#also funny how he briefly sought them out to join his side and now that that didnt pan out hes like

[anxietyrobot]

“for boys who claim they dont like me, you sure are clingy” is such a funny line coming from said boys eventual second dad aldjkfaslkjdf

[aviv-kasyanenko]

AVIV KASYANENKO (RU) VS. DEV DARYANI (GB)

"Aviv, get the fuck up.”

It was a strange sort of feeling.  

Maybe the Rutherford had knocked him clean out already.

Briefly, the voice seemed to belong to her, and for a fleeting moment he found himself back on the streets of Bucharest; face pressed into concrete, on the wrong end of a drunken bar fight, being heckled by his girlfriend until he could regain his focus. Larissa had never been the type to show concern when he got into what were frequently violent confrontations. In fact, she was more likely to join in than scold him for it afterwards.

Maybe he could’ve done with that right now, because Dev sure was doing a number on him.

Something had been off from the start, though, and for a man so hard on himself the criticisms of others rarely mattered, he wasn’t the type to make excuses for his failures.

Aviv’s pre-fight pep talk had consisted of Avdeyev telling him he looked like shit.

Funny, because he’d felt like it, too...

That was precisely the fucking problem. It took more than the promise of violence to rattle his nerves, and he sure as fuck wasn’t irresponsible enough to be drunk pre-fight. Yet as he’d walked toward the ring, the sounds of the Russian corner cheering him on more of headache than an ego boost, the Israeli knew that whatever was wrong was going to be a problem. Fighting Dev on top form was enough of an ask, but his head was fucking swimming. If he could make it through the entire thing without puking his guts up, that might’ve been a damned victory in itself.

What the fuck was the matter with him?

Trying to make sense of his surroundings was proving difficult, but he could feel the tacky canvas of the ring’s floor pressed against his face. It would’ve been a lie to say that staying right there didn’t seem more inviting that hauling his ass back up to fight. Nothing really hurt, even though he was sure the Brit must’ve exerted some force to put him down within the first twenty seconds, and he couldn’t tell whether it was the adrenaline or if something was...wrong. But it seemed like Daryani had backed off for now—a fool might’ve thought out of mercy, but Aviv knew better. He wanted to fight. Where was the fun in kicking the shit out of your opponent when they were face-down and disoriented?  

“Aviv.” The voice was clearer now. Disappointingly so. “Get up, or they’re going to call it.”

It’d been Zhanna who was shouting at him ringside, not Larissa, and the man was sure he’d never despised the sight of anyone’s face as much as he did hers in that moment.  

A blessing in disguise, though, because it was the spark he needed to clamber to his feet.

The movement was laboured, heavy, and it encouraged a bout of abuse from the French tables.  

Even more motivation to get his shit together.  

It seemed impossible to shake away the brain fog, no matter how hard he tried, but spite and frustration gave him just enough focus to once again step toward Daryani with real purpose. What he should’ve been thinking about was how to anticipate his opponent’s next move—being one step ahead was the only way to beat someone like him—but instead, his mind wandered. Had someone spiked his fucking drink? Unless they were about to get a replay of New Year’s Eve and someone had slipped poison into the Marmont, he couldn’t understand what else could’ve fucked him up this badly.

Aviv glanced out at some of the audience. Many of them looked as confused as he felt.

For a man who had the record for the quickest ever knockout in Rutherford’s fight club, they were obviously expecting things to get off to a better start. Maybe if he cared more, it would’ve dented his pride.

Something in the periphery of his vision shifted, startling, and dragging him from his thoughts, and his brain didn’t have time to process what had caught his attention.

The Russian loyalist was swinging at his opponent, assuming he was ready to get back to it, before he could even realise it was movement on the balcony that’d distracted him.

The damage was already done, though. Just like that, respite was over, and they were back to war.

Having never gone into a fight without a clear head, this was an entirely foreign scenario; every movement based on his gut and raw instinct rather than careful consideration. But his reaction times were fading. His vision losing focus. When he threw his punches—those he landed down to sheer luck, even if they did do damage—he was more like a wounded animal defending itself from a predator than a seasoned fighter who, on paper, was a much more even match up for the Brit than their current, one-sided exchange would suggest.

Aviv wasn’t sure how many more punches he could take.

He didn’t even know how long they’d been fighting for anymore, for fuck’s sake.  

It felt like an era, even though he was sure it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Despite the fact everything felt slow and delayed—each movement he made frustratingly sluggish—it didn’t give him any more time to wrap his head around what was going on. Why his body wouldn’t do what he willed it to.

When he’d hit Dev with an uppercut just strong enough to have him stumbling backwards and falling into the ropes, he hoped whatever this was would be close to an end. His legs, like lead, seemed to want to drag him down to the canvas as much as his opponent wanted to put him there. Breathing erratic, hands up in a defensive stance he was struggling to maintain, he once again sought to go on the offensive. The only way he could win this was to keep hitting hard. Brute strength. Messy, yes, but neither of them was the type one expected to see a professional exhibition from.

If Dev had look confused about his opponent’s state before, now, he just looked ready to murder.

Aviv was more than aware how fucking capable he was of just that.

Trying to muster up the strength to launch at him again seemed impossible.

Both luckily and unluckily, Daryani didn’t give him the chance to figure out how to overcome the hurdle. When he hit him this time—the shattering blow coming with all of the strength of a man who wanted to end it—Aviv went down for a second time, and almost instantly, both men inside of the ring, and everybody outside of it, knew that he wouldn’t be getting up for another attempt.

It felt like Dev had knocked his fucking brain out of his skull.  

When he’d spat blood, a couple of teeth came with it, and if his chest hadn’t felt like it was about to explode, he might’ve tried to roll onto his front to stem the torrent coming from his nose.  

If he got up again, next time he hit the ground, he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

So he conceded.

A few, pathetic slaps on the canvas.

Better to walk away a loser than to not walk away.

There was laughter coming from what he could only assume to be the French corner of the room. They invested so much in these things, that he wasn’t surprised in the slightest that they assumed a loss would be devastating for him as well. Aviv had wanted to win. He always did. Putting down someone like Dev Daryani would’ve been a solid weight to his reputation in London. But whilst he fought hard, he also fought smart, and despite his brain power disintegrating into nothingness as each second passed, he knew that there was no point battling on in a fight he knew he couldn’t win. Why risk more serious injuries just to appease Russian egos?

Eyes heavy, the sound of the referee calling the fight for Dev echoing around inside of his skull, Aviv managed to take one last look toward the French tables. Every breath felt like a knife was being wedged between his ribs. Shaky and shallow.

It was easier to see that than the faces of his disappointed comrades.

The French fucks looked toward him with amusement, lifting their glasses and swirling the drinks around inside with obnoxious and characteristically dramatic flair. It was about as close as he could get to having his suspicions confirmed, he supposed. They’d wanted to see him go down. Maybe they’d wanted to see Dev add to fight club’s kill count.  

They’d got half their wish.

Aviv could take the loss.

It was just a pity that the last thing he had to see before passing out were their smug fucking faces beaming back at him...

[aysall]

on Jin, and his story.

A sort of analysis retracing Twice’s journey. It’s long and convoluted, but I wanted to give him a proper goodbye. 

[P.S. seeing a lot of discourse lately I want to specify that mine is not a moral analysis. I’m not interested in discussing who’s right or wrong in the conflict. I understand why other people do it, it’s just not me. Hope you enjoy.]

The parable of Twice’s character has been explored throughout the story of My Hero Academia in an extremely conscious way. His first appearance in chapter 77 occurs briefly and unexpectedly; unlike the other villains, he’s not depicted in a disturbing or dangerous light and that’s why at first glance he’s easy to categorize as unimportant (in hindsight, this sort of unique introduction should’ve said a lot about him). While the Forest Training Camp Arc reaches its peak Twice reappears several times in an increasingly comic light helped by the continuous, incomprehensible at the time, contradictions with himself. Still not scary, besides the funniness, he begins to be endearing.

A jump, and here comes chapter 115, the first to be completely dedicated to a villain and it really is interesting: hero society is seen through different eyes and its supposed “moral goodness” is questioned. Our gaze turns briefly towards the outcasts upon hearing «Heroes only save good people», is it really so? And why is a comic-relief character revealing this?

Jin Bubaigawara’s face is devoid of comedy as much as Twice’s mask is full of it: empty eyes marked by fatigue, a scar that divides the forehead in two, a story about losing oneself and their sense in the world. A double meaning, it’s early to comprehend it fully but My Hero Academia is opening to the other side, willingly listening and we listen with it. «By helping the League that accepted me as I am … I want to think that I am okay with the way I am, too» Mh. Okay. Let’s go on.

Twice’s development continues along the Overhaul Arc, as it opens with an error on his part which leads to Magne’s death, and from there it unfolds, in guilt, comfort and resoluteness. Toga, who until then was quite the flat character, cartoonishly depicted as creepy and psychotic, accompanies him showing a different side of herself through the first act of kindness we see from a villain. It’s worth underlining how, in regards to Twice, many of the bad guys soften, showing more delicate and empathic gestures: Giran welcomes him, Shigaraki allows (and uses at best) his sentimentality, even Dabi puts aside his indifference to encourage him. I think it’s because such dedication drives others to respond in kind.

Anyway, «I’m human too y’know… Shigaraki!» (ch.148) with this sentence, what previously was only speculation becomes clearer in the reader’s eyes and seals the promise of a conscious and attentive development: Twice’s role is aimed at opening a gash on the villain’s inwardness, invisible until that point, and it’s thanks to him that we begin to observe them in a more understanding light. Magne’s death has shaken up the League, and they find again their balance with new, stronger bonds, sealed by Shigaraki’s affirmation that they’re acting for their own sake. With Twice pouring out his feelings they’re able to build trust, work in tandem, emerge victorious. He was (and will keep being) useful, pity he doesn’t notice it.

Several and too many chapters later: My Villain Academia Arc. Twice’s humanity is confirmed yet again when he throws himself into the fray, first to save Giran, then Toga and then all his companions. In murmuring that the Legue is his home, another piece falls into place and it’s here, among other things, where we connect the most with him and his past: who has never lived a moment of loss and solitude, where the mistakes add up to one another to the point that one day you look in the mirror without knowing who you are, aware only of the ugly parts, thinking that maybe that’s why the pain doesn’t go away. You probably deserve all of it. 

Twice’s path is cathartic in regards to rejecting this view of himself because, partly by chance and partly by voluntary action, he began to recover when he built certainties in his life, realizing that it’s worth struggling for a connection with people and how much dear that becomes to you, how terrible the idea of ​​losing it (losing them) can be. The plot rewards him for his struggles.

«The important thing is to know who you are, what you want to become» isn’t it poetically perfect that when Twice decides not to run away from himself, he finally realizes that he is the original? The ground has stabilized under his feet because now he knows what his mission is, therefore the “real” Jin Bubaigawara can go back to being whole—or at least united enough to pursue the goal of protecting his home with all his power. Which is pretty fucking powerful.

Many have said that Twice is the heart of the League of Villains and I agree, he is a summary of the “good” (even if distorted) feelings that led every single member into joining the group. Misery does love company, the excluded sought each other because when one is alone reality is too scary to face. 

But a villain, however emotional, must have his tools to defend himself or his strenght will become his weakness. That’s why Twice is both the strongest and the most vulnerable and is twice (hah!) punished for this condition; the second is fatal. Despite this his narrative arc ends with a reaffirmation and reinforcement of everything he is and represents: he sees himself in Hawks and thinks he can help him (empathy), then he is betrayed and mourns and fights for his companions (self-sacrifice), he regrets his mistakes, he is ready to die (kindness). And he dies many times: protecting his home, full of anger and sadness, exposing the hypocrisy of people who are many things but perhaps not heroes—which is good, as Twice shows again and again, the world is not black and white, heroes and villains intertwine and maybe they do become “just human”. He dies without doubting himself nor his feelings, he dies in an attempt to reach his loved ones and he also dies reaching them. His last death happens in the arms of the girl who first showed him kindness, from whom he was sure he would have never received any comfort ever again. So he dies realizing that he was wrong, despite Jin Bubaigawara being the “Sad Man”, Twice is full of energy and affection to give, and these feelings are repaid by the very individuals who shouldn’t be able to do anything but inflict terror and fear. Again, that’s still because the world is not black and white and “Twice” and “Jin” are no different, one in the same.

Twice rejects Hawks’s words about his unfortunate condition. In doing so he rejects the words of himself to himself in chapter 229 «[you went wrong] when you were born without luck» and this stance can be connected to what Toga said against Curios «I’m not unfortunate at all!» (ch. 226) and Shigaraki’s response when he remembered his childhood «That was no tragedy.» (ch.237): all of them reject the inherent misfortune of their past to embrace who they are in the present, they abandon the self-pity. Therein lies the message that the choices they made are theirs alone and that no one should have the right to judge them with pity. These are all positive teachings that we are used to get from the good guys’ side, now that they’re seen through the villains everything becomes grayer and, in my opinion, more interesting.

And so, yet again, everything seems to be screaming that his death is not a tragedy because while he was looking for himself, he found a place to belong and learned to be happy with it. I like to think he also teached the League a thing or two but we’ll have to see, this is a point of no return for them; maybe it’s the start of their downfall, maybe they will change in something stronger, but Twice will keep having an impact on how things are.

I think he absolved his role.

This world doesn’t grant a just end to the outcasts, yet perhaps there is no need, if in the journey you can carve out a small space of happiness together with those who accepted you, with the good, the ugly and the incomprehensible parts all together.

I respect this, because I think there is nothing more important in the world. 

[kaibacxrps]

Introducing your partner

Discord thread with @kaibacorpbros / @indioragod ! CW: scandal.shipping.

It was one of his several returning trips since the first time he knocked down the doors to Atem's realm. They had gradually grown a little less arduous, but there were still plenty of bugs to work out with such a jump. Thus, a big reason why he brought along Diva. And besides, if he were getting the help of the ex-Plana member, he should probably at least know that the goal Seto had originally employed him for wasn't just some vague, unreachable dream.

But gods, it was nice to talk to Set again. He'd taken some time alone with the priest to update him on what had been going on in his and Mokuba's lives.

Except... one detail.

The detail they ran into at the end of their stroll. Wait, how long have we been talking? Diva must have gotten impatient and sought them out. It would have been hard to spot, for someone who hadn't grown to know him better, but Kaiba noticed how Diva's fingers were slightly curled and his posture a bit stiff. He was sure if he poked into the vitals the tech he was wearing was monitoring he'd find an increased pulse.

"I was looking for you. I ran into your rival, Seto."

Oh. That was it. Seto cleared his throat. "I see. Well, I'm sure he was glad to finally meet you." The CEO moved on from that point before Diva could say any more. Best to just introduce him, even though he didn't know the two had already run into each other.

"Erm, Set this is Diva, he--" 'Tried to kill me' probably wasn't the best way to introduce him. Or say he once turned into a big rage monster and did kill him, albeit briefly.

"He's a friend helping me improve the Dimension System and set up some way to communicate other than travelling all the way here each time." 

It was always a pleasure to receive Kaiba in the afterlife, at least for Set it has always been like that. How could he not? They have been through a lot, and have found a way to stay in touch - something that went against all the odds.

He felt so relieved to still be part of the brothers lives, albeit in a very restricted way. But it always felt nice hearing, what those two have been up to.

Meanwhile, he has been going through a lot lately as well. However, due to the nature of those things and out of fear of Kaiba's reaction, he would keep them a secret... For the time being. Thank the Gods, Seto never had any interest in his culture and costumes, otherwise he would be able to tell something at his first glance on him.

The priest slowed down his walking pace until he stopped, when Diva showed up. They didn't need any introductions, this was obvious in the way they exchanged glances.

The way Kaiba described Diva however, was humurous in the priest's eyes but at the same time pretty telling. Kaiba and friends?... Give him a break

"I see- oh don't worry about any formalities, Seto... Those aren't needed around here." A brief pause came in right afterwards what he had just said. "So... There won't be any trouble then? You'll be able to stay here for longer, right? It would be an honor, to have you for supper. I even went ahead, and have for it an animal I hunt earlier today."

As soon as the words left the priest's lips Diva shot a look at Kaiba. Do not.

But of couse, implication between humans was flawed, and even if it weren't Seto likely wouldn't have said no simply because he got to see Set so little.

"Correct, we should have..." the HUD glowed to life in front of Kaiba's eye, showing the status of the duel dimension machine. "A few more hours at least."

"Kaiba, what about that project?" Diva tried.

"Oh, it'll be fine. I got a lot done on it yesterday." With that dismission of Diva's concerns it was settled.

"We'd be greatful to stay for a meal." Seto gestured that they would follow the priest. "What did you catch by the way?" Not that Kaiba was much into the sport, but he knew Set took pride in it. And everything, seemed to ignore Diva's growing tension. One, if they got found out. Seto hadn't told the spirt yet--at least not that Diva knew of. Two, to add to the awkwardness he's pretty sure now that he met Atem, that some of the Pharaoh's attire was following a certain custom that Set's attire was also following.

Kaiba must not know what it meant.

But Diva just offers a polite smile, "I thank you for your hospitality then."

“Oh, you’ll definetely like it! This is something you most certainly, can’t find anywhere in Japan.” The priest pointed out with bright smile on his face, as he led the way and purposely ignored Diva’s obvious discomfort. Set couldn’t help but wonder, why that was the case. But he simply pushed those thoughts aside, so they wouldn’t waste anymore time around.

Every second counted, in these brief visits. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atem had joined their reunion a few good hours into it, Mahad alongside with some other guards stood by as they simply followed with their tasks- duties. His bond with Kaiba was used as an excuse, for him to join them in it. “I simply wish to catch up on the news, straight from you Kaiba.” The man said, as he sat on the floor alongside them.

Set followed it with a slurred laughter, as he took another swing from his cup of beer. The priest laid sideways, in a very laid-back position as he kept smiling at his guests.“Anyway, as I was saying. I look back on my time at that boarding school with Kaiba, and what comes to my mind is those kids funny accent.”  Another laughter left him, as he sipped once more off his cup.

"It's just British English. I mean, I talk with one when using English by default unless I'm dealing with Americans." While it was true, it was obvious that there was no malice by Seto. Then, imitating a welsh accent, "Just be happy I didn't got to school with the Welsh or the Scottish," he joked in English.

Meanwhile, Diva's eyes discreetly glanced between the pharaoh and priest. Yes, he definitely wasn't seeing things. Of course, he knew it was a different set of customs back then, but he also highly doubted Seto knew.

More importantly though...

"You didn't tell me you went to boarding school," Diva said, keeping most of his attention on his food.

"It's in the past. And besides, it largely slips my mind." There was a shrug from the CEO as he adjusted how he was sitting. It had been a while since he'd eaten in such a way.

Diva decided to drop it for now, bringing his attention back to the priest. "Either way, that does sound like a wild time. It must have been a culture shock to be thrown into a new setting while you were still tied to Seto." 

“One day I found myself in some large and fancy looking mansion seemingly all by myself, and the following one I’m suddenly surrounded by kids about the same age as Seto. So I’d say, you’re right about that.” The priest responded in a slightly slurred tone, as a chuckle soon followed his words. The man fell silent so he coul take another swing off his drink.

So far, Atem was extremely quiet. It may not be the first time he heard most of those stories, but he pulled an act that gave off that impression. The pharaoh chewed on his food, as his gaze shifted from his lover priest to their living guests. “Set got to experience a lot more that your world had to offer than me, I only got to travel to America once and it was... Well...” His head shook to the sides, in an attempt to convey that things weren’t exactly what anyone would consider to be a vacation- without saying anything else.

However, he was soon interrupted by Set as he went ahead and named a few of the nations visited. “United Kingdom, France, Italy, America, Germany... Of course, Egypt! I was never truly sure, what to expect whenever we headed out.” Another chuckle left him.

While his spouse spoke, Atem shot a brief glance at Diva- and he noticed something felt off in the way he was staring at him. It didn’t take long for him to piece things together, as he was reminded of the fact that hailed from Egypt as well.

At this point, it was impossible to hide things from Diva... At least Kaiba, still seemed to be oblivious. Hopefully, he should be smart enough to not point out the obvious- between him and the priest.

“What else do you wish to know about Seto, Diva?” Set teased, while he poured some more alcohol for himself. 

There's an air of awkward silence from Kaiba at Atem's words. It had certainly been far from a pleasant time for him either--not that he'd ever admit it to the pharaoh. Though, the CEO was starting to slightly worry that Set was getting a little too tipsy for such discussions.

His suspicions were confirmed when the priest volunteered up information to Diva. Ugh, he never should have brought him along.

Diva, on the other hand, was brought out of his scrutinizing of the pharaoh at Set's question. "Well, if you're offering..." his voice was quiet and polite, but Seto knew that tone meant trouble.

"Then I suppose I'd like to know if it's even possible that he acted like he had a worse stick up his ass back then. For I was lucky enough to met him later and skipped most of that."

"Diva, I will poison your food and leave you here."

A chuckle left the ex-Plana. This dance was a repeated and well-practiced one. "Sure you will. And then it will simply be more awkward when you return again." 

There was a brief moment of silence between Atem and Set, as they exchanged brief looks with one another while the duo bantered with the other. Then, both men broke into a fit of laughter, which only served to sustain and confirm Diva’s statement.

Atem wanted to say something, but Set got ahead of him before he could even muster anything. “Oh, it’s very possible! After I introduced myself, and he became aware of me. It was nearly impossible to take over the body, I just couldn’t swap places with him!” The priest spoke while laughing, as he remembered those times so vividly.

“And the first time I met Kaiba... I had to rid him, from a bad influence that had clearly taken over him... And I’m not talking about Set.” The pharaoh added.

“All that did, was to get me an earful from him right after it.” The priest pointed out, as he sipped on his cup. “Well, I never said anything about what would happen afterwards, now did I?” The two followed it with another brief chuckle.

“Trust me, he has improved a lot since I got to know him... He changed a lot over the years, Diva. I’m happy for him.” Set added, then went ahead and emptied once more his cup. 

"Oh forgive me for  not wanting to just rent my body out on a whim," Seto shot back. Though the conversation quickly moved on, and he was unsure whether to feel insulted or touched by the end of it.

So instead, he did the totally socially acceptable thing and decided to stare at some odd fruit laid out before him that he didn't recognize.

"Really now? The great Seto Kaiba can change after all. I supose my timing was lucky then. Well except for when we first met--"

Seto cleared his thoat to cut that statement off. He didn't want Set to strangle someone today. Especially a live someone.

"You know Set, be careful. At that rate you're gonna pass out before the end of the meal," Kaiba said with a nod to the flavored gross liquid. 

“Seto, I’m no longer in your body,” A hiccup interrupted Set’s slurry words, as he covered his mouth for a moment before he resumed talking. “I know very well how much I can take of this.” The man even gestured with his hands, as he took another sip out of his cup in order to prove a point.

“There’s no need to be concerned about, he tends to drink a lot more whenever he is with the others...” Atem pointed out in a calm tone, he had more to say but his drunk spouse interrupted him once more. “By the way, I’ve got a question... What’re you two anyway? What’s Diva to you, Seto? You know I won’t buy the friendship answer.” Set asked, it was very easy to tell how intoxicated the man was.

The pharaoh quickly fell silent, as he shot a glance at him then back at the guests. Now that he put some thought into it, Kaiba didn’t really explain his ties to Diva. Sure, he may have informed him that he was simply giving the CEO a helping hand in his work... But it didn’t quite suit, what most expected from Kaiba. 

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, shooting a disbelieving glance. High tolerance or not,  drunk people weren't fun for Kaiba to deal with. Too much and it was hard to get intelligible conversation out of them even if they weren't flat out passed out.

But the gazes of the two immediately made Seto and Diva freeze before exchanging a glance. While Diva expected such a question to come up, he wouldn't have guessed it would have been asked so... directly. But Kaiba instantly responded with sarcasm."What, is it so hard to believe I have some friends nowadays? When you spend so many hours working together it's kind of impossible to not get along on some level."

For a moment Diva didn't respond. The plan had been for Seto to introduce him to the people here honestly, along with helping with the experiments side. But the ex-Plana could see Kaiba was most likely acting on instinct.

"It is true we are friends. It took a while, certainly after well... some difficulties over the past but we eventually got there. And..." he trailed off, carefully keeping his eyes off Seto. Best to leave it to him in his own time, if he wanted.

There was just the noise of Seto taking a sip of his own drink for several seconds. "And... weendedupgivingdatingatry." The words were spat out fast as Seto would read a monster's effect and his gaze snapped back down to his own food. Gods, why did he ever want to do this? Set and Atem would just laugh at him. 

Atem and Set quietly listened in to Kaiba’s words, the priest was still sipping on his drink and the pharaoh held onto his cup. At first the answer given to them sounded reasonable, and expected from him even. As such both men didn’t react to what they heard immediately.

Set broke his silence as he stopped drinking for a moment, so he could speak “Oh, I see. So a lot has changed after all...” His voice trailed off, while the lips approached his cup- it seemed like he didn’t care about what had just come out from Kaiba’s mouth.

However, those words finally hit him.

First, the priest’s eyes shot widely open as he spat- choked on his drink and put aside the cup. A coughing fit ensued, as Atem attempted to help him out by giving his back light taps. It was in that moment, Set proceeded to sit up as he tried to muster out any word.

“Excuse me? What did you just-- say, Seto?” The priest asked between his coughs, while he desperately tried to clear his throat. The pharaoh was at a loss for words, he didn’t feel like he was in a position to even say a word about the matter.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Set reassured his partner, as he waved off Atem once he could talk normally. “Come again? You? Him? What-- Since when?” The priest’s gaze shifted between Diva and Kaiba, he didn’t seem to be angry- rather shocked and appalled at the bombshell. 

For a moment, both Seto and Diva thought they had safely flown under the radar, or perhaps Set was being kind and trying to not make a big deal of it to scare them off. But it turned out to be a delayed reaction. The reaction could have been better, but they supposed it also could have been much worse. At least Set didn't die from the shock.

"Erm... well even that's a bit tricky. Kind of two months?" Kaiba wasn't sure the exact number of days though with the nature of all that had happened. "Though in the middle we kind of took a bit of a break er--"

"There was a small fight. But we sorted things out eventually," Diva added.

Kaiba was trying his best to not make eye contact with any of them. He wasn't even sure if he was embarrassed or stressed or both.

Diva still had a calm air about him outwardly, but a good part of him was wary of the uncertainty of what would happpen next. 

One of his hands ran along his throat, as he was still recovering from his coughing fit. Meanwhile, he took his time to process and put some thought into what had been shared with them.

Due to his young appearance (he somehow, seemed to be about the same age as Kaiba), it is easy to forget that he was an actual father in his lifetime, and despite everything it was obvious he and the CEO shared a bond of that nature. “Dating,” Set uttered out, while he was still thinking on anything to say.

Dating in his time period, didn’t come anywhere near to what is commonly found in the 21st century. Set learned that, very quickly.

“Uh...” Atem tried to fill in the awkward silence in their meal, as he also bought Set some more time to think before saying anything back to them. “Congratulations? Kaiba? I would have never-” Yet again, he was interrupted by his partner.

“Expected something like this out of you... That’s all, mostly.” Set responded in a calm tone, while his gaze landed on Kaiba. Anger is nowhere to be seen on him, it truly seemed like he meant what he had just said.

Either that or the alcohol was still doing it’s magic on the priest.

The priest completely disregarded Diva’s presence, his attention was full on Kaiba who was clearly fighting his own inner demons amidst it all. “Does anyone else knows about this? Or... Am I the first one, Seto?” 

"Wow, what are you trying to say?" But the side eye was directed at Atem. "Trust me, we didn't expect it either." But Kaiba did expect both of them to be knocked of guard at the mere thought. The word Kaiba and dating didn't exactly go together.

Diva remained silent, leaving it up to Seto on what to disclose and what not to.

"Mokuba, of course. I mean it's kind of impossible for him to not figure something was up. But we've kept it out of the news and gossip. But you're the first one outside of that."

He figured it was also best to be that way, given the nature of their relationship and Set's role in his life.

"You know, we just don't want people all up in our business just because we're dating." Because boy, woud that be a PR headache. 

Set remained in silence the entire time Seto talked, despite his intoxicated state he seemed to have an attentive look on his face. His gaze was fixated on him, and it remained there even for a little longer. However, he had little to no self-control while under the influence of alcohol.

The priest proceeded to pull Kaiba into a tight hug, then bursted into a laughing fit as he repeated the same words “You’re dating! You’ve found someone, Seto!”. It seemed like the man was pretty content, with the news.

Mahad had to look away, this was just pure humiliation - he was cringing at the sight (even though, he also found the scene to be hiliarious).

Atem on the other hand, had to hold back his laughter at the scene his spouse caused. Even though he has heard most of the stories, Set had to share about him in regards to Kaiba. Seeing something like this was still a first time to him. 

The next pause was tense, for a moment Seto was worried about the priest not approving of Diva, or perhaps the topic of his sexuality would come up with his seemingly lack of incantation in that area before.

But no, somehow it was worse. No, somehow Set had morphed perfectly into the embarrassing dad.

"Please gods, let me die." He struggled to worm out of the embrace, color rising to his cheeks as he shoved at Set to no avail. He never should have broken the news while the priest was drunk!

"Atem stop laughing! I'll kill you!" Though his glare at the king quickly switched over to his significant other. "Diva, don't just sit there, help me!"

The ex-Plana was barely hiding his laughter behind a hand. "Oh, come on Seto, I think he's taking it quite well. And I'd prefer to not get in the middle of family matters." 

“He’s right, especially when it comes to Set. He takes this matter, very seriously.” Atem pointed out with a cheeky grin on his face, as he couldn’t hold back another row of laughter from him.He joined Diva in simply watching over Seto try to handle Set, on his own.

The priest stayed like that- clinging onto Kaiba for just a little longer, until eventually his pharaoh went ahead and managed to free him from the drunk man’s embrace. He was still yelling- exclaiming, repeating the wonderful news as some of the guards and Atem managed to gingerly lay him on the floor.

“I believe he has had more than enough for the night...” His voice trailed off, as he removed his cape and threw it over his spouse’s body. Who laid there on the floor, the alcohol had finally hit him hard. A few more nonsensical words left the man, at least he seemed to be quite happy- cheerful in a way.

When he did that, it revealed he wore an almost identital outfit to what Set had on himself. This detail would likely go unnoticed by Kaiba, but it might be further evidence to what Diva had observed on them so far.

“Once again, congratulations Kaiba. I wish you both happiness together... But I feel like he’s done for the night, you two can take your leave if you’d like. I’ll let him know, you said goodbye.” 

"Oh you think?" More sarcasm spat from him once Atem finally pried the priest from him. He really should have been counting Set's drinks. A useful thing to keep in mind. But at least he finally stopped embarrassing him this way.

With a huff Kaiba stood. "When he wakes up with a headache, tell him that's karma." Despite how prickly he was acting he didn't mean any true misfortune, but gods Seto almost wished Set just didn't approve of Diva.

"Come now, don't kick someone while they're down," Diva said as he stood and gave a polite dip of his head to Atem. "Thank you for the... evening? If time works that way here. We're almost out of time anyway," he said, noting the data on his duel disk.

Kaiba gave a nod. "Until next time, I suppose." He didn't have much more to say to Atem, so simply started to walk out with Diva, who now took the CEO's hand.

"Did you see what they were wearing?" Aigami whispered.

"What? Is now really the time? Coordinate your duel disk first--"

And a moment later the duo vanished in a swarm of dark particles.

[hyperionswrath--archived]

@onepartbrave

Huh. You really did learn something new every day—who knew? Squall blinked at the newfound information freely given. Considerately given? Crownsguard were different to the Glaives but held similar roles—just to different people? The name was a given, he supposed, Kingsglaives. A random thought of being sworn to one person was awkward but wasn’t he in the same position as SeeD? A grimace began down turning his lips and folding his brow as further unanswered questions joined the pile already growing. As often as he did it, he hated overthinking. Too much noise drove him insane as it was, but inside his cranium was far worse.  

Still… he couldn’t deny the perks. Summoning a weapon of choice at a whim? Yeah, he could get behind that. Though he liked the reassuring weight of a gunblade at his side, they were far too notable and bulky to sneak anywhere. ‘Pretty cool’ indeed… Knowing he didn’t need to voice the sentiment for it to be understood, he bypassed a verbal answer and completely skipped Seifer’s playful taunting concerning Squall’s unintentional staring. Imagine addressing the blond’s ridiculous statements about his physique? Squall’d never hear the end of it. Plus, with all the admiring stares from all walks of gender, he needn’t one more from him.

Although, he mused Seifer deserved a little effort on his behalf to keep a conversation and weaponry was something Squall could blabber on about for ages. “At my hotel,” he explained simply, noting more wouldn’t kill him. “…Still in top condition all these years later. Just as quick too.”  

Clearing his throat lightly, his mind wandered to Hyperion and its current status. Assuming the imposing blade to be within the disappearing roster Seifer had, he couldn’t help but desire a gander. Weapons were something he could do. They didn’t require sentiment, emotional outbursts or persistent company. When something went wrong or broke, his intimate knowledge on the model meant it was fixed in a matter of hours so long as he had the pieces. If he pissed off a person, it’d sometimes taken days to remedy it. Days. There were exceptions to every cause, of course, and those were the companions he’d gotten much better at reading and contending with. But in general… hand him sharp objects used for maiming over interpersonal relationships any day.  

Strolling along in silence, clearly having given up already on the chatting part, he matched Seifer’s stride and kept up with ease. Inquisitive eyes darted this way and that as he navigated unfamiliar streets with the blond as his guide. Architecture was unlike any he’d seen before, inspiring both a modern and regal image simultaneously. Not as in your face with technology as Esthar yet not as old timey and ‘we refuse to accept change’ as Deling City. A refreshing alteration. Hell, even the air felt cleaner… until Seifer decided to pollute both it and his system with a cigarette.  

Keeping that remark to himself, Squall nodded concurringly and bypassed the blond to enter the building. A fleeting inspection of the sigh plastered to the door—‘The Last Resort’? How fitting—he pushed inside and was greeted with unexpected warmth. Blinking the abrupt dryness from his eyes, he gave them an irritable rub with the back of one sleeve. Vision clearer, he performed a once-over check of the establishment, noting any escape routes other than the obvious entrance. Not that he’d remember later if his plan to get irresponsibly wasted went through without a hitch.  

Falling back on his anointed assignment, he sought out a cosy, cushioned booth in the corner that had a large curve of seat. Good, should he fall over at any point, he’d fall on something soft. He just needed to stay central. Seifer could take one side and risk toppling to the floor, he was hard-headed enough to not succumb to an injury. Shimmying his way onto the designated seat, he butt-shuffled around with slight awkwardness, grunting in mild pain when his knee collided with an unfortunate low beam in the middle.

Shrugging off the spark of irritation, he snagged one of the menus showcased on the tabletop. The front page displayed a cartoony version of the pub’s exterior, well drawn and admirable work, and recited the basic information of address and contact information. Storing the titbits away for a later date (if it was decent food and a good atmosphere, he might venture there again during his mandatory vacation), he opened the first of two pages inside. A list of delectable looking starters glared back at him and he scowled faintly when his stomach rumbled in pre-emptive appreciation. His own fault, he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since breakfast.

Deciding then he was going to get some food alongside his future binge, impatient grey-blue eyes peered toward the entranceway, praying silently Seifer hurried his ass along because Squall was hungry and he didn’t want to give up the perfect perch he’d gained.

Staying behind as Squall entered the pub, Seifer let himself sink against the stonewall behind him, feeling the rough quality of the bricks press through his shirt. His gaze unfocused, he made a mental note to pull himself together. When he had come here, to the Crown City, it had been to escape his past and not look back anymore. People here had their own problems and he was allowed to banish the shadows of his inglorious attempts at playing the hero in favor of doing the one thing he knew how to do right - fighting. If nothing else. And yet here he was, running into his former rival like it was just another day at Garden, after ten fucking years of successfully pushing down his guilt, far enough he could pretend all of this didn't happen. When he had firmly believed he would never see him again. Not just that but he had been stupid enough to tag along, to fall right back into his old behavioral patterns and even end up protecting the guy he once.... tried to kill. Flip the switch and it's like nothing has changed at all... Throwing himself in front of Squall to protect him the night before stemmed from two evils. One being his recklessness which had only worsened over the years when it came to getting wounded because he simply did not care. The other was deep, shame-filled guilt.

Dragging one last time on his cigarette, he huffed the smoke out with bitterness underlying the amused tone as he realized he acted like Squall in his prime with all this brooding. Eyes closing so he could regain composure, he took a deep breath, then pushed off the wall and made for the entrance. One hand pushing the door open, the tall blond stepped inside the warmth that was just a tinge too much for the still lingering warmth outside but would be most pleasant once the nightly cold set in. Emerald gaze brushed over the room, much quicker than Squall's had since he knew the place, but still following old patterns to survey the place and locate possible threats or anything conspicuous which was, given the fact they had been practically child soldiers, simply branded into his being. Soon his eyes flicked over where the brunet had made himself comfortable, another small twinge of his six-bedamned guilt tightening his chest for the briefest moment as he saw how deeply focused the other seemed to be on the menu. It reminded him acutely of simpler days, when he had spotted the man sitting around with his nose in a Weapons Monthly magazine. Shaking his head briefly to end this futile train of thoughts that continuously tried to pull him in, he made for the bar counter and knocked on it, smiling his most charming smile at the woman manning it. "Hi, could you bring us the usual? Also two shots of your best Leiden whiskey, we've got something to celebrate." Leaning back as the woman busied herself with a smile, Seifer slid one hand into his coat still draped over his shoulder and procured his phone, unlocking it with a slide and checking his messages.

Kerr had sent him about fifty messages, most of which consisted of funny images meant to cheer him up since he'd heard about his suspension. A fond smile tugged at his lips as he quickly filed through them, taking a moment to reply so the guy wouldn't worry himself sick. After pocketing his phone again, he found the two shots standing on the counter already, taking them with him as he made for the corner Squall was sitting in. Placing one of the small glasses filled with golden liquid in front of him, he quirked a brow at the irritated look on the brunet's face before throwing his uniform coat unceremoniously on the bench where it would stay until way later tonight. Movement and all had the sleeves of his shirt slide up a bit, exposing part of the tattoo on his left biceps - the likeness of the blood-red cross he had stitched on his old trenchcoat, now displayed in black ink with small red embellishments. If one was to pay closer attention to his skin due to this, they would likely also notice the fine webs of scars riddling the tall blond’s skin, marring arms and even parts of his neck, definite signs of not applying healing properly - or in time. Lifting the glass in Squall's direction now, still standing, he shot him a lopsided smile. "Well then, to unexpected run-ins that get me suspended," he toasted before downing the shot in one go, grimacing slightly at the strong burn in his throat.

"So, what's your poison, Leonhart?", he then asked, nodding briefly to the bar to signal he'd get the order. "Also don't bother with that," finger now pointing at the menu, "I ordered us a plate with their specialties." On the occasions when he came here with fellow Glaives they'd to the same, just snack away all evening while getting drunk. It was more convenient than plastering the entire table with gazillion dishes. Once the brunet would let him know what he wanted to drink, Seifer would turn and go back to the counter to place their order.

[silyabeeodess]

Tales of the Fire Spirits: Chilled

It was that time again. The aged fire spirit could feel it in the marrow of their bones—creaking and crackling inside its body like branches burning in a roaring fire that, day by day, became increasingly more difficult to maintain. Its skin shown bright from the excessive heat that had built from within over the course of its lifespan, and soon it would join its kind in the seasonal dances that marked the beginning and end of their cycles.

Near the end of their lives, fire spirits sought out safe havens away from their domain: Prime locations to build the ritual fires that could stay lit for days at a time. Then, once the dances began, they couldn't be stopped. Elder spirits would twist and turn around the flames in graceful unison, and it was up to the young to find plenty to burn over the course of the ritual; enough to create a crescendo of fire for the elders to catch upon as they themselves burst into flame.

Safety wasn't a primary concern, not for the spirits at least. The natural barriers that were summoned during their dance would keep most threats at bay. The fires alone were the most important part: They typically needed a good, dry spot to grow and plenty around to continuously feed them. Building them in a nice, dark place was also commonly ideal so that they'd only shine brighter against their surroundings. What a beautiful thing it was, to meet the end in an erupting pillar of warm light!

The fire spirit journeyed with a small group of its kin to find their own spot. Unfortunately, much of Subcon had changed in the creature's current cycle. Ice and snow had devoured a large portion of the forest, greatly limiting their kind's options in their wide exploration to prepare for the ritual. Too much of the land was cold and wet and not at all to a fire spirit's liking: They were miserable places with little to burn. Some spirits had even begun to explore beyond the forest in hopes of finding ideal territory.

It hoped, in its next cycle, that Subcon would undergo another great change—one for the better. It missed the funny humans they used to pick on for laughs, and the villagers that would give them plenty of goodies. It missed when the forest was bright and full of life, with plenty of things to burn. Their kind would survive—the young were already finding new ways—but it was still upsetting.

As the spirit and its kindred wove through the trees, a cluster of ice crystals jutting out of the earth caught its eye. They made an effort to avoid the ice and snow, but it was impossible. It appeared all over the forest, especially in the portion they travelled near now. The creature felt itself flare up as it gazed hard in the direction beyond the crystals, where the ice continued to expand. If they followed along that path, they'd eventually run into the origins of their current predicament. In recent years, the fire spirits had been known to treat that place with caution: Oh, how they had come to hate it. If it weren't for the powerful, frigid magic keeping their own at bay—combined with the cold and sodden landscape—they would've torched the place.

But there was nothing they could do, not with nature against them and in their weakened states. One of the other spirits placed a hand on its back as if to console it and urge it onward. The creature nodded. Right, no use dwelling on what they couldn't change. And they had their search to complete. The group continued.

The night air made its fur bristle, although there was little indication between night and day anymore. A dark miasma had clung to the area, another unfortunate change to their once lovely home. For humans, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference when clouds fell over the forest, without the travel of the moon and stars to indicate the passage of time. The fire spirits could still tell though, if only by the shifts in temperature that marked the seasons and—more subtly—the hours.

However, that night was strikingly clear. The fire spirit couldn't resist lifting its eyes up at the full moon at hung in the sky. Its light almost always felt cold anymore, just like everything else, but it still shone vibrantly…

All of a sudden, the creature's ears perked up. Out of nowhere, it sensed a sudden warmth appear along the bleak landscape. All of them did, each fire spirit stopping in their tracks at the feeling. It was the sort that they only knew to come from a rare handful of the Dwellers anymore, or even less so from a small amount of the already pitiful number of travelers that occasionally braved the forest. And never did they sense something like this so close to the manor. It had all of them on edge.

But that particular fire spirit also felt something strangely familiar about that warmth, like something from a dream or distant memory. The feeling called to it so much that the spirit couldn't resist moving hesitantly toward the heat spike—stopping once to flick its feet in discontent at the chilly, moist dirt that sunk between its toes and then darting off deeper into the woods.

It hadn't meant for the others to follow, but they did. They were stronger together anyway.

The sensation led them to a small patch of open field within the forest, where the leafless, craggily trees framed the sky like a wreath of thorns. Amid the ice pillars and crisp remains of dead undergrowth, a single figure hovered above the earth, staring up at the sky. It was… relatively human in form, spectral, male; dressed in a pale, yellow tunic and red jacket faded from grime and excessive wear with broken chains strapped to his wrists. His skin was as faint a blue as the ice that surrounded him, and he seemed to be wearing a mask that crescented around the right half of his face.

There was no way they could hide from him even if they tried: The light emitting from their bodies was too distinct from the shadows and he spotted them almost as soon as they entered the area. Recoiling in surprise, he shuffled back. The fire spirit approached a few steps after him in turn only to realize that the others had retreated the other way. There was little question why though: For the warmth they felt coming from him, it also came with a confusing mix of other feelings all too similar to the darkened state of the forest itself.

All the same, the familiarity was jarring. Even the appearance of the phantom seemed to mock the creature, but it still couldn't recall why. Multiple cycles of memories had ways of overlapping, but mature fire spirits could pick apart some of them enough to string together important aspects of their lives. It knew the figure was important… somehow…

The fox tried to get closer, but stopped short—fur bristling—as the man dipped into an aggressive stance with strange, red cords manifesting from his wrists, contorting in uncontrollable lashes. In turn, light flames flickered along the spirit's hide in warning. As curious as the creature was, if the phantom was foolish enough to challenge its fire, by all means, let him try. Whatever odd power he possessed, it was clear he had little mastery of it and there were few things that could best the creature's own magic.

A realization that seemed to dawn on him soon enough as he steadied himself. The spirit followed suit, but continued to approach the former with a careful tread. Sizing up to a small, adult human with the specter hovering in the air, the fire spirit measured to the other being's chest. Reluctance continuously hanging between the two, it sniffed his hand then—feeling him tense as it did so—placed its head against his palm.

The action barely lasted longer than a second. Cold! He was too cold! The fire spirit may as well have stuck its head in the snow! It jumped back in disgust as it eyed the phantom with confusion. Sparks licked at its feet, fiery enough to ignite the somewhat damp undergrowth and create a nice—if sadly shallow—bed of fire for it to stand in. The man flinched, but besides that showed no sign of being startled. Instead, he seemed to look at his own hand in dismay.

The fire spirit couldn't figure it out. How could a being that echoed such a familiar, peculiar warmth be so horribly cold? What was this creature? Not like the lost souls that roamed Subcon, surely: Although their mortal bodies were lost and even the warmth of many of their individual essences had altered, none of them came close to the enigma that was this one.

As if drawn to the flames, at last the phantom calmed enough to near the fire spirit this time—briefly circling with his own curiosity before he came to rest. Although the fox's chest puffed confidently at the admiration of the fire, it pitied this being. His whole existence seemed to be a sad, puzzling self-contradiction.

For the third time, the fire spirit moved closer to him. If he could not warm himself, then maybe it could grant him just a moment's comfort. It twisted itself around the phantom's body, tail curling around his waist and head pressing against his skin—though, even prepared, the creature still writhed at the nasty cold seeping from the other.

The phantom looked at the fox for a long time. And then he began to laugh—an empty, sorrowful, unhinged laugh—that shook his entire body. The spirit's ears pinned back, but it didn't leave his side, even as its kin rounded closer to watch over the scene. Encouraged, still shivering, the phantom looked the spirit in the eye and gave him a solemn shake of his head:

"I'm afraid you're too late, my friend."

.........................................................................................

((Sharing this on here because, out of the stories I’ve worked on for this series of shorts, this one was probably my favorite so far--with “Ignition” being a close second.  If you’d like to see the rest of the shorts, please check out the full collection here.  While the fire spirits are the main focus, each short explores different themes and other characters surrounding them, including Hat Kid and Snatcher.))

[verypersonalscreencaps]

'I’ve never sought fame so I’m loving it ... I hope it lasts!': As she returns in the hit BBC sitcom Mum, Lesley Manville reveals how a surprise Oscar nomination finally made her hot in Hollywood at 63

By COLE MORETON FOR EVENT MAGAZINE PUBLISHED: 22:01, 27 April 2019

'I can’t believe this late flourish that I’m having,’ says Lesley Manville, beaming with happiness. ‘It just keeps on giving!’

She’s about to star in the third and final series of the brilliant BBC comedy Mum, playing the kind and loving widow Cathy, surrounded by a family of not-always-lovable fools, and slowly falling for her old friend Michael. It’s hugely popular, for reasons Event’s TV critic Deborah Ross explains below, but that’s not all. Suddenly, to her own astonishment, at the age of 63, Manville is Hollywood hot property.

‘I don’t really share this much, except to my very close friends, because you’ve got to let off steam to somebody about how extraordinary it is,’ says Manville, hand fluttering briefly as if to fan herself. ‘And the enormity of how it has shifted things. Everything has changed.’

Scripts and offers are flooding in since she was Oscar-nominated for her role in Daniel Day-Lewis’s 2018 film, Phantom Thread. After decades of working ‘under the radar’ – as she puts it – in the theatre, on television and in Mike Leigh movies such as High Hopes, Secrets & Lies and Another Year, Manville was thrust into the brightest spotlight of all. ‘I got to go to the Oscars with my sister and my son!

‘But, oh my God, it was a mad dash. I was on stage in the West End on the Saturday, got home at midnight, only had time to wash my hair and catch two hours’ sleep, then I was on a plane in the early hours.’ The Oscars were that Sunday night. ‘I got there with an hour-and-a-half to get ready.’

She rarely gives interviews and hasn’t talked about this publicly before, but there was something else remarkable about that night – her ex-husband Gary Oldman was also up for an Oscar, for his role as Sir Winston Churchill in Darkest Hour. The Hollywood media went wild at the idea of divorcees being nominated at the same time, and there was even talk of ‘fisticuffs on the red carpet’ – particularly since he had walked out on her in 1989, when their child Alfie was only three months old.

‘I had a son to bring up,’ she says, sounding matter-of-fact rather than bitter after all these years. ‘I was 32 and I had a baby. I wanted to carry on working and I did. I must have been knackered. I was up at dawn and looked after Alfie all day. Then my sister, who was working for me, would come and do teatime and bedtime. I’d go to do Miss Julie or Top Girls. Nice light plays!’

Somehow she gave her all to those far from light works. ‘I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I never wanted to stop working. And also I didn’t want to be a slovenly mother – not bothering, just phoning in motherhood because I was working. I wanted to be the best mother, with a proper meal on the table every night, and proper things in the lunchbox. All of that. And I’ve done it. That’s my biggest achievement, I think.’

Did she feel that way because Gary had abandoned them? ‘No, I’m just like that – I’m quite a perfectionist in my life and my work.’

That’s easy to imagine. Manville is friendly and engaging but happily describes herself as ‘a control freak’ and looks very much like she’s got it together in her chic, cream baggy pants with matching boots, Breton striped top and leather jacket. She speaks with the diction and bearing of someone who has spent a lifetime on the stage. Does Alfie appreciate what she did for him? ‘Oh, yes. We’ve got a really nice relationship. We do argue, but we’re very close.’

Oldman later admitted that work and alcoholism had made him ‘anxious, neurotic and hell to live with’ – but he moved in with the much younger Uma Thurman soon after taking off to America. His fifth wife, Gisele Schmidt, attended the Oscars with him, while Manville is single and walked the red carpet with Alfie, now a cameraman. So just how awkward was this public reunion?

‘Gary and I are fine. We’re friends. We’re more than fine. People wanted to make something of it that didn’t exist. Christ almighty, we’re 60. We’ve got a 30-year-old son. Come on!’ She does understand why there was such interest. ‘I even stayed sober for one night in LA at the Oscars so that I could do a live interview on the Today programme. Something should be made of it, for the sake of our son. Very few children have been to the Oscars and seen both their parents nominated. It was nice because Gary was there with his wife – who I get on with very well – his other two sons and my son. We’re grown-ups.’

In her eagerness to demonstrate that they’ve worked out their differences, Manville even reveals that the two former partners are planning to work together again.

‘Gary’s asked me to be in a new film he’s hoping to shoot soon. So of course we’re fine. It’s a film about Eadweard Muybridge, the man who invented film.’ The Victorian photographer devised camera techniques that laid the foundations for the motion picture industry. He also shot and killed his wife’s lover, but was acquitted by a jury on the grounds of justifiable homicide. ‘It will be amazing.’

And although she did not win the Oscar for best supporting actress last year (Oldman did win best actor), Manville says she has been almost overwhelmed by offers since then. ‘You get inundated with scripts and immediately I got offered a film with Liam Neeson, Normal People, that’s virtually a two-hander. It comes out at the end of this year.’

Neeson got himself in a lot of trouble earlier this year by confessing that in the past, after the rape of a friend, he had taken to prowling the streets with a cosh, hoping ‘some black b******’ would come out of a pub looking for a fight. He was actually expressing shame at having had those feelings and drew support from Whoopi Goldberg and the England footballer John Barnes, but others called for his films to be pulled. Did that put Normal People in danger?

Manville draws in breath, pulls back her shoulders and says: ‘I’m not going to talk about it at all... except to say that Liam is one of the nicest gentlemen I’ve ever worked with. And he’s a friend.’

Is she just like Cathy in Mum, who insists on seeing the best in people? ‘Oh, I don’t compare to Cathy. I’m kind, but I’m a bit more judgmental than she is. I’m from this chippy world of acting, where people are beautifully acerbic, funny, and sarcastic and cutting. I enjoy all of that. It’s banter.’

Still, she is firmly supportive of Neeson then quickly moves on. ‘Then I got a film I haven’t shot yet, called Dali Land, about Salvador and Gala Dali. I’m going to play Gala. Last week I was filming the new series of Harlots [in which she plays the madam of a high-class 18th-century brothel], then preparing for the film Let Him Go with Kevin Costner and Diane Lane.’

Does Manville thrive on all this new attention? ‘My sister can’t believe I’m not exhausted. It is overwhelming at times, but I do sort of feel I’ve earned it. I’ve put in decades of doing what I feel were the right jobs. I’ve never sold out. I’ve never sought fame. So I’m genuinely loving it and I’m hoping it will last, but it will only last if I keep turning out the work.’

Does she wish this had all happened before? ‘No. I’ve had an amazing, steady career. And I’m grateful for that. A lot of young people who get success very quickly come under huge pressure to maintain it and that is very hard. Especially if they’re good-looking, because if you’ve built a career based on your good looks when you’re young, it’s very difficult to carry on in a real and proper vein.’ Has she come under any of Hollywood’s infamous pressure to go under the knife?

‘No. I went to a lot of meetings while we were there, and the reaction I got is: ‘Oh, you’ve done nothing to your face, isn’t that great!’ If I suddenly started doing all that, it would make nonsense of this career I’ve had for 40-plus years. I’m setting myself up as somebody who likes to play characters. This Bible-bashing mad woman with a gun that I’m playing in Let Him Go isn’t going to have gone under the knife in 1963. Just leave it alone.’

Manville grew up in Brighton, where her father was a taxi driver, and at the age of 15 she started commuting to the Italia Conti stage school in London. She declined the chance to join the steamy TV dance troupe Hot Gossip. ‘I thought, I can’t wear stockings and a suspender belt on telly with my dad watching! He wasn’t a prude – it was more that I was a bit of a prude. I was a good girl. I never broke the rules.’

Just like Cathy in Mum, then? ‘I am a good girl at heart, so there is a bit of Cathy there, but the other side of me is very driven and single-minded.’

Her father couldn’t believe it when she gave up a perfectly good, lucrative part on the soap Emmerdale Farm to concentrate on theatre. ‘My dad was like, “What are you doing? Why would you want to do plays?”’ But Manville went on to have a truly illustrious and highly acclaimed career on stage, from her early days at the Royal Court through numerous leading roles at the National Theatre, The Old Vic and with the Royal Shakespeare Company to her performance in Ibsen’s Ghosts, for which she won the Olivier in 2014. This was the pinnacle of her career at the time, and she said: ‘Ghosts is my Olympic moment.’

There was no way of knowing that the Hollywood legend Paul Thomas Anderson, director of There Will Be Blood and Magnolia, would call her out of the blue, having seen her in the Mike Leigh films he loved.

But before that happened and she got really famous, the director Richard Laxton approached Manville in 2016 about making Mum, and had some persuading to do.

‘My only experience of comedy was 25 years ago, a series called Ain’t Misbehavin’ with Peter Davison,’ says Manville. ‘It was well written, but you had to be funny. I didn’t enjoy it. I wasn’t very good.’

Laxton sent a script and a box set of Him And Her, a series also written by Mum creator Stefan Golaszewski and shot in a very similar, low-key way. The actors play the drama and not for laughs, although they certainly come. In Mum, we see the craziness of the family from Cathy’s point of view as she tries to keep going, do her best and be kind.

‘Just the slightest twinkle from Cathy, and the audience knows what it’s going to mean,’ says Manville.

Series one began just after Cathy had lost her husband Dave. Series two saw her become increasingly – but very slowly – close to old family friend Michael, before she finally declared her love. Now, at the start of the final series, they are together, but haven’t broken it to her son or anyone else yet. ‘I love the way the writer does that,’ she says. ‘We last saw them tentatively holding hands. At the start of this series she just gives him a very casual kiss on the lips, when she’s showing him the bedroom she is staying in.’

The inference is that they have made love. ‘You don’t see them having sex. You don’t see them having passionate kisses.’ Is that a relief? ‘Yes. You wouldn’t want to go there really, but I knew they were going to get together.’ The pair have such joy on their faces, as if they can’t believe their luck.

‘I think younger people – 20- and 30-year-olds – don’t think of anybody aged 60 falling in love. They don’t really imagine that all those feelings an 18-year-old in love has – all those butterflies, uncertainties and insecurities, all that joy – is the same for everyone, whatever your age. That’s an emotion and a set of feelings that we never lose. Thank God! I love Mum for showing that.’

The characters are also very understated. ‘I love the fact that Cathy and Michael are not glamorous, they’re not thinking about how they look. They’re good, kind, thoughtful people. They’re intelligent. They’re very in touch with their own feelings and emotions and reality. They have a very acute understanding of the people around them.’ The cast and crew all stayed in the same hotel and found a local pub to eat and drink. ‘Lots of times, someone would spot one of us up at the bar – say Lisa [McGrillis, who plays Kelly] – and they’d go: “That’s her from Mum!” Then they’d turn around to see where she was taking the drinks and we would all be sitting there!’

How are people with her? ‘Mum is the thing I get stopped in the street most about. They say very kind things. They love the series. When I say it’s back in May but this is the last series, they can’t bear it.’

So why is Mum finishing? ‘Stefan wants to move on to other things. But it’s got a nice finite ending and why would you do any more? Either they get together or they don’t. Either way, that’s it.’ We don’t see so-called late love like this on the television much, do we?

‘No, but I think that’s shifting very slowly. Women and men of my age want to see themselves represented. And there are those actresses who are just carrying on – not just Judi Dench and Maggie Smith, but Helen Mirren, Meryl Streep, Annette Bening.... We are fronting films. And all those female-led films like Mamma Mia!, Quartet and The Best Marigold Hotel that have been huge box- office successes have made studios think: ‘We can have a film about a 50-year-old that people want to see!’

She says ‘we’, but those women are older than her. Thanks to her sudden Indian summer, Manville is now poised to lead a new generation of female actors taking on those kinds of roles. ‘Those actors have opened up the way for us, absolutely. I’ve always felt my life was a slow burn. I’m pleased with the way it has all turned out. Delighted, really. I can’t wait to see what happens next!’

The final series 3 of ‘Mum’ begins on BBC 2 next month. Series 1 and 2 are available on iPlayer.  

[timeskip]

Ripples on the Water

For @bsd-rarepairweek day 3. Yosano/Kouyou (Open arms / “It was better to know the worst than to wonder.” - Margaret Mitchell)

Kouyou talks to Yosano about the past and the future.

“Trust me, Yosano, dear,” Kouyou says, after a minute, “it’s better to know the worst than to wonder.”

Yosano takes a breath, eyes dropping to her cup of tea. “Doctor Mori is dead.”

(Word count: 2327)

Kouyou wakes up with a slight headache, and for a second she thinks that she’s been drugged, due to the lack of pain stabbing through her body when she moves. The bed she’s on is surrounded by white curtains, and the air smells medical. It’s not a very hard conclusion to come to when she thinks about being on painkillers in a hospital.

But as she reaches to her side where she knows a wound should be, she finds nothing but smooth skin where a knife had previously been painfully inserted into her skin.

Yosano must be here, she thinks, fingers going up to rest lightly where her head still pains her.

The air in the hospital, or, more likely, the Agency’s infirmary, is still, which tells Kouyou that nobody’s there in the room. She pulls herself up, letting her feet find slippers left by the bed. It’s a courtesy Kouyou hadn’t been expecting, as she’d rather been thinking of treading lightly on bare feet.

Her breath sounds loud in the room and she gently grits her teeth as she sweeps aside the curtains to reveal the bright lights beating down on her. Standing, she walks cautiously towards the exit. She wants to see Yosano before she leaves, the woman that she’s become enamoured with but with whom she’s unable to create a relationship with because of their respective organizations. Seeing anyone else is a risk she has to take.

Surprisingly, the Agency’s office is empty from all visible people, and everything is tinged with violet from the almost-set sun. She listens for someone else’s breaths before she moves, and hears the soft clinking of a spoon on porcelain. Someone is on the couches, just a bit away, and they have tea with them.

When Kouyou peers past the divider, Yosano’s smile greets her. She looks unsurprised by Kouyou’s appearance, though it’s only natural that she would be. She was, after all, the one to treat Kouyou’s injuries, with her having been stabbed and thrown against the wall so many times by an ability user with a grudge against the mafia.

Soon, Kouyou would have to go after him again, and this time, Golden Demon wouldn’t fail her.

Kouyou runs her fingers through her hair, which is hanging loose after having fallen out of it’s neat bun. “Greetings,” she says, sitting lightly on the couch next to Yosano. “I’d thank you for healing me, but doctors really should do their jobs.”

“If the patient is an enemy,” Yosano’s lips quirk upwards, “I think the rules are bent a bit.” She takes another sip of tea.

“May I have some, darling?” The pet name rolls off Kouyou’s tongue easily, because that’s what their relationship amounts to now. Something between romance and friendly enemies. Yosano blushes but nods, getting up to bring her a cup and turning on the electric kettle on the side table.

“I don’t think that you thanking me is the issue,” Yosano says, when her back is turned to Kouyou. It’s as if she doesn’t want Kouyou to see her face. “But… being in the mafia is a dangerous job.”

“So it is,” Kouyou hums as Yosano sits next to her again.

“You took quite a few hits,” Yosano’s hand is near Kouyou’s thigh as she sits again, and a part of Kouyou aches knowing that as it is, they will never be able to be closer. There’s parts of Kouyou that wants to take Yosano to romantic candlelit dinners or simply sit beside her in comfortable silence, and there’s parts that want to talk to her more than they already do, on the rare times they meet up.

“I can’t heal brain damage, you know,” Yosano continues, “so count yourself lucky, won’t you?”

“Then allow me to grant you my deepest gratitude,” Kouyou smiles widely, glancing at Yosano out of the corner of her eye. The water is boiling. “Though to be honest, I’m surprised you let me stay here at all. And there must’ve been so much effort put in to get everyone else away. And it’s all for an executive of the Port Mafia.”

Yosano pours the tea gracefully, and her purple hair falls over her shoulders as she does. Kouyou watches her as her lips thin. “They all agreed that we wouldn’t keep you hostage again. You have no reason to hold back against us, but you also don’t have any need to harm us.”

“That’s not all, though, is it?” Kouyou keeps her eyes only on Yosano, bathed in picturesque lighting.

“No, it’s not.”

“What else made them leave?”

Yosano stays silent, handing Kouyou her cup of tea and letting her gloved fingers touch Kouyou’s bare ones briefly. Kouyou breathes in the smell of the tea, putting it down to let it steep.

“Trust me, Yosano, dear,” Kouyou says, after a minute, “it’s better to know the worst than to wonder.”

Yosano takes a breath, eyes dropping to her cup of tea. “Doctor Mori is dead.”

Kouyou doesn’t move, for a few seconds after that. She didn’t care about Mori, but he was a large reason for her staying in the mafia. Death is merely a means to an end, in their organization. Kouyou doesn’t meet Yosano’s eyes, instead keeping her face calm for a moment longer.

Then she laughs.

Yosano looks shocked when Kouyou looks back up, but Kouyou isn’t torn up about that.

“You think that I liked Mori?” she places her hand in front of her mouth to hide her smile. Inside, her emotions swirl in a way she can't quite comprehend, but it's not wrong to say that she isn't upset about the man’s death.

“I did,” Yosano glances at her from out of the corner of her eye. “But you’re saying I was wrong?”

“Yes.”

Yosano lets out a shaky breath, smiling at her hands, which are folded neatly on her lap. “That’s good. It wouldn’t be good for us if I was to tell you how much I truly loathed him.”

Kouyou lets out a sharp laugh. Mori’s death feels less real than this moment, with the purple light falling onto Yosano’s smooth face. “I stay in the mafia not because I like him, but because I’m loyal to his version of it. Do you know what the mafia was like before he came along? Of course you don’t.” Kouyou picks up her tea and sips it.

“What was it like?”

“Bloody. Bloodier than Mori’s ever was. And the boss, he was so hungry for power that he’d kill any traitors within a second.”

Yosano hums, one hand leaving her lap to place a piece of hair behind her ear. “So Doctor Mori was merciful, you mean? Funny. I never saw him as having mercy in the least. He only had cold hard logic and the ability to act harmless.” Yosano’s lips have quirked up.

“I know,” Kouyou takes her hands and puts one on Yosano’s. Kouyuou’s demeanor reads calmly, but her heart is beating fast. “He used his logic cruelly.” Yosano’s purple eyes rise to meet her’s. “I never did tell you that I saw you, when you were under the care of the mafia, but I did. And at that time, I didn’t care.”

“...You saw me and didn’t care,” Yosano repeats, fingers moving to fit between Kouyou’s, “but it’s different now, isn’t it? You came to this secluded area to talk with me. You could’ve left.”

“You’re so sweet to believe in me, dear,” Kouyou smiles, leaning one shoulder closer to Yosano’s. She remembers seeing Yosano, all those years ago, a small figure in a wheelchair. Kouyou had thought that she was like a corpse, sitting there with the brat Elise humming as she pushed her. Now, her proximity with Yosano feels anything but dead.

“I never saw you, in the mafia. I don’t understand,” Yosano tells her, letting their shoulders meet and staring into Kouyou’s eyes. “But I want to. Tell me why you stayed with Doctor Mori. Tell me why you didn’t care.”

Kouyou’s breath catches. What a powerful question to be asked, she thinks.

“Of course,” she breathes, and Yosano smiles sadly. “Mori killed the old mafia boss, as I’m sure you could believe. The old boss was someone I’d been planning on killing myself, if only I could get close to him. He’d been the one to kill my only friend; it was then that I figured out that I’m a person who can only exist as I am in the darkness. I hated the boss for what he did, and craved revenge. I’d been in the mafia even in the time that Mori killed that vile man; it was a time when Mori was seen with suspicion by all the other members, and was looking for allies. I remember realizing that he had murdered the older boss. It was,” her eyes drop to the ripples spreading in the tea in her cup, “a grounding realization.”

Yosano’s hand squeezes slightly tighter.

“Mori saw me and knew that I would be loyal to him, if only he showed how harmless he was. But he didn’t need to do that, because just knowing that the previous boss was dead by his hand brought me onto Mori’s side. It was a good revenge. I feel no regret.”

“I see,” Yosano says, and Kouyou looks over to find her staring at their joined hands. “I wouldn’t expect you to change, you know. But Doctor Mori controlled me so much that I could never respect your decision to follow him.”

“Is it different now?” Kouyou tilts her head lightly, seeking Yosano’s eyes. “I would want to be with you even if you sought to bring Mori back to life and kill him again.”

“I did save you, didn’t I?” Yosano says, and her shining eyes travel up to meet Kouyou’s. “It’s not just my job. I kept my distance from you before, romantically, because of our differences. Our friendship is dangerous because of your part in the mafia, but I never said I disliked danger.”

Kouyou breathes in, well aware of her heartbeat. “And what differences did we have?”

“Other than being in different organizations and you following Doctor Mori, you mean? None significant to keep me from seeking out your company, whenever we would meet.”

Kouyou remembers it clearly. The two of them have met outside of their organizations only a few times, to strengthen their friendship outside the bounds of the banter they share when their organizations fight. When Kouyou had first proposed a romantic relationship between them, being rejected wasn’t the end of it. She can still remember Yosano’s flushed cheeks.

“Doctor Mori was,” Yosano speaks, “the worst thing that ever happened to me. Even if he helped you in some way, I couldn’t tell you about that until after he died.” Yosano laughs softly.

Kouyou picks up her tea with her free hand, bringing it to her lips. It’s cooled down considerably.

“I can understand that. You never had to be with me in the first place.” Kouyou reaches up to smooth out her bangs after she places her cup down again.

“Of course not,” Yosano smiles, turning her head so that her warm breath blows on Kouyou’s cheek. “Though I do find it interesting that you knew of my past with Doctor Mori and never told me.”

“Hush,” Kouyou waves a hand idly, “I only knew that you were a sick girl who was around him a lot, and later disappeared. The rest I found out myself.”

Yosano lets out a laugh. “Clever.”

Kouyou smirks at the other woman, resisting the urge to tuck a strand of Yosano’s hair behind her ear. It’s still so new, whatever this closeness is, even though they’d gotten close to this before. But with all the talk of Mori, it brings a new weight to the way they interact with each other.

“What do you think would have happened if our situations had been switched?” Kouyou asks, looking away from Yosano as she does.

“If I was still working for the mafia and you were taken into the Agency, you mean?” Yosano’s eyes are on her as Kouyou takes another sip of her tea. “I don't know. Does it matter, now that we're here?”

“Maybe,” Kouyou says, imagining a world where she’s a flower that can bloom in the light, and not the darkness. “Maybe not.” Now, a vision of Yosano, perpetually used by Mori and without the vibrant life that drew Kouyou towards her so fast. “But if we’re considering our postions, then maybe we should think more seriously than we have been. It’s not every day that a member of the Armed Detective Agency empties her office for a woman belonging to the mafia.”

Yosano sighs, shifting so that her head is resting all the way on Kouyou’s shoulder. “I’ve thought enough on my life, and I’ve decided that I care about life itself. I can keep being a doctor whether you’re in the mafia or not.”

Kouyou feels something strange light up inside her. Inside the mafia or not, Yosano has found her path, a path that took her any anyone else in with open arms. If Kouyou stayed in the mafia for a man who doesn’t exist in this world anymore, then her entire world should be falling apart right now.

And yet, as she takes another long sip from her tea, her world has only grown brighter, somehow. A flower of light blooms in Kouyou’s heart, and she smiles. Thinking of her place in their vast world will come another day.

“Your tea is going to get cold,” she says, reaching behind Yosano to hold her lightly by the waist.

“I can always make more,” Yosano replies with a lazy smile in her voice, and Kouyou understands; Yosano is comfortable just as she is. Kouyou, it seems, can only hope to catch up to her someday.

[wildefiction]

Of Course...Mr. Collins

SEVENTEEN

Tucking your phone, room key, ID and credit card into a small shoulder clutch, you straightened your back, took a steadying breath and opened the door. You really weren’t a purse..person, (Purse person…what a funny thing?) but the alternative was sticking everything you needed in your bra, and something about that made you laugh. 

Pulling your phone from the tiny contraption, you sent Norman a text to ask where he wanted to meet. As you waited for the elevator to take you downstairs, you sent Misha a text as well, letting him know you were on your way if he needed you for anything. 

A few moments later, Norman texted you back saying he was running a bit behind, but that he’d be down shortly. Thankfully, this ride to the ground floor was without incident and soon you felt the warm evening air greeting you as you stepped out onto the Great Lawn.

As the convention attendees weren’t due to start arriving for another thirty minutes, the grounds were fairly quiet. Rob and the band were readying a sound-check on the makeshift stage the hotel had set-up along the oceanfront. Catching his eye, you waved before making your way over to him.

“Hey, hey good lookin’!” Pulling you into a tight hug, Rob stepped back from the embrace as Mike sauntered over to say hello. 

“Can you believe we’re here Robbie?” 

“Twenty years in the making eh?”

With a clap on the back, he moved to fuss over the amps. Turning towards the sea of empty tables in front of them, a sigh of contentment marked Rob’s happiness. 

“Have you seen Misha anywhere?” Scanning the vicinity for your boss, you weren’t terribly surprised when you didn’t see him. 

“He’s technically a surprise, so if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say check the pavillion.” Shrugging, Rob pointed to the row of canvas tents to the left of the stage. Apparently this convention was a big deal. You’d heard whispers through the fandom, speculating on whether Jensen would be performing tonight. Having never heard the man sing, you were looking forward to the possibility.

With another quick hug, you waved goodbye to Rob before jumping from the stage to land in the soft green grass bordering the set. People were beginning to trickle in now. Groups of two and three at a time turned into a steady stream as the sun started its descent behind the drum kits. 

Noticing Mark leaning against one of the large white tables with an iced tea in hand you wandered over to say hello. You’d never officially met him, and he’d been one of your favorite characters on Supernatural. Slowly you were catching up on all of the other shows in which he’d made an appearance. 

“Hey, Mark it’s good to meet you.” Pulling his gaze from the phone he held in one hand, the older man regarded you silently for a moment. Squinting as he hesitantly extended his, you hurried to introduce yourself.

“Ah yes, you must be the infamous Ms. [Y/L/N].” “That is a beautiful dress darling, I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious in my choices.”

With a smirk and a low chuckle he withdrew his hand. 

“Please tell me you’re playing tonight Mark. I’ve been dying to see you on drums in person.” 

Even though he had left the show the year prior, he still toured with the conventions and you’d seen videos of him participating in the concert on Saturday nights. 

“ ‘Fraid not love, I havn’ played since I lef’ Supernatural. In fact, this is also my last year on the circuit.” As your face fell, you did your best to hide your disappointment. 

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll still be around, just not with Creation after next month. Be sure and say hello if you see me elsewhere though.” 

Glancing down at his phone, he looked back up at you, squeezed your shoulder and excused himself before wandering away through the maze of tables.

Suddenly you heard the melodic sound of Misha’s laughter. Looking up, you scanned the crowd and noticed him across the lawn taking a picture with a fan who’d literally walked straight into him while staring into his phone. Smiling, you moved to join him. Despite the terrible way he’d handled himself, you couldn’t seem to stay upset when you were near him. 

Maybe you were moving on from the un-necessary petulance you’d felt, or maybe it was just Misha’s personality. Rather than his name however, a sharp intake of breath came from your mouth when you felt warm arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

“Heya Sunshine..”  Whispered words curled around your ear, chasing a shiver down your spine. Spinning you in his arms, your breath caught briefly as Norman stared down at you. 

“Ya look amazin’…jes beautiful.” Flushing at the unexpected compliment, your eyes darted to the ground. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself Mr. Reedus.” With a half smile you stepped back to admire the man standing before you. His dark auburn hair fell in messy waves over his blue eyes, as it always did. Although he still wore jeans he’d switched to a dark distressed pair, the legs haphazardly pulled down over tightly laced boots. In lieu of the Henley from earlier, a black band tee took its place. The soft cotton fabric stretching over his broad chest and thick arms caught your attention as he pulled you into his neck for a hug and tightened his grip. Inhaling deeply, you sighed as the smell of worn leather and fresh-turned dirt surrounded you.

****************************************

“I promise, I’m fine. It was great to meet you too!” Pulling his hand from the man’s shoulder, Misha lowered the dark glasses from where they rested in his messy hair to cover his eyes as he threaded his way through the crowds in search of you.

He’d noticed you talking to Rob earlier and headed in that direction, his stride confident and filled with purpose. Scanning the crowd at the front of the stage he intently sought the black and blue dress you’d been wearing. When his gaze shifted and found you standing off to the side of the lawn he smiled, intent on telling you how gorgeous you looked. His steps faltered and the smile he’d been wearing moments before dimmed as Norman walked up and wrapped his arms around your waist. [Y/F/N] laughed at something he said, turning in his arms to brush hair from his face. Even though he had no valid reason to be upset, his stomach twisted into knots, a dull ache blossoming in his chest.

One thing was certain, Norman certainly seemed authentic in his efforts. Misha smiled sardonically as the other man pressed his lips to [Y/F/N]’s temple, tucking a white flower into her hair before settling an arm casually around her waist and pulling her into his side.

**********************

When the lights dimmed and Rob took his place center stage the crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and screaming. A permanent grin settled into place immediately. You thoroughly enjoyed seeing everyone support Louden Swain. Although you’d only discovered the band a few months prior, it hadn’t taken long for you to become a fan. Raising your arms over your head, you clapped and cheered as loud as the rest of the audience, hips and the gauzy fabric draping them beginning to sway to the Indie Rock.

Shifting from his place at your side, Norman moved to settle his arms across the front of your hips, pulling you in against his solid frame. When his lips pressed themselves into your hairline you stilled, the lilting sounds of the band drowned out by your suddenly racing heart. As simple of a gesture as it was, the lingering feeling ceased to fade, even after he had pulled back.

“You’re really taking being my date seriously eh?” Twisting your head to look up at the man behind you, a playful smirk ghosted over your face. 

“O’ course, why wouldn’t I?” Shrugging, you turned back to the stage where Rob had started singing one of your favorite Louden Swain songs; Pop-Tart Heart. 

“If’n ah didn’t enjoy spenin’ time witcha, ah wouldn’t. I don’t do pity dates [Y/F/N].”

“Well, as much as I’m enjoying myself, I should probably go check in with Misha. Work beckons ya know?” Squeezing his arms around you once more, Norman nodded before stepping back. 

“I’ll be here when ya get back. These guys are pretty good.”

Winding your way through the group of people who’d drifted their way to the front of the stage, you spotted Clif hanging back by the group of tents set aside for the guests. 

“Hey Clif!” Waving to the surly looking man, he nodded in your direction as you approached.

“Is Misha in there?” Craning your neck around his massive shoulders, he laughed at your attempts to see passed him. 

“Yeah, go on in [Y/F/N].” Holding the curtain aside for you, Clif stepped away from the small door. Immediately you were greeted by a wall of hired muscle, perma-frowns etched into their tanned features. Black suits, and tinted wrap-around sunglasses glared back at you as their arms crossed over their chests. 

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m [Y/F/N].” The men didn’t even look at you, their gaze trained straight ahead. 

“Uh..alrighty then. Hey, Misha?!” 

“Yah?” Smiling as he poked his head through the men, his attention landed on you, expression turning to stone. 

“[Y/F/N], hey c’mon in.”

Turning from you he gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, carelessly discarding it on an empty chair across the room. 

“Thought I’d check in to see if I could help with anything. Haven’t heard from you today really.” 

The earlier sheepishness had returned, and you looked anywhere but at the man in front of you, his perfectly tanned skin framed by low-hanging denim.

The tension in the space between you was thick enough that when Jared sauntered over to say hello; tossing an almond up in the air before snapping it into his mouth, he nearly choked. 

“Woah, [Y/F/N], you look amazing! Doesn’t that dress…wow?!” Nudging Misha, (who was too busy pulling on his button up shirt to even bother making fun of the taller man for nearly choking on nuts) he threw an arm around his shoulders, intent on asking if he too thought you looked great. 

“Oh, uhm..yeah. S’nice.” At Jared’s questioning expression, you sighed, shaking your head by way of explanation. 

“Y'all okay?” 

“Yeah, I think so, we just gotta sort some things out.”

Turning your own now icy stare towards your boss, you looked pointedly at the man, while still addressing Jared. 

“Just got some…kinks..to work out.” “Still gettin’ used to each other is all.”

With a worried grimace, the taller man held his hands out in front of his body, as if to keep himself out of the conversation. 

“Alright, well I’m.. just gonna…I’ll see y'all later.” Leaning over to whisper through your hair, Jared placed a large hand on your back, “don’t be too hard on him eh? I know y'all just met, but he cares for you.” 

With that, he strolled off across the room, hailing Jensen as his brother was ushered in the back door.

Tentatively, you reached out to touch Misha’s back, which was still turned away from you, his head held in one hand, the other resting on his hip. 

“Mish?” “Can we talk?” With a heavy sigh, the man shook his head, running a hand over his face before raking his fingers through his hair. 

“Sure [Y/F/N], what do you want to talk about?” Turning to face you, his expression hard, you were taken aback by his attitude. 

“Really? Well, how about for starters why you mysteriously disappeared this morning after -” leaning closer so as to be out of ear shot of the others gathered in the room “-after what..happened.” “I’m assuming it directly relates to why you’ve ignored me all day? Also, what’s up with your sudden possessiveness over me?” “And third, whatever this -” waffling your hands between the two of you, you continued “-is, I need to know we’re on the same page. You’re fucking married Misha, and after you just up and left? I felt like a cheap…cheap…FLOOZY!”

Turning from your boss as you tried to hide the angry tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, you bowed your head, intent on keeping your shit together. 

“[Y/F/N]…I …I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for awhile now.” 

Gripping your shoulder, he turned you to face him, eyes widening when he saw you fighting with your emotions. 

“Hey..hey don’t be upset, c’mere I-” the man tried pulling you against his body to comfort you but you didn’t want comforting, you wanted to punch him in the face. 

Fortunately you only thought the sentiment and didn’t act on it. One, he was your boss and despite everything you wanted to keep your job. Two, he was about to go put on a show for a couple thousand fans, and you’d feel kinda shitty if you wrecked his pretty nose. And three, Jared had requested you go easy on the man. So, you let him wrap his arms around you and crush you to his chest.

Sighing to yourself, you gently pulled back from his embrace. 

“Misha, talk to me. We have to talk about what my role is in this relationship. For having just met me, there’s no rational reason for you to apparently like me as more than an employee, so there’s clearly some sub-section of the contract I overlooked that details this. You’re married, and two weeks ago I was just another fangirl trying to get you to notice me. Now my life is completely different and I just don’t know what to do or how to act.” 

The anger began to dissipate while you listened to the rhythmic thudding of Misha’s chest.

Flopping into the same chair that held his abandoned t-shirt, Misha tugged on your wrist, so when you toppled off balance you only just caught yourself in time to instead take a seat on the adjacent chair.

Steepling his fingers as he hunched forward in his own seat, Misha considered his thoughts only briefly before starting. 

“Okay. So. I’ve got approximately -eight- minutes until they call me out on stage to introduce Jensen and Jared, so as much as I want to discuss this at length, I’m afraid it’s not possible right this second.  There are two options: one, we can touch on each of your concerns and revisit them later tonight, or two, you can go enjoy the rest of the show and we’ll put the entire conversation on hold. Again.” 

“I can say now, tomorrow is the craziest day, Sundays are always insane at conventions. There is a very real possibility that we won’t have another opportunity to discuss this until we’re on the way back to Washington.” 

Misha’s cobalt eyes searched your [Y/E/C] ones, trying to read your mood to see what you wanted to do.

Nodding in understanding you almost decided to put it off again. It was too important of a conversation to keep pushing aside but he was right, it was going to take time to address all of the questions you had. As much as you knew you’d dwell on his answers, it was also quite likely that knowing nothing would be worse. So you opted for the first choice. 

“Just..just give me something to think on. Will that work?” 

You’d completely forgotten about the concert happening just outside the thin canvas walls, not that you were sure how, the noise of the crowd was deafening as Rob finished the vocals to ‘She Waits.’

“Okay… so you want a quickie?” The smirk on Misha’s face to match his wink let you know he too, was less upset than he had been. Rolling your eyes, you acquiesced. 

“Yeah, yeah, on with it Sparky. Your public awaits.” As if on cue, Clif pulled back the canvas of the door, eyes searching the room. 

“Kim, Misha, you guys are on deck.”

Nodding, Misha walked with you towards his waiting bodyguard and friend. 

“One: “Personal Assistant covers a lot more than business transactions. Remember when I told you being my assistant meant I’d have to be able to trust you with parts of my life not many are privy to? Well I wasn’t only talking about my credit score and social security number. Two: Yes, I’ve been quiet today because I couldn’t figure out how to explain my poor decision via text and I was afraid you were angry with me, so I wanted to give you some space.”

Rob’s voice grew louder, Rich joining in with a ridiculous joke about someone taking the JCPenney coat sale waaayyy too seriously..and then they were announcing him. 

“Ladies and gents, your favorite angel…Mr. Misha Collins!!” The pitch of the crowd increased substantially as Misha turned to face you, one hand weaving through your hair. Locking his eyes on yours, he continued. 

“Three: Yes, I am married. Happily, I might add. But Vicki and I have already spoken about this, so it’s up to you to decide what you want from this relationship. Also. I was jealous. Yes, its unrealistic and completely illogical for our situation, but there ya have it.” 

With a quick smile, he pulled you to him, his lips briefly pressing against yours before he leaned back.  Ducking under Clif’s arm, he shouted to the crowd about virtues, and how being patient just never worked for him either as he grabbed the temporary railing and jumped over it onto the stage.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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