#build a pyre (begin again)

[a-passing-storm]

I love Son Lux! I love that they keep coming back to the same few songs and just consistently making them better and gradually making them more hopeful.

[not-another-leon-blog]

Condor Two

RE4! Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary- You're Leon's partner, separated by villagers when you arrive in Spain. Word Count: 3425 Established Relationship A/N: Something different, there will be more to the Family Matters series coming soon!

I should’ve gone with Leon, you thought. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be tied to a pole and helplessly watching a Spanish police officer being secured to a pyre. What a way to begin your search for the president’s daughter.

Even more frustrating, you could hear Leon talking in your earpiece, trying to reach you. But with your hands literally tied, there was no way for you to respond. You hoped Hunnigan would be able to get a location on you. Of course, Ashley Graham remained the priority. But knowing Leon, he wouldn’t rest until he’d recovered the both of you.

The scent of old manure and death filled your nose. Your wrists and ankles ached and burned from the ropes binding you. At least you didn’t have to go looking for that village, you supposed. Still, you doubted that you’d find Ashley here.

As the sun rose, you surveyed your surroundings. Old wood buildings surrounded you. Chickens, cows, and pigs roamed freely and the villagers… well, you didn’t know what to make of them.

You and the officer tied to the pyre had been ambushed. They’d slashed the tires of the police car that had brought you out here and quickly overwhelmed both you and the officer. There was a throbbing in the back of your head where you’d been hit before waking up here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

Villagers wandered aimlessly through the small town, muttering things under their breath in Spanish. Something wasn’t right with them. Black veins covered their pale skin and their eyes were wild. It didn’t even seem like they fully registered pain. Some were covered in cuts and blood that they hadn’t bothered to clean and the bandages you did see were old and dirty.

“Condor two,” came Leon’s voice again, “Condor two, do you read me?” You rolled your eyes and groaned. You wanted nothing more than to answer him. “Y/n, where are you?”

Waiting for Leon to find you wasn’t an option. If your suspicions were correct, you were next on the sacrifice list.

The villagers had taken your guns when they’d taken you, but they hadn’t stripped you of your jacket. The small knife sheath strapped to your forearm was still hidden beneath the sleeve. There wasn’t much room to move, but you could move your arm against the pole just enough to free the knife from its sheath. 

Warm leather fell into your hand and you gripped the handle as tight as the rope would allow. The angle was awkward and your hand was already beginning to cramp, but you slowly began to saw away at the rope.

Keeping an eye on the villagers, you watched them begin to gather in the middle of town where they’d constructed the pyre. As long as you stayed quiet, hopefully, you’d avoid drawing their attention. 

A thought crossed your mind. How were you going to save the officer? He struggled and yelled, pleading with the villagers to let him go. His words carried no weight. 

The ropes around your wrists fell to the ground. Now you just had to free your ankles and then–

One of the villagers approached the pyre, a thick burning stick in his hands. Before you could blink, he tossed it into the wood pile and within seconds the whole thing had gone up in flames. The officer screamed and flailed. The smell of burning flesh filled your nose and you knew there was no saving him.

Heart pounding, you reached down and cut the rest of the ropes. Finally free, you crouched down and quickly dashed between the nearest buildings. If there was anything you knew for certain, it was that you couldn’t stay here. You didn’t stand a chance against a whole town with only a knife.

You turned the corner and skid to a stop. Not everyone was in the town square. An old woman stood in front of you, a pitchfork held firm in her bony hands. She raised the pitchfork and swung so fast you were barely able to dodge. You dropped to the ground and kicked her feet out from under her. You were on her in a second, pinning her shoulders down with your knees and driving your knife into her temple.

She lay dead and you quickly searched her body for anything that might be useful. Your shoulders slumped. Nothing.

Mud squished behind you and you turned to find a group of four more villagers stalking toward you.

"C'mon," you muttered, frustration laced in your voice like venom. There was no winning this fight. Your only choice was to turn tail and run. But to where? The last thing you wanted to do was run deep into the woods with nothing more than you knife. So what–

An axe whizzed past your head, lodging itself into the wall behind you. "I take it we can't talk this out," you said. The villagers only growled back at you.

You vaulted over the fence next to you as they pounced, narrowly avoiding another axe. Then you were running as fast as possible.

Branches scratched your skin, mud sloshed and slid beneath your feet. You didn't know where you were going, and nor did you really care at the moment.

You burst through the trees and found yourself in a small clearing. You stopped to see if anyone had followed you and when you didn't hear anything but the sound of rustling trees and chirping birds, you let yourself relax.

"Condor one," you said, reaching to activate your earpiece. "Condor one, I'm here." No reply. "Leon?" Nothing. You tossed your arms. Of course your equipment would stop working the instant you were free.

You looked back toward the village. Smoke rose into the sky. The screams of that poor officer still echoed in your ears. You knew you needed to go back, that if you were going to find Leon the best place to start looking was there. But having nothing more than your knife to defend yourself with made you hesitant.

Still, it's not like you had much of a choice.

"You got the stench of battle on ya," a rough voice said. You whirled on your heels, knife ready. A man in a black cloak stood behind you, a purple mask covering the lower half of his face. "You can put the knife down, I mean you no harm."

"Who are you?" You demanded, not lowering your knife.

He chuckled. "Just a man tryin' ta make a living. Got some rare things on sale for ya, stranger." He held out an arm, revealing a variety of weapons and ammunition along the inside of his sleeve.

"Impressive," you mused. "But I don't have any money.  So thanks, but no thanks."

"Nothin' wrong with doing things the old fashioned way," the merchant replied. "How 'bout a trade?"

His offer was tempting. You didn't have much, but maybe there was something you could give him in exchange for that pistol you spotted on his sleeve.

You lowered the knife and folded your arms. What did you have to offer? Your knife wasn't worth much and you were hesitant to part with it. Aside from that… Your heart sank as you remembered the one valuable you did have on you. 

Leon had gifted you a necklace on your birthday last year. A beautiful silver piece with a small yet intricately detailed bird hanging from it. He never told you what it had cost, but you knew it had to be expensive. Subconsciously, your hand came up to touch it.

"That's a fine piece you got there," the merchant said.

You didn't want to, but it could mean the difference between life or death. After a moment of silence, you asked, "What will it get me?"

"It may be small, but this beauty packs a mean punch." He showed off a revolver. "And as a first-time customer, I'll toss this in free of charge." He flaunted a can of first aid spray. "Whaddya say, stranger?"

Given the circumstances, you weren't sure you could pass up the offer. Reluctantly, you took off the necklace and handed it to him. As promised, you received both the revolver and spray.

The merchant must have noticed how your eyes continued to follow the necklace as he held it. "This is in good hands, I assure you. Now, don't go gettin' yourself killed." There was nothing more to say. The deal was done. With a simple nod, you turned away and began to trek through the forest back toward the village.

You felt naked without the weight of the bird against your chest. Ever since Leon had given it to you, you'd almost never taken it off. What would he think when he saw you without it? That necklace was his silent claim on your heart.

Romantic relationships between agents were frowned upon, forbidden almost. As far as the agency was concerned, it was a conflict of interest and if anyone found out, it was likely they'd separate you. Leon couldn't have that. He needed you as his partner both on and off the field, to be sure you were (somewhat) safe and alive.

He must be worried sick, you thought. Unless it was absolutely necessary, Leon hardly ever allowed radio silence between you two. It had been hours since you last had contact with him. Hell, the last time you saw him was when he left the police car to find the first police officer that had wandered off, instructing you to keep an eye on the second. 

You checked the chamber of the revolver. Six bullets. Six shots. You had to make them count.

You tried your earpiece again. Still no answer. Maybe the signal would get better the closer–

"Mother of god!" You yelped, pawing at your ear in pain. A loud screech filled your ear, followed by the sharp crackling of static. 

A voice was coming through the other end. It was Hunnigan.

"Condor two," she said, "What is your status?"

"You could warn me next time before you almost blow out my eardrum," you shot back. "I'm still breathing. All four limbs are accounted for. I'm on my way back to the village."

"Negative, Condor two," Hunnigan replied curtly. "There's a good chance Baby Eagle is being held in a church by the lake. I've sent you the coordinates."

"Well, I'd love to see those, but I've lost pretty much all my stuff." You could practically see her rolling her eyes.

"Alright, I have a lock on your position. Head north from your position. Leon is on his way there now."

"Roger that, Roost. Condor two out."

You finally managed to find a path leading north. So far you'd encountered no one else and you hoped it'd stay that way. You wanted to hang on to your six bullets for as long as you could.

"Condor one?" You tried again. If Hunnigan was able to reach you now, you should be able to reach Leon. Right? "Leon?" Silence. You'd be having a serious chat with your techies when you got back.

The lake couldn't be too far now. Trees and brush was beginning to thin and that musty lake smell began to hover in the air. The gravel path you walked along slowly turned into a muddy trail. You emerged onto the bank of the lake. A castle stood menacingly in the distance on the other side. To your left, you saw old wood scaffolding webbing up the side of a cliff. A dock sat just underneath it and at the top, you could just barely make out a church's roof.

Looks like that was where you were heading. With a new determination, you began the long walk over, falling back into the treeline to avoid detection from the water and clifftops.

~~

Ashley Graham was the priority. She was the one they were here to save. Even if one of you had to be left behind or killed to do it, she was the objective. 

But Leon refused to leave you. Even if he had to take your body back to the States, there was no reality where he left you here in this hell.

He'd come so close to you in the village. He'd seen you through his binoculars and then you were gone. Once the villagers had retreated into their church, he'd searched the place high and low, finding only your guns and equipment. He was fearing the worst knowing you were out there with only a knife, assuming it hadn’t given out on you yet.

He continued along the winding path, still trying to catch his breath. The village chief had nearly choked him to death not long before and he still felt the ghost of his fingers on his neck.

"Looks like you're in quite the rush, stranger." Leon stopped and rolled his eyes. It seemed like this merchant was there at almost every turn.

Oh well. Leon could stand to lose some excess weight from his bag. As he opened his mouth to reply, his words caught in his throat. There, among the vast array of goods, was your necklace.

"Cat got yer tongue?" The merchant chuckled.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Leon said, his voice low.

"What? This?" The merchant held up the necklace. "An exchange with a traveler lookin' to keep their head on their shoulders."

A part of Leon wanted to be hurt that you'd traded it. But his more rational side understood that you didn't have a choice. He'd found everything but your knife in the village and he knew well enough that you'd need more than just that to make it through this.

The merchant was a reasonable enough man. Leon was sure he could trade something to get the necklace back. Without a second thought, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out two silver goblets and a handful of gems he'd found in the village.

"Must hold sentimental value if yer gonna trade all that for this," the merchant observed. "Can't put a price on that." Still, the merchant tossed Leon the necklace and stashed away the rest. "Pleasure doin' business with ya."

That was easy, Leon thought. Much easier than he anticipated.

Pop pop

Leon perked up. Two solid gunshots had come from the direction of the church. It had to be you. It had to be.

He took off running, not caring if he drew attention to himself. He had to find you.

~~

The church was crawling with villagers. You'd managed to kill three already, but the rest materialized from everywhere. From behind the church, from the graveyard, from the way of the lake, they were everywhere.

Down to four bullets, you had a choice to make. Ashley could be just within reach. You could potentially thin out this crowd for Leon by the time he got here, make his job easier at the cost of (most likely) your life.

Or you could turn tail and run. You refused to keep running.

Someone grabbed you from behind, wrapping their arm around your neck to choke and hold you still while another prepared to swing their axe.

You dropped your weight and threw the one holding you over your head. Grabbing your knife, you threw it as hard as you could. The one holding the axe fell with a hard thud. You ran and pulled the knife free, turning just in time to stab it into the head of another.

A pitchfork came flying at you. It whizzed past you, the spokes just barely missing your arm. Blood began to flow from the wound but you had to keep fighting. Any hesitation could result in your death.

Four more surrounded you, cornering you against the fence. Your drew your pistol and fired twice. Two flew back and dropped to the ground. Two bullets left.

You took aim once more and just as you were about to pull the trigger, something slammed into your back. You were thrown fast and far, landing hard against a headstone. The pistol clattered out of reach and when you went to pull your knife, the blade snapped from the hilt.

Your arms shook as you tried to push yourself up, only for them to give out and leave you nearly limp against the headstone. A monster of a man towered over you, a massive hammer held menacingly in his hands. He raised it high over his head.

Time slowed down. Memories began to flash through your mind. Your first time meeting Leon at bootcamp. Sparring with him in the middle of the night, comforting each other when the whole world felt like it was collapsing in on you. The first time he kissed you. 

A sense of peace washed over you as you watched the hammer begin to fall, sunlight glinting off of the metal. 

No. You couldn’t let it end like this. You rolled, the hammer meeting the ground where your head had been not a second before. Scrambling to your feet, you dove for your gun. Back on your feet, you shot down two more villagers. Better to have them dead now and not wait for them to gang up with the big one against you.

Your bullets were gone and your knife was broken. You scanned for anything you might be able to use. The brute marched toward you, hammer ready. You lept over headstones, ripping a shovel from the hands of a dead villager. 

You turned just in time to bring the shovel up to meet the hammer, stopping it in its path. The wood handle splintered, your arms shook with the strength it took to keep the hammer from you. The handle cracked into two pieces and the brute charged into you, throwing you hard against a tree and knocking the air from your lungs. He charged again, hammer high and then–

BANG!!!!

The man stumbled back forward. Another BANG and he fell to the ground lifeless.

“Y/n?” came Leon’s voice. A second later he was in front of you, cupping your face in his hands. 

“I had it handled,” you muttered.

“Of course you did.” He helped you sit up the brushed your hair away from your face. The urge to pull you into his arms was overwhelming, but with the beating you just took he didn’t want to risk hurting you even more. At least you were alive. “Think you can stand?”

You nodded and let him help you up. Your legs were shaking and your head felt dizzy, almost falling into Leon as you tried to regain your balance. He held you against him until the world stopped spinning and you could stand on your own again. 

“What happened?” Leon asked, his arm tightening around your waist, almost as if he were afraid that you’d disappear the moment he let go.

“Got bored, decided to go sightseeing,” you replied. He gave you a look. “We were ambushed and I have been hit in the head too many times today.”

He nodded and dug around in his pocket. "I found something I thought you might want back." He held up the necklace you'd traded with the merchant.

"Leon…" Guilt and shame came over you, but also relief at the sight of it. "I'm sorry, I–"

"I know," he said, moving to fasten it around your neck and tucking it under your collar. "You didn't have a choice, I get it. I also found the rest of your stuff."

A weight lifted off your shoulders. Your pistols felt like a comforting blanket as you strapped them back on. "What would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn," Leon said simply as he hooked an arm around your waist and drew you back to him, crashing his lips against yours. He pulled away and smirked down at you, knowing the kiss left you breathless. 

It took a moment for you to regain your senses and when you finally registered the knowing look on his face, you swatted his chest. “C’mon, Romeo. We still have a job to do.” It took another moment for your feet to start moving again, your body wanting to stay wrapped up in his arms. They couldn’t waste any more time. “Baby Eagle’s still waiting for us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Leon watched as you quickly approached the front gate of the church, a new pep in your step. He’d do everything in his power to make sure you weren’t separated again.

[ivys-garden]

My head cannon endings for all the Hilda cast post finale (Spoilers for season 3)

Astrid

She remains in her home, never moving away. However she makes sure to visit Hilda often, which has become easier now that she's learned to fly again. She also doesn't get to lonely as she invites the Pooka to like with her and helps him practice shape shifting. When she dies she is buried where the fairy mound once was to be closer to her family.

Raven

He travels the world but always returns to Trollburg, on cold winter nights he joins Hilda and her family for tea and games, maybe the yule lads join in too. On his travels he spreads the story on Hilda far and wide even long after she's gone.

Tryla & Baba

They remain at the mountain most days but do ecompany Hilda on adventures during her weekly visit. They still live there long after everyone else is gone, telling tales of Hilda to the next hundreds of generations of trolls.

Anders

He continues living in Trollburg, working on wall and city maintenance with the bellkeeper. He never gets back together with Johana but he does try and be a better dad to Hilda, including taking her on that camping trip.

Johana

Begins selling her paintings to people, she also starts painting things from her and Hilda's adventures, including the Fae Ilse, which she still thinks about often. When she dies Hilda burries her at the fairy mound with Auntie Astrid, but she keeps a lock of her hair in a locket. One day, in the far future when Hilda has finally moved on she hangs that locket at the remains of the cabin.

Tontu

Just keeps doing what he does mostly. Going on adventures with Hilda occasionally but mostly keeping to himself. He remains in the house for a long time, even after Hilda had died.

Alfur

Keeps writing reports for the northern counties but he also begins working with Gerda and the safety patrol, his days are busy but that's how he likes them. When he dies, if elfs even do, he would be given a funeral pyre by the lost clan and Hilda returns to the northern counties to scatter his ashes.

Louise

Would go on many more adventures with the trio and would start to develop a crush on David, one that David would reciprocate. She would eventually become a wildlife photographer.

David

Started researching entomology and now runs an insect focused wildlife centre near the sparrow scout building, enjoying a more peaceful and quiet life than most of his friends. He also assists the linworm in a construction of a new garden on sparrow scout property, sometimes the two of them and Louise have tea together. He was the first to die out of the four and was buried in Trollburgs graveyard, later Louise would be buried with him when she died.

Frida

Finished her training and became a fully fledged witch. She would take over running the Trollburg library from Kaisa after Kaisa was appointed to the witch council. When they were teenagers she and Hilda started dating but they never decided to get married.

Hilda

She still goes on adventures in her teenage years, it wouldn't be Hilda if she didn't. She and Johanna also practised flying with their fae magic. She always makes sure to keep in touch with Astrid and Victoria. She continues to paint and make music and becomes a freelance artist like her mum. Twig also grows big enough to ride when he gets older. She lived in her apartment in Trollburg until her death. She and Frida were buried together at the overgrown remains of the cabin

Woodman

He's still there, deep in the woods. even after everyone else has long since died, perhaps he tells the tales of a mysterious blue haired friend to spirits to the passersby.

Or perhaps he would tell you that if you walk deep enough into the woods, you could find an old forest glen where a cabin once was, and you can speak to her spirit yourself

[longlivechips]

Magic Reveil au where....

Arthur goes east for.... something important I'm sure.

He stops, as any noble man would do, to see Hunith.

Gwen has sent a bolt of embroidered cloth as a gift to her host in Ealdor. It cost more than she had made in a season, even as Morgana's maidservant.

Merlin had picked it out.

On Arthur's first trip to Ealdor, no one had been happy to see him. They had not even been particularly happy to see Merlin if Arthur was honest with himself.

But as time past Arthur likes to imagine the people of Ealdor have grown....fond of him in a way. As had he of them.

The children, at least, always seemed happy to see him. Asking questions about Knights and Dragons and 'is it true you killed a REAL unicorn??'

The children of Camelot have been taught to respect him. They are reserved, and polite.

A child in Ealdor, on the other hand, had staired for some time before boldly declaring "mama? Is he fat?"

Arthur saw Merlin in the mischievous twinkle on her otherwise innocent face.

On Arthur's first trip to Ealdor he had been jealous.

He had tried to ignore the pang in his chest when Hunith kissed her sons forhead.

Or when she 'tsk' him for talking with food in his mouth.

They...had each other. In a way very different than the way he had his father.

He thinks of their house, cozy and warm. Beds feet away from each other. He imagines sometimes, what winters here would be like. How they would pass the time, warm in the house as winter raged outside.

He watches Hunith spindle. Gwaine is telling a story. Arthur hardly listens long enough to confirm that the knight isn't hitting on her before his mind moves on.

"It's a drop spindle" she said. He sees it frequently in Ealdor, idle hands always seem to be spinning. He has even seen Gwen do it on occasion.

Hunith showed him. Her hands had felt strong as she did, positioning Arthur's fingers just so.

and so King Arthur of Camelot sat on the dirt floor in a town on no map (until Merlin had added it)

Making yarn.

And he felt warm.

On Arthur's first trip to Ealdor he had watched Merlin sob over the body of a Sorcerer.

They never spoke about it again. Arthur meant to ask but the topic seemed ... unapproachable.

Merlin spoke against magic, if pressed, but Arthur was no fool.

He saw the reflection of the old religion in Merlin. He showed an awareness of the magic of this land that Arthur couldn't comprehend.

Merlin had asked, his first year in Camelot, when they would be celebrating Beltane.

Arthur had nearly twisted out of his seat to correct him. His father has declared it May-day and Arthur can't imagine the stir Merlin would create by calling it something different.

So Arthur never asked about Will. Because he was worried what the answer would be if he did.

Arthur is patient, despite what Merlin says.

He sits calmly, dumbstruck, as a young girl he thinks may be Merlin's cousin complains about King Arthur.

He's ruined her "whole life" she said.

They were going to have a bonfire, and Auntie Hunith was going to do tell them a Fyré Story.

"Magic!" She said, thrilled. "Auntie Hunith makes shapes from the sparks to tell the most amazing stories!! There are knights even in them!"

Arthur asks what the girl's favorite story is.

"The Prince and The Unicorn!" She cries, and leaps up to begin a very passionate performance of a story that Arthur already knows.

On his first trip to Ealdor Arthur builds a pyre for the body of a sorcerer.

Today, he asks Hunith if it's too late to do the bonfire.

The fear he sees in her. The way she stills over her spindle. Breaks his heart.

"I'd hate...." He starts " to think I put you out of your holiday I forget...." She is looking right at him, as though she sees him standing on the edge of a clif he had been ignoring for nearly a decade.

"I forget we are not in my kingdom. I would be... honored to...watch."

He finishes lamley, but the smile that spreads across Hunith's face makes him think she will forgive him for it.

[fixfoxnox]

Pyre (GhostRoachSoap) - In Progress

"Bring all your things and we will build a pyre Find resurrection in the flames And in the fury of alarm bells We shalt begin We shalt begin again" Pyre by Son Lux

Description: Roach wakes up in a new life with all of his memories from his first intact. He sets off on his journey to try and find the people who made his first life worth living: the members of Taskforce 141. Those plans change when he finds himself tossed into the flames once again. Only this time, Roach lives and comes out of the flames baptized with a new purpose: protect this life from those who destroyed his first.

Current Word Count: 4 chapters done, 40k written

Status: In Progress

Part 2

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

[esther-dot]

Any thoughts on Sansa saying she wants the Great Sept burned? Is she a witch?

Dontos nodded. "He made a great pyre of the trees as an offering to his new god. The red priestess made him do it. They say she rules him now, body and soul. He's vowed to burn the Great Sept of Baelor too, if he takes the city." "Let him." When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she'd thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. "I want it burned." "Hush, child, the gods will hear you." "Why should they? They never hear my prayers." (ACOK, Sansa IV)

No, I don't think she's a witch, but there is something to her wishes coming true:

I hope he falls and shames himself, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and screamed. later -> Morros dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists, head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled, wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. But when they disentangled Morros Slynt from his horse, they found him bloodied but alive. "Tommen, we picked the wrong foe for you," the king told his brother. "The straw knight jousts better than that one." (ACOK, Sansa I)

Now, he didn't die, but I still think that's the beginning of a fun little pattern.

Across the city, thousands had jammed into the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya's Hill, and they would be singing too, their voices swelling out over the city, across the river, and up into the sky. Surely the gods must hear us, she thought. [...] ...toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him. later -> Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears. Gentle Mother, font of mercy, [...] She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking. Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps. later -> "It's done! Done! Done! The city is saved. (ACOK, Sansa VII)

Twofer! The people are saved and the Hound's fury/assault ends in him weeping.

Not sure if we should count this one, she did want to kill Joffrey back in AGOT and she thinks about praying for Margaery's protection from him, but I can't remember a specific wish in ASOS:

Sansa followed unresisting. I could never abide the weeping of women, Joff once said, but his mother was the only woman weeping now. In Old Nan's stories the grumkins crafted magic things that could make a wish come true. Did I wish him dead? (ASOS, Sansa V)

Martin is even playing this game in TWOW!

This time her eyes met Harry's. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn't need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. later -> “I hope you joust better than you talk.” For a moment he looked shocked. But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh. “No one told me you were clever.” He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek. “Should we ever wed, you’ll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want.” He grinned. “I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?” (TWOW, Alayne I)

The guy is charmed. Oops, I almost forgot the best example:

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound's voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. "Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants." (AGOT, Sansa VI) later -> much later -> much much later -> Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. "Please, my lord. Mercy. I'll … I'll go, I will, I …" No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended. (ADWD, Jon II)

I understand that politically, it would be a mess for Cersie to blow it up a la the show, and she'd lose all support blah blah blah, but I think the Sept will burn. Maybe that's later during Dany's great kaboomb of KL, but I'd kinda hate it if it was burned as part of everything and didn't get singular focus. Martin so frequently references Ned's death on the steps of the Sept we have this feeling of it being a place of horror and great injustice, and I'd like it to be a real moment. I would find it rewarding if it was Cersei, because she’d unwittingly be carrying out a wish of Sansa’s, a form of justice for the Starks. Also, we have that whole scene of her being enraptured by the tower of the hand burning, she has her own trauma tied to the Sept now, and in her scene of shame, she sees Ned and Sansa, so it’s all very present even as late as ADWD. And we know Martin is prepping another wish coming true in TWOW:

👀👀👀 Regardless of when/how, I do think Sansa will get her wish regarding the Sept and Harry (although I’m sure that one will upset her, she’s very soft-hearted!)

Again, not because she's a witch, because of the author's interest in justice and also, part of his series long project of unwinding simplistic beliefs and notions to replace them with a much more complex truth. Not to say people are dumb to believe in the first place, but more of an examination of faith and how prayers being answered can be the mystical explanation for a something that someone does for us, or we might even do for ourselves. As in, it was Sansa's longstanding kindness to the Hound, the relationship she built with him as well as her treatment of him in the moment that saved her from him.

[jensengirl83]

Leave A Message

Dean x reader

Word Count- 585

Warnings- Angst

A/N- A little drabble I wrote that was on my Patreon before life started kicking my ass lol

Dean sat on the bed, phone in his hand, staring at Y/N’s number. It had been days since he’d called her phone, unable to bring himself to call. She’d been gone a few days now, and he didn’t know how to accept it. How had he lost the woman he loved? How was he supposed to keep going without her by his side? 

He dropped the phone on the mattress, hanging his head. The tears escaped without his consent yet again. He hadn’t been able to control his emotions lately, and it was such a foreign feeling to him. Dean had always been able to shove his feelings deep down, bury them with hunts and whiskey. But, not seeing her face when he woke up in the mornings, hearing her laugh, feel her body against his when he slept was pushing him to the edge of insane. 

Once again, he picked up his phone, wanting, no, needing, to hear her voice. His hands shook as he pressed the button, the phone beginning to ring. Dean held his breath as her voice graced his ears, her voicemail greeting echoing through the silent room. 

“This is Y/N. You know what to do.” 

“Hey, sweetheart. I just had to hear your voice again. I know I said that I would be okay, but I lied. Letting you go has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. God, Y/N, I fucking miss you,” he sighed, his message getting cut off. 

He dialed again, waiting to record another message. 

“Me again,” he laughed wryly, “I needed to tell you how much I love you. It doesn’t seem real that you’re gone. I know you told me to go on, to keep going, but I don’t know if I can, Y/N. Living without you is fucking unbearable.” 

His message was cut off again as he growled in frustration. He just wanted to get all his feelings off his chest. He felt that he would lose his mind if he didn’t. He dialed her number one more time, taking a deep breath to prepare to leave his last message. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I want to tell you that I love you. I’ll always love you, and I’ll never get over losing you, no matter how much time goes by. I hope one day I’ll see your face, kiss your lips, and feel you in my arms again. I miss you, Y/N.” 

Dean ended the call, dropping the phone and breaking out into a sob. Life was so unfair. He had finally let himself love her after years of denying how he felt. All just to lose her. His door opening made him jump, furiously wiping the tears from his face. 

“Are you ready?” Sam asked him sadly. 

“I’ll never be ready, but it’s something I have to do.” 

“Meet you out there?” 

“Yeah, Sam. I’ll be there in a minute,” Dean sighed, every muscle in his body tense, knowing what he had to do. 

He watched as Sam shut his door, his footsteps echoing through the bunker. Dean stood from his seat on the bed, his chest aching and heavy. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the picture of him and Y/N sitting on the hood of the Impala. He squeezed his eyes shut to fight back more tears. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of his room to go build the funeral pyre for the love of his life. 

@flamencodiva​ @foxyjwls007​  @emoryhemsworth​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @hardcoresupernaturalfans​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @lyarr24​  @akshi8278​ @ellewritesfix05​ @winchest09​ @defenderrosetyler​ @hobby27​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​   @atc74​ @superfanficnatural​  @supernatural-love14​ @vicmc624​ @squirrelnotsam​ @tatted-trina6​ @xhannahbananax03​ @coffeebooksandfandom​   @malfoysqueen54​   @deans-baby-momma​ @lovelyrocker​ @fablesrose​ @maralisa124​ @wayward-dreamer​ @aimee-ginge​ @anathewierdo​ @donnaintx​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @itsdesiree86​ @kyjey​ @roxytheimmortal​ @briagallen​ @aubageddon91​ @lunarmoon8361​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @stoneyggirl​ @kitkatd7​ @writercole​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @allonsy-yesiwill​  @krazykelly​ @440mxs-wife​ @rebelemilu​ @sarahbaker2010​  @tyferbebe​ @metalfangirl​ @redbarn1995​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @izzathequeen​ @heavensangel45135​  @entersand-man​   @supraveng​ @percywinchester27​ @hintsofhoney​ @bobbie3939​ @waynes-multiverse​   @watermelonlipstick​ @katelynw931-blog​ @soaringeag1e​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @makeadealwithdean​ @deandreamernp​ @pink-sparkly-witch​ @thelastpyle​ @nancymcl​ @samsgirl93​​​​ @maliburenee​​​  @marvelouslyme96​​​ 

[bbybladeee]

lunar eclipse enters hasta nakshatra on march 25th @ 4am EST

We currently are experiencing a Full Moon Lunar Eclipse in Hasta (हस्त), the nakshatra that pierces the veil of illusion through discernment. This nakshatra fully resides in the sign of sidereal Virgo, in the center of an earthy and materialistic sign. For the next six months, we are focused on obtaining our goals by refining our skills and sharpening our intelligence. Eclipses bring our attention to what is ending so something else can begin. Lunar Eclipses ask us to let go of our deep emotional baggage (likely feelings that have been building for months or even years) and release them so that we can make room for positive change. Lunar Eclipses can be emotional times that heighten our senses, perceptions, memories, dreams. Odds are, the eclipse will trigger an unexpected event either perceived as good or bad that you will later understand in-depth why it happened the way that it did. The purpose of an eclipse is to shine light on the truth when you’re blinded by your emotions and desires. Eclipses clear away all obstacles obscuring your vision so that you can see your life path clearly. Lunar Eclipses tend to lead to the end of bad friendships, draining careers, and all other setbacks. There is little to no chance of getting things reversed. Eclipses demand that we move forward.

Hasta is embedded with sthapaniya agama shakti—the power to place things directly into our hands. Hasta’s goal is to attain the never-ending knowledge of the divine and explore the world around us with humility. It has the ability to bring goals to life quickly and place tangible results in our hands. The overall purpose of Hasta is to find spiritual liberation, or moksha, through the journey of naming a goal and then accomplishing it, the ability to speak what you want into existence. Although Hasta is in the materialistic sign of Virgo, it has the deep desire to transmute the spiritual into the material and back again. It craves to understand the connection between the two planes.

Hasta (हस्त) can mean “hand,” indicating skill, artistry, and a hard-working nature. The common English language words like hand, handy, hassle, haggle, haste, hard, harness etc are said to be derived from Hasta or Hastha. Hasta is ruled by the stars α Crv, β Corvi, δ Crv, γ Crv, and ε Crv, all residing within the Corvus constellation. The constellation of Corvus is supposed to be a crow. In Greek mythology, Princess Coronis was the lover of Apollo. When Coronis became pregnant, Apollo appointed his personal messenger, a white raven, to guard Coronis for the duration of her pregnancy. While carrying Apollo’s child, she became sexually involved with Prince Ischys, a mortal. When the raven realized what had happened, it brought the news to Apollo of his lover’s infidelity. Apollo became so angered that the raven didn’t peck out the eyes of Prince Ischys on sight that Apollo cursed the raven’s pure white feathers to be scorched black. Apollo then kills Prince Ischys and sends his sister Artemis to kill Princess Coronis in a funeral pyre. But before she was murdered, they removed her baby, Asclepius, from her womb. And afterwards, Coronis was tossed to the heavens to become the constellation Coronis. This tale warns the listener of the consequences of ego, ill speech, lying, infidelity, and disloyalty, all vices of the nakshatra Hasta. The Lunar Eclipse in Hasta inspires us to believe that we can achieve all that we put our minds to, and that we can manifest anything into the material realm.

Hasta is symbolized by hands, fists, and open palms. This represents power, dexterity, communication, and blessings. Our hands possess the fate of our souls. It acts like a map that translates the cosmos into lines on our palms (e.g. palmistry). This is because the hand symbolizes creation, craftsmanship, hard work, and skill. Hasta blesses us with a lot of skills that help us to survive in this material world, especially problem solving and putting things in order. The symbolism of the hand suggests the grasping nature of Hasta, and an ability to grab and hold on to all sorts of things. This grasping nature can be material, spiritual, mental, emotional, or physical. The symbolism of Hasta is a representation of attainment of the end or material object over the procedure of the attainment. The very symbol refers to the fact that Hasta holds the promise of immediate acquisition of the desired object by dint of sheer skill. This nakshatra also symbolizes agreements and greetings as represented by the hand shake. Hasta represents our urge to serve the Divine through being of service to others and nature. Mudras are positions that we can place our hands in that have various meanings. You can find mudras in all types of religious symbolism from Hinduism, to Buddhism, to Christianity. Most of the type you will find Divine beings with mudra hand placements that represent bestowing blessings and peacefulness. The hamsa symbol is also associated with Hasta nakshatra. Hasta can also represent the fingers, rings, wrists, bracelets, and bangles. Rings can represent beauty and even love and marriages. Rings and bangles represent the eternal commitment that comes with marrying someone. Both rings and bangles can be used by married women in times of hardships. When getting a divorce, annulment of a marriage, or death of a partner, rings and other jewelry have been used in place of a proper dowry to help a woman who has lost her main form of income (her husband).

Hasta is related to the anahata chakra (अनाहत), or heart chakra, because of its association with the hands and arms. This chakra is said to be connected to our feelings of compassion, understanding, kindness, and love. It is at the seat of one’s life force energy. In the Upanishads, it is described as a small flame residing within the heart. Anahata chakra is also said to have the ability to make decisions outside the realm of karma. One can make decisions based on the heart or one’s higher self, not the unfulfilled emotions and desires of lower nature. Meditation on this chakra is said to bring about siddhis, or psychic abilities. As such, Hasta has a connection to the mystical realms and usually has an understanding of the esoteric and occult. But first, one must leave behind their old way of thinking before being able to accept that esoteric knowledge and occult understandings are real to begin with. Hasta can also be symbolized by the sun, sunrays, and bright stars in the night sky. And just like our hand has five fingers, the most popular modern depiction of stars are five-point stars. The sun’s thermal energy sustains all life on earth and keeps it nourished. When humans first moved from the hunter-gatherer lifestyle to farmers, the most important part of this transition was our ability to use tools and our ability to care for livestock. Animal husbandry changed the way we farmed the land, and thus cattle and sheep are considered to be symbols of life and even civilization. All modern civilization revolves around livestock. We owe our technological advancements to our ability to care for animals. The potter’s wheel can also act as a symbol of Hasta, representing hard work, refinement, and the time required to achieve perfection. Another symbol of Hasta are cattle and buffalo. Cattle is the animal of life while buffalo is the animal of self-sacrifice. Both animals give until there is nothing left to give. This represents the sacrificing and giving nature of Hasta, often donating to charity and volunteering their time to the collective. Hasta feels the best when others put their faith in them and think highly of their abilities. Hasta enjoys being in service to others, however it must not give away all of their light.

Hasta is ruled by Savitar, the god of the Sun and its light. Savitar dispels the darkness of ignorance from our mind and infuses it with Divine intelligence. He shines as the light of intelligence, skill, health and positivity within us. He inspires us to see everything in a more positive light. He blesses us with the power of recognition and understanding of things. Savitar has the ability to manifest what we are seeking and place it in our possession. He is also the source of the creative and procreative energy of all beings. Yet, strong intellect, if not balanced by an open heart, can also make us too self-centered, insensitive or even greedy and egoistic.

Hasta is also connected to the Moon. Bhuvaneshvari (भुवनेश्वरी), or Parvati (पार्वती), is the Mahavidya associated with the Moon. Bhuvaneshvari is a compound of the words Bhuvana Isvari, meaning “Goddess of the World” or “Queen of the Universe.” She is mother of the world, or whose body comprises all of the fourteen lokas (syncretized with the seven circles of heaven and seven circles of hell) of the cosmos. She embodies all of existence, acting as a representation of the material, mental, emotional, and spiritual planes. Bhuvaneshwari is the creator of the five elements. Bhuvaneshwari is the creator of the five elements. The Saptha Matrika, the Seven Mother Goddesses) are said to have emanated from her beeja mantra: Hreem (Hreemkara). Just like how there are 7 days in a week (seven solar cycles, or days, in every week), there are seven powers that Bhuvaneshvari possess, symbolized by the saptamatrika.

This particular Lunar Eclipse has the Sun, Mercury, and Rahu on one side with the Moon and Ketu on the other. Mercury is the signifier for Hasta, so Mercury being involved is a good sign. However Mercury is opposing the nakshatra of Hasta. So this Lunar Eclipse is all about balance: balance of the mind and body, balance of the mental and emotional, balance of the upper and lower. The Moon being with Ketu allows for us to reach new emotional and spiritual heights, but we have to be willing to remove ego from our feelings. We must not get caught up in judgements, critics, and negative opinions. We must remove ourselves from the need to belittle others or ourselves verbally. When we can detach from our primal emotions, we can unlock our ability to see beyond that which is in front of us. Both the Moon and Ketu are in Hasta nakshatra. However, the Sun is in Uttara Bhadrapada while Mercury and Rahu are in Revati. We are getting to the root of what allows us to feel like we have purpose in life. But we might become entitled and blinded by what we want if we aren’t careful. We can slip into our ego state easily with Rahu irritating the Sun. And Mercury might accidentally say something it doesn’t mean if we aren’t careful. We need to  keep up unnecessary comments and complaints to ourselves or we risk saying something that creates setbacks in our goals. Our words hold more weight and meaning than we may realize at this time.

Individual Interpretation

Full Moon Lunar Eclipses are connected to our emotions, feelings, moods, and needs. Hasta Lunar Eclipse intellectually creative and able to come up with original ideas and new ways of doing things. Our speech and writing are more thoughtful, allowing us to express how we feel more effectively. It helps us to interact with the world and engage in its game with a little bit of healthy detachment and sense of humor. It encourages us to take things more lightly and look at difficult situations in life or obstacles with curiosity of a child, rather than taking it too seriously. Challenges, after all, are our opportunities to learn, progress and grow stronger. Your foresight and intuition are heightened. With Hasta and Virgo stimulating our mental faculties, we are becoming more aware of our surroundings and how we can move in order to get to our goals. You are making better decisions now as you are more capable at perceiving all angles of a situation and predict possible outcomes beforehand. You quickly find solutions and can convince people of your perspectives. You’re more aware of your surroundings, heightening your listening comprehension skills.

You may be excessively critical when under stress and lose your natural patience. You often do have to deal with stress in your life—you might feel overburdened or repressed, and may struggle with your self-esteem. If you start to indulge your every sensual desire, you could fall into a lifestyle that is morally and physically unhealthy. Spend more time enjoying nature as this can be a great healing activity. The serenity of nature can calm your mind. However, be mindful of your general environment both in and out of nature as you may be prone to getting yourself into hazardous situations.

Hasta Lunar Eclipse is encouraging us to find wealth and abundance in our everyday lives. Although it may not happen immediately, it’s likely that you will achieve success within the next six months. It is important to work towards a goal consistently. Consistently is the key right now. Hasta is great for anything involving the hands: skill, dexterity, craftsmanship. Hasta imparts the “midas touch” into all things that will put our full attention on. It’s important to develop our skills now so we can use them for success and achievement later. Finding a path that offers spiritual fulfillment, rather than just material success, will create a positive shift for you. Hasta could encourage a more competitive side that values winning at all costs even if it brings your undoing. Comparison is, however, the thief of joy. And getting caught up in what others are doing is merely a distraction from what you are to be doing. Hasta wants us to zoom in on what we are good at ourselves, not asking us to be good at what others are good at. This transit is for our own betterment. We are only in competition with ourselves. Avoid stressing yourself, overburdening yourself, or repressing how you feel. You may  struggle with low self-esteem if you don’t focus on yourself. Avoid being highly critical of yourself and others.

We are going to be more focused on our home, family, and close relationships, seeing our private life and being the foundation to all our successes. If our home life is peaceful and serene, we have the necessary basis to be able to focus on other important objectives. This is a time for you to dedicate to your family and close relationships. Hasta nourishes all that you love to pour your time and efforts into, and thus your family and close relationships can flourish with this eclipse. This is a time for letting go of what prevents you from showing up as your full self and other relationships that distract you from what is important to you. You’re re-evaluating who drains your light and who allows you to shine your brightest.

Those with Rohini, Mrigashirsha, Ardra, Pushya, Hasta, Chitra, Svati, Anuradha, Purva Ashadha, Uttara Ashadha, Shravana, Uttara Bhadrapada, and Revati placements will have the most positive experience under this eclipse (especially Svati). If you have Bharani, Krittika, Punarvasu, Ashlesha, Magha, Purva Phalguni, Uttara Phalguni, Vishakaha, Mula, and Dhanishta placements, this eclipse will be so-so for you. This eclipse will affect those with Ashvini, Jyeshtha, Shatabhisha, and Purva Bhadrapada placements the most negatively. You may find it hard to not focus on what isn’t working in their lives right now. There could be a tendency to get overly emotional as Hasta asks you to be honest with yourself about why you feel stuck and incapable of moving forward in life. You can’t escape from this feeling. You must sit with discomfort in order for it to pass. Be careful to not make promises that you cannot keep during this transit.

Collective Interpretation

We as a collective are becoming more compassionate and understanding to our peers. Spiritually, that is the direction we are mostly headed in at least, but some might become trapped in a critical way of thinking. There could be more personal projections going on. Some might feel comfortable trying to tell you who you are based on their own perspectives and ideologies. Be careful to avoid this! Focus your time on spreading the nectar of empathy and love towards all beings. And make sure to put your energy towards building up your auric field so as to not absorb the feelings and emotions of others around you. The goal is to remain sovereign in your own feelings and experiences. Hasta is all about energy exchange, but we must be mindful of when we choose to share our energy with others.

Hasta supports all artisans and craftsmen. If you work as an artist, creative, performer, writer, author, publisher, typist, jewellerymaker, beautician, manicurist, tradesmen, manual laborer, inventor, banker, accountant, housekeeper, maid, cleaner, gardener, and herbalists you will see more flow of income during the next six months. Art and expression, especially visual and linguistic, is becoming more appreciated. The healing arts are also going to be appreciated as people look towards alternative healing methods and practices to help relieve themselves of aches and pains. Hasta is also related to thieves and con-artists. It’s important for us all to be more aware of our surroundings and avoid getting into dealings with those who are trying to swindle us out of your wealth. Avoid people with sticky fingers.

The public is becoming increasingly more critical and observant of world news and how their national/local governments are making decisions. The collective may become more divided as each side gets deeper into their own world views, noticing how some of their needs and wants aren’t being met by world leaders. There is a possibility that we are getting more details on what political ideology we align ourselves with. We are asking ourselves if our government or nation actually serves the people or are they serving themselves. Are they making sure they have money in their pocket and food in their fridges before making sure the people are safe and secure? Are they making business deals behind the scenes at the expense of the population? Are the laws they are focused on passing related to what we are experiencing on a daily basis? The next six months will be eye opening for all of us. And this time is important because this is the biggest election year in decades. The people are highly watching their government officials right now so any wrong move or slip up will be focused on. Everyone will be talking about it and judging whether someone deserves to be an official again next year. This goes for both local and national elections. Pay attention to what’s going on in your town/city, county, state/provinces, territories, and country.

Both Virgo and Hasta encourage us to spend time giving to our community, volunteering our time or donating our money for the greater good. Hasta supports all giving and receiving to people, animals, and nature. The public needs to be focused on developing a sense of community and togetherness. We should all be focused on the greater good, and how we and the government can do more to service the community. We must all bear the burden of responsibility.

There could be a resurgence of spiritual and religious ideology as Hasta is associated with spiritual devotion. Hasta wants to gain material wealth by devoting itself to a higher being. This could encourage others to seek devotion as an access to God or a Higher Power.

This transit will last for a total for six months at least. At the most, it can last two years. This is subjective as the nature of the Moon, Rahu, and Ketu are subjective.

[foggysirens]

your local luke skywalker thought haver is back at it again because i have just been unable to get the thought of luke and his personal identity out of my head like- over the course of the original trilogy he goes through a wild change from farm boy to rebel to master of an ancient and thought dead religion. and like on one hand, yes, okay, it’s the hero’s journey in a fun little space film, i respect that, but on the other i just have to think about the mental impact that must have had on him. like we see throughout the films that he changes, the wonderstruck and youthful energy from the first movie transforming into a desperate hunt for knowledge and a search for self on dagobah. we see that as he trains with yoda and learns more of the force and literally fights a vision of himself that luke is searching for answers, searching for identity in his flipped upside down world. then we see that change go ever further, luke growing again, changing again, into a collected jedi, honing his skills rapidly with a determination and at times dark humoured presence. it’s understandable. it’s downright expected after such change and conflict and having to grown up quickly that luke would not be who he once was. it’s war. yet still, i can’t help but think of him in those moments in between. those moments where he’s just waking up and for a moment he’s still back on the farm, before he blinks and realizes he’s on echo base. or when he stops and stares down at his prosthetic hand for too long, poking and prodding at it until his chest begins to feel tight. when he’s standing by his fathers pyre, watching the flames and he suddenly has a flash of smouldering ash on sand. of a cut open helmet, bleeding smoke as he stares into his own face. and i think of luke, endlessly hopeful, endlessly resilient luke, waking each day reeling from the force of three lives being lived at once. the farmer, the fighter and the stoic. i think of him finally getting to rest. to finally get the time to grieve all the moments he’s lost. to finally move forward to what he wants to do. chooses to do. in his own time. be it hunt for texts or build his school, i think of luke finally getting to mend those versions of himself into one. i think of him finally settling into luke and i love him so much.

[fandomficsnstuff]

The Dragon's Daughter - 3

(Warnings: Mentions of slavery and death, some tiny fluff if you squint and Drogon burning people)

Dothraki will be in bold

High Valyrian will be in cursive

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daenerys hadn’t let go of Rhaella since it happened, always carrying her in her arms or within her sight, the child was inconsolable, refusing to eat and sleep, as though she knew, as though she could sense that her brothers were gone. Currently, Daenerys was holding Rhaella tightly against her, the child finally dozing off to sleep, after hours and hours of seemingly endless crying and fussing, but finally, her eyes were about to close without her permission, the steady heartbeat of her mother lulling her to sleep and comfort. As she heard footsteps, she leaned against her daughter’s head, her lips against the white, soft hair of her daughter as she turned, a look of relief forming on her face when she saw who it was. “You came back…” her voice was quiet and frail, Jorah nodding as he panted “as soon as I heard, do you know anything?” he asked, Daenerys shaking her head and looking down at her daughter briefly “Irri is dead… she died while caring for Rhaella” Daenerys revealed, Jorah sighing with regret “I know…” admitted, his eyes landing on the quiet child in her arms. “Was she…?”

“No, no she-... they didn’t take her, only her brothers” Daenerys admitted stiffly, her eyes moving down to the Targaryen babe in her arms. “She’s been inconsolable… she was there when it happened, when Irri died” Daenerys added, Jorah sighing “she was a good-”

“She’s dead. She died alone, she died for me and my daughter and I couldn’t protect her…” Daenerys stated in a wavering voice, tears building up in her eyes as she held Rhaella against her cheek, closing her eyes as she tried to remain quiet, to let her child sleep. “Doreah?”

“We can’t find her… she must be dead too…” Daenerys stated softly as she walked towards the railing with her daughter, still holding the child tightly against her “I led my people out of the Red Waste and into the slaughterhouse… my daughter-... I put my daughter at risk, I even thought she could have been burnt-“

“Burnt??”

“Yes, Ser Jorah… burnt… a fire had caught on her dress… I thought it had eaten away at her flesh… I forgot everything about myself and her, our name, the fire in her blood, the pyre that burnt around her and left her unharmed… I saw the fire on her clothes and I forgot about it all, as though it could actually hurt her…” Daenerys stated with an uneasy laugh of bitter-sweet amusement, tears beginning to run down her cheeks, the child waking up and fussing, sensing her mother’s fear and worry and sadness, a small cry leaving her as she reached up for Daenerys, the mother obliging and leaned her head down, her forehead against her daughter’s head as the child fiddled with her white hair. Jorah sighed with regret, taking a step closer, his hand gently brushing over the back of the baby Targaryen, before dropping at his side again. “I should have been here…”

“You went to find us a ship…” Daenerys stated softly, looking down at her daughter to see her once more asleep, as though the presence of the knight was a comfort to her when it was paired with her mother’s presence, or maybe because the knight’s return gave Daenerys a sense of relief, of security. “My place is by your side, I shouldn’t have left you and the princess alone with these people…”

“‘These people’...?”

“They are not to be trusted-”

“And who is to be trusted? Who are my people? The Targaryens? I only knew one besides my daughter, my brother, and he would have let a thousand men rape me if it had got him the crown. The Dothraki? Most of them turned on me the day that Khal Drogo fell from his horse…”

“Your people are in Westeros-”

“The people in Westeros don’t know that I’m alive!”

“They will soon enough-”

“And then what? They’ll pray for my return? They’ll wave dragon banners and shout my name, my daughter’s name?... That’s what my brother believed and he was a fool” Daenerys stated bitterly, walking away from the railing as Rhaella began to fuss, Daenerys gently rocking her child. “You are not your brother… trust me, Khaleesi” Jorah’s words made Daenerys look down, glancing at her daughter, her heart both swelling and hurting at the sight. ‘Trust?’, the only one she trusted at this moment was the babe in her arms, a little over two months old. “There it is… ‘Trust me’... And it’s you I should trust, Ser Jorah? Only you?... I don’t need trust any longer… I don’t want it and I don’t have room for it, not when I have my children to look after, not when I have Rhaella to think of” Daenerys stated in a determined yet wavering voice, gently rocking her child as she heard Jorah step closer, a hand raising to be on her shoulder. “You are too young to be so-”

“And you are too familiar” Daenerys spat as she turned to face him, the old knight looking down as he took two steps back “forgive me, Khaleesi…” his voice murmured, Daenerys turning to look at the empty cages in front of her, the weight of her child in her arms being the only thing grounding her, reminding her of reality, making her think of other things, and not just her dragons, but her other child as well. “No one can survive in this world without help… No one. Let me help you, please… tell me how” Jorah almost pleaded, Daenerys looking down at her child before looking at him over her shoulder “find my dragons” she ordered softly, Jorah leaving in an instant, leaving Daenerys alone with her daughter, staring at the four empty cages where her other children should be.

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

“Khaleesi, perhaps it would be best if-”

“No, no, my daughter will stay with her mother… and her brothers…” Daenerys stated softly, looking towards the now one year old child, standing with her hands on a box, being the only thing supporting her, a smile crossing Daenerys’ lips as she looked at her daughter, Jorah following her line of sight “she’s strong, already she can stand up, with help” Jorah added the last bit with a hint of amusement, Daenerys’ playfully glaring at him “she can take a few steps” she half-heartedly joked back, Jorah chuckling lightly as he kneeled down, catching the golden eyes of the young princess, watching her grin at him, one hand still on the box as she tried to steady herself enough to walk towards him. “You seem to know much about children…” Daenerys noted, Jorah chuckling lightly as he walked over and picked the girl up, walking back to Daenerys. “I know some… I know when they fall, it usually doesn’t hurt and they only cry if you act worried” Jorah stated with amusement, handing the child to it’s mother as Rhaella reached for her, Daenerys giving her child a big grin as she took her from the knight. “But what if it hurts?” Daenerys asked with worry, setting Rhaella on the railing, facing Astapor, her hands still holding her child so the babe wouldn’t fall into the water. “Then they cry, but usually when a child this young falls, they look at you first. If you’re worried, they think they should be worried as well” Jorah advised Daenerys, the mother looking back at her daughter before nodding. “She’s almost ready for her first braid” Jorah added half-jokingly, gesturing to the white hair that was already being blown about, Daenerys smiling at the mention, running a hand over the white locks of hair. “Soon… her father would be proud… he’d without a doubt want to be the first one to braid her hair” Daenerys stated with a light chuckle, leaning down and kissing her daughter’s head before turning her around and balancing her on her hip as the ship docked, a small sigh leaving her, her lips spreading into a smile as Raemor flew closer and landed on the railing next to Rhaella, the baby girl squealing with joy as she reached for the dragon, Daenerys enjoying the sight of her daughter hugging the scaly neck of the silvery dragon that shared Rhaella’s eyes.

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

Daenerys kept Rhaella on her hip as she walked with Jorah, a young Dothraki warrior and the man speaking to her, as well as his slave, Rhaella merely resting her head on Daenerys’ shoulder, tired eyes looking around as she stayed quiet, probably tired after the long voyage on sea, which took nearly five months, letting the young princess turn her first year, Daenerys giving her the key Xaro wore around his neck, chuckling at her daughter who instantly put it in her mouth to chew on. Rhaella was still chewing and fiddling with the round key as her mother carried her up the small steps, the wind and sea behind her and Rhaella looked up from her toy, big eyes on her mother who gently placed a hand on her head, guiding it back to her shoulder and the young girl obeyed, continuing to fiddle with her first toy. As the meeting went on and on, Daenerys tried not to let her annoyance or anger show, the calm child on her hip making her remember that she needed to stay calm, if not for herself, then her daughter. As the man mentioned the Unsullied killing a newborn babe in front of it’s mother, she clung tighter to Rhaella, hitching her an inch higher up on her hip, holding her even closer than before, a look of disgust in her eyes that she tried to hide from the little girl on her hip, dressed in expensive silks, her back covered from unaware eyes, after all: a gifted child is easier to take and exploit than a young dragon that breathes fire. The young Dothraki warrior gladly accepted the young Targaryen girl as Daenerys needed a break from the child on her hip, Rhaella currently fiddling with the round key, talking, or well, mostly babbling, to Ezzo and showing it to him as though it was the most interesting thing in the world, despite him trying to maintain a conversation with his queen. “Ezzo” the girl babbled out as she raised the toy to him, both Jorah and Daenerys stopping which led to the young Dothrak stopping as well, Daenerys smiling at her sweet daughter, it wasn’t her first word, far from it, but she was glad that her daughter had taken a liking to one of her most trusted warriors, one who hadn’t turned his back on her when her husband fell from his horse, one who had been by her side from the beginning.

“It is a beautiful toy, even the Great Stallion could not think of a more worthy toy” Ezzo stated very proudly, the girl grinning and practically shoved it into his face, the young warrior smiling, gently taking it from her, looking it over with soft eyes and a proud smile on his lips “I can borrow it? Thank you, you honor me, it is worth more than a thousand horses” he stated dramatically, the girl giggling, despite not understanding Dothrak yet, and turning to her mother, smiling up at the queen who gave her daughter a loving smile before continuing her conversation and walking with her advisor as Ezzo followed with the young princess in his arms. As Daenerys spotted a child trying to get her attention, she smiled, following the child with interest and joy, smiling at the girl as she stood at the end of the dock, her toy in her hands and Ezzo kneeled down, placing the young princess on the ground as he adjusted her dress, the strange girl rolling the toy towards Daenerys, motioning for her to open it and just as she was about to, both Jorah and Ezzo sprung forward, detaining a man with a dagger who had pushed the ball out of Daenerys’ hand, knocking her to the floor. Rhaella screamed and began to cry, not yet able to stand on her own feet without support, tears rolling down her cheeks as a shriek followed her cries, like an animal being tortured, her shrieks having increased in volume over the year since her birth. After the scorpion was killed, Daenerys turned to her daughter, practically crawling over to her on her hands and knees, cupping the small face in her hands as she inspected her for injuries. “My night’s sky” she whispered, the child calming down at the sound of it’s mother’s voice, the sobs quieting as the child looked around, turning to the stranger that had saved Daenerys from the scorpion.

Daenerys carefully picked up her distraught daughter as the hooded man went after the girl who had tried to kill the young queen, Daenerys cradling her child in her arms as Jorah helped her stand and brush off some dirt from Rhaella’s silky clothes, Ezzo moving to stand a little in front of Daenerys and the baby princess, protective of both his Khaleesi and her daughter. Daenerys looked up on a ledge, spotting the pale girl who had tried to kill her, her arms closing even more around her daughter, protective over her only human child, the child she bore for nine months, the babe she cradled in her arms and stroked the scales on her back to calm her down. “The warlock…” Daenerys mumbled, looking down at her baby girl as she held her on her hip, cupping her daughter’s face in her hand before kissing her forehead. “You’re safe, my night’s sky” she murmured before turning to the man who had saved her, and her daughter. “I owe you my life, ser, and that of my daughter” Daenerys stated softly as she took a few steps closer, the man pulling down his hood as he spoke. “The honor is mine, my queen, princess” he greeted, his eyes locked on the child as she tried to hide her face in her mother’s neck. “A beautiful child, Your Grace… she carries your hair” he noted, Daenerys unable to not smile, looking down at her shy daughter “I’m afraid she’s a little shy when she is without her brothers” she stated softly, the girl glancing at the man before continuing to hide her face, wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck and turning away from the stranger who had barely glimpsed at her golden eyes.

Daenerys looked to Jorah as he slowly stepped closer, Daenerys holding her daughter tighter at the look on Jorah’s face “you know this man?” she asked quietly, Jorah nodding as he looked at the stranger with skeptical eyes. “I know him, as one of the greatest fighters the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen… and as Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon’s Kingsguarde” Jorah revealed, Daenerys looking back at the stranger, one of her hands moving to cup the back of her daughter’s head, holding her against her shoulder as the stranger approached. “King Robert is dead, I have been searching for you, Daenerys Stormborn, to ask for your forgiveness… I was sworn to protect your family… I failed them…” the man revealed, Daenerys staring at him with slight confusion, especially when he kneeled in front of her. “I am Barristan Selmy, Kingsguarde to your father. Allow me to join your Queensguard, and I will not fail you again, nor will I fail your daughter, the princess” he stated proudly before bowing his head, Daenerys turning to look at her daughter, finding her looking at the stranger, fiddling with her mother’s hair before looking away shyly again, Daenerys unable to not smile victoriously, her eyes turning to a still guarded Ezzo “it’s alright, Ezzo, he saved my life, and Rhaella’s” she stated softly, the Dothrak nodding as he eased up a little, taking a small step back, though still staying at the side of his Khaleesi and princess.

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

Daenerys gently held her daughter in her lap, smiling at her as she played with her, currently holding her toy out to her, playing with her and kissing the crown of her white hair. “You are very good with her, Your Grace” Missandei stated softly, Daenerys looking up at her with a soft smile, looking back down at her daughter, giving her the toy and kissing her head again “she’s the only child I will ever have besides my dragons… she’s the last I have left of my husband” Daenerys stated softly, Missandei giving her a comforting smile “she is a beautiful child, Your Grace-”

“You don’t have to call me ‘Your Grace’ when we’re alone, I’m not your master and you’re not a slave anymore” Daenerys stated softly, Missandei unable to not smile as she looked down “forgive me, it’s hard to forget sometimes, but if you would allow it, I would like to continue to refer to you as by your title” Missandei muttered, Daenerys nodding softly, deciding to leave the matter of the title up to the newly freed woman “it is hard… it took me a long time to make my husband see me as an equal, to love him…” Daenerys admitted with a small frown, Missandei smiling at her “yet you carried a daughter for him” she stated softly, sitting down nearby and watching the young girl with a smile. “I did… I carried a son as well… her brother… when my dragons hatched, one of them looked so much like her… I named him after the brother she lost” Daenerys admitted with sorrow, Missandei frowning at her with sadness before looking down, thinking of something she could say to cheer her new queen up. “‘Rhaella’, it is a very beautiful name” Missandei said softly, smiling at the queen and princess as Daenerys seemed to light up at this. “My mother’s name was Rhaella... I never knew my mother, she died after giving birth to me… I never thought I’d have a daughter of my own, let alone one so gentle and sweet already” Daenerys admitted, stroking her child’s head lovingly. “I trust no one to take care of her when I’m not around,” Daenerys started, looking from her beloved daughter to look at Missandei “I hope that will change” she added softly, Missandei smiling at her, the two of them getting up as it was time to meet the masters, Daenerys holding her daughter on her hip, giving her one last soft smile of love before exiting the room with Missandei, a cold facade on her face.

As Daenerys approached the cage, dragon inside, scratching to get out, to spread it’s wings and soar high above, Daenerys didn’t let go of Rhaella, in fact, she kept her close, walking past both Ser Barristan, Ezzo, Jorah and Missandei, all of them watching with worry as she approached a real dragon with a babe on her hip, a child no more than a single year old. As she undid the cage, she could feel Rhaella bouncing happily on her hip, squealing in joy and she had to put her down, smiling softly at her daughter as she held onto her leg to not fall while her mother opened the cage. As the latch opened, she held onto the chain, Rhaella giggling and reaching for the dragon as it soared high above, Daenerys leaning down, offering her hand to her daughter who grasped it, clumsily reaching for Drogon who flew down, hovering in front of her, the flap of his wings making her white hair fly back as she giggled and reached for him, clumsily spurting out his name amongst other indistinct words. Daenerys kneeled down to her daughter, looking over her shoulder at Missandei who hurried over, carefully picking up the princess, walking alongside Daenerys so Rhaella would keep calm in the stranger’s arms. As she handed off Drogon to the master, in return getting the whip, Rhaella began to grow fussy, reaching for Drogon as she began to cry a little. “Is it done then? They belong to me?” she asked quietly, Missandei translating as she still held the fussy princess in her arms, relaying back to the queen what the master said as he struggled to keep ahold of the dragon’s chain, Rhaella seemingly growing more and more distressed as Drogon became more and more uneasy about the situation.

By the time it was revealed that Daenerys could speak Valyrian, Rhaella was crying, screaming her head off, the sounds mixing with the shrieks of the dragon, and as it breathed it’s fire, Rhaella screamed even louder, reaching for the dangerous creature and it flew closer to the princess, Missandei nearly dropping the child out of fear, until she saw the dragon nudge it’s head along the white hair of the princess and then fly off, continuing to burn whatever it saw and every master holding a whip, Daenerys approaching Missandei, gently taking back her child and balancing her on her hip, Rhaella, who had calmed down now, reaching for the whip, Daenerys let her touch it for a brief second before pulling it out of her grasp with gentle movements. “You will never touch a whip, my night’s sky, nor will you ever feel it” she whispered, kissing her child’s head and making sure she couldn’t see the masters getting killed, their whips falling to the ground along with their bodies, staining the sand red.

[swordtit]

Bring all your things and we will build a pyre Find resurrection in the flames And in the fury of alarm bells We shalt begin We shalt begin again

[theroseandthebeast]

Yuletide 2022 Recs, Batch Five

17 recs for Master & Commander, Midsommar, Nope, Only Murders In The Building, Peacemaker, Persuasion, Point Break, Pyre, Ready or Not?, Severance, The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, Transistor, and Under the Banner of Heaven

Cadential Motion

Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin - “I’ll be frank with you, Captain, it’s a relief to finally have you in my chair. I was beginning to worry that you didn’t trust my expertise.”

Aubrey and Maturin discover that their first impressions of one another were borne out of some misunderstandings.

Hasaeti 

Dani Ardor/Pelle - Dani learns about the ongoing responsibilities of the May Queen, deepens her relationship with the land - and finds her throne.

Beyond The Stars

Angel Torres, OJ Haywood - It'd been seven months since they last spoke, but who's counting?

Making wishes is a sucker’s game, but at least there’s cake

Mabel Mora & Oliver Putnam & Charles-Haden Savage - Mabel isn’t celebrating her birthday because she stopped doing that when she was 8 years old. Charles and Oliver find a way to be there for her anyway.

Portrait of the Artist

Theo Dimas/Mabel Mora, Mabel Mora & Oliver Putnam & Charles-Haden Savage - Winter brings back memories for Mabel, but also the opportunity to make new ones.

I'm Feeling This

Adrian Chase/Christopher Smith - Adrian doesn't have feelings but he does feel things. He feels a lot for Chris. More than for anyone else.

I Must Go Up From The Seas Again.

Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth - It sounds bitter to say that he's still not over his ex who wouldn't uproot her entire life, leave her entire support system behind, and go be a trailing spouse for five years in a place with no career prospects for herself.

Of Duty, and A Path Not Ridden

Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth - Two years after Miss Anne Elliot declined to marry Captain Frederick Wentworth of His Majesty's Navy, an opportunity arises for the captain to renew his suit.

come as you are

Bodhi/Johnny Utah - Johnny goes to Mexico, and there's one more Ex-President.

The Ultimate Ride

Bodhi/Johnny Utah - Even reeling from the shock that Johnny jumped out of the plane without a parachute to tackle him mid-air and point a gun at his head, Bodhi has never felt more connected to anyone.

Because Bodhi’s been chasing the ultimate ride his whole life and one look into Johnny’s eyes as they fall to earth together makes it crystal clear that Johnny is already there.

Constellations of the fall

Oralech/Volfred Sandalwood, Volfred Sandalwood/Tariq - Terrible starlight shines on Oralech as he lays dying on the northern slopes of Mount Alodiel. The same truth hangs over Volfred and Tariq, who are left to mourn. All they have is their memories and the warm embrace of failure.

A Smudge of Red

Daniel Le Domas/Grace Le Domas - "Funny story. Not really. But. Yeah. We were all adopted, Alex and Emilie and me, but I guess the old folks thought—rightly so—that baby me couldn't exactly play, uh, any board game. But Alex and Emilie were toddlers when their papers came through and they joined the family, so they did it, and I hadn't blown up yet by then, so. Yeah. Got left out of that one. A lot of goat sacrifices, though. To make up for it. Not fun. But, hey, I'm still in one piece. I guess."

"Great," is about all she can come up with. "I'm being asked some awkward questions, but glad I can blame it on your all being adopted and not on demons or whatever the fuck."

"Ah. The proper authorities." He grimaces."And hospital personnel, yeah." Her chair creaks. It's uncomfortable and noisy, and not making this conversation any easier.

all you are

Helena Eagan & Helly R. - In a dream, Helly meets Helena.

r/severed

gen - Welcome to r/severed! This is a subreddit to discuss the experience of severance and provide advice and support to fellow severed people (and friends and family).

Dear and Beloved

Tang Fan/Wang Zhi - Wang Zhi and Tang Fan are a lot more candid in their letters to each other than they are in person. One thing leads to another, until they have no choice but to admit what they really want.

i genuinely love to hear your thoughts

Mr. Nobody | Man Inside Transistor/Red - Red’s cheeks feel warmer than before. She’s never shared unfinished material with anybody—not even Sybil. She’d always thought it would cast a curse, doom the song to die before its first breath. If it dies, she thinks in the quiet of her lonely apartment, then let it be with him.

The Dust They Leave Behind

Jeb Pyre/Bill Taba - When to move on, and what to take with you.

[fixfoxnox]

Pyre - Part 1

Warnings: Canon typical violence, minor gore, mentions of vomit, fire, burns, guns

Description: Roach wakes up in a new life with all of his memories from his first intact. He sets off on his journey to try and find the people who made his first life worth living: the members of Taskforce 141. Those plans change when he finds himself tossed into the flames once again. Only this time, Roach lives and comes out of the flames baptized with a new purpose: protect this life from those who destroyed his first.

Word Count: 13k

Read it on Ao3

"Bring all your things and we will build a pyre

Find resurrection in the flames

And in the fury of alarm bells

We shalt begin

We shalt begin again"

Pyre by Son Lux

“Ooo-rah,” Jackson crooned playfully, a grin lighting up his face. Roach couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from his chest, his face splitting into a bright grin as he shook his head at his friend. 

“You’re terrible,” his words were undercut by the laughter still in his voice, “I tell you about my dead fiance who I’m fighting to get back to and you reply with that?”

Jackson gave a shrug, “I’m sorry, but you tell me that this dead fiance of yours had a dick piercing and you expect me not to react to that?” He gave a low whistle, “You were one lucky man in your last life, Sanderson.” 

Roach leaned back against his bunk, tucking his knees up to his chest. A small smile remained on his face, but his mind moved elsewhere, back to his first life, back to Ghost. He’d been thinking about the man more often recently. He found himself on late nights thinking back to his first life, thinking back to Ghost and Captain MacTavish and the life that he’d lost. He missed his friends desperately. 

It had been eating at his chest recently. He hated the waiting but a bigger part of him, one that he couldn’t seem to shake off, was concerned. He couldn’t stop himself from worrying about the men in this new life. He wanted to know that they were okay, that they were safe, that the people that threatened them in their last life weren’t doing it again here. A part of him hoped that they weren’t in the military this time around. 

If anything, this last mission with Jackson, the brief period in which he wondered if his friend was still alive or not, had only added to that worry. Jackson was like him, he knew that now. His friend had died and been reborn into the new world, his memories still clear just like Roach’s were. He hated it for his friend but, at the same time, it made him feel less alone. There was someone else like him. Someone else who remembered. 

He’d felt burning fear through his veins for possibly the first time in this life. He’d felt it when Jackson’s team and their coms had gone quiet. He’d promised Jackson at the beginning of their mission, in the back of that crowded transport, that the man would be alright, that things wouldn’t be like their last life. That the men who’d hurt him wouldn’t hurt him again. Roach couldn’t guarantee that. He’d realized as much during the brief period when they couldn’t reach Jackson. 

As odd as it was, he’d felt grateful to realize that his friend had just been taken hostage. He wasn’t hurt beyond a few scrapes and new bruises. He was fine. He was alive. Roach knew how easily things could have gone differently. He knew that Jackson could have died just as easily as he had in his first life. The thought had been eating at him. 

If the men who killed them in their first lives were still around, still doing harm? Then why had they been reborn? Just to die again?

He brushed the thought away quickly. He didn’t know if Shadow Company or Shepherd were still around, there was no reason for him to worry. He was alive. Jackson was alive. That was what was important for the moment. 

Jackson stretched out in front of him, leaning further against his bunk with a sigh. He had a soft sort of look on his face as he stared forward, watching Roach. “What?” Roach asked, tilting his head at the other man. 

Jackson just shook his head, watching him quietly for several moments. The two were silent for several seconds, just sitting in the other's presence, enjoying a moment of peace. The rest of the squad was with Griggs at the US Embassy. A mob had gathered there and while Jackson and Roach had expected to go with them, Griggs had sent them back to base with quick words about them being needed there. 

There was no one around when they arrived, so they’d just ducked into the barracks to sit with one another, assuming that Griggs had sent them back for a bit of quiet time to come down from the stress of their mission and the brief period in which Roach had believed his friend was dead. 

“Do you,” Jackson started after a moment, picking at his boots, “Do you want to talk about how you died?”

Roach felt himself freeze, a sick feeling clawing its way up his throat. He didn’t want to talk about his death. It was why he’d avoided mentioning it during their conversation so far. He’d noticed that Jackson had avoided discussing his own death as well. Just thinking of what happened to him gave him the phantom sting of a gunshot to his chest and the smell of phantom smoke that burned his lungs. He felt the urge to cough but pushed it down. It wasn’t real, he was fine, he was alive. There was no fire. 

“I don’t,” he tucked his face into his knees, taking a deep breath to try to rid himself of the haze that had fallen over his mind at the question, “I don’t really want to.” 

Jackson nodded at him, still picking at his boots as he added, “I get it. I don’t particularly want to either.” He shifted again, tucking closer to himself before giving a small laugh, “Isn’t that weird? You go so long wishing there was someone you could talk to about what happened, wishing you weren’t alone.” He motioned wildly with his hands, “Then when you know you aren’t you just don’t want to talk about it.” He gave a deep sigh. 

Roach understood his friend’s frustration. In a perfect world, they would jump at the opportunity to talk about what happened. In a perfect world, they would finally tell someone else about what they’d experienced and, maybe, allow themselves to start healing. They didn’t live in a perfect world. Things weren’t that easy, they never would be. “One day,” he said after a moment, “I think one day we’ll get there.” 

“I hope so,” Jackson responded quietly. After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself, a smile back on his face as he added, “Fair warning, you may cry. I know the idea of me ever dying is tearing you up inside.” 

Roach scoffed at the other man, shaking his head as he matched the other man’s grin. “You’re ridiculous,” he leaned forward to grab a small wad of paper on the ground and tossed it at the man, “Ridiculous.”

“Hey,” Jackson tossed the paper back at him, “Shithead.” 

Roach went to respond, but a voice cut through the air interrupting him. “Hey,” the two men turned, eyes wide as they met the gaze of another man standing in the doorway to the barracks. He was in full gear and something about the uniform struck Roach as familiar, but he couldn’t fully place it yet. He brushed it off. “Sanderson and Jackson? Griggs’ boys?”

“That’s us,” Jackson called, “You the one we were supposed to meet with?”

The man moved further into the room with a chuckle, stopping in front of the two with his arms crossed against his chest. “That’s me, sorry about the tardiness.” His voice was laced with a southern drawl and when Roach found himself responding, he knew his own accent was coming out. It always happened when he spoke to another Southerner, he just couldn’t control it. 

“Not a problem, I’m Roach,” he tilted his head a bit, “Well, Gary Sanderson. People call me Roach though.” 

“You a southern boy, Roach?” The man asked with a grin, “I heard that accent.”

Roach gave a low chuckle in response to his question, “Tennesse,” he answered quickly. “Born and raised. You?”

“Texas,” the man answered quickly, “Commander Philip Graves by the way.” He turned to Jackson, “And I can assume you’re Sergeant Paul Jackson?” 

“That’s me,” Jackson answered with a grin. He pushed himself up from the ground and Roach followed suit, dusting himself off as he went. “Griggs didn’t tell us much, just that we were needed back here. What kinda thing are we getting into?”

Graves gave a short laugh, “Straight to the point, huh?” He motioned for the two men to follow him and started to lead them out of the barracks, “You’ll be working with me and my team. We have a high-priority target in a nearby town and we are on orders to capture or kill.” He guided them through the chilly nighttime air, turning to walk backward for a moment as he added, “We would deal with it ourselves, but we don’t know the area as well as I’m sure you boys will.” 

“So we’re tour guides,” Jackson joked lowly. 

Graves tilted his head as they approached a small group of ten other soldiers, the group waiting beside two different transports for them, “Just a bit.” He motioned them forward, “You two will ride in the front transport with four other men, the other six will be in the back with me.” 

“No briefing?” Roach questioned carefully. That wasn’t normal procedure, even if it was just a quick run-through, they would usually be given some sort of information. A picture of the man that they were after, even. Something so that they weren’t going in on this blind. 

Graves took a small tablet that was offered to him, clicking a few things before holding it out for the group to see. There was a picture of a man that Roach had never seen before, but it was clear that he was AQ. The picture was of the nearby town they would be headed to, several different men were milling around in the background with guns in their hands. “High resistance expected,” Graves told them simply, “It’s gonna be rough, but Griggs tells me that you’re the best he’s got.” He looked between them for a moment, “You boys up for it?”

“Let’s do it,” Jackson answered. 

“Alright!” Graves gave them a grin, “How long do the two of you need to gear up?”

Roach and Jackson looked at one another. They were both still fully dressed in their gear from the previous mission. Though they hadn’t seen anyone when they’d arrived, they’d thought it better not to take everything off, just in case someone did show up. All they were missing were their weapons. “You got guns for us?” Jackson asked, tilting his head toward Graves, “That’s all we need.”

Graves grinned at them, “Weapons on the transport boys.” With that he turned, giving a loud whistle to his men before calling, “Let’s load up boys, we’re moving out. He smacked the edge of the transport and gave them a grin, “C’mon, let’s go tie up some loose ends.”

Graves turned away from them, heading toward the second transport with several members of his team following behind him. Roach was frozen in place, a terrible sense of familiar dread filling his gut. He could smell smoke. Sickness crept up his throat, but he tried to get ahold of himself. Just because Graves said something slightly similar to his last life and just because those uniforms looked somewhat familiar to him, it didn’t mean that he was back in his first life. 

He felt something nudge his arm and, when he turned to look, he met the concerned gaze of Jackson. He could see from his friend’s face that he’d obviously shown some sort of reaction to what Graves had said but, at the questioning look he was sent, he simply shook his head and motioned for the two to get onto the transport. He was overreacting. He had to be. 

Luckily Jackson let it rest long enough for the two of them to clamber onto the transport with the other men, finding their seats pressed at the other’s side. They didn’t speak as they were handed their weapons, a simple automatic rifle and a handgun. 

Roach checked over his weapons carefully, trying not to let his memories get to him. This wasn’t his first life. He was going to be fine. He could feel the truck they were in rumble to life beneath his feet and within only a few moments they were pulling out of the base, headed toward their mission. 

Something felt off with his gun, though he couldn’t quite place what it was. It was lighter than he would expect. Why was it so light? He didn’t get a chance to dwell on it as he felt someone nudge his side.

“You good?” Jackson muttered to him, going through the motions of checking his own weapons. His words were no lighter than a whisper and, as though he’d felt Roach’s own unease, he was peering around the transport at the other men, careful cautiousness written on his face. 

Roach took in a deep breath and tried to avoid looking around the transport. Nothing was wrong and yet something felt off. “Something feels off about this,” he muttered back carefully. “It,” he hesitated for a moment, “Something feels familiar.” Those words seemed to turn Jackson fully on alert. They both knew what Roach meant when he said that this felt familiar to him. This felt familiar to his first life. To how he’d died. 

And yet, Roach reminded himself, it didn’t. He wasn’t in Russia, he was in the middle east. He wasn’t working with the 141 or Shadow Company, he was working with the US Army Rangers. There was no Shepherd to kill him or Ghost to die beside him. There was nothing here that was like his first life. Nothing except for a few familiar words and uniforms that looked similar to something he’d seen in his past life.

“Just,” he muttered to Jackson carefully, “Stick together? And stay on guard. It’s probably nothing.” 

His friend sent him a glance. They were both tense now, though clearly trying to hide it from the men idly chatting around them. “If something feels off,” Jackson spoke lowly, his voice strained, “I’m inclined to believe you. Even if it’s only one thing.” They took another moment, just listening to the men around them. Nothing felt off with the men or their conversations. They just appeared calm. Almost too calm. “Stick together,” Jackson agreed quietly after several moments. They didn’t have any plans to let the other die again.

“Alright boys,” Jackson and Roach jumped off of the transport and made their way over to where Graves was calling for everyone to huddle up. They stayed pressed at the other’s side, even when they joined the large huddle. “We all know the deal,” he started carefully, “Capture or kill. We’re going to move in two teams, half will provide overwatch throughout the town, spread out on rooftops, and move through alleys. If any AQ fighters start making their way toward us, I want them neutralized. Quietly.” He turned and pointed at Jackson then, “Sergeant, you’ll be leading that group providing overwatch to the town. Roach, you’ll come with me and the others to push up to the house.”

“What?” Jackson spoke carefully, “Surely it would be better if Roach stuck with me?” They’d both tensed at the idea that they were going to be separated. The plan was to stick together. Stick together and stay alive and yet now they were being split up again. Just like earlier.

“No can do,” Graves shook his head, “Griggs tells me he’s an ace with any weapons and I’ll need someone like that to help us keep our path clear.” He looked between the two men for a moment before asking carefully, “Is that going to be a problem?” 

Something about his tone spelled danger for Roach. As though they wouldn’t like the result if they continued to disagree. The alarm bells in his system were going off, and he decided the best thing for them to do would be to listen. Their goal was to make it out of this alive and, as much as he hated it, if that meant listening to Graves, then it meant listening to Graves. 

He laid a hand on Jackson’s arm, quickly getting his attention to give him a small shake of his head. He turned back to Graves then, “That won’t be a problem. We’ll be on comms?”

“The whole time,” Graves assured with a nod. “Now then, c’mon Shadows, let’s move out.” 

Roach grabbed tight to Jackson’s arm, his entire body tense. He understood now why the uniforms felt familiar. Why everything felt off. These men were Shadow Company. These men were the same ones who helped Shepherd kill him in his past life.

“Roach,” Jackson spoke his name carefully. “What is it?”

“Shadow Company,” he spoke quietly, pulling Jackson down closer to him so that none of the men around could hear him, “They’re the ones who killed me. They betrayed me. Don’t let your guard down, if anything feels off for even a second get out.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And don’t come back for me.” 

“Hey, lovebirds,” the two men turned to see Graves glaring them down impatiently, “Let’s get a move on. We’ve got a terrorist to take down.”

“Sorry,” Roach called carefully. He was practically shaking from nerves, but there was no getting out of this now. He just had to hope that things would be different this time around. He gave Jackson one last careful look before splitting off from the man and joining Graves and their little part of the squad. A few moments later and he could hear Jackson calling out for the other members of Shadow Company to follow him. They were on their own now. Roach just hoped they would make it out alive. 

“Roach, you take point,” Graves's voice was low and careful, his face fixed into a hard line. They’d made their way down into the town, the small group of Shadow Company members moving swiftly and quietly. Roach had fixed himself near the back of the group, his entire body tense and his mind on high alert. He was more than ready to bolt at any sign of danger from the men around him. 

Of course, it would make sense that Graves wouldn’t want Roach at the back of the pack, especially if he was meant to be acting as a guide to them. So Roach couldn’t be too surprised when, as they made their way into the center of town, he found himself called to the front of the group. 

His hands tightened around his weapon, holding it practically like a safety blanket. He didn’t argue though. Things would be much easier for him if he just listened and tried to get through this mission. He just had to get through this mission, then he could avoid working with Shadow Company ever again. He could stay the fuck away from the people who’d taken everything from him. 

He quickly moved up to the front of the group before beginning to guide them, following the street paths toward the house where they believed their target was. The town around them was quiet, almost startlingly so. Something wasn’t right and Roach intended to voice it. “It’s quiet,” he muttered into his comms, “Too quiet, don’t you think?”

“Jackson,” Graves's voice echoed over the comms, “You boys see anything from your perch?”

There was a pause and with every second that went by without a response, Roach grew more tense. Finally, Jackson’s voice crackled over the comms, “All’s quiet that we see. No one in the streets, proceed with caution. Someone might know we’re here.” 

“Copy,” Graves responded, “Roach, keep moving. Even if these guys know we’re here, they don’t know where we are. We still have some sort of surprise on our side.” 

Roach gave him a quick nod before pulling his gun up and continuing through the twisting alleyways of the town. The silence around them was still jarring. The sounds of their footsteps echoed around them, bouncing around the still air in a way that sounded all too loud. Roach grit his teeth, a town should not be this quiet, no matter what time of night it was. He still said nothing and pushed on. It was all he felt like he could do. 

With no sort of opposition in their way, the group reached their target building quicker than Roach knew they should have. He stopped at the edge of the property and ducked behind a wall as cover. He could hear the members of Shadow Company stop behind him, “This is the place, no visual on anyone.” 

He peered around the edge of his cover, narrowing his eyes at the darkened building. There was no movement, no lights, no nothing. The eerie silence still permeated the air around him. “Any lights?” Graves pushed up behind him, leaning close to whisper the words to him. 

Roach tensed up a bit but tried to play it off as best he could, “None that I can see.” He turned back to Graves, meeting his eyes to carefully speak, “Something isn’t right here. This could be a trap.” He paused for a moment before adding, “We should turn back and get reinforcements, maybe meet up with Jackson and the rest of the squad.”

“No,” Graves shook his head and peered around him quickly, looking toward the building with a scowl on his face, “We came this far. We’re going in. We need to confirm if our targets are here or not.” He pulled back and turned to the rest of the squad behind him, with a quick motion of his hands the group was splitting off, each ducking around a different part of the building. “You and I will take the front door. That alright?”

Roach hesitated, “Are you sure that’s the best choice? We could get ourselves killed.”

“That’s a risk in our line of work, isn’t it?” Graves stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving a slight squeeze. Roach was sure it was meant to be comforting, but all it served to do was bring him back to that field in Russia. The same one where Shepherd had placed a hand on his shoulder before firing a single shot into his stomach. “It’s shit, but this is time sensitive and someone’s got to keep the bad guys from doing bad things, right?”

Slowly Roach nodded his head, a sigh pulling from his throat, “Right. Sorry, today’s been a lot.” It was a weak excuse, but it seemed to work. 

Graves gave him a small nod and another squeeze to his shoulder before moving off to the side, passing by him quickly, “C’mon, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we get to go home.” Roach gave himself only a moment. He took in several deep breaths before nodding to himself and moving to follow the man. He had to hope that this Shadow Company didn’t want him dead. He had to remind himself that they didn’t have a reason to want him dead. 

He and Graves moved up to the front of the house quietly, posting up on opposite sides of the door. Roach prepped himself, waiting patiently for the signal to move in. “Alright boys,” Graves gave Roach a nod, “Let’s get this done.” With that, he motioned for Roach to breach the house. 

It didn’t take much to kick the flimsy door in and Roach was quick to rush into the room after it. Much to his surprise, there were men inside the building, men who seemed more than surprised by his and Graves's sudden appearance. Roach acted quickly, his mind latching on quickly to the fact that they were clearly outnumbered. He grabbed tight to Graves’s shoulder and launched them both into a side room, hearing the sounds of bullets hitting the wall behind where they’d just been standing. 

“Shadows we have contact, make entry on the building now!” Graves pushed himself up from the ground where he and Roach had tumbled to, dragging Roach up after him, “Jackson keep your attention pinned on this building, no one makes it out!”

“Copy! There are outside forces pushing up to the house, we’re picking them off as best as we can!”

Graves gave a low curse, his face twisted up in anger as he peeked back around the corner he and Roach had just come from. He was forced to jerk back as more gunfire rang through the house. Moments later and Roach could hear gunshots and yelling from further back in the house, likely from other Shadows who had just made entry on the building. 

“Graves,” Roach’s eyes scanned around the room, locking on to a side hallway that appeared to move through some of the other rooms, “Side hallway, it looks like it may lead around behind the men in the main room.” 

“Right,” Graves readied his weapon, his face still twisted up in anger, “Move in the side, catch them off guard. Once you have the jump on them we should be able to clear the room together.” He motioned for Roach to move, “I’ll keep them distracted here.” 

Roach followed his command easily, his mind shoving the nerves that had been eating at him away. This wasn’t the time for nerves, there was no room for it when he was fighting for his life. He readied his gun and moved around to the side hallway. 

He kept his footsteps silent, moving carefully. It was something he’d picked up from Ghost in his past life. The man had been rather good at, well, being a Ghost, and he’d been more than willing to teach Roach what he knew. So Roach followed his words, stepping from heel to toe in slow and measured movements. He didn’t want the men in the house to know that he was pushing up the side, it would likely result in both his and Graves's death if he did. 

The hallway was a short little thing, and Roach kept a close eye on the doors down the hall as he moved. If someone popped out of the room and spotted him, there would be no way that he would get out of the situation alive. So he kept a close eye, if the door opened he would have to be quick. 

Luck seemed to be on his side, though, and soon he was carefully tilting around the corner of the hallway. He was nothing more than a shadow in the dark of the house and, through the minimal lighting, he could spot four men slowly edging toward where Graves was hidden away behind a wall. He didn’t give them a chance to get to the man. 

He opened fire and delivered several quick and easy shots that sent three of the four men to the ground. Graves took care of the fifth, popping out from behind the wall to stab a knife into his neck once, then twice before twisting and pulling it away with a splatter of blood onto the tile at Roach’s feet. 

“Good shit, Sanderson.” Graves tucked his knife back into his belt and moved forward to give a quick pat to his shoulder, “Nice call on the hallway, now come on, let’s keep it moving. My boys say they think our guy’s holed up in a side building, they’ve got some major resistance from the building apparently. 

Roach wrinkled his brows a bit. He was on the same channel as Graves and his men, so why didn’t he hear that report? He’d been focused, but not so much so that he’d have missed that communication coming through. Something in his mind ticked at the words. It was such a simple thing, what reason would Graves have to lie about it? He was trying hard not to think too deeply about the words. It was hard to do when suspicion was still curling in his chest. 

“Any word from Jackson?” he spoke the words quietly, following closely behind Graves as they moved toward the back of the building. He was trying hard not to sound suspicious, but he couldn’t help but be worried for his friend. He knew what these men were capable of. He knew that they could change with the drop of a hat. He didn’t want Jackson to suffer. 

Graves gave a quick glance back at him before reaching up to tap his comms, “Jackson, this is Graves, how are we looking?”

“Mostly clear,” Jackson answered back quickly, “A few stragglers left, but it doesn’t look like much more resistance. We’ll have them dealt with before they can reach you guys.” Roach tried to hide the relief that fell over him, but based on the way that Graves eyed him, he didn’t think he’d quite succeeded. 

“Right,” Graves pushed through the back door, “keep alert. We’ll let you know if we need any backup.” 

“Copy.”

Roach followed behind Graves and was surprised to see the rest of their half of the group waiting on them around the back. Again, the alarm bells in his head went off. Graves told him that the group was facing major resistance but…they were just standing. Waiting on them. There was no gunfire and, to his surprise, none of the members of the squad were missing or even appeared injured. 

He stopped at the door to the house, hesitation bringing his feet to a halt as Graves continued on and shared a quiet word with one of the men. He watched them closely and noted the way that the Shadow’s head seemed to tilt toward him. Were they talking about him? Perhaps he was reading too much into it, after all, he couldn’t see where the man’s eyes were. There was no indication that it was him they were talking about. 

“Roach,” Graves turned and waved him over. Roach hesitated for another long moment before carefully moving forward, taking his place at Graves’ side once again. “My men say that the gunfire stopped a few minutes ago. They think most of the men inside are dead. We’re gonna push up and see if they’re right. Remember,” he paused for a moment to grab tight to his shoulder again, “we need to confirm our kill on this.”

Roach gave a slow nod of his head, pursing his lips. There was an odd sense of worry and relief mixing in him as he turned toward the small building, his gun raised as the members of the little squad followed behind him. He was relieved because this meant that soon the fight would be over. Soon he could group back up with Jackson and get back to the safety of the base without having to worry about potentially dying at the hands of Shadow Company once again. At the same time, though, he knew this entire situation was odd. The mission had gone by quick and the bit of resistance that they’d faced was minor. Even with the resistance that Jackson mentioned seeing push up to the house, he was sure that he would have heard some sort of gunshots or that at least someone would have slipped through their overwatches radar. And yet…nothing. 

He had a terrible feeling of dread creeping up his throat by the time he finally made it to the door of the small building. Just like before, he and Graves lined up on either side of the wood and, with a quick nod, Roach turned and kicked in the door to make entry into the small building. 

He pushed inside, his gun raised as he prepared himself for a quick and dangerous gunfight. That never came. Instead, he lowered his weapon, his eyes tracing several bodies on the ground. “It’s clear,” he called back to the men behind him. His eyes traced the bodies, noting with concern the way that a few of them were laid. They weren’t positioned in the way they should have been. That and the gunshot wounds on several of them were on the wrong side. He knew immediately that these men hadn’t been killed recently. He didn’t voice that. 

Graves pushed into the house after him and paused beside him, scanning over the bodies carefully. “Well,” he sighed, “Seems AQ wasn’t as tough as we expected.” He tilted his head toward Roach carefully, “Help me check the bodies?”

Roach nodded his head and silently stepped forward, beginning to flip bodies over to carefully peer at their faces. He could hear Graves doing the same behind him. They worked in silence for several moments, at least until Roach made his way toward the last few bodies. 

“You know,” Graves started, his voice carrying a peppy tone to it that grated on Roach’s nerves, “You’re damn good Roach, damn good.”

“Thank you,” Roach answered simply. He flipped one of the bodies over, checking it carefully before moving to the next. He was trying hard not to engage with Graves. He didn’t need or want to. 

“I’d like to have someone like you on my team,” Roach could hear as Graves stood up behind him. He didn’t turn to face the man, he wanted to avoid his gaze as much as possible. After a long moment, Graves added, “I’m serious, what do you say?”

“No, thank you,” Roach answered, “I’m not looking to-”

He paused after turning over the next body. It was the man that they were looking for, the one whose picture Graves had shown them before they left. There was a bullet right between his eyes. Roach didn’t have to be a genius to know what that meant. The sound of a gun cocking behind him confirmed exactly what was happening. 

He moved slowly, pushing himself up and away from the body until he was standing forward. He brought his hands up. Raising them and opening his palms flat so that the man behind him could see that he had nothing, that he was no threat. He turned slowly, his eyes immediately locking onto the sight of the handgun that Graves had pointed at him. 

There was silence for several moments as Roach just took in what was once again happening to him. To his surprise, there was no fear. Instead, it was only anger, a burning white-hot rage that flooded his veins and seared itself into his bones. He wanted to scream, he wanted to fight, he wanted to curse whatever cruel god had decided that this was going to be his fate for a second time. Instead, he just stood still. He just watched. 

“I have to admit,” Graves started carefully, an almost unnoticeable smile on his lips, “I’m a bit surprised. You almost seem like you expected this.” 

“You’re exactly what I expected,” Roach answered, his voice quiet, “why would I be surprised?”

Graves gave a small chuckle at his words, “For someone who expected this, you sure did just let us walk you right into this. Maybe you didn’t expect it as much as you claim.” He made a quick motion to the door with his gun, “Move.” 

Roach didn’t fight, he just followed the command and numbly started out of the building, a gun trained to his back the entire time that he moved. Graves guided him out of the house and past the watching members of Shadow Company, each of them with an easy grip on their guns. They didn’t see him as a threat. Somehow that made him angrier. 

He was stripped of his weapons before they could leave the yard and he was forced to watch as one of the members of Shadow Company dropped the magazine on his automatic weapon and, with a pop, dropped three bullets to the ground. Three bullets. They hadn’t fully loaded his weapon. His eyes closed for a brief moment as he realized fully what that meant. Just like before, he was never meant to survive this mission. 

“Don’t look too upset,” Graves taunted, “you’ve done us a great service.”

“Which is?” Roach continued moving forward at the man’s word. He kept his footsteps slow, he wasn’t in a rush to die again.

“Well,” Graves started, “no one will question why we moved in on this now. Once they find out that the local AQ operative kidnapped and executed two US Army Rangers…well, I doubt anyone will question anything further. Nothing better than a martyr or two to get things moving.”

His words stopped Roach in his place. Jackson. Where was Jackson? He paused for a long moment and even as Graves roughly shoved at his shoulders to try and get him moving again, he didn’t dare walk. He needed to warn Jackson, he needed to know that his friend was alright. Even if it got him killed. 

He paused for a long moment before quickly reaching forward to flick his comms to the right channel and, before anyone could react, he spit out, “Jackson it’s a fucking trap! Leave, get the fuck out of here. Remember, don’t come ba-”

There was the ring of a gunshot before the familiar stinging pain splintered up his side, lighting his body up with pain and sending him to his knees. He moved on instinct, covering the gunshot wound with his hand, pressing tight despite the pain that radiated up his spine. Blood pooled over his fingers but he paid it no mind and, when the gun was back in his face, he pushed down the pain to glare at Graves’ smug face. 

“Bit too late to warn your friend,” Graves crouched down to his level, “He’s had a gun on him since the moment you stepped away.” He chuckled a bit before standing up straight and nudging Roach with his foot, “Stand up and I’ll take you to him, you two can go out together.” 

Roach stayed down for a moment, horror filling him as he realized exactly what Graves was telling him. The entire time, every single thing that Jackson had said over the comms…all of it was done under the threat of a bullet through his skull. His eyes began to sting with tears at the thought, the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to help his friend. The knowledge that there was no chance that Jackson could have made it out. 

He pushed past it, he had to. He hated it, but he wouldn’t let Jackson die alone. With a bit of a struggle, he pushed himself to his feet, his hand still applying pressure to his wound. He gave another glare toward Graves before starting forward, stumbling a bit with the pain that he could feel in his side. He could hear Graves give a bit of a laugh at the move, but he forced himself to continue forward. 

They moved toward the center of the town, Roach stumbling forward the entire way. Luckily his hand on his wound seemed to do a somewhat decent job of stemming the bleeding, so he wasn’t suffering from any of the symptoms of blood loss yet. That was at least some sort of positive to what he was currently dealing with. 

After rounding one of the buildings into the town center, Roach felt his heart sink into his chest. Several of the Shadows were finishing up the digging on a rather large hole and, based on the cans of gasoline sitting close by, Roach knew exactly what they planned to do. He could already smell smoke filling his lungs. 

His eyes trailed away from the pit and over toward where several Shadow Company members were holding tight to Jackson's arms, keeping him in place. Another member was patrolling in a short circle around him, a shotgun in their hands. The two locked eyes with one another as Roach approached. Roach was horrified to see how battered his friend looked, though he was relieved to see that he seemed to be standing on his own. 

He could see exactly when Jackson’s eyes began trailing down and eventually spotted the blood still slowly seeping from his side. There was a long moment as Roach approached where Jackson just stared, completely calm Roach knew his friend, though. He knew it was the calm before the storm. 

Jackson moved rather suddenly and Roach knew that with his friend’s strength and the sudden movement, there would be no way that the two Shadow Company members would be able to continue holding him. 

Sure enough, Jackson easily broke out of the two men’s grip. Roach tried to rush forward but was quickly grabbed by Graves, the gun pressed right against his wound harshly, forcing him to cry out at the pain. Jackson delivered a swift punch to one of the men and, in a simple and quick move, was able to grab his handgun and turn it onto the other man that had a hold of him. 

He delivered a quick shot to the man’s neck, knocking him to the floor with blood spilling from his body. In the next second, he’d shot the other man who’d been holding on to him, sending him to the ground with a well-placed bullet just between his armor. Jackson turned then, moving the gun toward Roach and his group, quite clearly with his sights set on Graves. 

“Don’t try it, Sergeant,” Graves called out to him, his voice harsh. He sounded angry, and Roach could understand why. Jackson had just likely killed two of his men. “You pull that trigger and you’re more likely to hit your friend here,” he dug the gun into Roach’s side again, pulling another cry from his throat, “than me.” 

“Let him go,” Jackson called, “Let us both go. We won’t say shit.” He took a careful step forward but stopped when Graves once again dug his gun in to pull a cry from Roach’s lips. 

“You know I can’t do that,” Graves called carefully. “Put the gun down, this is your last chance.” 

“I’m going to die anyways,” Jackson called back, lifting his weapon again, “Your threats don’t scare me.” 

Roach tried to shout out to his friend when he spotted the Shadow approaching from behind, but it was too late. By the time his friend's name had left his mouth, there was a loud gunshot followed by Jackson’s body crumpling to the floor. 

Tears pulled to Roach’s eyes and he struggled hard in Graves’ hold, trying to get to where his friend was being unceremoniously rolled over until he could be kicked into the hole they’d dug for them. Anger burned at him. Dread and hatred and anxiety so strong that it threatened to knock him to his feet clawed up his throat to block his airway. He couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t even in the fire yet, and he couldn’t breathe. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he couldn’t even find it in him to fight back when Graves began shoving him toward the hole where his friend had been tossed. He could hardly walk, stumbling the entire way as blood dripped down his body, the stream reignited by Graves's harsh presses and the way that he forced Roach to move. 

“Shame about your friend,” Graves spoke with a harsh punch to his words, “I meant what I’d said about letting the two of you die together. I was trying to be kind.” Roach didn’t respond, he wouldn’t respond. Graves’ words pulled a sickness to his chest, threatening to rise from his throat and have him spilling anything left in his stomach to the floor. He couldn’t believe that this was happening. How could this be happening?

Graves forced him to stop at the edge of the large ditch and Roach was forced to look down at his friend’s crumbled body, at the way that his leg, where the shotgun had hit, was torn to bits, blood spilling from mangled flesh in a steady stream. He sobbed at the sight, guilt joining the rest of the emotions that were plaguing his chest. Maybe if he’d been faster? Maybe if he’d figured out who Graves and his men were back on the base? Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

It was too late for thoughts like those though. They were already there. Already bleeding and just waiting to be burned. Just waiting to die again. “Dump the gasoline,” Graves ordered, his gun still pressed tight to Roach. 

The smell of the gas was thick on Roach’s tongue. He could taste it down his throat as the men poured it into the ditch, covering his friend's body with the liquid. He was reminded of the feeling of paralysis. Of gasoline invading his senses and gliding down his throat. Of smoke and fire filling his lungs as he watched the unmoving body of the man that he loved. Now, now he would be forced the watch the unmoving body of his friend. He would be forced to live his death once again. 

Once the men were done and the thick scent of gasoline laid over the earth, the liquid sinking into the ground with the crimson of Jackson’s blood, Roach was forced to turn around. He moved slowly still in a complete haze as he came to face Graves. Behind the man, he could see the Shadows piling into their transports, laughter ringing through the air. Graves didn’t laugh, he just stood still, watching Roach and waiting for his men to get ready to leave. 

“Well,” he started finally, “Any last words? Any last curses that you want to say? Now’s the time.”

Roach stood silent for a moment, tears still rolling down his cheeks. He glared at Graves. For a brief moment, he considered saying nothing. What right did this man have to hear his final words? What right did this man have to him? To his voice, to his life, to his death? The thought pulled the anger bubbling in him to the front again. He knew he would die. He knew that was what was about to happen. He was going to die and he was going to have to start from the very beginning. He was going to have to start over in a new world with a new family and a new childhood and…that was it. 

Maybe, in his third life, he could keep this from happening again. Maybe, in his third life, he wouldn’t be so…patient. Maybe he wouldn’t wait for these men to find him again. Maybe, his anger hissed, maybe he would find them first. It was that thought that finally pulled words to his throat. 

“I’m going to kill you,” he managed to hiss out, his voice breaking close to the middle. 

He could see Graves’ lip quirk up just slightly at his words. The other man was clearly amused by his threat, “What was that?” 

“I am going to kill you,” Roach spoke the words louder, stronger. He spoke them with a conviction that brought a flash of surprise to Graves's face. He didn’t speak the words like the desperate last curse of a dead man. He spoke them like a man who would live. A man who would live and return to get his revenge. “In this life or the next,” Roach continued carefully, “I’ll be the one to kill you. Do you understand?” 

Graves didn’t answer, he just stared at him and, after a long moment, there was another bang of a gunshot. 

Roach was sent tumbling backward, the pain in his side reignited fully. Graves had shot him in the same place, tearing his flesh with the bullet and making Roach’s vision go dark as he spiraled down the long slope until he was coming to a stop on top of Jackson’s body. 

He couldn’t move for several long moments, all he could do was groan as pain flashed across his vision and forced him to shove himself to the side so he could heave with the thick scent of gasoline around him. It was so familiar and all around him, enough to bring him back to the pain of fire searing his flesh. Enough to force burning hot bile from his throat and to the ground in front of him.

He coughed over it, trying to breathe through the pail and the liquid heat that seemed to block his throat. Dirt stuck to his hands and he could hardly think through the haze of everything around him. At least he could hardly think until he heard Graves’ voice call again, “Alright, light it up so we can get out of here.” 

It was like the words sobered him completely, snapping his mind back into place. Was he just going to lie there and die again? Was that really it? He was going to die at the hands of Shadow Company again. He was going to be forced to start over. He didn’t want to start over. 

He pushed himself away from the ground as quickly as he could, nearly tumbling face-first back down at the move. The pain in his side threatened to keep him on the ground, but he pushed past it. He wasn’t going to let a gunshot wound stop him this time around. 

He shuffled over to Jackson as quickly as he could, leaning over his friend’s already pale body to desperately feel around his neck, searching helplessly for a pulse. He pressed his fingers in one place, then another. He felt nothing. He closed his eyes with a sob, feeling the weight of what was happening lie on his shoulders. He cursed to himself, ranting and raving under his breath about how terrible the universe was and about how this couldn’t be their deaths, not again.

He found a pulse on his sixth try. It was weak, too weak, but it was there and that was what mattered. He moved behind his friend, wrapping his arms under his shoulders and pressing his back to his chest carefully. Ever so slowly, he started to drag them toward the other edge of the hole, trying to stay as quiet as possible as he did. It was difficult with the stinging pain of the wound in his side and the smell of gasoline trying hard to invade his senses. 

His head was light, but he didn’t intend to let that stop him. He kept pushing, tripping over himself, and noting the way that his body seemed to try to give out on itself. He just kept pushing. He wouldn’t die here. He refused to let it happen. Not without a fight. 

The match was flicked into the pit just as he managed to get himself and Jackson to the opposite end and started up the hill. The flame was quick to spread until it was licking around Roach and Jackson, burning their clothing and singing their skin. Roach pushed himself to his feet quickly and tossed his vest off. His shirt came next and he was quick to toss it over Jackson’s face, doing his best to shield him from the fire as he continued dragging them up the small incline. 

Familiar flames licked at his body, bubbling the skin on his arms and legs, melting the soles of his shoes and burning them into his feet. Everything was so hot. It was all so overwhelming and yet it seemed to help Roach. 

The flames, the gasoline, the gunshot, the fear of death. All of it seemed to hit him at once and suddenly he found dragging Jackson to be easier. He found that he could hardly feel the sting of heat on his skin. He found that the smell of gasoline invading his senses was almost like an afterthought to him. He didn’t care. All that mattered was getting himself and Jackson out of the flames. 

He continued dragging, he continued burning. Finally, though, finally, he was able to collapse out of the flames. They’d made it out of their fiery grave, but Roach wasn’t satisfied. He pulled Jackson further away. Continuing as far back as he could until the heat of the flame was no longer licking at his skin. Until all he could feel was the almost freezing air of the night around him. 

He moved quickly then, grabbing his jacket away from Jackson’s body and using it to smother out any flames that had managed to catch on his friend’s clothing. It was all fireproof, something that Roach had suggested when he’d joined the demon dogs. Fireproof clothing. Just in case. 

He checked Jackson’s pulse again. It was still weak. The fire seemed to have helped close up some of the wounds that tore apart his leg, but the vast majority of it was still a mangled bleeding mess. Roach needed to get his friend to help before it was too late. 

He tried to think, tried to gather his thoughts around the scrambling of his brain. Around the hazy panic that threatened to set in. The last thing he needed was to be panicked. What could he do?

He needed to get Jackson to help, but he had no fucking idea where help was at. He tried to think of any nearby towns that he knew of, the only thing that came to mind was one that was miles away. It would be a trek and, in his current state, there was no way that Jackson was going to make it before bleeding out. Still, he had to try something. 

With that thought in mind, he shoved himself from the ground. He moved quickly to the nearest house and tried the door. To his surprise, it was unlocked and, as he pushed it open, he could understand why. 

There was blood along the walls, some of it was already dried but the large puddles on the floor clearly weren’t. They pooled under the bodies of a man and woman, each of them with several bullets that had torn open their skin, the flesh just as marred as Jackson’s leg. Roach had to take a moment to steady himself at the sight.

It hit him then why the town had been so quiet. He’d thought, perhaps hoped, that Graves and his Shadows had simply threatened the townspeople when they came in earlier. He’d hoped they’d been warned and decided to stay inside to avoid the gunfire. He knew now that wasn’t true. Graves hadn’t left anyone who could share the truth of what had happened alive. 

He forced himself to focus. He pushed into the house, digging around for anything that he could find to help. There was a gun by the man’s body and Roach took full advantage of it grabbing it and checking the ammo before shoving it into his empty holster. His legs and arms started to sting again, but he ignored it, grabbing a large blanket and a belt from one of the walls. He could use the belt to at least temporarily stem the bleeding. 

The thought had him pausing. He thought about the weight of the gun in his holster and suddenly found himself remembering the two Shadows that Jackson had shot. There was a chance that Graves had gathered the bodies, but more likely he’d left them. They could collect them later when they returned to show off the evidence of his and Jackson’s “execution.” Still, the bodies might have something valuable on them. Particularly weapons and potentially a stim shot. 

The thought had him rushing back outside, pushing through the pain that was slowly returning to his body in favor of returning to his friend's side. He crouched next to him, quickly moving to tear away the leg of Jackson’s pants as best as he could. From there he wrapped the belt around Jackson’s leg, getting it as tight as he possibly could before twisting and looping it around itself. It wasn’t the best, but it would do for the time being. 

Once that was done he spread the blanket that he had out onto the ground and carefully rolled Jackson’s body on top of it. Once he was sure that his friend would be okay for another few minutes, Roach pushed himself back to his feet and started back toward the large pit, still raging with the bright light of the fire. Roach used it to guide himself, stumbling back into the raging heat before circling around the large fire. 

He moved carefully, as carefully as he could with the pain still searing through his body. He had to be sure that Graves and his men hadn’t stuck around, so he made sure to stick to the edge of the pit. Despite how hard it burned, the strong bright light would help to hide his figure on the off chance that they were still there. 

He was pleased to see when he reached a certain point, that Graves and his men were long gone, leaving the fire burning in their wake. He wasn’t surprised. Graves was arrogant, he believed that there was no possibility of Roach making it out. He, like many others, had underestimated him. Roach swore to himself that he’d make the man pay for it. 

He moved away from the fire as soon as he could, stumbling forward into the dark, guided only by the bright light behind him. He could see the bodies of the men that he was looking for lying in the dirt in front of him, blood sinking into the dirt under their bodies. Jackson had hit true, Roach wasn’t too surprised. He knew how good his friend was at what he did. 

He collapsed next to the body of the first man and immediately checked for a pulse. He was relieved to find none. From there he stripped the man of his weapons, taking his knife and his handgun for himself. He wouldn’t be able to carry the automatic weapon that the man had, so he ignored it. 

From there he checked the man’s pockets, his vest, his bag, anything and everything that something could be stored in and Roach checked it. He didn’t find much. More ammo. Some wrap, not quite enough for Roach to wrap his wound or any of Jackson’s. A few things that the man had clearly snatched from one of the houses in the town. 

He moved to the next man, checking his pulse similarly to how he’d checked the first man. Just the same, there was nothing. He moved to dig through this man’s pockets, praying that he would find something good. 

Electrical tape. He could use that to hold what bit of wrap he did have over his wound. It wouldn’t do much, but it was something. More ammo, he didn’t need it. It would only weigh him down. Several glow sticks. Roach shoved them into his pants, his own having been lost to the fire. They would be useful for the trek that he was going to attempt into the next town. 

Finally, he dug into the man’s vest one last time, digging around for anything and everything. His fingers latched on to something and, when he pulled it out, he was sure he could cheer. A stim shot. 

With his spoils wrapped securely in his hands or shoved into his pockets, he made his way back toward Jackson as quickly as possible. When he made it he was quick to pull the shot back out again, popping the cap off of one end and preparing to stab it into his leg. He paused before he could, his eyes trailing back over to Jackson. 

The unfortunate fact of the matter was that he only had one of the shots. Only one. And, while it certainly would help ensure that he could make it to the next town…if he didn’t give it to Jackson, what was the potential that his friend would make it? The choice might have been hard for anyone else, not for Roach. 

He moved forward quickly, moving Jackson’s clothing out of the way before stabbing the shot into his friend’s leg and pushing down the little button, sending medicine flowing through his friend’s system. He tossed the shot away after. He didn’t have time to dwell on his choice, it had already been made. 

He took his time dressing his gunshot wounds as best as he could, placing the wrap over them before securing them tightly over his skin with a great amount of electrical tape. He tried to avoid his burned skin with it, but it was hard to do when the burns ran so close to his wound. He learned fairly quickly that the feeling of electrical tape on bubbling and charred flesh was not a nice one. 

Once he was sure that he’d done the best he could at treating his own wound, he pushed himself from the ground, fighting past the slowly returning pain all over his body. His adrenaline was wearing off, something not quite good considering the trek that he was about to attempt. Still, he pushed forward. He wouldn’t let himself or Jackson die without trying. He just couldn’t. 

He grabbed the edges of the large blanket and lifted them up to his waist. It was a difficult thing, but, eventually, he was able to wrap the material around his hand tightly, He gave himself one long moment to breathe. Deep and careful breaths pulled from his lungs. He thought of his first life. He thought of Simon and everything that he’d lost. He might lose it all again now. He wasn’t going to let it happen. He wasn’t going to start over. 

He started forward, dragging the blanket with his friend's body behind him. He wasn’t going to die again. Not today. 

He was exhausted. The sun was coming up. He’d been walking for hours. Marking and stumbling through the cold air of the night. He tied not to focus on the festering wounds on his arms. On the way that some of his blisters and bubbled skin had only frown. On the way that his gunshot wounds felt as though they were ripping with every move that he made. He didn’t focus on the pain. He couldn’t focus on the pain.

He hadn’t checked on Jackson since he’d left. He couldn’t bring himself to. He just had to keep moving because he knew that if he checked on his friend and found that he hadn’t made it, that his friend had died from his injuries sometime during the night, he knew he wouldn’t be able to continue. He knew any and all of the fight he had left would leave his body. 

So he kept pushing. He kept marching forward, following the stars like he’d been forced to learn from his father in his first life. This was nothing like that. His body yearned for the simple pain of being a child, barefoot and dumped in the woods, told to find their way home by the stars or not come home at all. That was much easier than this. 

As he continued marching, the cold of the night seemed to slowly seep away. The comfort of the night cooling his blistered skin disappeared with the rising of the sun in the distance. Roach could have cried at the feeling of his wounds being baked under the unforgiving rays of the sun’s heat. He didn’t. He just grit his teeth and used the sun to check that he was still going the right way. He pushed on. 

When, in the distance, he finally spotted the little town that he was looking for he was sure that he would never feel such a sweet release as that. All of his walking, all of the pain, all of the heat and he’d finally made it. He’d fucking done it. He pressed on quicker, encouraged by the image of the town fixed in his gaze. 

When he made it close enough, he could see people stopping to look. Shocked faces tracing the line of his burnt and bleeding body all the way down to the blanket that carried Jackson’s mangled form. Roach’s throat was dry, he felt weak. Still, he forced himself to call out. 

“Please! Help, someone get a doctor! Please!” No one moved, they just kept watching him. He kept pushing forward. He could see the shock on their faces, the concern, everything in between. “Please,” he tried again as he got closer, “my friend, please he needs help. He could die!”

Those words seemed to set several people in motion. A few women ran off, likely to find a doctor or someone else who could help. Several men ran out to meet Roach where he was. They were gentle, carefully taking the blanket from Roach’s hands and using it to begin dragging Jackson into the town, much quicker than Roach could. 

Roach watched them go, relief and exhaustion weighing at him. He realized then how much his feet hurt. He realized then how much his head hurt. He realized then how much the heat of the sun on his blistered skin stung. He tried to push past it, after all, that was what he’d been doing all night. He took a step forward and, just like that, his vision went black, sending him tumbling into the sand beneath his feet. 

Roach tried not to pick at his arms. The wrapping covering all of the burns helped, but they were itching. They hurt and they were itching and the feeling seemed to crawl up Roach’s arms and spread around his body. It was as though there were bugs under his skin, marching around and biting him with every move. 

He wanted to claw at the skin. To rip it open and tear the offending insects from his body. He tried to resist the urge. There were no bugs, only the burns. 

His gunshot wound didn’t hurt as bad, though he expected that. After all, he’d been shot enough times that he knew what to expect out of that. It would sting if he moved too quickly or shifted in an odd way, but for the most part, it wouldn’t bother him if he left it alone. It was odd to think that the gunshot wound was the least of his problems. 

The doctor's wife had been encouraging him to get up and move around. She swore that the covers on his arms would keep the sun from hurting them if he went outside. She begged him to move, to go get some air or something. He politely declined every time. He couldn’t move, not yet. Not until Jackson woke up. 

Guilt gnawed at his chest as he sat in the seat next to Jackson’s bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but he refused to move. He refused to leave Jackson’s side. He had to be there when his friend woke up. 

The doctor tried to explain that he couldn’t be sure if Jackson would wake up. There was a lot of damage. He’d suffered a great amount of blood loss from his leg and, by the time Roach had gotten him into the town, most of the tissue had already died and started the process of rotting. The doctor had been forced to amputate. He’d saved as much of Jackson’s leg as he could, but Roach’s friend was still left with nothing from the knee down. Roach was tearing himself up with guilt over it. 

His friend had been shot while trying to help him. His friend was only in this situation because Roach hadn’t trusted himself. His friend had lost his leg because he wasn’t able to get him to help in time. Roach blamed himself for it all. It was easy to blame himself. 

It didn’t mean he’d forgotten, though. It didn’t mean he hadn’t been able to see Philip Graves’ face clearly in his mind. It didn’t mean that he hadn’t remembered the promise that he’d made before being tossed into that ditch. He might be to blame, but he wasn’t going to forget who’d done this to him. Who had done this to his friend. He wasn’t going to forget any time soon. 

The longer he sat, the longer the thought of Graves began to fester in his mind. With the thought of Graves and the Shadows came the thought of Shepherd. They had to be on his payroll in this universe too, they just had to. He was reminded of his first life, of his death and the death of the man that he loved. He was reminded of the betrayal. He was reminded that he’d been betrayed again. Left to die, again. 

The thought of Shepherd morphed. He remembered the fight. The way back home. The lives that had been destroyed all because of one man. Makarov. He wondered if he was still around in this life. If Shadow Company was around, if Shepherd was around, it would stand to reason that Makarov would be around as well. 

He’d nearly been killed again. He’d nearly died all at the hands of Shadow Company’s betrayal. Would he have to watch as his home was torn apart by war once again, all at the hands of Makarov? Would it all be for nothing? 

What was the point, he found himself asking, of being reborn? Why was he here, why was he forced to remember if all of it was just going to happen again? There was no point to any of it. He decided, there was no point unless…unless he was meant to do something about it all. 

He found himself rethinking things, rethinking his current situation. Why had the universe guided him and Jackson together in this life? They’d never known each other in their first life, they’d never crossed paths once. Jackson was part of an entirely different branch of the military in their last life, and yet…they’d somehow found their way to one another in this life. There had to be a reason for that and there had to be a reason that they both remembered. 

Roach tossed these thoughts around in his head as he stayed tucked into the chair beside Jackson’s bed. He refused to leave his friend’s side for anything other than basic necessities like eating or having his wounds redressed. Occasionally the doctor or his wife would ask if there was anyone they could call, anyone that they could get in contact with for the. Roach told them there was no one. He didn’t know who he could trust, so his best bet was to trust no one. 

He sat and he thought and he waited for his friend to wake up. That was all he could do. 

Jackson woke up a week after Roach did. 

As usual, Roach was in his seat next to the man, his mind somewhere far away. Lost in the thoughts that had been plaguing him since he’d woken back up. He missed the way that his friend’s eyes opened, he missed the way that his head turned toward him. It wasn’t until Jackson spoke that Roach realized the moment he’d been waiting for had finally come. 

“Damn, Sanderson. You look like hell.” Jackson’s voice was rough and weak. The IV attached to his arm kept him hydrated, but it couldn’t keep his throat from getting dry. “Shit,” he managed to creak out, “I’m fucking thirsty.”

Roach snapped into action, moving up from his seat as quickly as he could to shakily pour his friend a cup of water. His hand was still shaky when he helped to bring it up to Jackson’s lips, something his friend clearly noticed by the way he was eyeing him as he took long sips from the glass. Roach made sure he didn’t drink too much, though he understood the temptation that his friend likely had to do so. 

After a long moment, he pulled away and returned the glass to the little cart that held the pitched of water. He returned to his seat silently, his gaze sweeping over Jackson in long moves. It was one thing to observe his friend when he was asleep, but it was another to observe him when he was awake. It made things much more real to Roach. It made it easier to accept that he’d actually managed to keep his friend alive. 

“Where are we?” Jackson didn’t hesitate with the question, his eyes scanning around the small room that they were in. Roach always admired that about his friend. He never seemed nervous to ask, even if he thought he might not like the answer. 

“The next town over,” Roach spoke quietly, still resisting the urge to pick at his arm. “We’re staying with a doctor and his wife right now. Though I don’t know how much longer we can stay here now that you’re awake.”

“Right,” Jackson’s gaze moved back over to Roach carefully, “How did we get here?”

“I,” Roach hesitated for a moment, “I brought us here. I put your body on a blanket and dragged you. Thankfully I made it in time.”

“And Graves?” Roach could hear the bit of hope in Jackson’s voice and he had to look away. He couldn’t see his friend’s disappointment when he told him. 

“Still alive.” He picked at his nails viciously. It was at least better than picking at the blisters and charred skin of his arms. “Sorry, I uh, I wasn’t able to do much about that.”

“You got us here,” Jackson spoke carefully, “That’s enough. You kept us alive. That’s enough.”

Roach nodded to the man and there was silence for several moments. He wasn’t sure that he believed his friend. Getting them to safety had been the least that he could do. He wished, desperately that he could have done more. That he could have prevented it all from happening in the first place. 

After a long moment, Jackson started to try and push himself up from the bed. Roach rushed forward to help him immediately, carefully wrapping his arms around his friend to help sit him up against the headboard. He pulled away once he’d gotten him into the right position. 

There was a long moment where Jackson just stared forward, with no emotion on his face. Roach had to trace his eye line to see what he was staring so hard at. His leg. 

“When I got you here,” he started quietly, “the doctor said you’d lost a lot of blood. He said, uh, most of the tissue on your leg had died already.” He paused for a long moment before adding, “He saved as much as he could. I’m sorry.” 

Jackson didn’t answer. He didn’t show any emotion on his face. He just kept staring. It was terrifying for Roach. He hadn’t considered how the man might react when he found out about his leg and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. He’d brought Jackson all this way, he’d managed to keep him alive, and yet he’d still somehow failed his friend. He didn’t want to fail anyone else. 

“Where do we go from here?” Jackson shifted his gaze just slightly, meeting Roach’s eyes with that blank look. “What do we do?”

“We can’t go back,” Roach spoke quietly. He’d had the better part of a week to think about what they would do. “Not while Graves is alive. Not when we’re living breathing proof of what he did in that town.” He shook his head and moved back to collapse into his seat. Saying it out loud was almost overwhelming to him. 

He stared down at his hands for a long moment, trying to decide what to say. He’d already decided what to do. He knew that. He didn’t really want to admit it. Saying it made it more real. It meant there was no going back. But really, he thought to himself, there had been no going back from the moment that Graves had come into the barracks for him and Jackson. It wasn’t his fault. His hand had been forced. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he spoke the words quietly, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. “I’m going to kill him and I’m going to find Shepherd and I’m going to kill him too.” He looked up to meet Jackson’s eyes, “I’m done waiting. I’m done just sitting around and hoping that things will be better in this life. The people from our last life are still around and I am tired of waiting for them to show up and kill us again.” He shook his head. His eyes became glassy as he stared forward. “I’m going to kill them before they can do any more harm here.” 

He paused for a long moment, just letting the words settle in the air. He let them sink in. He let them become real. There was no backing out. His mind had been made up. The universe had given him his memories for a reason and he intended to use them. 

He met Jackson’s eyes again, “When I kill Graves, you can go back home. We can find you somewhere to stay until then, somewhere safe and-”

“Roach,” Jackson called his name harshly, his eyes narrowed, “I’m not going home. I’m not sitting this out.”

“Jackson-”

“No,” Jackson shook his head. “Listen, I know my leg is,” he stopped himself with tight lips and shook his head carefully, “I know I can’t be much help physically like this. But you’re going to need someone to help you find these people, someone to help you get into places, someone who can monitor and help.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Roach spoke carefully, “I’ve already gotten you into this mess.”

“This mess,” Jackson motioned around them, “it wasn’t your fault. It was Graves. I’m here, I’m already in it. There’s no backing out. Not now. We both remember. I can help.” 

Jackson held Roach’s gaze for a long moment. Roach didn’t want to say yes. He didn’t want his friend to get tied up in this mess any more than he already was. But he could see the determination on his friend’s face. He could see that his mind was already made up. Just like him, there wasn’t anything that would be able to change that. 

“Alright,” Roach nodded his head, his words quiet. “Alright.” 

And that was it. The universe had allowed them to remember. They weren’t going to let it go to waste. 

[theunstablejester]

Hi again! Yes, I would love to hear your thoughts on Hades 2 situation and discuss them with you

So, my main problem with Hades is that, if you look closely, you can see how much the development hell it went through shines. Not only is the voice acting messy, with Zagreus being abysmal and everyone else being poorly directed to the point of many actors repeating previous acting delivery, but you can see that this was meant to be a budget game. Also, the reusage of Pyre's sound effects and how the artstyle of Hades is incredibly similar to Pyre's in opposition of how it was when it was Minos or how the other games do not look similar.

If you have played Transistor you will notice that Hades is... an "evolution" (lateral exploration if I need to be specific) of the ideas presented in Transistor and this is where a flaw is presented for me. Transistor presented itself as not a rogue-like but if you played it you will notice the similarities, even more with how the campaign repeats onto itself. So, what is my issue? Transistor twisted the genres it belongs to. Transistor did something new and this is what brings me to Pyre and Bastion cuz they also did the same! Those two games also presented new concepts and twisted their genres, now this is my issue with Hades. How many things does it do that truly and honestly separates itself to other of its genre, even more when you put it next to it's other siblings.

Now, I like playing Hades. It is an enjoyable mechanical cohesive game... but the story is trash, it is trash without the fact that you have played Pyre, Transistor and/or Bastion and it is even more trashy if you have played them.

So, Bastion, Transistor and Pyre were all build from zero story wise, everything is original. The characters are original, the world is original, the story is original... everything on those games is original, they made worlds and stories that captivated one... Hades on the other hand? See, I have issues with the whole Olympic shit cuz... they made stuff like Bastion, they made stories like that!

And the story... man, the story... so, the story is told splendidly well, you get farther in the story if you reach Persephone which makes every encounter more emotional and it feels earned but then you think about it... Zagreus rejected his family for what? He rejected Nyx as his mother, he rejected Thanatos, Charon and Hypnos as his brothers... for what, exactly? The story begins to crumble little by little here but let me start with my main ire... Hades himself. Hades has been nothing but abusive to Zagreus and he never actually finds into himself to be better to him, he only finds it in himself when Persephone does and what does this entail? Zagreus just wanting his family back? Persephone and Hades, somehow, still being in love with each other? For what? I seriously ask... for what? Zagreus wanted out, he wanted to find his place outside of the Underworld but... he found his place on the system he rejected... the system that pushed him out is completed when he goes back to it and fixes his blood family... and the song says so, it's in the blood... and you might now why this angers me... after playing Bastion and Pyre, why would they write this? Why would they write this type of: "Man, you have to forgive your shitty blood family. They are your family and not the people that fucking raised you."

And... I was fine with Hades, I was fine with Supergiant Games selling out. Pyre had flopped, so... they made a mass appeal game. They made rogue like, when they were THAT popular, they basically introduced indie structure of modification of difficulty to a lot of people that had not experienced it, Greek mythology sells in opposition of making your original works, they just slapped some hot looking characters the names of mythology and made a story that would pull the strings of people that would not analyze properly the themes that were presented... it made money, the money that they had lost making their most original game in Pyre... and for what? So they can make a sequel with the same unispired design?

See, this is where my anger comes from. Hades is whatever but Hades 2? Hades 2 is my nightmare, it is Supergiant Games doing what they had never done... a sequel to their most successful game... instead of making a new game, with new mechanics, a new world and original story... we have this and it scares me to see that after s trilogy of groundbreaking games we have the safest option ever... after they had the money of reputation to do whatever...

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Snowdrops grow where blood droplets dry' they take any life to sedate themselves when the frost mixes with ash and home is a blank monument for a more ordinary time. A pyre burns all books and nostalgia joins in its pages as they flutter like smoke-- the past is finally gone, but I am not free.

I thought I could see your face, but the survivors' eyes are all mirrors, reflecting back at me with tears etched on each cheek, melting the illusions that appear.

They crack open pretenses and poisoned words and pustules hiding inside wool coats; even after a decade passed by, it's as if I've last been here ten days ago.

The bells ring for the lost victims. Their echoes make my hands tremble, and leave me off balance on cobblestones which rocked me awake from a never-ending dream.

I kept running until the wind cannot follow me further, until the buildings grind down to the grass, whispering the sorrows afflicted by an awkward swordsman with a naive heart. I keep running, towards the edges of the city, but within the westerlies, the cold assuages my cheek, and I thought that you kissed me once again.

My brother, where had you gone?

You have touched this city with the slightest of hands, but even in your own playground, you still sought for the mountains, where you could rest with the gods and laugh.

The passersby claim that you have died-- that you've been martyred, that you've crashed your car in a thunderstorm, that you were found in a ravine with nightingales guarding your body. Without giving their names, the tell me of their memories found in the melting snow.

But, my friend--you can't be dead!

Your imprint burns on my chest like a coal falling in the wrong place, it ignites until my veins retreated and I grow numb to everything-- everything but your presence...

Author's note: I saw @nosebleedclub's for "after everything" (30 November), and figured I might work from a snippet I wrote from a while back. This is just the beginning part of a longer poem about someone trying to reconcile with a friend.

[jamessunderlandgf]

ooh music games are my fave! 🎧👀?

PYRE | son lux

bring all your things and we will build a pyre / and in the fury of alarm bells we shalt begin / we can begin again