going to go around some landmarks, and maybe see a broadway show, but I would appreciate it if you stayed with me, for just these few hours."

His forehead was doing that cute crease thing, and you faked internal conflict before saying what was always on your mind through it all: "yes."

His face practically explodes with excitement, and yours does too. You and Fuckboy didn't have forever, but at least you had today. And you were going to live this day as if it were your last.

Part 2

Requests are open!

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[docholligay]

These are messy, disorganized, and ANGRY thoughts for Holocaust Remembrance Day (Israel) .I don’t get sad about this, I get fucking angry. If there’s anyone I could insult, or blame, that would hurt your feefees, I highly, highly recommend you not click on this. I am not responsible for how you feel. Got it? 

Given the preamble I feel I shouldn’t have to say this, but do NOT reblog this, I’m not having this conversation with some 21 year old with an anime icon who’s never met me. 

There’s a cloud over every Jewish head, and it’s always the goddamn crematorium. 

Today is Holocaust Rememberance Day.  I light a yahrzeit candle every year, and I say Kaddish, every year, and I always do it alone, because I think if God wanted me to have minyan to say it with he shouldn’t have let so many of us die. 

One third of the Jewish population on earth was murdered. Think of three Jews you know, if you even know of three of us, and imagine that one of us, gone. Imagine your friend’s Jewish family of six, and imagine knowing that soon it will be four. Imagine. 

It was worse in some places. In Poland, it was ninety percent of us. A family of ten, with one left, that was the story of the Polish Jews, told over and over again. 

But get over it. It’s fine that we’re talking about the collective trauma of an indiscriminate virus, of the idea of losing ten percent of us, but losing one third of your people is something that you shouldn’t be pulling out anymore. Never mind that we were directly targeted, never mind that this was not the first time and will not be the last that the call to arms is against us specifically. Jews just love to complain. The trauma should be long past. 

And I think the numbers were inflated anyway, and other people were killed too, it wasn’t just the Jews. Never mind that the numbers probably are inaccurate as some of us were mowed down into ditches in Poland by the side of the road, and who knows how many there were, never mind that in Russia they lacked equipment and hired farmers to drown us by hand, and they happily took the money. Never mind that I sat in a second grade classroom as we passively discussed how people wanted to murder me, and how my teacher reduced it to a few hours where kids with brown eyes weren’t allowed to use the water fountain. Never mind that they burned us, against our laws. 

“Jews never stop bringing up the Holocaust” but my great grandmother only ever said of Ukraine, “There is nothing left.” I knew she meant no one, but that to say that was too hard. Better to think of the buildings, of the oxen. 

People love dead Jews. Dead Jews can be exactly the pawn you need them to be, proof of whatever it is that you’re saying is right, and it was the way the other guy thinks that killed the Jews. It’s so easy to make someone the big bad, to remember Jews as weak and simpering mice who simply went to their deaths. That’s how people like us, weak, and dead, a cliff note in history. Something to be used.

They accuse us of relying on the Holocaust, but I’ve spent my whole life watching goyim trot it out whenever they fucking feel like being dramatic. Poor Anne Frank is never going to know rest, the spectre of a child who never got to discover who she was and so is the most convenient Jew of all. Her father was criticized for stripping out parts of her diary that contained sexual thoughts, but he knew what I know, that to make Jews worth protecting, we must be stripped of inconvenience, or complication, or difficulty.  As long as we keep burning, there will always be something to keep them warm. So long as we can be refined to the pile of ash they can mix with any material they wish to build their argument. 

Live Jews are inconvenient. They are a messy and complicated and difficult people. They can still fuck up. They can, and will, disagree with you, with each other, and they won’t be quiet about it. Sometimes, we’re unkind to each other! I more than once have accused another Jew of being judenpolitzei, of siding with those who would let us be destroyed for their own ends. On both side of the aisle. We don’t behave. Supporting us doesn’t give you enough points. 

I can hear the crackling, the burning. It’s been in my chest since I was a child, 

I’m so angry, all the time. Anger has been my bondage for years and years, and I try to remind myself that anger can itself be a form of idol worship, and that anger can cause us to become something we don’t want to be. 

Besides, Jews aren’t allowed to be angry. We’re supposed to be quiet and agreeable and patient, and nod along with however the right or the left wants us to be. We have to have the right opinion on Israel, on the mining of our culture, on Anne Frank, on the Holocaust and its causes, on what is Anti-Semitic, and these are the same for the right or the left. All these topics, a goy will tell you how you should think, and Jews that agree with them are the good Jews to protect, and Jews that disagree with them are the bad Jews. I am fucking tired of only deserving protection when I’m agreeing with someone. 

I remember a few years ago, Giles Coren, a Jewish English food writer of Polish extraction, getting into trouble for saying, essentially, “fuck the Poles’. Essentially but also, literally. I remember reading that, and how immediately I thought that he had told one of our secrets, and it was terrifying and gratifying all at once. I’ve been in Jewish groups more than once where someone quietly admitted “I don’t care what happens to Poland,” the names of every family member they would never know unsaid.  I remember feeling pride at how hard Coren went, how he got nasty, how he was angry, how he brought up that the Holocaust was so successful in Poland because Poland already hated Jews. It my first time ever seeing that bitterness, that desire to hit back, to be filled with that flame. Not making it a quiet secret.  I went and found the direct quote from the whole thing that stuck with me forever, because I knew it was true, and I knew it was what would happen when the whole thing started. "I wrote in passing that the Poles remain in denial about their responsibility for the Holocaust. How gratifying, then, to see so many letters in The Times in the subsequent days from Poles denying their responsibility for the Holocaust." He was so angry. People hated him for it. 

I remember being afraid, too. Shut up, Giles. This is going to come back to bite us in the ass. We aren’t allowed to do this. We aren’t allowed to hate the people that murdered us, even though some of them are still alive, even though Poland murdered the survivors who came back. We aren’t allowed to be angry about it. We have to be good Jews. We have to say we forgive them, oh how they fetishize survivors who say they forgive. Please, don’t tell them about that burn inside of us, like whiskey in your chest. Don’t tell them my great grandmother watched Russia’s horrors unfold with a smile on her lips. Don’t tell them she said they got what they deserved. We aren’t allowed. 

Don’t get angry about America sending a ship full of refugees back in 1939, don’t get mad about Ireland only letting in refugees who agreed to convert, calm your fury about Jewish children being taken into Catholic homes, never to be returned to Jewish communities. The British government stopping a trade that would have saved a million Jewish lives. Of course it’s tragic. But there’s no need to be angry. There’s no need to yell. There’s not need to shame anyone over their culpability. 

We have to cry about what happened to us. We are not allowed to rage about it. 

Besides, if it’s everyone against you, you cannot be mad at the whole goddamn world, Holligay. 

There’s a part of Indecent, a play tumblr and facebook reduced to “lesbians!!” while completely missing the point of what it was about, about Jewish identity and struggle, the search of legitimacy and the role of stories. Sholem, the writer, goes into a deep depression, and is sitting in a doctor’s office, while all of them are acting like this is so clinical, and he snaps. How can he not be like this, in a world where to be a Jew is to be like this? I felt that same flush, that acknowledgment of fury, of the world never getting it. 

Even writing this, I feel I’m letting some secret out. They’ll hate us if they know.  They’ll hurt us if they know. Smiling Anne Frank, who believes people are truly good, that’s what we have to be. Shut up, Doc. This is going to come back to bite us in the ass. 

I light the yahrzeit candle and realize there’s no match in my hand, that somehow it has been kindled from my own anger, from my own white-hot hate. It burns me, too, and the pain of it pricks my eyes with tears. I do not often generalize, about Jews. This is because I actually know them, and we evade an easy box to be put in. We are an asterisk of a people. But I guarantee damn near every Jew you know has this burn inside them, that they might not even themselves understand. Maybe it’s quieter in Jews who got out early, whose families don’t carry the burden of knowing there’s a burnt patch of earth where your family stops. But I don’t think so. 

I think we all know it could happen to us, at any time. And every goy who thinks they are so brave would do nothing in the face of true danger. They would turn you in without a second thought, because that’s what their families did. 

I guarantee some of y’all reading this have your back up right now. Why is she so angry at people who could not have themselves done it? Isn’t she just as bad? Shouldn’t she just let it go? 

Exodus tells us that children and their children will be punished, to the third and fourth generation, and if all God can scrape up is my anger as a punishment, 

My rage is inconvenient to me, too. I tell myself things of all the Jewish philosophers I’ve read, about how we must love mercy, about how the world is desperate need of our loving attention, about how rejoicing in someone’s pain and failure is to spit in the face of what God has made us for. I tell myself these things all the time. I want to find a place where I can hold the truth of this anger, and not let it burn those who hold the community shame of the past. I want to use this fire to warm, and not to burn.

But I will also be honest with you. 

I do not want to hear a single solitary argument against my anger from any Non-Jew. 

You set me on fire. Now you have to let me burn.

[rangoatemybabynsfw]

Guardian Angel Lance sent to protect Keith. Eventually he falls in love which is hella against the rules and loses his halo and wings but Keith is right there and Lance vows to continue to protect him even tho he's mortal now and Keith vows the same

Okay, I loved this so much and spent WAY TO MUCH TIME ON IT.  (Warning, some langst but with a happy ending) Maybe one day I’ll make it into a genuine one-shot.It’s very very long so I put it under a cut.

Also if any of you draw stuff to this please let me know. I think I’m in love with guardian angel Lance.

This guy is so much trouble. Seems to go through guardian angels like tissue paper and Lance quickly finds out why. Any kind of dangerous stunt Keith’s already halfway to doing it. The first day alone Lance has had three minor panic attacks to keep him from a) getting hit by a car, b) keeping him from getting stabbed by someone at a club, and c) not tripping and falling down eight flights of stairs after drinking too much. 

And the next day isn’t better. It’s almost as if Keith likes dancing with danger. The only time Lance doesn’t feel like he’s on edge is when Keith sleeps. Thank god he does that for the recommended 7-8 hours or else Lance would have pulled out his own wings or strangled himself with his own halo within a week. That said, Keith looks…beautiful when he sleeps. Almost like an angel, ironically.

He notices that half the time Keith’s doing dangerous stuff, its for other people. That day he almost got hit by a car, he was grabbing a child out of the street. The almost stabbing was getting a guy to lay off a girl at the club. The almost trip and fall down the stairs was to avoid stepping on the apartment stray cat. He’s…actually a nice guy. 

Keith starts to suspect someone is looking out for him. He’s always had a feeling since he was a kid when there was some kind of divine intervention at work. Like feeling a hand tug him out of the way or push him forward to avoid certain death. And he could feel when there was someone new. This recent one has stuck around the longest, three weeks now. So Keith finds himself talking to what looks like an empty room when it gets quiet at night.

Keith: You’re there, aren’t you? A spirit…or some kind of…angel maybe?

(Lance doesn’t answer him as he’s not allowed to)

Keith: Mom always said…she’d send me a guardian angel if she ever left me too soon. I think…you’re the best one so far since you haven’t run away yet…Thanks…whoever you are.

Keith talks to him all the time after that. Sometimes Lance will sit on the bed right next to him and listen to him talk for hours. Lance starts falling in love with his charge and doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until one unfortunate day he finds a feather. One of his feathers. 

His wings…they’re losing their feathers. And his halo it’s…starting to feel heavy. His body actually…aches. 

With dread and fear, he realizes he’s…falling. He’s becoming a fallen angel because of his love for Keith. This is his punishment and it’s already being carried out. At best he’ll survive and become mortal at worst…he’ll die or become just like…Lucifer himself.

Keith feels that the energy has changed around him lately. It’s a nervous energy growing stronger with each passing day. It’s different from when he feels a change in his watchful guardians. And it’s worrisome. 

Keith: Something doesn’t feel right. Are you there? Answer me!

Lance holds his hands over his mouth in bitter anguish, leaning his failing body against Keith’s wall. He doesn’t want his punishment to get worse. They might erase him entirely if he breaks too many more rules but he so badly wants to talk to Keith. 

Keith: It feels…it feels bad. Are you…sick? Tell me!

Soon the other angels will come and take him away. Replace him with someone else. 

Keith comes closer to where he is, certain Lance is in front of him. Lance can feel the end approaching, the energy of his brothers and sisters getting closer. The last thing he does is reach out and touch Keith’s face, just enough that Keith can feel that weak caress even if he can’t see it. 

Keith: You are sick…you’re dying, aren’t you?

There’s no guarantee he’ll ever see Keith again. It’s likely his errors are too numerous to allow him any mercy. Why not a few parting words? it can’t make it any worse for him. Lance leans forward and whispers into Keith’s ear.

Lance, breathing weakly: Keith…can you…hear me?

Keith, blinking in shock at the beautiful voice in his ear: It’s you…you’re really there.

Lance rasps: Not for…much longer…

Keith, starting to get upset and tearing up: What? No, you can’t go…

Lance: I wasn’t…supposed to…love you…and now…they’re coming…but I’m…not sorry. Falling for you…was the best mistake…I ever made…even if it’s…the last mistake I’ll ever make…I gotta go…they’re almost here…

Keith, now actively crying: No! You can’t! I…I don’t know what you look like! What your name is!

Lance, weakly chuckling: It’s L-Lysandariel…the spear of…l-liberation…but…I l-like…Lance better…it’s…easier to say…

Keith: Lance…

Lance: If I could have…I’d have stayed with you…forever…Bye Keith…be…safe…

The door swings open and in an instant Keith feels alone in his room. He calls out for Lance but no one answers. Keith spends the next several days talking to his empty apartment, hoping someone will answer back. He does research into religious texts for a Lysandariel and only finds a few mentions of someone of a similar name in 5th century bc. Lysandros. A spartan general. No pictures or art. 

Lance goes before a tribunal for his sins. Many think he should be given to the other side for punishment. Hell loves fallen angels. Others think he should be erased in front of other guardian angels as an example of what happens if you break the rules. No one asks Lance anything as he kneels before the others, his wings nearly devoid of every beautiful feather he had. His halo already taken.

Several angels are in attendance but the archangels sit quietly listening to the evidence. Some whisper among themselves with a disdainful eye. Not a good sign. Lance is all but sure that they will erase him or send him to Lucifer to be tormented for all eternity. Finally, someone speaks and Lance shakes at the sound of their awesome voice. This one is softer than others and he recognizes it as Chamuel.

Chamuel: Lysandariel…you are aware of why you’re here. Your love should only be directed to our loving father…and for turning it away you’ve lost your divinity. You are all but mortal now.

Lance: Yes my archangel

Chamuel: What would you do with your divinity, were it returned to you? Remember, while under the gaze of Uriel you cannot lie.

Lance: I would return to my post as a guardian.

Chamuel: Simply a guardian? Or a guardian for the human Keith?

Lance: I…(he wants to lie but it pains him to even think of doing so)…I would return to Keith’s side. 

Uriel: Because it is your duty or because it is your desire?

Lance: Because I must…All I want…is to protect Keith. He needs me…

Whispers abound. Lance said he ‘wants’. Perhaps he’s too corrupted by emotion to stay an angel. He must be struck down to hell. No, no, he must be erased so no other young angels follow his lead. The room goes silent when a new voice booms through the room. Jeremiel. He has the final say among the archangels in attendance as the angel of mercy, grace, and most importantly justice.

Jeremiel: Lysandariel. You were fully aware of the rules of your post but allowed temptation to take hold of you just the same. Zadkiel believes you were trying diligently to do your assigned task. And even though it has cost you dearly…you continue to pursue this assignment knowing it will only cost you more.

Lance closes his eyes and prays. He knows not if God hears the prayers of angels but he hopes he does and will intercede to save him. To pardon him. To forgive and absolve him of his sins.

Jeremiel: The damage from your sins is too great. I do not think you could reattain your divinity, even if given new wings. But you must be made an example of, do you understand?

Lance, shivering with fear: Yes, my archangel

Jeremiel: We have decided. Lysandariel, you are to be given two punishments. The first is to be stripped of your wings.

With a snap, Lance feels them rip from his back with blinding pain like white-hot fire scorching his back. But seconds later it is soothed by the warm hand of Ariel. The injury is healed but the scars will forever remain. 

Jeremiel: And the second punishment is…

*****

Keith wakes to the sound of knocking on his door. He isn’t expecting anyone. Probably a drunk neighbor at the wrong house. It knocks again and then a weak thump like dropping a bag in front of it. Keith opens it to find a guy in tattered rags collapsed in front of his door. No shoes, his feet covered in blisters and cuts.

Keith takes him in, tries to wake him up. He washes Lance up and cleans his cuts. Bandages them too. Then gets him into clean clothes. There’s an awful scar on his back that looks like…could it be? Lance groans while he groggily wakes.

Keith: Lance? Is…is that you?

Lance: Keith…I made it…back to you…

Keith, smiling: You did. Don’t your feet hurt? 

Lance: My everything hurts now…guess that’s what being mortal’s about…

Keith: That’s not the only thing being human is about.

Keith leans forward and kisses Lance. It’s passionate and wonderful and for a second Lance almost feels like he’s got his wings back. They break away from the kiss and Keith’s smiling at him.

Lance: That was nice…but my feet still hurt. My stomach too.

Keith, laughing: When’s the last time you ate?

Lance: Uh…well…never?

Keith: Guess we should fix that, huh, my guardian angel? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.

Keith lifts Lance up and carries him to the kitchen and for the second time in three minutes, he feels like he’s got his wings again. If this is what it’s like to be human then he’s glad to have fallen for Keith.

#Rango answers #Klance #angel Lance #guardian angel lance #langst #Voltron #Voltron legendary defender