#but I do think that he’d share this sentiment because again his optimism has a practical component to it

[remus-poopin]

I know you were not the OP of Remus being optimistic about his job prospects- but I just love when you talk about our collective fave.

Personally, I think his optimism and the fact that he literally never gives up fighting is my favourite thing about him! He got dealt a shit deal, and I think people tend to focus a lot on his lowest moments and paint this picture of this chronically beaten-down guy. He shook off losing his job really quickly and gracefully. When Peter escaped in PoA and Harry thought all was lost, he was the one who pointed out he saved and freed Sirius and brought the truth to light! He’s in the Order because he believes in something and has hope. In HBP we see him lost in self destructive grief, but come on. In DH, too much is said about how he ran away from Tonks and too little about how he came back and showed unwavering support to Harry and was committed to give the listeners of Potterwatch hope.

I also think it’s worth saying that he ran away from his pregnant wife and there’s cowardice in that and he was misguided in thinking his family was better off without him. But he didn’t flee the country or hide - he went to find Harry because his first instinct is to fight for a better world.

Of course young hopeful Remus, first werewolf with a degree, would take some painful blows, but this guy! This guy!!! He’s never one to say “what’s the point”.

End of rant, love your blog.

Ahh thank you!! I love talking about Lupin, it’s my favorite topic!

This is a really interesting discussion because Lupin’s relationship with hope and optimism is complex, he isn’t straightforwardly cynical yet he holds cynical emotional truths. In a lot of cases he actually puts on a show of optimism, not only to others, but to himself.

In three different situations we see Lupin convincing himself against all logic that things will turn out/are already fine: the werewolf jaunts at school, the Sirius animagus secret, and leaving Tonks in the middle of a war.

He knows that going out as a extremely dangerous animal (that specifically only attacks humans) into a village only accompanied by a dog, deer, and rat is not safe for others

He knows that Sirius being an illegal animagus is critically important information that he needs to give to Dumbledore because he is under the impression that Sirius is trying to kill a student

He knows that leaving his pregnant wife in the middle of a war with her parents that were just tortured days before isn’t “perfectly safe”

He knows this yet he convinces himself that everything will turn out fine because dealing with the feelings of his failings is much more unpleasant/painful.

In all three of these examples he is lying to himself to allietvate his guilt. He has to believe that he isn’t enacting any real harm on anyone, but the reality is that each time he has compromised peoples safety (villagers, students, and the mother of his unborn child). This takes some SERIOUS mind bending to pull off. He simply is not being honest with himself.

In DH we finally see him at his emotional truth:

“My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it — how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”

His worse case scenario thinking is colored by his self loathing. This is what he believes to be true: that he is undeserving and that people are better off without him. Those are his cynical truths, and he superficially masks them with positive delusions.

This form of optimism, the kind that covers for his feelings of self loathing, is reoccurring in his personal life. And it would be interesting to think how this detached optimism extends itself in other situations.

HOWEVER he is also capable of experiencing a real genuine hope!

When he’s not manipulating himself into thinking a certain way, the hope we see from him is very practical and clearly present:

In OOTP he says this in response to Molly’s fears about the war:

“‘Molly, that’s enough,’ said Lupin firmly. ‘This isn’t like last time. The Order is better prepared, we’ve got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to - look, I can’t promise no one’s going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we’re much better off than we were last time’”

This a very realistic approach but also one with a positive tone. It’s also grounded in logic, unlike the three examples from above.

In DH when asked if he thinks Harry is still alive he says this:

“‘I do,’ said Lupin firmly. ‘There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. The Boy Who Lived’ remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting’.”

Again this is a clear show of hope but one informed by logic. These feel much more authentic to me and less like something he is really trying hard to convince himself of.

And like you pointed out the very fact that he’s in the Order takes some degree of hope!

So he isn’t chronically hopeless or pessimistic, especially when it comes to bigger picture issues, but he is someone who is specifically cynical about himself, and is impressively delusional when thinking about future consequences.

[amazingorangedangantrash]

Excuse me Orange. I have seen the posts of Makoto interacting with class 77 and as much as I would love to hear about it I'm really curious about how a relationship with class 79 and Makoto would be. More specifically Makoto and Kokichi.

Yes this is because I can't get the fic "Rosemary" out of my head. In summary, Makoto loses his memories and becomes a counsellor at a school in Germany after meeting Rantaro and adopts Kokichi. Besties Rantaro and Makoto with the disaster child that is Kokichi.

Hello anon! Thank you ever so much for being so polite and patient with me :). This post has been a long time coming, and people have requested it ever since I made those class 77 headcanons. I put it off partly because I was worried I wouldn't do the V3 characterisation justice. I based a lot of this off the wiki info, so I highly encourage anyone to add their thoughts or counter if they think of something different!

(Also since pre-game personalities are basically non-existent outside of headcanons, this is based off their killing game personas)

Makoto is excited to greet another school year, and some underclassmen along with it! With all the... interesting characters (turned friends) he's encountered in both his own and the above year, he can only wonder what the new students will be like...

Kaede- out of all the protagonists, I'd say Kaede shares the most similarities with Makoto, moreso than his own sister. These two would definitely get along and make a great tag team- watch out Hope's Peak, because these two will have befriended you before you know it! Makoto definitely admires Kaede's straightforwardness and her optimistic nature. They act as great support for each other if tag teaming another person/persons, as Kaede is bolder then Makoto, whilst Makoto acts well as a medium. They're both extremely loyal, arguably to a fault. Both Kaede and Makoto have lied in a class trial to protective their friend (a detective each time too, lmao). Apparently she also lied for his sake in the demo, which is sweet. I feel like they'd connect well over their mutual optimism and kind hearts. I think Makoto would convince Kaede to step out of her comfort zone- socially, she's very bold, but she strays away from activities that could affect her piano playing (by hurting her fingers) and can waste away a lot of time in the practice room. She misses out on a lot of potentially fun activities that way. On an outing with some others, she accidentally cuts her finger, and whilst Makoto apologises and tells her she was right to be cautious, she waves him aside. Despite being unable to play the piano for a few days, she fills her time with other activities and it actually... doesn't bother her so much. As an 'ordinary person', Makoto helps a lot of talented students by opening their eyes to seeing that their identity doesn't revolve around their talents. In return, Kaede offers to teach Makoto whilst he spends time with her in the practice room. Whilst piano is her favourite, she knows how to play other instruments, and teaches Makoto the violin (maybe you think he'd play a different instrument but violins are my favourite so I'm going with that-). They even practice together, and whilst Kaede still practices nearly every day, she finds that it can actually be even more fun with company.

Shuichi- ah yes, yet another detective. Makoto was initially surprised that they'd accepted another Ultimate Detective, since there's normally only one ultimate at a time in the school (aside from Luck, which is decided each year with a raffle or draw or whatever). It's revealed that Shuichi is actually undergoing part of a new tutoring programme, in order to increase the number of people with talents especially useful to society. He's to be tutored by his upperclassman... *drumroll* Kyoko! Being close with Kyoko and with Kaede, Makoto sees a lot of Shuichi and befriends him too. He helps out with Shuichi's lack of confidence and feelings of inadequacy. Unlike Makoto, Shuichi has an obvious role model that he both aspires to and compares himself against. Unlike Kyoko, Shuichi is much more connected to and feels responsible for the people his detective work condemns. Whereas Kyoko is confident in her goal to obtain the truth, in totally neutrality, Shuichi is hesitant about it, unable to feel unbiased and take a neutral stand. Makoto convinces him this is a good thing, that feeling guilt is normal and is a sign of being a passionate and sympathetic soul. Shuichi doesn't have to be the kind of detective Kyoko is- sometimes that kind of compassionate and caring person is exactly the mindset people want. He also reassures Shuichi that as painful as the truth is, uncovering it means being able to eventually move on, and embrace hope. (He also tells Kyoko to maybe be a bit more... /welcoming/ in their lessons, and eventually Kyoko grows quite fond of her student, discovering a fondess for teaching she didn't know she had).

They're both very humble and polite, and whilst Makoto isn't reserved, he can be very passive. I think the two would appreciate having more of a calm relationship, typical of a 'normal' friendship that is often er- 'lacking' at Hope's Peak. With Kaede's help, Shuichi would open up to Makoto and others over time. I personally headcanon Shuichi to have an anxiety disorder and depressive bouts, so I think someone like Makoto would be a great support friend, for him to go to when he needs company and comfort, someone to listen and to understand, and vice versa to an extent. I like to imagine Makoto, Shuichi and Kaede often spend time together (with Hajime too protag gang ftw). Shuichi likes to study in the music room with them. He's already good at research, but the music actually helps him... enjoy it more. (Maybe he takes up an instrument too, to give him a hobby to focus on, hmm).

Kokichi- Kokichi Ouma. Kokichi Ouma... what do I even say? Trying to wrap my head around his character is like trying to clear the death road of despair in your first try. Still, I'll try my best!

I've seen a headcanon before (i dont remember by who, if you know lmk and I'll credit them) that Makoto via his unpredictable luck would be immune to Kokichi's pranks, and I think that'd set up a pretty good basis for their introduction. I think if Kokichi and Makoto had to describe the other in one word, it would be... "frustrating". At first glance, they're practically opposites- someone like Kokichi, who seems to breathe lies instead of air, and a person like Makoto, who's so honest and open it's almost stupid. Makoto doesn't like how Kokichi lies so much, even if it means people hating him. He almost seems to WANT people to hate him (I think he said once that honest people scare him more than strangers). Makoto has a tendency to break down even the most difficult characters (coughcoguuh class 78 coughcofuh), and that both scares but intrigues Kokichi. Makoto couldn't hate him if he tried (literally the only person he ever even /disliked/ was Junko. Not /hate/, but just /dislike/? Really???), and it frustrates Kokichi that Makoto is so willing to trust him and put faith in him. Makoto isn't blindly optimistic either, he genuinely believes in people, and I think Kokichi would feel envious towards being able to trust so... freely. Part of Kokichi's childish and carefee personality and his perchance for lies is the manifestation of his desire for freedom. If no-one knows what he's thinking, if no one can guess his moves, if no one can use emotions or weaknesses against him, and he can do whatever he wants, isn't that freedom? Except it isn't. By not letting his guard down and being honest with people, in a way, Kokichi's lies have left him trapped, unable to open up out of a fear of vulnerability. Whilst Kokichi would be initially suspicious of Makoto, maybe even distrustful of or uncomfortable around his personality, I think having such a grounded, honest individual whom he can /rely/ on would be... comforting. Kokichi would warm up to him, and see that with Makoto, what you see is what you get. He's above all else, a /genuine/ person, though certainly not an ordinary one, and Kokichi learns to respect and even admire that. Kokichi intentionally pushes people away to avoid expressing vulnerability, by being intentionally unlikeable, but even so I think he's lonely. Pushing away others isn't out of a true desire to be alone (it never is), but a defense mechanism. That tactic wouldn't work on Makoto, and so Makoto could become someone who Kokichi not only considers a friend, but who wholeheartedly returns the sentiment.

Makoto isn't sure what to think of Kokichi at first. He's heard so much about this terrifying new student, an overlord of a secret underground organisation with roots all over the globe... and yet the first time they meet Kokichi is trying to drop a bucket of custard on him. I don't think Makoto would like how Kokichi lies so much- especially about things like killing people or sending them away to never be seen again. It upsets him how Kokichi can joke about it, and how he seems to enjoy toying with people's feelings. When Makoto has a goal, he'll follow it through to the end, so when he's determined to break through Kokichi's walls... well, it's not easy at first. He's also willing to keep Kokichi company and give him attention and hear him out, which Kokichi admittedly likes. Whilst Makoto isn't a pushover, he's also not going to threaten Kokichi or retaliate with mean words, he genuinely listens and entertains Kokichi even though he knows Kokichi is messing with him, which is.. really nice, actually. Even if he tries he can't really shake Makoto that much (pls after all the other -weirdos- people he's met?). Like oh-? They have to duel to the death with yu-gi-oh cards? It's lucky Makoto brought his stack with him! Kokichi orders him to play tea party with him? He loved playing it with Komaru when she was younger and was sad when she stopped! Kokichi tricks him into eating a really gross weird food? How did you know that was a family favourite! Kokichi is fond of Makoto, and is desperate to keep Makoto's attention on him, whilst at the same time not wanting to reveal his true feelings, leading to plenty of complicated situations. Eventually they reach a breaking point (i love drama ok) and whilst Makoto doesn't lash out at him, exactly, he admits that maybe it's best he leaves Kokichi alone, believing that maybe Kokichi truly is content to be the way he is. It's this event that causes Kokichi to realise that Makoto really is someone he'd rather not hurt- that he doesn't just 'like' him but truly cares for him. From then on he tries to dial it down a bit, and Makoto comes to understand how Kokichi's lying and 'cruelty' stems from a place of insecurity and fear of trust. He promises to be a person Kokichi can trust, to show him that vulnerability doesn't have to mean gettint hurt. Whenever the two are around each other all kind of wacky hijinks are bound to ensure, really. Kokichi loves having someone around to not only give him attention, but want to as well, and Makoto enjoys how Kokichi is willing to spend time with and entertain him, pushing him and supporting him in ways that he didn't realise initially. They both find the other extremely interesting, and their encounters usually lead to significant changes in their relationship and mindsets.

I like to imagine they'd spend time playing games and fanboying together- Kokichi adores video games, and it always poses a challenge going against Makoto's luck, which is great for someone competitive as he is. Kokichi also seems a fan of the shounen genre, and 'basic' Makoto is the only other person in the school aside from Hifumi and Tsumugi to even watch anime so you know those two nerds geek out constantly. Kokichi likes to play other kinds of games with Makoto too- and they really like word games- especially two truths one lie. Makoto is... suprisingly good at it. He's pretty poetic, and his genuineness makes it hard to disbelieve him. Which makes it all the more fun when going against Kokichi!

Rantaro- how would these two describe each other in 5 words? "A breath of fresh air". They're both some of the "normal-est" in the school tbh. It's really great for both of them to have someone to do normal teen stuff with. They love going shopping together, hanging out at cafes and arcades. They actually meet when looking for a birthday present for their sister(s). They both reach for the same one before apologising and insisting the other have it. Rantaro insists Makoto take it, since, well, it's not like /his/ sister would get it anytime soon... confused, Makoto asks why and somehow Rantaro ends up confessing the whole thing about his sisters' disappearances, and how he always buys a present for each of their birthdays, waiting for the day when he can give them to them in person. (Pls why does this always end up with makoto counselling the students akdhsjsj-). Makoto could definitely sympathise, having a younger sister of his own. I think they'd bond over that "older brother" role they share, and Makoto would definitely help alleviate some of Rantaro's guilt. I like to imagine that Makoto, whilst being a 'typical teenage boy', also has a lot of feminine interests that he might be a bit insecure about. I love the idea of Rantaro encouraging him to embrace that (guy has like 12 sisters, he gave up feeling shy about makeup, nail polish, jewellery and dressing up in tiaras years ago). Rantaro is the first person to paint Makoto's nails and he loves it so much-!!! They go out for boba together and wear matching green nail polish pls its awesome. Rantaro also tells Makoto stories from when he was travelling and its also amazing- Makoto loves hearing all about it, and Rantaro is actually an incredible storyteller. Though Rantaro initially adventured to find his sister(s), he remembers why he loved travelling in the first place, and he's able to look back fondly on those memories that used to be clouded with the despair of his sisters' disappearance. They even go on vacation together to a tropical island at some point (maybe with friends). I'd like to say Makoto's luck might even lead to them finding one of the sisters, but maybe that's a bit too coincidental ahaha.

Miu- hmm. I think Makoto would be a little put off at first by her vulgarity and very openly sexual and crude behaviour. It's not that he dislikes her, he just isn't really sure... how to react around her? Her and Kaede don't get along, and Makoto often finds himself playing peacemaker when he stumbles upon their arguments. To his surprise, though, she seems to actually... like it when they fight? In fact- she seems to like it when people give her the time of day at all, really. Maybe she's just... lonely? And well, she can be a bit... um- /obnoxious/, but she can't be that bad! Making him go to see her weird (weird) inventions, that must be her way of reaching out and trying to spend time with him, right?

And then she starts calling him "Ma-crap-to", "Naegidiot", "Makusoto", and "Na-unchi"

nevermind she sucks

Makoto, with his saintly patience, would probably end up getting closer to her similar how Shuichi does in his FTEs. (I'll be honest there's not much difference I can think of akdjsjjssksj-)

Kaito- Kaito! Who doesn't love Kaito. It's no secret Kaito thinks himself the centre of the Universe (insert space joke here haha)- he's the protagonist of his own life, and luckily for him, Makoto fits quite nicely into the sidekick role. Both of them are passionate, with big hearts and strong spirits. Kaito is really good at seeing through people too- (idk how accurate this is but apparently in the wiki it says he sees that Nagito isn't interested in his talent or him as a person so much as him as a symbol). Whilst Makoto obviously has a lot of respect and admiration for all the talented students, I feel like it's a lot more... genuine? In a way that he can appreciate the person behind the talent, more than the talent itself. Kaito is someone who likes to inspire people and I think this would resonate with him. I think the two could seriously get along! They're both hopeless (haha) romantics and stupidly optimistic lmao. Kaito can be a little hotheaded at times, so I also like the idea that Makoto could calm him down, or at least reel him in a bit. He's stubborn when it comes to... um.. certain types of people (kokichi) so maybe Makoto could open his mind a bit.

Maki: MAKI ROLLLL. Ok I'm sure she'd probably have to hide her talent until it all came out at some point. I think Makoto is someone who's very against killing (even Junko he believed there was a better way for), so whilst he wouldn't agree with her talent, I think he wouldn't hold it against Maki, especially because he's very good at separating person from talent. Makoto is very understanding, and I think that like with Kaito, he would try to befriend her and open her up. He'd probably feel bad for her, not knowing what a "normal" life was like, so he'd try his best to do that. I think Maki in turn would appreciate that, and slowly get to know him like she did with Kaito and Shuichi. (She also likes complaining to him about Kaito lmao).

(he also takes her out for sushi so she can see for herself what a harumaki is LOL)

I'm sorry anon, this is as far as I could go aksnjjssj. When I feel up to it I'll try and make a part 2 to this, but I hope this is good for now?

(Also that fic sounds awesome and I'll definitely have to read it at some point)

[my-writings-and-musings]

Here's a commission from an absolutely wonderful person, with Drift and a human reader going from the start of their friendship to becoming Amica Endura, and being ridiculously cute and sweet all the way. 

You'd been confused by the term at first, like you had with all Cybertronian phrases upon initially hearing them, but this one had been different in a way that didn't feel right.

Mostly because it sounded suspiciously like an insult.

Though the group of bots hadn't appeared to be especially troublesome, you had still seen Drift flinch when they'd referred to him as a Carnicon. That reaction alone had stirred immediate concern on your part, but their less than friendly tone and the sense of trouble they carried had made you act on the spot. Though the offending crewmembers had been gone by the time you managed to climb down the ladder attached to your designated lunch table, you'd still made it a point to hurry across the floor towards the lonely ninja bot, hoping that perhaps you'd just misunderstood what had transpired. Maybe the word was a nickname he hadn't heard in a while?  Distracted as you were just trying to avoid getting stepped on by the other bots moving about the room, such optimism was still obviously hopeless even to you. Drift had looked wounded by the comment.

"Hey, Drift! Down here, hello!"

Waving your arms for added effect, you called up to the bot as soon as you reached the floor beside his chair. Though somewhat out of breath, you had practiced getting the attention of much taller beings enough times to make elevating your voice quite easy, and you were noticed quickly. Raising his helm in a flash, Drift looked down to the floor with surprise that turned to a soft smile when he recognized you. A hand was offered to lift you as had become customary amongst the crew. 

"Hey, Y/N! Finish your lunch so soon?" He asked casually, all traces of his unpleasant encounter already wiped from his face. Hopping off his palm and onto the table, you had to sadly note the half eaten meal of his own sitting on a tray, untouched since he'd been called that word. The neatly organised arrangement of  energon cuts and various metals prepared as tasty little morsels was his usual lunch, something you knew because its sushi like appearance had stuck in your mind, especially do to how quickly he always finished it and the delighted mood with which he did so. Something must have indeed been wrong for it to be pushed aside and ignored.

"Yeah! I just wanted to come over, and..." Words failed you at the realization you hadn't actually planned upon what to say, or even how to go about saying it, despite your desire to help. All you'd wanted was to check up on him as swiftly as possible, and due to the distance involved there hadn't been time to think of a tactful way to accomplish that. Perhaps you should just be honest and not beat around the bush? Drift was a bot who could appreciate good intentions, if nothing else. Finding your courage, you ignored your somewhat rapid heartbeat to look up at him, smiling softly and adjusting your stance in a way you prayed came across as reassurance. "Well, honestly, I saw that group of bots go by and... I don't like to assume, but I wanted to make sure they didn't give you a hard time."

"Oh, those guys?"

His tone was casual, but even he couldn't hide the hurt that flashed in his optics. Clearly, and unfortunately, your instincts had been right on target. 

"Nah, they're just... Some mechs are a bit abrasive is all, it's how they socialize." He said, politely dismissing your concerns with fake sincerity that might have worked if you didn't know him as well as you did. Though not especially close, you'd spent enough time with him to learn he tried to play peacemaker on the ship, something made quite difficult by the past many crewmembers refused to let him forget. Somehow the particular variety of pain he earned from such a predicament was very easy to recognize. You could hear it in every halting word, and because of that you had to fight to keep your expression neutral as he worked his way through an explanation probably improvised on the spot. "I've been developing a more open energy flow in casual environments. It allows me to connect with others on a deeper level, but can make me a tad more... vulnerable, to such unexpected encounters."

Hearing the pain hidden just below the surface of his voice, you can't help but feel a protective stir in your heart, regardless of the fact Drift towers over you and is an experienced combat veteran. Size and strength clearly aren't keeping him safe from bullies, and you can't bear to think of him suffering that pain in silence. Perhaps it isn't your place, but leaving him to endure even another minute just isn't an option. Sitting down on the table, you keep your worry to yourself and speak plainly, one equal to another.  "It wasn't so much them, as what they said that seemed to bother you." 

Seeing him deflate a bit makes further conversation almost impossible, but you push forward with your question. "That word, Carnicon, was it an insult?"

"No." He replies, curtly but not aggressive as he looks down at the hands he's folded atop the table. Worried you might have crossed some cultural boundary, despite all but whispering the word in question to lessen its blow, you're relieved when he seems to decide against further deflection. Stroking his thumb over the back of his palm, he is open but not quite unguarded in his tone as he starts to explain. "Well, not in most situations. Carnicon is an older term for Cybertronians built to hunt or engage in combat with purely biological weapons; like claws or venom."

Now at least marginally caught up, though still uncertain how such a word could ever be used against someone, you gently encouraged him to continue when he paused. "But... in other situations?"

"Some look down on bots bearing features that are ascribed to Carnicons. Thus, the name is often levied at those with "beastly" attributes, such as tails, horns, or..." Momentarily worried he'd paused because the topic had indeed proved too much, you were too caught up in the sad implications of the explanation to notice it hardly applied to him in the slightest. It was only when he brought a hand to his chin that the pieces started to click. Tilting his helm, he opened his mouth just enough for you to catch sight of four incredibly pointed tips, all in the same spots as your own canines. Everything made a terribly sad kind of sense by the time he closed his mouth and returned his sad gaze to you with a single word. 

"Fangs."

Heartache barreled past your defenses to show on your face in the form of an unrestrained frown, one that almost weighed you down under a dense kind of sadness you'd never experienced. Bots kept surprising you with the downright absurd forms of bigotry found on Cybertron, but this... You didn't even know how to begin processing it. This poor bot may have made some bad choices in the past, but he's worked tirelessly to be better, and the whole time you've known him he's been nothing but kind. More than kind, in fact. Drift is practically smiling every time he sees you. To think he has to endure exclusion for his past, on top of harassment for a physical trait that's impossibly harmless, you find yourself wishing wistfully you were large enough to embrace him. A reassuring smile on his face makes you ache more.

"Although I'm not a Carnicon, the fact that a number of my dentae are unusually sharp in a manner some might compare to those commonly found in Carnicons has occasionally resulted in... heckling." At the last word he cracks, and for the first time his fake unaffected front is completely ineffective, allowing you to see the pain that's almost overflowing just below the surface. Such a sight makes you certain you'll never be able to unsee his suffering again. Suddenly you understand him on a deeper level, as if this little incident has made something click into perfect place. You've never felt more determined to comfort someone than you do as he tries to continue. "But I'm quite accustomed to all of the reactions I provoke, Y/N! It does not bother me. Thank you for your concern though, I hope this feature does not perturb you."

A wonderful burst of clarity nearly makes you laugh, if only because being so caught up actually made you forget something about yourself, but you channel that energy into a bolstering smile as you scoot closer on the table.

"Why would it do that? I've got them too."

Optics going blank, it looked as if his processor had crashed like an old PC before he utters two quiet words.

"Come again?"

Tilting your own head, you gently pull your mouth open and push your lip back to reveal your own canines, all of which extend far enough that all he has to do is squint before his expression brightens in realization. Tapping the pointy tip, you let go to enable yourself to talk once again. Seeing him watch your face a little more intently as you speak is oddly endearing. "See? All humans have these teeth, they're called "canines", but mine are extra big and sharp. It's called Macrodontia." 

"I... I never noticed..." He replied after a pause, speaking softly as his processor works over what you've just shared with him. There's hesitation holding back an obvious buzz of excitement, as if he doesn't want to take a risk and believe he's finally found someone who understands, or is worried you might be offput by the true level of his excitement. Equally concerned about not overwhelming him or overstepping, you reply using a casual tone to mask your eagerness to connect with him.

"As small as I am, no one here has." You say matter of factly, briefly wondering if any unpleasant sentiment would have been directed your way if your size didn't hide the feature. Flashbacks of taunts on Earth are overwritten by self admonishment, as you know for a fact nothing you've endured could ever compare to what he faces on a daily basis in terms of sheer isolation. No doubt the teeth also play into bot's assumptions on his "aggressive" nature too. Not wanting to make the moment about yourself, but also determined to let him know you would never do to him what others have done to you, you're left fumbling between what feels like two conflicting ideals. "Sometimes people made fun of me for it on Earth, so I... I know it's not the same as what you face, so I don't want to say I "understand" how you feel or anything, but-"

"Y/N... I think you do. A lot more than most." He says, not so much interrupting as reassuring you that the backpedaling isn't necessary. Letting out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, the warm satisfaction of being able to help someone in a trying moment settled over your heart with a kind of fuzzy giddiness. There's a renewed brightness in his optics as he looks to you without shame and speaks openly. "Thank you for sharing this with me, and I assure you I won't tell a soul. But if anyone ever does find out, and gives you trouble..."

There's a gentle fade to silence as you lay a tiny hand on his.

"It doesn't have to be secret. I'm not ashamed of the way I am, especially considering who I share the look with." You say, and the effect is so profound his smile actually appears to brighten before the rest of his expression.

"I'll still be here for you, just as you've been here for me."

"Consider the feeling mutual."

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

"Then there's this particular blade; do you see how it doesn't have any sharpened edge?"

Due to your size, you could probably see the finer details of the weapon even more clearly than your friend did, and thus the total lack of serrated sides was quite apparent. Thankfully the missing edge also made it easier to observe the features Drift was describing while he held the blade out for you to see, as you could get quite close without having to worry about excessive caution. It didn't hurt that you also wanted to observe as much detail as possible. Following along with him had taught you amazing things, and he actually seemed to grow more enthusiastic when you were attentive.

"Yeah! It's all just tapered to a point, like a stake." You said, sitting casually on the floor amongst the neatly arranged armory of swords and daggers of incredible variety. From the way Drift is gleefully chatting from his own spot in front of you, one might have thought he was discussing something more akin to collectibles than weapons of war, but this behavior had become so normal to you that the oddness didn't even register. As far as you were concerned, he was simply a friend sharing something he was passionate about. Seeing him smile so brightly made it even better.

"Precisely! This style is very unique; it's meant for close combat, either as a last resort in a sword fight or a single strike for assassination." He said, holding up the blade and flipping it elegantly over his palm. Optics almost shining with delight, he spoke so enthusiastically you could see his sharpened dentae peeking through every smile, which he only allowed to happen when he felt truly comfortable. Before you knew it your own cheeks were pushing up in an absolutely beaming grin, one enthusiastic enough to show your own little fangs as well. Seeing Drift this... free just stirred a kind of warm happiness in your heart you didn't know was possible. It seemed to only happen in select moments, but it was definitely becoming more frequent the longer you two were friends, and it was hard to miss how his happiest days seemed to occur only in your presence...

"Oh, and then there's this one!"

You startled as he pulled out a similiar but far more elegant blade seemingly from nowhere, moving so swiftly the fine edge made a whistle as it cut through the very air, but as he began to gush about the particular nature of this weapon you settled back in to listen eagerly. Truthfully you could sit here and let him talk through every weapon he'd ever owned. Being his friend was a reward in itself that you enjoyed each day.

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

For the sake of the bot working so diligently, you tried to avoid moving in any significant way, going so far as to take shallow breaths whenever possible. It was resulting in rather minimal oxygen intake, but you saw it as worth it due to how little you disturbed his concentration. Unfortunately your metabolism really didn't approve of the sacrifice.

Thankfully, Drift had become familiar enough with human biology and you in general to notice just as you were starting to get dizzy.

"Y/N?" He prompted, getting you to crack your eyes open just a notch to look at him. Still unwilling to risk his work, you willed up the tiniest hint of air through your throat to respond without moving your mouth.

"Mm?"

A blurry smile came through your narrowly parted eyelids, his sense of reasurance shining bright despite the limited view you had as he spoke softly. "You can relax, I can do this fine with you moving a little."

Opening your eyes all the way, the words admittedly acted as a switch for your lungs, which sucked in a deep breath through your nose to catch up with your deficit. Relieved and feeling a little silly, you took a few more quick inhales as he paused his painting of your face. Apparently you'd been much closer to passing out than you'd realized... When dizziness finally faded away, you looked back to him with a sheepish smile and a permissive look for him to continue. Drift smiled right back and lifted the tiny brush again with another little reminder. 

"But even if I were having a problem, you staying conscious is more important than not smudging paint."

"Sorry, just don't want to mess up your hard work." You replied, now content to breathe normally but still doing your best to stay motionless atop his desk. The sentiment seemed to touch him, as there was a hint of a delay in his next brushstroke, but a little merry flash in his optics. Being appreciated in anything was still quite new for him, after all. Even with you his list of true friends remained sadly short. 

"Painting these symbols is just as much about the process as the result. Taking the time to get it right, even fixing little details, is all part of it." He murmured as the tiniest touch of a miniscule brush flicked under your right eye, his voice expressing his focus until he pulled back and relaxed with a quip. "Plus, you're actually doing better than I'm used to. Rodimus is always so twitchy when we try this."

A tiny snort of laughter escaped you at the image of a frustrated Lost Light captain getting antsy in a chair. "I can believe it."

There was an unusually long pause as Drift seemed to survey his work, mouth pressing into a thin line before he held up a bot sized mirror and looked at you with an expression just barely restraining hope for approval.

"Here, want to see so far?"

There was no need to exaggerate; you loved it. A part of you wished the intricate red could be permanent due to how beautiful it looked on your features, especially with how perfect the symbols were at accentuating what you liked most about your appearance. Tilting your head from side to side, you admired the expert craftsmanship with a smile impossible to hide, and were emphatic in expressing your thoughts.

"Drift, it looks amazing!"

"I'm glad..." He said on a sigh of relief, backtracking under the guise of a fake cough moments later. "I'm glad you like it! These patterns and colors are a very pure expression of friendship, so getting them right is... Yeah."

Seeing him so vulnerable pulled out the same desire to comfort him that had started your relationship, though unlike then you were totally certain now as you laid a proportionally tiny hand on his. "Marks or no marks, you're still my best friend."

Despite how casual the words left your lips, he looked just as touched as he'd been at your initial interaction in the canteen, and seemed quite affected as he lowered the mirror and replied. "You mean it?"

"Always." Came your automatic response.

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

The Lost Light, being as massive as it was, had a wealth of rooms including viewing decks up for grabs at any given time. With one wall consisting almost entirely of windows to view the beauty of the cosmos, and plenty of space to set up furniture or whatever else one might need, they were a naturally popular choice for social gatherings. While some in ideal positions had become more sought after than others, they were plentiful enough that any given bot had no need to worry about being unable to find a space for any occasion. Thus they were perfect for gatherings of any size at any time for all who called the ship home.

Despite the ease of procuring such a space on demand, however, Drift had been quite insistent on the specific one he'd rushed you towards without warning. Accustomed to his often sporadic ideas, you'd happily let him carry your tiny form in his broad arms when he promised explanations would be coming. Admittedly the fact that he'd appeared nervous had given you some pause though...

Until you'd actually seen the viewing deck and what he'd arranged within.

Framed almost as if by hand, a brilliant red cloud of space dust sparkled in the infinite blackness beyond, giving the room a soft glow akin to a warm fire or a fantastic sunset. Spectralism heralded such a color as one of friendship and eternal bonds, and as you took in the recently arranged decorations around the room that made a brilliant kind of sense. From the gem studded light strings wound about the ceiling, to the crystalline flowers flanking the door, and the little table in the center draped in fabric to look somewhat like an altar, it's clear the whole room has become a Spectralist symbol of true companionship. With everything you two have been through together, you have a good feeling as to why. It's so touching you actually have to fight the urge to cry.

"I spent so long getting everything ready, the nebula kind of snuck up on me..." He said bashfully, still holding you in his hands as he walked forward with a little sigh. The story painted a clear image in your head of a studiously decorating bot looking up to be surprised by a giant anomaly in space, as if it was a guest arriving earlier than it was supposed to, and you had to chuckle at his adorable nature. "But I don't want to miss it, so I hope you'll forgive me if things aren't perfect. The backdrop is just too important."

Certain as you were about the purpose of all this, you still decided to open with a question, letting your friend take the lead with you as support. "What is it the backdrop for?"

"I think you know, but..." He said, smiling through significant nerves despite how clear it was you were fully on board. For all of his progress, the poor bot was still easily overwhelmed by doubt. The fact that he'd made this attempt all on his own, even with obvious anxiety every step of the way, made you proud as much as you were touched by his gesture. Approaching the little table, he set you down on it with a deep ventilation. Something quite positive but weighty needed to come off his chest.

"You've only been in my life a little while, yet every day our friendship has gotten stronger, Y/N. You're one of the few people who can look past my mistakes, and you remind me why I want to be better in the first place. I want to let you know how truly I value your companionship."

Though he spoke quickly, enough that he clearly had memorized the words and worried about saying every one, you were absolutely touched near to the point of tears. He'd spoken about Amica Endura in the past, particularly as of late when he'd dropped not so subtle tests to gauge your feelings on the topic, but nothing could have prepared you for him actually requesting such a thing of you. It was the deepest expression of platonic love known to his kind, meant for friendships that endured through their seemingly endless lifetimes. To be considered worthy of such a thing simply made your heart feel like bursting with gratitude.

Lowering his voice a tad, as if to separate his next sentence from everything else, he offered you a hand and smiled softly but warmly in the delicate light.

"If... If you're okay with it... I'd like to become Amica Endura. I know you mentioned the idea sounded good, and that I'm you're best friend, but I just want to check." He said, speaking so tenderly you might have forgotten he was multiple times your own height. Happier than you could convey in words, you nodded and had to sniffle back some tears. To think of the suffering this bot had endured, the exclusion and bullying he went through every day, yet still he found the strength to be so kind... What were the odds a little human would end up meaning so much to him? At your dotting of tears, he tenderly tilted your chin upwards. "Y/N?"

"Sorry, just... You know I can be a sap." You said through a laughing sob, brushing away the wetness from your eyes to see him clearly when you spoke next. Holding one of his digits, you put your heart and soul into every word. It felt somewhat akin to baring a spark of your own. "But I do want to be Amica, for real. You're my best friend and I want that to be forever."

There was an immediate dampness in his optics, but he pushed it back with a few quick cycles of his shutters. Putting on the most wobbly of smiles, he lifted both hands and had you lay your own atop his digits, the closest the two of you could get to clasping them together. "Okay, I... I just hold your hands, say some words, and then you say "today, tomorrow, and always" after I do. Got it?" 

Nodding, you watched in awe as he leaned back and opened his spark casing, revealing the brilliant glow of his essence to blend with the soft light already present, making it look like a miniature star was flaring in his chest. Cycling another vent, he looked into your eyes as he began.

"I bid you stand in the glow of my spark, so that you may feel the heat of my words and know them to be true."

The fact that the words were meant to be purely allegorical didn't make them any less powerful. You really could feel warmth from him, but almost on a different level than you'd ever experienced before, as if your happiness and his were filling the air between you. Perhaps the Spectralist beliefs about color connecting to emotion was true in ways you hadn't expected. Light from the cosmic cloud outside almost seemed to give his words the backdrop they needed to truly connect as he wanted, allowing every one to go straight to your heart and fill it with all the warmth and love he felt for you every day. 

"I invite you to receive my light and in doing so become my Amica Endura—from now until forever." 

You squeezed his hands softly as he hiccuped just a little, encouraging him to continue, and his voice broke a tad as he did.

"Y/N, for your empathy... As you are to me, may I be to you—today, tomorrow, and always."

A bit of coaxing was needed when it was your turn, not because you were hesitant but rather due to how difficult speech was while emotions overflowed your heart. Shamelessly sniffling and letting happy tears fall down a beaming smile, you took a deep breath at his soft look of reasurance. He trusted you to take your time in this. 

"Today, tomorrow, and always." You said to seal the bond, meaning it with every fiber of your tiny being to stand by this bot to the end of your days. The two of you had met by chance, had started to bond over the littlest of moments, and now you were here. It was more perfect than things often went for anyone. Yet there was no need to question the how or why, especially when it led to a friendship as pure as this one. As he closed his spark chamber, you felt residual warmth in the air like the lingering of an embrace.

Which became a very real one when he scooped you up for a hug that was wordlessly agreed upon. Unable to wrap your arms around him at all, you settled for holding them wide and letting him press you close, feeling the smoothness of his heated armor as it hummed with life. Despite being as tiny as you were, it seemed quite apparent the hug was as powerful for him as it was for you. Tiny, happy sobs occasionally bounced his shoulders like little hiccups. It was a moment you could have lived in forever.

When he parted to give you a grin so genuine it confidently displayed his sharpened dentae, you did the same, unable to believe such little things could have the most wonderful of outcomes.

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[kimshavacado]

Dead Heat Ch. 9

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Arranged Marriage/Mafia AU

Summary: Three extremely powerful families with enough power to bring down entire governments, all with vastly different views on how things should be run. The Min family thinks everything can be solved with money, the Jeon family think everything can be solved with violence, and the Kim family relies more on thought which leads to a lack of action. When Kim Y/N loses her father, she only has one way to save herself and her family. But it involves having to give herself over to a stranger. How the hell is she not supposed to punch him in his stupid rich face?

Dead Heat Masterlist

Warnings: Well this is the one where they have unprotected sex. So... yeah.

A/N:  Welp. Here you go. I couldn't stand to reread it so I hope it's adequate. I'll see you all in hell.

Chapter 9: Don’t You Want Tea?

Jimin has done a lot less thinking lately. At least when it comes to thinking about you. Since his failed attempt to reach out to you, his mind has been dwelling on simpler things. Overthinking had always been your job, so he wasn't used to feeling a loss of purpose. If he wasn't there for you, what was he even doing here? Sitting on the rail of the fire escape of the loft he's currently squatting, he thinks instead about the distance in between himself and the ground. It's only about 15 meters, but plenty far enough to do some damage should he fall. The question is whether or not it would hurt. His optimism says that it won't, and that his relief would be immediate. Would you even know if he did? Maybe eventually, but by then would you really care? "If you're gonna jump, make sure you tell me first. Someone's gotta clean it up." Hoseok says from inside. It's meant to be a joke, but neither of them laugh. "I'm not gonna jump." Jimin responds, annoyed. He takes one last look at the ground before throwing his legs back over to the correct side and hoping down. "You haven't been checking your phone, have you?" Hoseok says. "We gotta go, the war is afoot!"

To save yourself from the embarrassment of waking up with Yoongi after last night, you yeet yourself out of bed as soon as you're conscious. The sun has just come up so you decide to wander around the house. When you come across a patio that you weren't able to see last night, you slide open the doors to meet the cold morning air. The cool breeze and soft light from the low sun give off a mood just ethereal enough to take your mind off of everything. You lean over the rail of the patio that overlooks the downslope of a hill that the house appears to be built on. Honestly, these are your favorite kind of mornings. Warm sheets, cool air, bright sun, nice views, the only thing that's missing is a good cup of tea. While your wrapped up in your appreciation of your surroundings, you don't notice the man who has joined your company. In his search for you, he finds the patio door ajar and leans against the frame to observe you in your natural habitat. You appear to be relishing in the pure bliss of the moment and Yoongi can’t help but think that he could get used to mornings like this.

This is what brings Yoongi to start thinking about your relationship. He’s always been someone who other people find to be cold and unmoving, and he used to think that you thought this way about him too, at least that’s what he’d gathered from all the times you’ve yelled at him. But sometimes you can be warm, kind, and unconditionally accepting of him, which is something that he’s never been able to say about anyone in a long time.

And that scares the living hell out of him.

Both of you live in a world where things don’t generally work out in anyone’s favor, and hell, he’s not even sure how you feel about him when you’re sober, but looking at you on the patio right now feels like a little slice of peace in the messy pie that is his life and he never wants that peace to end. Of course, that’s not a completely realistic sentiment but that doesn’t mean that you two can’t try.

In his frustration, Yoongi unintentionally lets out a small sigh that gets you to turn around abruptly. Now, the appropriate response would probably be to awkwardly apologize and dip out of the doorway as soon as possible, but Yoongi must be having some sort of an out of body experience because he kind of just stands there with his mind blank and mouth open for a second. You too have a knack for awkward silence, so you stand there and stare at his dumb face.

He seems to be having a war in his head because he looks away from you and suddenly closes his mouth to gain his composure. And eventually he does apologize for interrupting your morning but he clearly doesn’t mean it because he’s on you in a second. It’s so alarming that you don’t even notice Yoongi is kissing you for the first few moments, but when you do, it only feels natural to reciprocate.

With the sun behind you and Yoongi’s body closing the gap, the cold morning air doesn’t cut your skin as sharply as it did before. In fact, as your kiss deepens, it almost feels like your body is overheating, and you feel this warmth travel down your spine even though Yoongi is barely touching you.

You’re perfectly content to continue, and Yoongi is the one who pulls away, but only a few inches. As you look into his eyes, you feel a tinge of embarrassment sneak up on you. Most of the time that you two have shared your affections you’ve been drunk off your asses.

“Look,” Yoongi pulls you back out of your thoughts. “I’m not really good at these kinds of things.” He gestures in between your bodies. “I know you were thrown into this shitty situation out of nowhere, so I get it if you…like…” He huffs out in frustration and looks away from you. “I don’t know. I just… feel like this could work?” He looks to you expectantly.

You stand in awe of his sudden confession and it feels like all that heat manifests itself again. With your cheeks painted red, the only response that you are able to come up with is to reach out and reconnect your lips. In doing so, you’ve moved the both of you closer to the doorway inside and Yoongi uses this to his advantage. Since your hands are on his face, his take claim over your hips and he spins you around, pinning you against the glass on the open door.

Not so long ago this would’ve felt insane, but all you can think about is how secure you feel under Yoongi’s hold and how you two have waited so long to bond in this way. Again, Yoongi cuts your thoughts short by closing the distance between your bodies. This time, however, his hips sit more firmly against yours and you’re finally able to feel all of him.

It seems impossible, but somehow the kiss gets more intense and it feels like you’ve begun a wrestling match with your tongues and teeth. It must be the pent up frustration from both of you when he left you hanging before. It definitely affects him too because his hands slip a little bit lower and underneath your shirt to feel your bare sides. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks against yours and you swear it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen him do.

You’re starting to get addicted to the shivers he gives you and use his reaction as affirmation, so you move to continue. However, as you reach for the hem of his shirt, you hear a buzzing noise from the house that almost makes you jump out of your skin. When you separate from him, he appears amused at your alarm.

“Relax, I put on a pot of water before. For tea.” Yoongi soothes, and you could swear you’ve never smiled wider.

“Tea? I didn’t know you liked it.” You say, already knowing his response.

“I don’t particularly. But I thought… you’d want it.” It’s a simple thoughtful action but you still have to hold back from crying and ruining the moment. So you attack him with kisses instead, and he has to peel you off of him. “Okay, got it, right move. But I really should get that.”

It makes sense, wouldn’t want the place to burn down after your first night, but when he walks away, you feel his absence. Things between the two of you are definitely going to be different now, so why not keep going. When you walk back inside, you see him taking the water off of the stove and you begin to remove your shirt.

“What are you doing, don’t you want tea?” He asks but you ignore him and continue walking towards the bedroom.

“I’ll be in the bedroom waiting for you to man up and face your emotions.” All you hear is a brief laugh of disbelief as you continue your journey to bed, shedding clothes as you go.

He obviously follows reaching the doorway to the bedroom by the time that you’re left in only your underwear. He doesn’t have much time to look because you’re on him again pulling his shirt up over his head as he backs you up into the bed. When you fall backwards, the cool sheets shock the skin on your back and you sit up to start pulling down Yoongi’s sweatpants.

You are very shocked to find out that he is, apparently, not wearing underwear. You find yourself head to head with him. You admire how pretty he is before looking up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“No underwear? Didn’t expect that from you.” You tease.

“Is that how this is gonna go? Cause I’m not sure you want to play that game.” He warns. Yoongi may appear all tough but you’re like 80% sure he’s just as much a switch as you are. You can’t help but think about what’d be like to ride him so yeah, you do want to play that game.

“I’ll take my chances.” You say as you pull his lips to yours and wrap you legs around his lower half. Yoongi lowers himself over you and you take the opportunity to feel him up. He’s slender but has some firm muscles that start to twitch when your hands glide over them.

He manages to slip one of his hands underneath you and you arch your back so that he can undo your bra. It takes him a moment, but when he reaches the clasp, he helps you slide the straps off your shoulders. He then takes his turn of feeling you up. His hands are on your sides again as his head travels downward toward your underwear. His mouth is wet but his hair tickles your skin more than his tongue or lips.

When he reaches the only fabric that’s keeping you at least a little bit decent, he grabs them hem with his mouth. A strangled sound leaves your mouth as you make eye contact while he pulls off your underwear with just his mouth. Now you have a new definition of the hottest thing. He positions himself back between your legs to look at what he’s just unveiled but you stop him with your hands before he can actually do anything.

“Sweet concept, but if I don’t have you right now, I’ll lose my mind.” He smirks again at this.

“It’s okay, we’ll have plenty of time for that later.” The thought turns you on even more. You scoot up more on the bed until you’re both comfortable and Yoongi looks to you in question. “You okay with this?” He gives you one last chance to back out and you’d be crazy to take it.

“I’m clean, on the pill, and really need this.” You whine out and Yoongi could almost climax from just hearing your whines, without even ever being inside you. He concedes and leans on one elbow in order to maneuver himself to where he need to be. You inhale when you feel him at your entrance and can’t help but smile up at him. You stare at each other as he slowly slips in, inch by inch. When he’s finally fully seated you let out the breath that you didn’t know you were holding and Yoongi moves to embrace you more intimately.

As Yoongi gently rests his forehead on yours you can almost feel your life weaving itself back together again. The weight that’s been left in your soul from all the shit you’ve both had to go through in your lives feels not as deep and hard to carry when you two are together like this. And you know he can feel it too by the sweet kiss he places on your lips.

When you start to experimentally swivel your hips, Yoongi takes the cue to begin moving. The feeling of his length slowly moving against your walls scratches an itch that you’ve been dying to scratch for a long time now and you can’t help but impatiently chase after his hips. After a minute or so, he catches on and pulls out of you before flipping the both of you over and scooting himself up to rest against the headboard.

You immediately reach down to resume and when you sink back down, it hits differently. It’s deeper and almost more intimate. Yoongi’s hands are all over your sides, something he’s gathered that you like from the little gasps that are escaping you. Occasionally, Yoongi makes small grunts against your lips as well, but he seems to not be very vocal. You take a note to have fun with that later.

It feels good to have someone care like this. It’s not just some temporary fix to get your mind off of reality. Yoongi is your current reality and you honestly didn’t think this much emotion could fit into sex. Every time you feel like you couldn’t be closer to each other you’d feel something new and every time you don’t think it could feel any more euphoric it does, until you’re both on the edge, Yoongi focusing his strength on keeping your hips moving at a reasonable speed.

With the angle that you sweep your hips, your clit rubs perfectly against his front and your reaching your high in a matter of seconds later. You stretch your back straight when you do so and Yoongi wraps his arms around your back as he finishes just after you. You collapse with your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to embrace you. You’re perfectly content to continue to lie there until you feel fluid seeping out of you and make an exasperated noise. Yoongi seems to get it as he pulls out making you wince. He kisses your shoulder which remains in front of his face. When you don’t move he offers an incentive.

“Why don’t you go clean up and I’ll finish making that tea?” You move from his neck to kiss him firmly and his hands move delicately across your skin. “That’d be wonderful.”

You and Yoongi spend what you may call one of the best days of your life together. In between the many times that you two make love that day, you talk, eat, bicker, and he even crushes you in mario cart a few times, something that you get payback for in the sheets. By the end of the night, it seems like there is nothing else to be said, and you’re finally hopeful that when you wake up, there won’t be a crushing awkwardness between the two of you.

The concept of having someone to understand you is not something that you’ve had the privilege to come across, but Yoongi makes everything you’ve been through have a purpose. You probably wouldn’t have ended up here if both of your lives weren’t complete shit, and that makes you think.

“What if we met under different circumstances?”

“What, like if I met you and asked you out? I think we’d actually end up here sooner?”

“You still think we’d be here?”

“Yeah. If we met, there’s no way we wouldn’t, even if we resisted. We’re too right for each other.” He looks at you as he says this and you blush a little at his straightforwardness.

“Wow, you sure you aren’t drunk?” You bury yourself in his chest.

“Nope! Just high on life.“

“Please stop talking.”

He obliges and wraps his arm around you before you both fall into a desperately needed slumber. Unfortunately it’s cut short by a phone call a few hours later in the early morning. You have come to associate things like this as bad news. Around 3am, and while off the grid, no one should be calling you with good news. After sharing a worried look, Yoongi reaches over to answer it.

You watch Yoongi intently as he listens to the person on the other line. He lets out a sigh and wipes a hand down his face. He looks stressed and that only escalates your worry. “Are you sure?” He asks through the phone. After a few more moments he looks almost defeated. “Yeah, okay, we’ll be there.” And he hangs up.

“They attacked again.” He says plainly.

“Well I guess it was good we weren’t there then. Did anyone get hurt?” You ask.

“No, Y/N, not our place. They got to Jin and his- your men.” You stare at him with ignorant eyes not trying to accept the possibility of what he’s implying. “They’re all gone.”

“Wait, what do mean, all gone? Like they left or…” You can’t bring yourself to finish because Yoongi is already shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t think they were capable of it.” And you wish you could hear Yoongi attempting to console you, but all you can feel is the anger bubbling up inside of you. All your people have been ruthlessly slaughtered in the middle of the night and you’d bet your ass that Park Jimin was part of it.

A/N: I have to go dip my computer in holy water now. Stay safe and healthy!

Next Chapter

Tags:  @badbyeyoongi​ @whothefuckstolemykeds​ @xxqueenwxtchxx​ @alecmidnight​ @rjsmochii​ @itsrapmonstanotdancemonsta​ @superarmyofdreamersuk​ @zxlla​​ @1796p​​ @obeythehemmings​​ @betysotelo18​​  @chogiyeol-utopia​ @loonyginger​ @recklesselfless

[alirhi]

22

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 22/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. Notes: Due to massive levels of incoherent rage at the thought of what they did in Thor: Ragnarok, I have decided to pull from actual Norse mythology again. Everything after The Avengers has been erased in this fic, anyway, so fuck it. Hel and Fenrir are Loki's children as it always should be.

Loki sighed, head resting on Bucky's chest as he basked in the simple joy of hearing his beloved's heart still beating. "I hope you know that you're not allowed to ever die on me again."

"Technically, I haven't died yet at all."

He frowned, pinching Bucky's side and making him laugh. "I mourned you for nearly fifty years, James, and it almost destroyed me."

"Loki..." It was Bucky's turn to sigh as he pushed the Trickster off of him and they both sat up. "Serum or no serum, I'm still human. Eventually, I'm gonna grow old and die. That's just the way it works."

"I don't want you to." Feeling like a child, tears choking him that he refused to shed and Bucky's hands gripping his, Loki shook his head. "I can't lose you again."

With that sad smile he was so sick of looking at, Bucky squeezed his hands a little tighter. "You lived over a thousand years without me, Doll. You'll be okay. You've got Sigyn-"

"I hardly think that's relevant." Prying his hands loose, he wiped furiously at his eyes. "Especially since, if the oaf can't sway Odin, I'll likely never see her again, either. Or my other children."

It was truly beginning to sink in, just how much Loki had sacrificed in his mad scramble to rescue Bucky, and he could tell from the stricken look on his lover's face that it was hitting him, as well. A grown man – a God– and he'd behaved like a reckless child ever since he'd first discovered his soldier alive. He'd succeeded, at last, but at what cost? If his actions left him forever on the run from Asgard, he would never see his wife and sons again; his one consolation was that at least he had his daughters. Hel ruled her own realm and answered to no one, least of all Odin, and Eira... He would die before letting anyone take Eira away from him.

"Jesus, Loki..." Bucky winced, pulling him closer for a hug. "Nari, Fenrir... I'm sorry, I can't pronounce the snake's name-"

That got a half-hearted laugh out of the Trickster, and he laid his head on Bucky's broad shoulder. "Jormungandr. It's alright, love, I'm impressed you remember any of them."

"I get headaches," he admitted softly, "when I try to push too hard, but it's coming back." Arms tightening around the other man, he murmured, "There's a lot I'd rather never think about again, but I don't want to lose a single memory I have with you."

"Don't force it," Loki cautioned as gently as he could, bringing one hand up to tangle in that beautiful dark hair. "It will come back; a remarkable amount already has. Just be patient."

"...Nari," Bucky whispered, shaking his head. "Fenrir, Sleipnir, Jor...Jormun... Can I just call him Joey? I know that's not how the J is pronounced, but his name does start with a J, technically... Right?"

At that, Loki buried his face in Bucky's shoulder and laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. "I would pay to see the look on Jormungandr's face if he ever actually heard you call him Joey!"

"Loki, I'm being serious!"

"About 'Joey'?" He could hear the grin and the suppressed laughter in his beloved's voice, so he didn't feel bad for being unable to contain his hysterical laughter.

"About your kids." He didn't sound amused anymore. With a firm grip on Loki's shoulders, he pushed him back to look him in the eye, and the atmosphere instantly shifted. Expression pained, Bucky reminded him, "What you lost, for me... If you can't fix this, you'll lose your whole damn family. Did you think I was just reciting their names trying to remember them all for a fucking Christmas card or something? Eira's brothers, her sister, her step-mom... Your whole family, everything you built before we met... My God..."

"Yes." His attempt at a snarky, slightly cheesy retort fell flat even to his own ears, but Loki still tried. Prying one strong hand from his shoulder and cradling it between his own, he told him, "I am your God. As for my children... Sleipnir was already taken from me long ago. I'm not sure he even knows I'm his mother."

"Christ, Doll, that makes the rest of this worse!"

"I haven't 'lost' anything." Freyja, how he wished he believed what he was saying. All that mattered at the moment, though, was that Bucky believed it, and so he soldiered on. "Not yet. Odin is a stubborn old fool, but he is old. Worst case scenario, if I can't return home without ending up in chains while he lives, well... he'll die soon and Thor will take the throne despite my best efforts – I really had a lot on my plate when last the Sergeant and I met – and because he's sentimental and forgiving, I'll be welcomed back with open arms."

"'Home'?"

He blinked, confused. "What?"

For someone with such a remarkably expressive face, Bucky could, on occasion, be difficult to read. With the most curious look that Loki couldn't quite identify, he pointed out quietly, "You still call Asgard 'home.'"

He scoffed and shrugged. "Force of habit, I suppose. Best not to read too much into it, darling."

"Right." There was a brief moment of tense silence, and then Bucky, bless his strange mind, smiled and nudged him. "Look, thanks to the serum, I don't really get sick anymore. So as long as the purple menace doesn't lop my head off, you've still got decades before you have to worry about me croaking on you."

Though he appreciated the effort, Loki couldn't quite bring himself to share his love's optimism. After all, what were decades to a being who would live for millennia? Rather than point that out, though, he focused on the other troubling fact: "James, Thanos is dangerous."

"Why, because he kicked your skinny ass?" he teased. "Or, to be more accurate, his minions kicked your skinny ass. Did Thanos actually do anything? How do you know he wants anything nefarious with these magic doohickeys?"

"Because one man amassing ultimate power has never been for the benefit of others, no matter how they delude themselves for the sake of remaining the heroes in their own stories." Giving him a bland look, Loki grumbled, "One would think a World War II veteran would understand that better than most."

Still clinging desperately to his attempt at humor, Bucky shrugged. "Hey, I'm still holding out hope on the kitten theory. You can't deny the world would be a better place if everyone had their own adorable kitty to spoil."

Finally, finally Loki chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll tell you what, darling... Survive what's coming with sanity intact, and I'll get you a kitten myself."

Bucky snorted. "Oh, baby, the sanity ship has sailed. Are you kidding me?"

"The best you can manage, then," he amended with a soft, sad smile. "Just stay close to me, so I can keep you safe."

Watching the other man's expression crumble and all the humor immediately vanish as if it was never there at all, Loki wished he'd never spoken a word.

"No," Bucky told him quietly, but firmly. "I'm sick of constantly being rescued and protected."

"It's not that I think you're weak-"

"Do you remember what I told you when you wanted to stay and fight just so we could be together?"

He did, though he failed to see its relevance. Still, to prove to Bucky that he was paying attention, he dutifully recited his own words back to him. "'You're outside of all this and that's where I need you to stay.' But neither of us is 'outside' of this one-" He was interrupted by his lover snorting and rolling his eyes. "What?"

"Not that part." Shifting position slightly so that he and Loki were facing each other directly without either having to twist, he took the Trickster's soft hands in his own - one rough and callused, the other chilly and unyielding - and reminded him, "'You make me weak. If I see you out there, you'll get me killed.' Well, babe, this time neither of us gets to walk away, so we both need to be focused on the enemy, not each other. Don't waste energy trying to protect me. Having to protect Eira got you both captured. When the war comes, just fight it, and trust that I can look out for myself."

That was a terrifying proposition. Enhanced by mad science or not, Bucky was still only human. The thought of him standing alone and fighting Thanos or one of his psychotic minions with no powers was enough to make Loki sick to his stomach. Perhaps it would be best to leave Bucky in New Mexico with Darcy and Eira; after all, run-of-the-mill human dangers didn't simply vanish because a bigger threat loomed. They would need someone to look after them, as well, and Bucky could certainly handle some random thug looking to cause trouble.

He opened his mouth to suggest it, but his thoughts must have been showing on his face. A metal hand clamped over his mouth before he could utter a sound and Bucky snapped, "You're not sidelining me. Purple Space Hitler calls for all hands on deck, so deal with it."

With a sigh, Loki batted his hand away and shook his head. "You really are the most stubborn creature, James."

___________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[just-honey-dewd]

What medium best expresses Sonic’s character?

Right, so this is a bit of a detour from the typical Hazbin Hotel posts I’ve been making, but I really did a heck-ton of work to come up with this. Then again, I type overly long paragraphs as a hobby, so jokes on anyone who thinks I don’t do this for fun... but then again... jokes on me for making the time to type Hamilton-esque essays on fictional characters ._.

Okay enough with tangents, this is an essay dedicated to answering what medium -- songs, scenes, cartoons, maybe even a comic issue -- best encompasses Sonic’s character. Take in mind, throughout the 29-almost-30 years of Sonic, there have been many iterations and takes on the character that either differentiate on a minor level, or to the point that some Sonics when compared seem to be starkly different characters altogether, so this is purely what I feel is the best take on Sonic’s character. For my sake, I’ve sworn off including material that require a long-winding read through some mediocre storylines -- nothing personal, Archie Comics. I won’t be covering Archie Comics because I’ve yet to finish reading all 200+ comic issues because that’s not humanly possible for me. If I ever manage to though, I might make a post about Archie Comics in some way. For now, here’s my personal essay on “What medium best expresses Sonic’s character”

Starting off with shows...

Sonic SatAM (1993) and Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog (1993) are products of their time, and I never got to watch them when I was young, so I hold no sentimental nostalgia. Sonic SatAM seems in-line with Archie Comics, with the Freedom Fighters plotline and the infamous Sonic mohawk with lasted for a significant amount of issues. Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog was pretty comical and lighthearted in comparison. Both were voiced by Jaleel White, had the same artstyle, and established Sonic’s character in vastly different tones. It’s rather outdated as Sonic has lived past the 90s for 20 years, where he got revised and reinvented to suit the decades. So both characterizations are simply inapplicable to Sonic’s character.

2003′s Sonic X worked off of the newly reinvented Sonic and paved way for Sonic’s personality for the following years, but I do have critique over the show, and their execution of Sonic’s character.  Though they did provide Sonic's "constant desire to run", he lacked soul and the over-the- top nature of his character. Sonic throughout this show displayed a rather hollow connection with his relationships, was as distant and aloof as Knuckles for seemingly no reason, lacked much depth and barely developed, and was overall, very poor with communicating his thoughts and actions -- which ultimately led to a number of plot lines where his friends and/or authorities saw his intentions as malicious or even evil. Sonic is hyperactive and free-spirited -- something this show doesn't fail to display -- but Sonic lacked his heart. Where was that desire to hang out with his friends? Where was the underlying love and compassion he'd constantly display in and out of battle? Where were his cheesy yet well-meaning impromptu speeches? These aspects of Sonic were sorely lacking and missed when I watched through this series which is why I believe this anime didn’t really express Sonic's character.

Sonic Boom...

...is a lighthearted, slapstick sitcom-based comedy. Very episodic, which is aight, but the the show’s execution as a whole was mediocre-borderline-bad. It doesn't have much elements inherently Sonic-esque -- it's a product of the Modern era, which at this point, doesn’t seem to have good connotations. No worthwhile soundtrack, stunted animation and movement, embarrassingly heavy reliance on overused archetypes/stereotypes at the expense of the characters, repetitive plots that get the THICC layer of frosted sarcasm and self-awareness. Sonic had attitude sure, there was a clear level of disinterest and cynicism to this portrayal -- it was as though protecting people felt like a burden and chore to him. It doesn’t help that this feeling is justified as Eggman’s been reduced to a pathetic Saturday Morning villain with lesser competency in being a world threat, and much rather a constant nuisance to Sonic’s town than anything else. Subjectively speaking, this show's clearly not for me -- even when I was in the supposed age range at the time. Objectively, this Saturday morning cartoon should've been branded as it is, rather than a Sonic cartoon because the identity of Sonic the Hedgehog definitely got skewed and misconstrued by the eyes of newcomers whose first exposure to Sonic the Hedgehog character was this. Ironically, due to this show, I subsequently furthered my distance from the franchise at that age, and got into it much, much later in life.

Now moving onto the songs...

Initially, I considered “Escape from the City”, “Live and Learn", "His World" and "Fist Bump" as good contenders in defining who Sonic is. But through some vigorous looping of those songs, I've pinpointed what they've to offer in showing Sonic's character, and due to my consistent nature of typing overly long arguments about anything I find interesting, I'll be putting each song into its own paragraph -- picking out any significant verses, and explaining why I think each song subconsciously contributed to my thought process that they would be the best take on his character. Afterwards, I’ll finish with my conclusion. (I personally suggest you go listen to each song as you read each paragraph)

"Escape from the City" is a timeless bop, and I will play it in the car whenever I'm actively escaping from authorities in my city. What this song does is use rhythmic beats and repetitive bass line to emulate the constant adrenaline and excitement Sonic feels when he's moving around, it embodies his carefree nature and spontaneity to a T. It succeeds in portraying the energetic, upbeat aspect of his personality as the song itself contrasts the very dangerous implication of being chased down by the government for a crime you didn't commit. Sonic doesn't get enough credit for the amount of cheerful optimism he has -- always moving with a spring in his step, or steps considering the speed part. He brushes off the most life-threatening dangers he has to face and takes it all in with that well known Sonic™ grin. It also shares a constant message of "Live and Learn" (which the song of the same title) -- this is a rather succinct version of Sonic's mantra. The song is very Sonic, but only manages to show his surface level personality. Kinda like Sonic X's theme song "Gotta Go Fast" but it's much less in your face about Sonic's whole shtick. Another thing to note is the element of "escape" is a constant in both "Escape from the City" and "Endless Possibility", which I'll get further into later. Given that this song was more focused on the primary objective of ‘City Escape’ the game level rather than exploring Sonic’s fundamental character, it's very cool how it just so happened to tie in well with him...

"Live and Learn" was more of a Sonic and Shadow song, so I already kinda figured it wouldn't manage to explore Sonic's character much. The first verse and chorus offers as much for Sonic's character as Shadow's oh-so few lines of verse 2 does. Again, the song only manages to provide Sonic's surface level personality. Reason it came up in my mind was because of the words 'Live and Learn'. It's a very motivational and inspiring line -- what got me thinking about Sonic’s character in the first place. It's an unspoken rule for him to take life headfirst and live in the moment, and legit the second issue of the IDW's comics reiterates this by Amy expressing that this free-spirited approach to life is what essentially makes her love him.

"Fist Bump" was like my first exposure to Sonic main theme songs -- and I'm still into listening to the song. I realize the lyrics are pretty generic, but it does reflect the general focus of Sonic character very well -- which may further explain why Modern Sonic is much less... developed, to say the least. What the lyrics essentially hone in on are Sonic's loyalty to his friends and his.... unyielding determination? Honestly, a very generic take for a main theme, and it reflects on the quality of the game if even the music lacked much personality compared to any heroic video game character theme song. Sonic had more personality to offer in his silent protagonist games, compared to this. This issue with Sonic's character barrels down to Modern Sonic retaining his previous counterpart's cheesy insistence to spout improvised speeches and embrace the power of friendship -- though it's definitely gotten out of hand in this case. We need balance.

Making Sonic more family-friendly ≠ Dumbing down what nuance or individuality there was to his character and making him every other generic hero protagonist who quips for 90% of his dialogues.

Finally, "His World", but I'll do Crush 40 and Zebrahead's separately, sort of. Crush 40 explicitly tells Sonic's character how it is -- his strict moral code, good intuition, confidence in himself, "seize the day" mentality, straightforward disposition, stubborn determination, love for his friends, and fearless risk-taking -- it's pretty lengthy but it does a good job as Sonic's theme and manages to state what it's like in his world. However, the song faces eerily similar issues to "Fist Bump" with it's lack of creative interpretation with its lyrics, and compared to "Escape from the City", it seems more formal and serious in tone which is reflective of their portrayal of Sonic. 

I interpret Sonic as a multifaceted character, but when listing out all those traits in the verses and chorus in the song’s tone and format melody-and-lyric-wise, the song makes it appear as though Sonic is strictly a pillar of justice and represents the strong, untouchable hero persona -- which I find to be a detrimental writing aspect for his character. It writes off his personality as second priority to the reputation that would have receded him through the years of defeating Eggman and saving the world -- and subsequently, paints his character in a rather dulled and overly no-nonsense light.  Not saying I don't want Sonic to be serious at certain points, but I think with this song, and this game as a whole, there was some truth to the issue of Sonic '06 being a little too serious. While these characters were well-written in this game e̶x̶c̶e̶p̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶r̶d̶ ̶p̶o̶i̶n̶t, I've had personal issues tied to em: 

Shadow coming back was quite risky and foolhardy for his character journey and I believe if it weren't for the great execution for his storyline in '06, his appearance would've been viewed as fanservice -- which is what he's sadly been reduced to now

Silver's character concept as a whole was pretty dark and serious, which again isn’t a bad thing, but with the plot resulting in him seeing Sonic as the Iblis Trigger, it limited Sonic's ability to play up his easy-going, carefree nature since he couldn’t just brush off that accusation with offhanded remarks as that would’ve risked Sonic coming off as insensitive and unsympathetic at that moment. Which is not what the writers want their characters to go.

Elise. There, I said it. 

On top of it all, "His World" is pretty slow-going for Sonic’s theme, which I could try justifying by saying it might’ve been a representation of significant growth to Sonic's character -- perhaps the journey managed to shape him into a man (hedgehog) who could spare a bit of time to contemplate his next course of action -- as this game definitely explored a major deviation from typical Sonic game story lines. But, even with that, I still really prefer Zebrahead's version.

Zebrahead's is vastly the same when telling Sonic's character how it is, but the instrumentals, pacing and speed is increased significantly that it definitely sounds more reminiscent of Sonic's musical style -- fast-paced rock and roll. But, I’ve yet to figure out the significance of the lyrics:

Especially when it follows right after "Never fear the fall" -- so you take the leap of faith, but also don't let yourself fall in the process? Pretty weird flow of words there, but maybe I’m just not getting it at all. Point is, what both songs hone in on is Sonic's intuitive sense of justice and a bit of his carefree nature -- since the lyrics from Zebrahead's specifically highlight on Sonic's "leap before looking" nature. What Zebrahead further hones in on is his adventurous and hyperactive qualities as verse 1 and the bridge show. It's a timeless song of anticipation and build-up with good execution, but it doesn't cover the main essentials in what makes Sonic Sonic.

Finally, reaching the song I've found best covers the basics and essentials to Sonic's character is...

Believe it or not, “Gotta go fast” encompasses the defining characteristics of a well-written Sonic -- the title itself is a testament to the his motto and is all things Sonic stands for. 

While this refers directly to the plot of the show itself, it manages to familiarize us with the speed and urgency crucial to Sonic’s character and--

Okay, clown time’s over, here’s the real winner.

Unleashed's main theme: "Endless Possibility" 

From the get-go, intro already separates itself from the other songs by being freeing and exciting, without being too carefree like "Escape from the City", too orchestral or urgent like "His World", and definitely more compelling lyric-wise compared to "Fist Bump". This tone is a constant throughout the song, and makes it seem like Sonic's the one directly singing -- the singer nailed it with the level of obnoxious and genuine tone to his voice. 

This song, like the rest of the other main themes, reflect the game itself. Unleashed is a race against time for Sonic to fight Dark Gaia before the Earth gets torn apart. But similar to the gameplay and form of story, the music is very fast-paced yet unburdening, with hints of inner contemplation, and darkness (or how I like to put it, edge).  The first verse already succeeds in getting into the bare bones of Sonic's character -- he runs, he can never stay still out because he knows that's not who he is, he's free-spirited and will run around the world out of his own volition, it's a form of escape and liberty to him -- and this is what ties into "Escape from the City”. This verse sums up the essential traits to Sonic better than any of the previous songs without letting one attribute overpower it. It refers to his three fundamental traits: that he's fast, adventurous and carefree.

The pre-chorus further expands from verse 1's establishments, by showing the deeper, inner turmoil that pass through Sonic's mind -- “How will I know when I get there? And how will I know when to leave?” -- these are the rare instances where Sonic is found in inner conflict with himself which came out of his simplistic philosophy rather than an external conflict or influence, and it's more of unspoken and nuanced as Sonic never usually calls himself into question for the way he lives. This showcases that he's capable of processing the long-term effects of living and moving around aimlessly -- constant adventure and freedom might eventually feel mundane, so he might eventually find the destination his heart feels is right for him, so what will he do when that period of his life unfolds, and will this period end the days of adventure and freedom? The possibilities are never-ending, so as always, he'll take everything in stride, and prepare for whatever hits him.

This is what the song's main theme is. Endless possibility. Potential and growth -- which reflects back to Sonic: mentally, physically and emotionally. Mentally, he's acknowledged that he's always growing and developing throughout his adventures -- as there's one thing that no one, not even Sonic can outrun, and that's change. "Endless Possibility" opens us up to the concept of ever-changing development for Sonic, and the possibility that he might eventually reach his unknown destination and end this long-running journey, while also implying that every journey that he goes through and ends -- whether it directly ties into the games or off-screen adventures -- will always lead with a new one. Unleashed encompasses this youthful feeling of change and vigor. Sonic is in his element and is going through a personal journey to save the world once again, but as always, he'll do it with enthusiasm and unbridled drive. 

Interestingly, Unleashed feels reminiscent of Sonic X's Sonic but done right. Both have the character mostly isolated from his friends for the majority of their respective stories, but where Sonic X forces Sonic to clean up on Isle Eggbot each episode, Unleashed puts him through a singular adventure that requires he takes care of the major issue at stake while the others are doing their respective jobs or living their own lives. Unleashed's Sonic even has a temporary companion which he clearly warms up to and befriends throughout the whole journey, whereas Sonic X shows Sonic actively dismissing his previous friends to sleep, travel, and adventure for the heck of it -- while they spent a majority of the first season trying to find the chaos emeralds without him. 

Sonic being isolated is usually due to situational happenstance rather than conscious preference. Sonic  isn't inherently solitary or aloof, it's just due to his ability to move from place to place with ease that he subsequently has to leave his friends behind to confront the source of the problem. It's not a part of his character that he plays lone wolf like those archetypal "cool characters", the nature of what he does and excels at leads him to fight front and center, even if it means doing it alone. Despite this, he still is the sentimental, over-the-top dork that believes in the power of friendship and will go to the ends of the Earth to protect his friends. Which is exactly what he does in Unleashed.

The bridge provides the hints of edge where Eggman and Sonic exchange dialogue in the song, very much referring to the events of Unleashed's intro battle between the two. Eggman essentially tells Sonic to give up as he's actually beaten him -- which Sonic replies that it's not over, that this is just another start to another journey. The lyrics aren't very subtle about what they're saying, but it does a good job in encompassing two key traits when Sonic responds to any threats -- his cheerful optimism and unyielding determination. He doesn't respond to danger with simply quips, he responds to it with a campy but genuine declaration of strength and courage. The cheesiness in his words are very prominent, but he says them with a straight face like he's announcing his battle cry and promise to do what it takes to save the world and protect the ones he love.

In short, "Endless Possibilty" manages to fully encompass the best iteration of Sonic, and humanizes him to the point that I can only really see this as the current best sum up of his character without any needed dialogue, animation, or prior context. This song could just be tied directly to Sonic's overall character outside of the game's plot, and I'd be fine.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

The Anti-Spider-Girl Agenda within Marvel

In 1998 Tom DeFalco, former EIC of Marvel, created Mayday Parker/Spider-Girl. Her debut did gangbusters and a first edition of it still fetches a lot of cash. She got a solo series in 1999 which launched an entire interconnected universe of characters, the MC2 universe. 

The universe ultimately wrapped up in 2010 but throughout that time Mayday was being regularly published in one format or another, she was even the FIRST ever Marvel character to get a digital ongoing series before it went to print. An impressive accolade to add to the fact that she still holds the record for the female Marvel solo protagonist with the longest running continuous series. That is to say no breaks or relaunches, just over 60 straight monthly issues...

... And THEN she went another 40 straight issue for good measure before finally being continued in a relaunch. 

So, given how the anniversaries of both her debut and the debut of her series/the MC2 universe have come and gone I have to ask...why has there been 0 acknowledgement from Marvel?

We’re in the middle of a 2099 celebration, and that imprint (that lasted less time and was arguably less successful) was an on and off presence between 2013-2017.

We’re going to get something acknowledging Iron Man 2020 a character who is hardly in the zeitgeist of Marvel fandom to the same extent as Spider-Girl.

Now in fairness both of those examples are reliant upon the literal names of both properties. It does make a certain amount of sense to celebrate the 2099 line in a year ending in the number 9, thus bringing us ever closer to the real life year 2099. Equally it makes sense to revive Iron Man 2020 during well...the year 2020.

But then you get to Marvel celebrating the Earth X stuff. Now for all you out there who haven’t read the Earth X stuff I want you to ask yourself a question and be very honest with yourselves. How much do you actually know about the Earth X universe just via osmosis, without having read it. I’m willing to bet it ain’t much if anything and what you do know probably amounts to:

It was Marvel’s answer to Kingdom Come

Alex Ross did art for it

MAYBE you know Norman Osborn was the President

Oh and you probably remember that really cool Venom/symbiote looking character who was a version of Spider-Girl!

Golly, it’s almost like if Marvel are going to celebrate the not-that-well-remembered Earth X line (which like 2099 also lasted for less time than the MC2 universe) then they should do SOMETHING (beyond releasing some trades) to mark EITHER of the appropriate anniversaries for Spider-Girl and/or the MC2 universe as a whole.

But no. We get some trades and also Mayday appeared in Spider-Geddon for a few issues...at no point being solely in the spotlight...

This my friends is simply the latest in a very, very, very, very, very long list of instances where Mayday/the MC2 brand is mistreated.

  And a lot of that mistreatment I think is due to Tom DeFalco’s hand in creating Mayday and the MC2 universe. Because frankly, in particular relation to the MC2 universe, DeFalco’s work has also been mistreated in recent years.

  The facts are: 

Mayday’s ongoing (Spectacular Spider-Girl volume 2) was turned into a mini in spite of solicits 

She was cancelled so Anya Corazon could get the name Spider-Girl 

The very next time she shows up her Dad is killed off, thus fundamentally wrecking the whole premise for her character 

The guy who killed her Dad proceeded to treat her as an abused babysitter 

That same guy finished things off by removing her unique name and costume 

That same guy (Slott) in the same run before and after Spider-Verse wrecked other elements from DeFalco’s ASM work AND threw shade at his origin for MJ, calling it reductive 

Slott also was hired by DeFalco and had to uncomfortably admit he’d conned the man. Which combined with everything else makes me wonder if DeFalco maybe threw some shade Slott’s way back when he was an intern. Like he looked upon him as underhanded and unworthy of his place in the company, and Slott knew that and resented DeFalco for it. And again, being EIC earns enemies and DeFalco was the EIC when Slott started 

Slott also wrecked Ben Reilly a character DeFalco did not create but had strong associations with. 

During secret wars the story focused HEAVILY upon Hope Pym, Stinger and Ant-Man at a time when coincidentally the Ant-Man movie was happening. 

During Secret Wars the same writer who wrecked her in Spider-Verse COINCIDENTALLY happened to a story about the daughter of Spider-Man who was born during the 1990s, but it was his own OC 

During Secret Wars, Mayday appeared on the cover of one of the ongoings she was set to appear in, but it was then revised to be Anya 

Mayday when she began appearing regularly in a new title was seemingly killed off early into it and didn’t appear for awhile, not getting much spotlight when she did

Mayday had to share her spotlight moments in Spider-Geddon with Anya (again), still wasn’t allowed to be called Spider-Girl again, and the story was mostly about Annie not her. 

She was going to appear in the USM cartoon but then that was totally changed to be a gender flipped Peter Parker

Eric Masterson/Thunderstrike, another well remembered DeFalco creation, has also gotten little-no attention this decade despite it being a 20th/25th anniversary of him too. One of the more notable acknowledgments of his character was turning him into a Neo-Nazi for Spider-Punk to beat up.

Spider-Girl’s VERY SUCCESSFUL digests were discontinued but conveniently other digests for other Marvel properties either continued or started up after Mayday’s were discontinued. 

The ‘complete’ Spider-Ham trade paperbacks ‘conveniently’ do not include Spider-Ham’s equivalent character for Spider-Girl, Swiney-Girl

Gee that’s an AWFUL lot of coincidence, especially when you consider fucking Spider-Ham has been getting more attention from Marvel than Mayday; and that was BEFORE Into the Spider-Verse came out.

I’m sorry, but it’s really, really, really, really, really, really obvious that there is an anti DeFalco/Spider-Girl/MC2 sentiment within Marvel.

But why you may ask?

There are a few reasons for that. The biggest one though is that Tom DeFalco is the former EIC of Marvel comics.

At the time of me writing this, Axel Alonso recently stopped being EIC of Marvel and no bad words are muttered about him. People in the industry equally have little bad to say about Joe Quesada, especially those within Marvel.

But then again...Joey Q is still working for Marvel and in a position ABOVE the EIC. He never stopped working for Marvel even when he stopped being the EIC. And Alonso, one of Quesada’s right hand yes men conveniently took over for him and do you know he didn’t run the company all THAT differently to his former boss. Funny that right?

It’s almost as funny as how other former EICs of Marvel absolutely don’t have the same treatment. Jim Shooter is routinely BLASTED by countless fans and creators, especially the ones who worked under him, even though he oversaw arguably the height of Marvel comics’ creative history. Bob Harrass and his decisions are often talked about less than flatteringly. Tom DeFalco meanwhile had a whole disparaging phrase named after him.

Yes. That is is a real life Marvel letter page from the mid-2000s literally using the term ‘DeFalco’s Folly’ in reference to a former Marvel EIC and outright BLAMING HIM for their bankruptcy in the 1990s.*

When you are the EIC you make enemies. It’s rare that the boss of any business isn’t resented on some level by their employees. And your words take on much more meaning that what you simply say, being subject to misinterpretation.**

But now imagine you are the boss of a bunch of creative nerds (for most creators of superheros are nerds). Creative people A LOT of the time tend to be fairly sensitive as is, it’s likely critical to their craft. Nerds historically have tended to be sensitive (that’s neither a good nor bad thing). If you are the boss of those people, hoo boy will you ever make enemies. Tom DeFalco in fact once told a fellow editor that an innocuous comment about how an artist under said editor’s employ drew a character was being taken by the artist as an insult to their whole career.

NOW imagine all that and also under your tenure the company goes bankrupt and a lot of people lose their jobs?

Enemies. Enemies galore. 

Even if it wasn’t necessarily your fault, you are the most visible person in authority so you get the blame. If the internet wasn’t that much of a thing do you really think that Ike Perlmutter would be the guy who got the blame for deep sixing the X-Men and F4 in the 2010s? Hell no, it’d have been Axel Alonso and/or Tom Brevoort.

So yeah, Mayday was DeFalco’s baby and the MC2 universe more than anything was the logical extrapolation from the Marvel universe as it existed under HIS tenure as EIC. It’s very much seen as representative of DeFalco himself. Thus if people have an issue with DeFalco, they’re not going to do all that much positive as far as his stuff is concerned, in particular if it gives him anything like royalties.

But on top of all of that I think Spider-Girl and the MC2 universe simply conceptually lean against Marvel’s ‘party line.

I didn’t notice this, but it was pointed out to me by an acquaintance that the MC2 universe is VERY similar to DC’s Earth 2 concept, wherein the classic heroes are older and/or retired with their immediate descendants picking up their mantles. Marvel and DC have this petty and asinine pissing contest between them, with many within Marvel even outright hating the fact that they have numbered universes like DC. It’s likely (definitely) the reason Earth 616 was rebranded as ‘Earth Prime’. This of course won’t stop them ripping off DC if they think it’ll make bank

The MC2 universe was a universe of OPTIMISM. In particular in the 2000s, and this attitude has definitely lingered, there is this emphasis upon cynicism and at best Pyrrhic victories within Marvel. Partially this is due to a misinterpretation of what ‘realism’ means, but partially this is due to  misguided belief that controversy sells and pissing the fans off makes bank. 

The MC2 universe is very old school. It’s deliberately designed to be nostalgic and feel Silver Age in it’s sensibilities. this is why the violence is not all that gory, the sexual references are at best reserved and tasteful and there’s that optimism I talked about. not to mention it kicks back hard against the decompression/writing for the trade storytelling model Marvel typically employs and has typically employed for almost 20 years now. Whether it’s simply because the universe doesn’t conform, or because Marvel views anything ‘retro’ as bad because it isn’t ‘modern’ (with no inspection of whether the modern trends are a GOOD thing) the end result is that the MC2′s sensibilities are not in line with how Marvel WANTS their comics produced.

Then you have Mayday herself. Mayday is a living symbol of both the Clone Saga and the Spider Marriage. Whilst Marvel are NOW willing to more openly reference the Clone Saga, few people i any kind of positions of power look upon it (or even aspects of it) with anything but disdain and embarrassment. Dan Slott for instance openly hated it. As for the Spider Marriage...I mean do I even need to explain that one?

I’m sure a frustrating fact for Marvel during Spider-Girl’s publication, and something likely passed down to Axel Alonso when he was handpicked by Quesada, was that the book refused to die. Spider-Girl was scheduled for cancellation multiple times and defied the odds multiple times. Marvel 90% of the time won’t kill a book if it’s making a profit (especially in a day and age when they were still feeling the fallout from bankruptcy) so they kept Spider-Girl around, but because it was so against the party line I’m VERY sure they’d have LIKED to have had the justification for killing the title. That’s likely why they shuffled her onto a digital platform in 2009. Amazing Spider-Girl did poorly enough to justify cancelling it but not so poorly that they couldn’t still make money from it. Another relaunch would’ve boosted sales for the series, but making it a digital series at a time when hardly anyone read digitially (let alone PAID for it), now that’s a shrewd manoeuvre. You make SOME money from it, you pay lip service to keeping it alive and appeasing very upset Spider-Marriage fans, but you’ve essentially guaranteed it’s failure long term.

Part of that annoying success was those incredibly successful digests that were possibly indoctrinating a lot of young impressionable readers on a character/brand Marvel wanted to bury and aspects of their flagship character (read: a married older Peter Parker) that they wanted to bury. Hence Spider-Girl digests disappeared but conveniently there were still digests for Ultimate Spider-Man sold featuring a young, buffoonish, Avengers worshipping Peter Parker.

Oh...and she also had the incredibly brand sexy name ‘Spider-Girl’ that Joe Quesada wanted for his own precious pet OC character, Anya Corazon. In fact Mayday was going to be rebranded as Spider Woman in Spider-Girl #75, specifically so that Anya Corazon could be given the name Spider-Girl. Years later Mayday was cancelled specifically for that purpose.

tl:dr There is a VERY OBVIOUS anti Tom DeFalco/Spider-Girl/MC2 agenda within Marvel.

My hope is that it’s rooted out, hopefully as a result of the 20 year nostalgia factor kicking in sooner of later (her series was most prevalent in the 2000s) and more female creators coming into the industry.

*Which is very much unfair. There is rarely one singular decision that results in bankruptcy. So whilst DeFalco making a single purchase might’ve been a contribution (emphasis on ‘might’) the idea that it was THE ultimate cause of Marvel’s problems is ridiculous.

Marvel were heading for the shitter the moment Ron Perleman purchased it in the 1980s. They were the victims of a ‘pump and dump’ scheme wherein sleazy yet clever financial people showed up, created a bubble to make a load of money, then moved on to the next thing when the bubble burst. To my understanding a similar thing occurred with baseball cards.

** In fact DeFalco’s friend, Ron Frenz, has spoken about how he was witness to DeFalco saying one thing and the people listening to him hearing and acting upon it in a totally different way than was intended.

The same happened to Stan Lee when he made an aside about Iron Man’s lack of a nose, which resulted in his employees believing Stan wanted them to give Iron Man a nose.

P.S. You know in the 1990s when all the 2099 books got cancelled sans Spider-Man 2099, they never got a second bite of the apple.

But between the late 90s and 2000s the MC2 universe was seemed successful enough that around 2006-2007 both Spider-Girl AND the wider MC2 universe were given second volumes, even the ones that only lasted like 6 issues.

Since then there’s been at least 3 attempts to revive the 2099 universe, we’re living through the latest one. 

And yet Mayday doesn’t seem to even be worthy of a spotlight issue in the current Spider-Verse series. 

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 107

SYNOPSIS: The fact that both of their operatives are injured at the moment poses several pressing problems for Madeline and Operations. So, the two Section leaders make their way to Medical to check on Jamie’s status and talk with his doctor about his prognosis. When Jamie is operated on to remove the bullet lodged in his shoulder Madeline gives the surgeons an ultimatum. Meanwhile, sometime later, Murtagh and Fergus also visit Med Lab to see their friends only to find that Jamie has been taken into surgery.

 Chapter 106 and all other previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU. I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read, like or reblog my story, and particularly for leaving your thoughts.  

 CHAPTER 107

Dougal Mackenzie’s gait was pronounced as with Madeline they walked away from a shell shocked Murtagh Fitzgibbons and made their way towards Medical. The scene that had just transpired had been most unexpected on many levels and Section’s leader was still smarting from Murtagh’s reluctance to accept his gesture of more time for his debrief. His munitions’ expert obviously expected there were strings attached. It wasn’t often that he showed any compassion and it had obviously sent him into a loop. Consequently, Operations looked forward to reading Geillis Duncan’s report as to the older operative’s performance as well as his account of the mission also. Having two different perspectives on what had happened would be most enlightening. In fact, depending on the outcome, it may very well influence any decision as to Murtagh being utilised in the field again in the near future.  His second concern was reluctantly for James Fraser’s status. His rapid decline had been out of the blue. So, what had really happened to him? How and why was he shot? Reading Jamie’s debrief when he was able to write it, may shed some light onto what had actually transpired but given his condition that could be in several days. Perhaps it was just a lucky shot by a hostile that had unfortunately had maximum effect. Thinking back over Jamie’s actions, Operations was not surprised by his operative’s reluctance to show that he was badly injured in any way. The Level 5 operative always gave the impression that he was impervious to frailty when his own wellbeing was brought into contention; however, the injury was obviously much worse than anyone had ever imagined or that he indeed was letting on. However, Fraser’s main concern had been for Claire Beauchamp. Operations scowled.

Madeline and he knew of his weaknesses for his partner and he’d demonstrated that openly in the way he’d acted tonight. Still, it was a major concern of theirs that this relationship would affect Jamie’s performances in the field. They expected nothing short of perfection from their Level 5 cold operative. They couldn’t let anything or anyone interfere with their plans for him. Hence it was something they needed to monitor more closely but right now they wanted to check on his condition. Despite their differences with Jamie over the years his value as an operative remained strong. They could ill afford to lose him right in the middle of a crucial mission.  Madeline too was debating with her own mind’s counsel.

The fact that Jamie was injured and may take time to recover as well as Claire’s need for rehabilitation posed several pressing problems for her and Dougal. Section One had come so far in tracking down the Rising Dragons triad members and she knew it would not be long until Sun Yee Lok was himself captured and brought to justice. However, there would be the added problem with Claire if Jamie didn’t pull through … they may well have a blithering mess on their hands with her. Would she be able to recover from his death? … She didn’t need to answer that question, she already knew the answer.  There were no two ways about this … There was only one scenario that was feasible and she would accept no other. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Both leaders of Section were mulling over in their minds a contingency plan if indeed Jamie didn’t make it through the operation yet neither of them wanted to voice them out loud. Madeline however, did broach the subject that was uppermost in her thoughts.

“What are you going to do about the Rising Dragons’ mission Dougal?” He looked at her and raised his eyebrow in query. “What do you mean?” She said only one word. “Jamie.” “What? ... If he dies?” ... Why don't you tell me?”  “James Fraser is strong. He won’t die,” was her pragmatic reply.  “Besides, I have faith in the medical team.”  He smiled at her optimism. “I can see that you’ve made up your mind Madeline.” “He’s too valuable to Section at the moment. He'd be too hard to replace.”  Operations looked at his second in command for a minute reflectively, “Yes, there aren't many like him.”  Echoing his sentiments on their Level 5 operative, she confirmed his qualities. “He’s good. He and Claire together are quite good.” “They’ve performed well on this mission so far ... we can ill afford to lose him.” “Yes ... then there would be the added problem of Claire if we do.” “Exactly. The odds still aren't good, are they?” “No ... I don’t think so.”  “But if there is one chance in three that he will survive?” “Then it’s good odds.”  “I want Fraser to live. I am human after all.” “Really? Are you sure it’s not because we are so close to capturing Sun Yee Lok?” Aggrieved by her off-the-cuff comment Operations stopped walking and looked at his second in command. “Are you saying I have ulterior motives?” “No.” “Oh … then I obviously lack compassion!” “No ... you lack the good judgement that comes from having a small dose of it Dougal.” “What about the compassion I’ve shown from time after time? Let me guess: you want to make a point.” Not necessarily ... but compassion is a weakness you have continually frowned upon in Claire ... yet you showed some to Murtagh this evening. Did you mean it?” “Of course I meant it!” “You’re a ruthless man, Dougal Mackenzie. And that's good. It’s good for Section One and all the operatives to know where you stand. You do your job with clarity and I respect that. But you threw Fitzgibbons for a loop. It may take him a while to come to terms with that.” Operations grinned complacently. “I like to keep people unbalanced.”  “True … but don’t shoot the messenger. I think it’s a good thing for the reasons you’ve said.” “Good ... well what are we arguing about then?” “I don’t know ...” Madeline gave him an enigmatic smile. “Jamie and Claire?”  “I want to know how his condition will affect them and in turn us.” “Jamie is not a threat to us at the moment, on the contrary he is vulnerable and it appears as if his condition is touch and go at the moment.”  “But he could be.” “Not if we play our cards right. Fortunately, even the best have weaknesses. We must not misjudge him for it will result badly for us.” “And we wouldn’t want that … would we?” “I’m sure we’ll keep on top of it.” “I expect nothing less of you Madeline.” “It will be a while until both of them are back to their peak condition, so if Jamie pulls through they will need some downtime to recuperate. We can plan our next course of action then.” “So be it. We've been through worse.”  Operations smiled and nodded at Madeline then they continued on towards Medical.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The two leaders entered the Infirmary and immediately made for the area where they saw curtains drawn around two cubicles.  “How are they doing Dr Foster?” “Not so good ... especially James Fraser. He’s fading in and out of consciousness but we're put him through every conceivable test we can.” “Is there a problem?” “Jamie’s X-rays show that the bullet is lodged in his chest. There are also fragments of bone as the bullet shattered his clavicle,” the doctor replied in answer to their question.   “I see.” “How did this happen?” Jeremy Foster glanced anxiously at the two leaders. “It appears he was shot from an acute angle, probably from above. The bullet entered the shoulder and passed through to lodge in the chest area. He’ll need immediate surgery to remove it ...”

Judging by his worried look they suspected the physician was holding back information. “Is there something you’re not telling us doctor?” “Jamie’s lost a lot of blood … he’ll need to be transfused during and possibly after the operation but …” Madeline and Operations gave each other a quick glance then interjected before he could finish. “Do you have enough supplies on hand for a blood transfusion?” “We have a few units of Jamie’s blood left, but if he needs more than we have in stock we could be in trouble.”  The situation could become grim and Doctor Foster knew it. There were no guarantees that Jamie would need less blood units than they had available. It was better to have an abundance than a shortage especially if the Level 5 operative had complications from the surgery. He forged ahead and broached the subject area even he had no knowledge of.

“We’ll need to know the donors of his blood type so that arrangements can be made for them to donate blood if it’s required.” “That Intel is classified … you’ll have to work with the supplies you’ve already got.” Operations stated categorically putting a stop to any further conversation on the matter. Jeremy Foster tried to interject, “But …” “Operations and I will make those arrangements if and when they are needed.”

Madeline was adamant in her statement that only they would disclose that information if it was essential or indeed necessary. They had a reluctance to share with Dr Foster the intricacies of Jamie’s blood type and had made the decision to have his details suppressed. Except for the head surgeon, Medical personnel were on a need-to-know basis, and if Med-Lab had enough units of blood to see them through then so be it. Classified information about their key operatives was classified for a reason. Should Intel leak out to their enemies that James Fraser had a rare blood group or any intel about his DNA then he could be in a vulnerable position. This Intel could be used against him should he be captured; hence they couldn’t risk him being compromised in any way. However much they may regret their decision towards the physician, they stood by it. If the situation became dire then they would make contingency plans, but until then they would leave it as the status quo. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Knowing that Section’s leaders would not budge on classified Intel about James Fraser, his hands were tied. “Very well … I’ll inform Dr Khan. He’s been paged and is on his way.” “Good. We’ll be in the observation room. Have him see us before he preps for any operation.” “Yes sir.” With that directive, Operations and Madeline left Medical for the surgical viewing area where they could observe the medical team in action. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A little while later, Murtagh and Fergus quietly approached the glass-paned doors of Medical and peered in through the panels, however, they were unable to see clearly, so when the automatic doors opened they entered and stood side by side and looked around. Their eyes strained to see if they could see either Jamie or Claire, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was evident though; that a flurry of activity was going on around them once they were inside the room. They could hear the sound of voices coming from some cubicles where the curtains were drawn. Edging closer, Murtagh and Fergus made their way to the partitions in which they thought the two operatives were obviously being attended to in the hope of eavesdropping to find out any information.  The sound of a curtain opening caused the two men to jump back as if caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guiltily, they turned their heads and looked up. A Med-Lab doctor emerged with a trolley of medical equipment and monitors.  Murtagh was the first to speak. “Hey Doc … It must be pretty crazy back there.”  Caught unawares he looked up to find the two men standing there. “What! ... What are you doing here?” The doctor snapped as he looked at Murtagh then Fergus.  Innocently Murtagh replied as they followed him, “Come on Doc give us a break. We came to check on Jamie and Claire.” “How are they?” Fergus added as they watched the doctor reorganise the trolley with a fresh supply of materials. Knowing that Fitzgibbons had been on the mission to rescue Claire and where Jamie had been injured, he took sympathy on the pitiful twosome. “They’re both not out of the woods yet.” Murtagh looked over to the shrouded partitions. His face had a far-away expression, thinking about what was happening inside the cubicles with his two friends. “Will Jamie be okay? The medics said he was barely alive.”  Dr Foster stopped what he was doing and replied, “Had it not been for your swift actions earlier we may have lost him.” “Oh my god!” Fergus gushed out loud.  “Can we see him?” “That’s not possible. The medics have taken him to surgery.” “What? ... Jamie’s in surgery?” “Yes.” “Was there a problem?”  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Digesting the meaning of his words, Murtagh eyed the doctor with an uneasy glance while preparing himself for the worst-case scenario. This couldn’t be happening. James Fraser was strong ... what had gone wrong? He was very worried. Beside him Fergus too was uneasy.  Jeremy Foster studied their expressions. He weighed up his options and finally came to the decision that telling them something was better than making them worry all night or more to the point staging a vigil until the morning. “As you know, Jamie wasn’t in a good condition when he arrived, but the medical staff moved swiftly to see that he got to surgery A.S.A.P.”  He then looked from one man to the other. However, there was something in the doctor’s eyes that made the older operative wary. “I see ...”  Fergus held his breath, then asked the question they were both thinking. “He’s not going to die, is he?”  Murtagh tried to assuage some of the tension. “Of course, he’s not going to die you dolt! This is James Fraser we’re talking about Fergus. But I guess if someone wants to die, one reason is as good as another. Personally, being in love always made me want to live … Jamie will want to live,” he added enigmatically.  Dr Foster had a slight smile on his face seeing the banter between the two friends. “No ... We’re doing our best to see that doesn’t happen. Dr Khan is performing emergency surgery at the moment to remove the bullet from his shoulder.” Although his words were reassuring, when Murtagh looked at the doctor he realised that he was holding back. “You’re not telling us everything ... are you?” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations stood in the observation deck overlooking the Infirmary. Below them James Fraser was lying on a table surrounded by the operating team who were to perform the emergency surgery. As the two observed the medical staff’s preparation for Jamie’s operation their thoughts turned to when he had first come into Section ...  Madeline ever the strategist was pragmatic in her assessment of their Level 5 cold operative. 

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser brought into Section One 10 years ago, graduated training 9 months early; moved directly to Level 3. His continual ascent within Section was due not only to his tactical and strategic abilities, but his primal approach. He had always shown an otherworldly disregard for his own well-being. More than anyone else, Jamie had been true to the highest principles that define this organization.  She saw similarities in Jamie that paralleled her own ideals for there was nothing she would not do for the Section. His rise within the ranks was meteoric and well deserved. Jamie had been groomed as a potential leader, but ever since Claire’s arrival he’d changed. The changes were very subtle and not that noticeable but to her trained eye the relationship between the operatives was one that concerned her. Tonight, James Fraser had given her much to think about.  Operations’ eyes scanned the operating theatre too where Section’s best operative lay at the mercy of the medical team. Although Jamie and he had not always seen eye to eye, he was nonetheless proud of his skill as a cold operative. Time and again the younger man had pulled off the impossible on missions to reach the end game. His ruthlessness, ability and leadership qualities were to be commended but at the same time were cause for apprehension too for James Fraser was the penultimate Section One operative.  He was a born leader and one day he would run Section ... one day he would have Command and the power. They’d noticed that when he had power Jamie changed. He certainly revelled in it ... he liked it. Power could do that, even for a man as strong as James Fraser. But did he need power? He really didn’t have a choice to turn it down when he’d been offered command from time to time when he had to leave Section. Maybe Jamie’s need for power was part of his strength. All he had to do was wait ... it would come. He still had a lot to learn, but were they creating someone who may usurp their leadership before his time? He was a good leader. Operatives respected him and he was a man among men who was esteemed.   In many ways James Fraser was better than they were. That in itself was a worry. He lived by the ideals of Section One but since Claire Beauchamp had become his material both he and Madeline had noticed a slight change in him. It had been building gradually and their collaboration on missions only fuelled the bond that had developed between them. The question was ... how much did it affect their performance? If Jamie was in any way reckless ... he would fail and his failure would destroy his career. He would then have no hesitation in placing Jamie in abeyance.

Dougal Mackenzie glanced over at his second in command. Madeline’s slightly raised eyebrow was the only indication that they may have been having similar thought waves. While they’d been observing James Fraser in the operating theatre the two Section One leaders had unwittingly opened a minefield of much food for thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations turned when they heard the door open behind them. The head surgeon Dr Khan entered and approached. “You wanted to see me?” “Yes ... How’s he doing?” “Not too good at the moment.” “What’s the problem?” “The bullet is deeper than we thought and the trajectory route is just millimetres from a vital organ. It is a more delicate operation than we first thought.” “I see. And what is your prognosis?” The head surgeon looked from Operations to Madeline and pragmatically answered their question. “I'm sorry, but he may not make it. He’s lost too much blood. He may not pull through. If we need to put him on life support, will you be making that decision?” It was Madeline who responded. “I already have. I've decided he's going to recover. His will to live is very strong. Your will to save him has to be strong, too.” She paused. “I'll help you.”  Dr Khan took a while to digest what she was actually saying but he certainly caught the gist of Madeline’s underlying words. It was not until she continued that he understood the full implication of what she had spoken and he began to shake in his boots. Madeline then calmly pulled out a gun, cocked it and held it up against the surgeon’s head. A sudden fear and uncertainly crossed Dr Khan’s face as he waited for whatever Madeline would say next.  “Go back inside.” She took a breath before continuing. “Tell your colleagues to do the possible ..., then the impossible ..., and then the unthinkable, until he's out of danger. Because ..., when you're finished, Doctor ..., that room will contain either four living men ... or four corpses. Do you understand?” He understood perfectly. Jamie Fraser was Section One’s best operative but he was still surprised at the length that Madeline had gone to in order to keep him alive.

“Okay.” The surgeon left the observation desk in fear and trepidation and relayed the message to his surgical team. Collectively they cast their eyes up to the observation room to see the penetrating gazes of their leader and his second in command. They were under no illusion as to what the operating team needed to do. Madeline had given the doctors their ultimatum and if James Fraser didn’t pull through, they knew the consequences.  They needed to pull off the impossible. They needed a miracle.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Friday 20th

[greetthedawn]

AN:

I set out with the intention to write 6 chapters over 6 weeks. It turned into 16 chapters over 6 years.

I got Black Flag on my 17th birthday, and now at 23 it remains my favorite story, full stop. I'm ready to move onto other projects, but I know I'll come back to these characters in time. Never at this length or with this attention to detail, probably, but I'm pleased with what I've accomplished here.

At the risk of sounding Oscars speech-y, I want to thank you all for giving this story the support that kept me coming back to it time and time again. I'd also like to thank my college roomie who has been beta-reading and cheer-leading for me these past two years. I never would have finished this story in a vacuum.

I hope you enjoy this last chapter of Come With Me Now!

___________________________________________________

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light

‘cause oh that gave me such a fright

but I will hold as long as you like

just promise me we’ll be all right

___________________________________________________

Edward's final act as governor of his own little cove was to finally affix a proper headstone to his late wife's false grave.

He had delayed the task longer than he had originally intended when he had buried the box of her letters just over a year earlier. This was in part because he had grown rather fond of the grave marker Mary had fashioned from an old stool seat. The carvings had held up quite well in that time and it had individuality to it. The time had come, however, to leave Caroline with a memorial that would last in the absence of his care.

The date was October 1723. Edward and Mary had tied up their loose threads in the West Indies. The Assassins had finished shifting their base of operations to Great Inagua. There were no longer any pressing matters keeping them tied to the Americas, and their agreed-upon year had come to an end. The day had come to sail for England.

Edward had truly pushed off this task until the last available moment. Their crew – what men who had chosen to leave with them – were at the docks preparing the Jackdaw for the departure. Mary was in the manor giving each room a last comb-over to ensure they hadn't forgotten any necessary or treasured belongings in their packing. Meanwhile, Kenway was elbow-deep in the dirt with a trowel.

When the hole was reasonably deep enough to hold it firm, Edward shifted the tablet stone away from the tree where it had been propped up and lowered the bottom third into the earth. With a huff, he sat back on his knees to admire his work.

He reached out to brush his fingers across the engraving and muttered, "Two years, I promised you. It turned into eleven, but I'm leaving now. I'm coming back, and I'll come to visit you when I get there. That's a promise I'll keep. I do that these days… I'll find your real resting place, and I'll sit with you whenever I'm in Bristol, just as I have here beneath this tree the past year." He pulled his fingers back from the lines that traced out her name. "I'll see you so soon."

When he had finished repacking the earth around the new headstone, he rose, dusted himself off, and tucked the stool seat under his arm. He made for the house, taking in his lovely garden for the last time as he went. He was satisfied, on Ah Tabai's word, that the false grave would remain in place for as long as the Brotherhood held the cove.

He entered the main hall of the manor and was struck, as he always was, by the grandeur. His eyes fell over every painting and trinket he and his men had won on their travels and brought back there to adorn the walls of their base with. Every trophy, every scuff on the woodwork, every empty bottle told a story of a sailor truly living. He had built something out of this room, something he was proud of. Each of his finest deeds had come together in some way to scaffold what this cove had become.

Beyond the memories he shared with his crew in that house, it had been the cradle where his relationship with Mary had found its legs. She had been at his side when they'd taken the cove, had led him to the manor through the tunnel she'd found in its bowels. It had been in the office where she'd first urged him to the aid of the Assassins, at the docks where she'd invited him to Tulum, and on the patio where they'd finally torn down their defenses and begun to stitch their hearts into one.

He imagined, perhaps, that giving over guardianship of this cove and all its memories to his Assassin brothers would be a small glimpse of what he might one day feel when Jennifer was grown and married and starting a new life with a partner of her own. I cared for her. I watched her grow. I gave her what I had, and she turned it into something greater than myself. She has been my life's great joy, and now I trust you to treasure her the same.

He gave a bittersweet sigh, trailing his fingers over the rough, paint-chipped grain of the back of his usual chair at the head of the long banquet table. He allowed himself five long breaths to imprint the room in his mind's eye. Then, he left through the door opposite the one he had come in.

His heart smiled when his eyes fell on his wife. Mary sat at a small, round table in the sunshine just outside the door. On its surface rested two cups, a bottle of rum, and the journal that held her research and communications on Precursor artifacts. Her hair was tied up in her disguise as James Kidd, but she held herself as Mary. She had an easy set to her shoulders and mouth that told him she was relaxed, present in the moment, unconcerned about who was looking or how she was perceived.

"You didn't nearly forget that was locked in my desk, did you?" he asked, pulling out a chair for himself and gesturing to her notebook.

She offered him a warm smile and poured a drink into the empty cup, sliding it across the table. "I rather had a mind to keep it under lock and key 'til we were ready to sail." She shrugged. "It's too valuable to leave unattended on deck. It's a good job it didn't slip my mind though." She nodded toward the wooden grave marker he'd leaned against the leg of the table. "You bringing that along?" Her tone was amused.

He nodded with a humble grin. "I found it strangely difficult to part with," he answered around the rim of his cup. "Much like this here cove." He gestured generally with his gaze at the grandeur of their surroundings. He imagined their accommodations in London, once they'd settled, would be spectacular. There, however, in Great Inagua, he was a king, and a beloved one at that. He wondered if his heart would ever be graced by that feeling again, to be a leader among men alike in mind and purpose. He hoped he would, in some capacity or another. For all he knew though, he was leaving it behind on the docks.

Mary thumbed the handle of her mug thoughtfully. "I feel like I'm parting with Nassau all over again, though I didn't know that's what I was doing the last time I was there. I didn't know that was a final goodbye, the way I do now."

Edward nodded in mournful agreement. "I think I did. When Vane and I broke through that blockade with his fireship, there was something final about it. Perhaps I might return to the island, I had thought at the time, but our Republic, the community we had built with Thatch and Hornigold and all the rest, that had died the very day Rogers brought the King's Navy to our shores."

She reached across the table to give a reassuring touch to his hand that was picking at the grain of the wood. "At least we know this community here will stand long after we've left it to our stern."

He gripped her hand tightly in return and cast his gaze out over the valley below. From where he sat, he could just barely see the crosstrees of the Jackdaw and the rooftops of the trim shanties and huts of the village. The air buzzed with life and opportunity. The morning was late, and the sun shone high over the liveliness of his dominion. Its warmth was reflected in the pride he carried in his heart; no longer pride for who he was, but rather for what he had helped create.

A short distance down the patio, Assassins and pirates drank together at a large table by the banister. Smiles and friendly jests seemed to waft among them like a gentle breeze. For an endless moment, the scene shifted in Edward's eyes to one he had always dreamed of making a reality, but which had never borne fruit: his fellow devils of the sea, all gathered amicably at his manor, sharing a bottle with not a care in mind.

He saw Stede Bonnet, all draped in merchant's finery and smiles. The portly old chap had carried such a heart for adventure and contempt for domesticity, though perhaps piracy had not been the optimal way for him to explore those sentiments. Such a kind-hearted man had not deserved to meet his maker at the hangman's noose. Edward prayed, wherever his widow and children were, that they were well and remembered Stede fondly.

At Bonnet's side sat Vane. As brash and uncorked as he'd always been, Edward had truly liked Charles and counted him as a friend. The man had had a clever eye for mischief and malfeasance that he expected would not find its parallel in their lifetimes. That was how he wanted to remember Vane, and that was how he envisioned him at that table. His eventual madness and betrayal were long forgiven and forgotten.

The counterbalance to Vane's cockiness that had thrown Edward's life expertly askew was Jack Rackham's wildness. A true beast with a bottle, he'd been, and there was little love lost between them. So many evils of past years had been set in motion by that catalyst of a man. Edward could forgive him for all but that which had cost Anne and Mary so dearly. That grudge was not yet ready to die. Despite it all, Calico Jack had been an influential figure in Nassau and Kenway's youth all the same, and they'd shared more than a few jovial pints in the golden days of their pirate republic. He appeared at the table in Edward's mind's eye with the rest, his cheek propped on his fist and a tipsy, peaceful grin on his face.

His feelings about Hornigold, seated across the table, were perhaps the most complicated he held for any of his old friends. None of the men he'd killed before or since had cursed him with as many sleepless nights. He respected Ben, truly, in spite of how things had ended up. The mentor to his mentor, he'd been a man of true esteem and poise. He'd always been searching for something bigger, something more meaningful than even Nassau could provide. They'd had that in common. Regrettably, however, Hornigold had found it in the Templars. Edward knew his friend believed he'd found the answer to poverty, disease, oppression, all of it, and that Torres had held the key to prosperity for every man. Perhaps there was some kernel, some seed of goodness to the world their Order sought to bring forth, but Kenway was equally convinced that no mortal man could hold such a powerful key and not be corrupted by it. It was that corruption that had led Benjamin to his end on Edward's blade, but as the Assassin reflected on the days the old man had spent carefully training him to command the respect of his crew and fear of his victims, he knew he would only remember Hornigold in fond terms.

At Ben's side, he pictured Anne. Sweet, sweet Anne, with flowers in her hair and a confidence in her manner that the most lush and arrogant man in their ranks could never hope to rival. She'd been a perplexing blend of crass and elegant that had brought joy to all who were blessed to have known her. In truth, her death had rattled him to his core because he had truly thought her invincible against all the particular evils these islands had to bear. She'd been an angel in a hellhole and had not earned her fate. Her loss had been the final, great failing of Edward's greed and hubris. If he was cursed to live in a world where her absence echoed so loudly, he would do his very best to honor her with his life.

Bernard Kenway had been an outstanding father, as they come, but Edward had been a less than exemplary son. For the boy that he had been when he'd reached the West Indies, however, Thatch had been the father he'd needed. He saw him then, sitting at the head of the table where he belonged, just as he had sat at the head of Nassau. Edward still felt his absence in every room of important people. When decisions were being made, plans being laid, he often found himself pausing to give space for the gruff words of wisdom that would never again come. Fuck this world and fuck its gold, Edward thought, remembering his mentor's final words. You were always a hero to your men, Thatch. He and everyone he'd known and loved in the past decade would be forgotten by history as scoundrels and traitors, he knew that, but Jenny and any siblings she might have would be raised on bedtime stories of Blackbeard, the most fearsome and admirable pirate who ever lived. If his descendants knew the name, that would be enough. Edward Thatch deserved a legacy.

Mary squeezed his hand lightly, jarring him out of his reverie. She gave him a sad, knowing smile. "The ghosts haunt you too, do they?"

He nodded, blinking against the stinging in his eyes. The men at the table morphed back into their brothers and crewmen. "In every tavern. At every party."

Her gaze was sorrowful and understanding. "Any place where men are drunk and merry." She raised her glass a little higher before bringing it to her lips, a small, private toast to those lost. "London society could never appreciate the pleasures of frivolity as they did."

He tapped his mug to hers. "Of the things we're leaving behind, I think I'll miss them most of all."

"You don't think they'll follow us to England?" Her tone was sad, but unsurprised.

"They belong here. If we'd died a handful of years back, we'd belong here too. Our memories will go where we do, but their spirits will remain in these jungles." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps one day we'll join them." He was almost hopeful they might.

Mary smirked. "If we live long enough to come back here, I doubt I'll want to live long enough to leave twice." She stood, pulling him to his feet by their linked hands. "But until then, we're needed a long way from here. Come on now. It's time we're off."

Edward picked up Caroline's makeshift headstone and Mary pocketed her not notebook. Leaving the bottle on the table behind, they descended the steps toward the gate that led to town. He stopped them there to turn back toward the manor for a final time. He pictured the ghosts at the table once more, imagining himself almost able to hear Anne's singsong voice and Thatch's wheezing laughter on the wind. It would have been a privilege to sail away with any one of them, but he was taking the one friend he truly had to have at his side. That would have to be enough for this lifetime.

He turned and kissed his wife, long and gentle. "The only place I'm needed is wherever you happen to be."

___________________________________________________ 

So lead me back

Turn south from that place

And close my eyes from my recent disgrace

‘Cause you know my call

We’ll share my all

Now children come

And they will hear me roar

___________________________________________________

A small crowd had gathered on the docks for their departure. Their crewmen were saying goodbye to their loved ones, having a last cup of rum with their friends, pleading with their favorite dancers to stay in their arms just a moment longer and cry a little when they left port. A number of them, Edward knew, had intent to return after a year or two, but none seemed to be able to resist the sentimentality and celebrity of such a departure.

He and Mary made a point to stop and shake the hand of each captain in their fleet as they pushed toward the Jackdaw. At the gangplank of their vessel, Ikal and Glenna were helping load the last crates of supplies. Glenna gave them polite smiles but moved out of their way without a word. It was as warm of farewell as Kenway had hoped to receive. Ikal, in contrast, passed off the crate in his arms to another sailor in order to address them. Edward placed the stool seat on top of it as the man passed him to board the ship, intending to collect it later once he had his crew settled on the open sea.

"I wouldn't worry about her, were I you," he said with a touch of affection and a smirk about his partner. "She bears you no ill will anymore, though I doubt your absence will be greatly noted."

"I would expect nothing more," Mary laughed. She pulled him into an amicable embrace. "I'm glad to part as friends, truly."

"I am, as well," he agreed, releasing her.

Edward offered his hand, which Ikal took without hesitation. "I can never repay you for the service you did our family in helping to find Jennifer."

Ikal smiled pleasantly. "No, I don't suppose you can." With a last nod to Mary, he followed Glenna down the docks.

Edward and Mary exchanged an amused glance and boarded their ship. He greatly doubted they'd ever hear from that pair again.

The deck was all a bustle of activity as final preparations were made for departure. Massey darted in front of them, doing his best to chase the black and white cat that hunted their rats down below deck where it would not get under foot. Jenny toddled over to them, awkwardly carrying the fluffy gray tabby that loved Mary so well. The animal was nearly as long as the girl was tall, and it hung limply with its forelegs stuck straight out ahead. Its expression was unsettled but it didn't make any effort to wriggle free of her grasp. Edward had never met such a tolerant animal, though he'd still rather have a dog. Cats might be better mousers on ships, but wouldn't do much in the way of protecting an estate, he expected.

"What a wonderful helper you are! Thank you for catching that kitty!" he praised his daughter. Mary scooped the cat up and Edward bundled Jenny into his arms.

"Uncle Muh-see not help!" she pointed out, clearly amused by her babysitter's lack of success. She was all smiles that morning.

"No, he's no help at all, is he?" he encouraged, nuzzling his nose against hers, making her scrunch up her face and giggle.

A frazzled Massey worked his way back toward them after securing the first cat below deck. Mary passed the other off to him and it leaned into his embrace eagerly. "I don't suppose you'd stay on as our governess when once we've established ourselves in England?" Mary chided warmly.

The lad gave a playful huff. "As it happens, I've secured employment already." The news clearly excited him. "Bell's sister was recently married to an horologist's son in the city, and the family was gracious enough to offer us positions at the shop. We'll mostly be running errands, delivering clocks and the like, but I'm hopeful the old man will teach us the trade one day." He cast their daughter an affectionate grin. "We'll cross paths at the London bureau though, I'm sure, and I imagine I'll call on you often. Any chance to see the little Lady Jenny." The girl clapped at the sound of her name. She reached out her arms for him and Edward passed her over.

"Well, we're glad you're coming with us all the same," Edward patted Massey on the back as he and Jenny made their way to the upper deck. The young sailor nodded to Adéwalé and Ah Tabai as they passed on the stairs.

"It's hard to believe you won't be here tomorrow," Adé greeted his old captain with a firm hug.

"I'm in as much disbelief about it as you are, mate," Edward breathed.

"Have you decided on a heading?" his friend asked.

"Bristol!" he declared. "I've got some business I need to settle there before I can truly begin my life anew. Once we've finished, we'll find somewhere to settle for good."

"If the wind ever carries you to England, you'll have a warm bed and a seat at our table," Mary assured him as they hugged as well. "You need only ask. Both of you."

"I do not think our kind would be welcomed in such a corner of the world," Ah Tabai sighed. "but there will always be a home for you and your family in these waters if you find yourselves dissatisfied with the stillness of high society."

She smiled warmly. "I doubt either of us will ever be truly still. We'll keep that close in mind, though." She turned to Adé again and procured the small notebook from her coat. She pressed it into his hands. "These are all the notes I have from my communications with our brothers in the colonies. I've written ahead for you, so they'll know of my departure by now. They're chasing some fascinating leads on Precursor sites at the moment. I expect you'll enjoy the work."

He took the notes with a grateful nod. "Perhaps we're due for a meeting, too. I would like to see more of the Americas before my days are done." He clasped Mary and Edward by the shoulders, like he had when marrying them. "My dear friends, you'll write when you've safely landed. Understood?"

They smiled and nodded, hugging him together once more.

Edward turned to Ah Tabai and they clasped forearms in farewell. "Mentor," he started. "I must thank you. You gave me a final chance to prove myself, and I hope I've done justice to the faith you placed in me."

Ah Tabai laughed and held up his hands. "I cannot accept your thanks. In truth, I had given up on you, Edward Kenway. It was Mary who forced my hand, and I cannot say I am sad to see that her instinct continues to prove fruitful." He bowed his head. "Safe travels. May you honor the Creed, and may it bring you honor." He left them then, and Adéwalé followed him off the ship.

Mary and Edward waved them off. "I must say, I'll dearly miss his gravitas," he laughed. She rolled her eyes with a small smile.

Around them, the bustle was beginning to quiet. Preparations were largely finished and those who were not leaving with them began to disembark. The two of them moved toward the starboard side so as not to stand in the way. Men said their fond goodbyes as they passed. Edward knew each by name and did his best to etch their faces into his memory. He glanced over at Mary and could see by the set of her face that the weight of their departure was setting in for her.

Her hand went to her belt, settling on the ruby hilt of the dagger he'd gifted her so long ago, Venganza. Revenge. She pulled it free, balancing the weight between her palms, and looked at him. After a quiet moment, she said, "I don't need this anymore…" The words lingered on her tongue, like she was coming to grips with them in that very moment.

He laid his hand over hers. The steel between their fingers chilled his skin. "Then don't bring it with you."

She nodded and pulled back. Her fingers wrapped naturally around the well-worn leather grip and she paused, indulging in the sensation of its weight in her hand for a moment. Then she turned on her heel and pitched the dagger over the side of the ship, far out into cove. It sliced quietly through the gentle waves and sank, taking pains of the past along with it.

He set a hand on her shoulder and she sighed, seeming to release a weight off her heart. She looked back at him and there was new light in her eyes. "I'm ready now."

He smiled and led the way to the helm.

Jenny had settled to the right of the wheel with a toy. Looking at her then, Edward could scarcely believe he'd ever worried he might not love her. She had so much Mary in her, and a spirit uniquely her own. Every small thing she did or said was a marvel to him.

He was, for a moment, plagued by self-doubt, as he was more occasionally than he would have liked. The Atlantic crossing was not an easy journey. The life that waited for them on the other side was hardly safe, either. His mind went back to his argument with Mary on the evening of their marriage. A choice, he reminded himself, that was their agreement. In spite of his concerns, he could never quite bring himself to feel guilty for taking her away from the safety of the family that had once adopted her. He knew that, had she stayed with them and grown up as Maria Reyes, she would have known nothing but the easy and proper life he wished for her. A small part of him did mourn that loss for her. At his core, though, he must admit that he was still too selfish to truly regret taking it away from her. She belonged with her mother, and with him. In that sense, paired against that alternative, a choice was a blessing. A choice was enough. He couldn't wait to see what she would someday do with it.

"Captain!" Bell called, interrupting Edward's thoughts. The young sailor came to join them, Massey on his tail. "The men are ready to depart. Would you like to take the helm today, or shall I?"

Edward waved him off. "If this is the last time we'll steer the Jack out of this port, I would prefer to do it myself."

"You two go help at the mainmast," Mary suggested. 'We'll handle things up here.

"As you command, Master Kidd," Bell nodded. The set of his mouth was eager, excited. "We'll wait for your call." The two lads descended to their posts.

Edward huffed and tentatively curled his fingers around the underside of one handle on the wheel. He glanced down to his right palm and the long, white scar that ran across the skin there. It was the one Mary had given him when he had attacked her in his desperate panic at the Assassin graveyard, thinking her a ghost. The memory seemed so far away, though the mark was among the more recent that adorned his body. He pulled his gaze away from the thin, pale line and onto his wife at his side as she lifted their daughter to her hip. Jenny grabbed at the beads in Mary's hair – twins to those he still wore on his necklace – making her smile and shake her head to toss them around for the toddler's amusement. She noticed his stare as she did so and paused, giving him a puzzled look. He smiled back at her and touched his hand to her shoulder in their familiar gesture of trust and reassurance.

"I'm ready now too."

With a grin, she clasped his shoulder in return and glanced out over the deck. "Ready, lads!" she called out. "Loose all! Let's catch the wind!"

___________________________________________________

And the ghosts that we knew will

Flicker from view

And we’ll live a long life

___________________________________________________ 

Song: Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford & Sons

[brightlilies-a]

   cracks knuckles. i’ve long put off rewriting this one, if not because it’s not an easy or concise subject matter to discuss, so bear with me. . . ! spoilers for dnc & 5.0 msq (though the latter is lighter, so i can expand on it later with a broader scope).

   headcanon, re: purpose.    * partially rewritten from my old blog & otherwise including new stuff.

   what’s your purpose?

   if you had asked him that question during a realm reborn and heavensward, he’d wholeheartedly answer that all he wants to do is have the strength to protect others. the funny thing is that it’s a purpose that was given to him——not because he’s the warrior of light or because people are relying upon his continued success, but because it was something his older brother, albi’a, said near constantly prior to the calamity. they were to use their strength to ensure the safety of the tribe, and when they would eventually be outcast, that strength would become something to protect others with. power was meant to protect——that was all it ever meant to albi’to.

   ‘course, after albi’a’s death at carteneau and his mother pushing him to become an adventurer seemingly on a whim, albi’to ultimately ended up parroting that sentiment for a good chunk of time. if someone asked why he was an adventurer, it was always to gain the power to protect, with no deeper thought to it. he believed his would-be mantra, sure (if he hadn’t, he would have never approached the gladiator’s guild, nor walked the path of a paladin), but the words were never something that were his. they were the remnants of a promise left unfulfilled, acting as a buoy for a young man with little else to cling to in the vast, churning ocean of heroics and intrigue that was swiftly becoming his life.

   putting it like that and only looking at it from that perspective, however, makes it seem insincere——and it’s not. albi genuinely wants to protect people. he’s kind and compassionate to others because he’s had a rough go at life and he doesn’t want anyone to go through what he did. he lost his home and much of what he considered his family only to be shuffled into a place that didn’t even want him all at once, and yet, he keeps his optimism (even if at times, he didn’t think he could.). so he often sympathizes, even with people he possibly shouldn’t, and wants to keep them safe.

   but, then again, stormblood happens. namely, in crimson it began happens, as all things inevitably return to zenos. zenos, who is so uncaring to things that don’t interest him, set against albi, who feels so much toward everything and everyone. and yet, the power albi had obtained to protect others wasn’t enough. the conviction he’d allowed to guide him through combating ultima weapon and the whole of the dragonsong war fell short suddenly. the scar on his shoulder is an ugly reminder of his loss, but his shattered shield, like haurchefant’s, reinforces a reality that, for a while, he’s afraid of: he can’t protect everyone.

   so he shifts jobs to samurai, thinking if he gets stronger he can brute force his way through it. he can still protect people, but maybe he doesn’t need a shield to do it. maybe all he needs is a stronger sword that will stop threats in their tracks. but the foundation of his (brother’s) belief that the strong will always be able to protect the weak is cracked, and patches 4.4 onward really reinforce that. for much of stormblood though, there isn’t any time to waver, so the problem only rears its head once the scions start getting called away and he’s helpless to do anything to stop it. yet again, he can’t stop what’s happening, not to the people he cares so much for, and no amount of power is going to help him.

   albi doesn’t do well on his own, as he’s never really had to face who he is and process his own identity. he tends to ensure other people are near him, hiding most of his insecurities through being overly social and directing conversation away from himself. so much of the time between 4.5 part 1 and 4.5 part 2 is very, very rough on him, because he’s holding on so tightly to the image of the warrior of light people want and expect from him, punishing himself for not being able to help the people he’s losing, and ignoring those who are still around’s concerns for him. part 2 of the patch helps, as aymeric reminds him that he isn’t alone, and tataru opens his eyes to the fact he can’t keep bottling everything up and trying to handle these things on his own anymore, which are both things he desperately, desperately needs to hear at that point.

   so while they’re out looking for the crystal tower beacon… he’s not alone, and he’s doing better to include the others in what he’s doing so they can help, but it’s not perfect. it’s hard when he isn’t the same bright-eyed kid that walked into the waking sands at thancred’s behest. he’s still loud and energetic, but he’s begun to mellow out somewhat from everything he’s been through and witnessed.

   above all else, though, he’s come to terms with the truth he once feared: he can’t protect everyone; sometimes, he can’t even protect himself. which brings us back to that initial question of purpose.

   if he cannot protect with his shield and if his blade alone cannot wield enough power, then what’s left to guide him on his way? he’s relied on the scions’ support for so long, and while he’s always done what’s expected of him, he’s never really had much to offer outside of being the eikon slayer or the muscle. but while he’s not allowed to help search for the beacon himself, it gives him plenty of time to find another answer for himself, which he does on a wayward trip to limsa lominsa to visit his sister.

   “ put another way, bringing joy and succor to the scorned and the suffering is no less than our calling in life. ” - nashmeira, a soirée in the sultanate.

   while he’s never offered much besides being a weapon, albi has always had a naturally charismatic personality. he likes people, enjoys their company, delights in bringing them together and building them up. which, in some ways, goes hand in hand with being the warrior of light——sowing hope where despair otherwise reigns is simply part of being the realm’s champion, even if he isn’t fond of the title himself. so the thought of supporting the people around him is one that is more secondhand nature than parroting what his brother said while he was alive, and one that comes more naturally to him.

   natural affinity for and history of dance aside (because this isn’t about that), it’s a job that suits him infinitely better than swinging a sword around. and not because he’s simply good at dancing, but because being a dancer is about supporting the people around oneself, lifting their spirits and unburdening hearts, leaving a bit of joy and happiness in his wake. it isn’t something done alone; it requires a partner or an audience.

   and traveling with troupe falsiam, brief as it might’ve been, truly assured him that he wanted to do nothing more with his life. fighting the absolutely horrible monsters born out of the sorrow in people’s hearts, seeing their burdens manifest like that, it hurt, sure. but he had the ability to help those people, so he would. and he will, because in the end it’s what he wants to do. mistress nashmeira’s words ring true in a way he wholly agrees with——his purpose isn’t to protect people or to fight their battles, but to bring joy and help the helpless. to do as much as he can as kindly as he can, but not promise any form of salvation.

   because he’s not a god, nor is he infallible, and twelve does he know that.

   “ in a place like this, you learn to take what little moments of happiness you can get. “ - tesleen, the time left to us.

   of course, norvrandt puts this new purpose to its test swiftly. most people don’t have much of a reason to be happy, what with the end of the world being nigh. the people’s hearts are filled with doubts, shadows of disdain for the lot they’ve been given, and even by the time he goes to amh araeng to meet with alisaie (which he does first, given how things ended at ghimlyt dark), albi is keenly aware of the general condition. moreover, that it isn’t anything he can fix immediately, because as long as the main problem exists, people will continue to suffer after the fact.

   worse, having gone through what he did alongside troupe falsiam tends to make the events in norvrandt pull on his heartstrings uncomfortably. meeting f’lhaminn once more before seeing thancred struggle to let go of minfilia, dealing with the fuath wanting to make him theirs to perform again and again in endless fights on their drowned stage, watching the carers at journey’s head struggle to find even an ilm of kindness to share with the afflicted... not to mention eulmore in its entirety engorging itself on false happiness, there���s a lot that makes him hesitate. lightwardens, and knowing they were once people, make him sad, but he tries to view it as tesleen put it: the warrior of darkness comes to care for souls at their dying moment, to bring them somewhere hopefully better than where they are currently.

   not a promise of salvation, but a measure of kindness he can deliver to them. something that keenly fits along with the purpose he’s decided for himself, that isn’t asking him to be something or someone he isn’t.

[n7soldiered]

CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE note:  I'm crazy busy these days and am getting zero sleep.  Worked on this for the past couple of days but my clarity has been fluctuating.  I'm sorry if some of this makes little sense or contradicts.  I promise I’ll go back to fix this later.  I'm just really tired/stressed working overtime.  Also, please note that much of this is dictated by interaction, too.  It’s obvious who John is closest to.

GENERAL

NAME:  John ‘Anderson’ Shepard. ALIAS(ES):  n/a AGE:  29 — PLACE OF BIRTH:   Shepard was born somewhere on earth.     I haven’t worked out the circumstances yet.  As far as I’m concerned, he grew up somewhere in Canada because he speaks with a hint of Canadian dialect.  I mean, Meer is Canadian, so it makes sense, y’know?  I was thinking about following Vanderloo’s origins, have him hail from the Western Netherlands just to shake things up, but, I don’t think it matches as well as having him come from Canada.  The accent is just too important a detail to ignore.  If I remember correctly, canon states Shepard is from Canada?

SPOKEN LANGUAGES:   It actually took an extensive amount of research for me to work this out.  I’ve learned that I know nothing about Canada and wow, there are a lot of languages spoken there.  According to many statistical charts, I’d found online, John’s accent isn’t strong enough for me to assume he’s from eastern Canada.  He probably grew up somewhere in the heart of Canada ( just like Meer’s birthplace ), toward the west coast but not too far out.  

So, Shepard is fluent in English, Canadian French, and struggles only slightly with metropolitan ( modern ) French, mainly in correcting his inflection and intonation.  Sometimes he forgets how informal he is with his speech, but he’s quick to adjust.  He’s also thoroughly acquainted with slang-speech.  He learned most, if not all, of his French while growing up on the streets.

I also have this little developing headcanon about John and other alien languages.  If there’s a chance he can vocalize the tones required, he’ll want to learn a few words.  Maybe even ditch the translator sometimes if he gets good enough, just for the hell of it.  Shepard loves a good challenge and he likes to learn about other cultures.  He’s rather open-minded and adventurous in that sense.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  John is a demiromantic pansexual, borderline demisexual, if not demisexual, in his adult years.  However, that isn’t to say he didn’t have his fair share of flings.  By the time he hit the academy, and subsequently, ICT, romance just wasn’t something he had time for.  And that served to develop demisexual traits. OCCUPATION:  Alliance soldier, Commander, Spectre.

APPEARANCE

EYE COLOR:  blue. HAIR COLOR:  brown. HEIGHT:  6’2″. SCARS:  While I’ve always thought the renegade scars are a cool aesthetic to have, it’s never made any sense to me that the scars are completely limited to their face ( in-game )? John had never put forth the resources to completely heal his facial scarring.  You shouldn’t have to squint to see them.  If you look, they’re there.  Not prominent, but there.  When experiencing high emotions or anger, his scars glow orange ‘neath the skin.

Also, please note that the location of John’s scarring correlates with the game’s canon cinematic ( yes, I examined the cinematic for way too long lmao ).  The worst of his scarring is located on his chest, midsection, left back, and around and under the armpit.  They’d operated around there the most, with the goal of preserving his heart.  His right collarbone was completely removed, as well as the bones in his right wrist and shoulder.  Scars rope his right arm, starting from the wrist to the upper shoulder.  After having been obliterated upon surface impact, his left knee had received a prosthetic.  Both femur bones, one right finger, and three left fingers are prosthetics.  ... He has a lot of prosthetics.  I’m still working on this one, though.  Post-reaper war, his prosthesis fuck up his gait.  After investing much time in physiotherapy, he discards the wheelchair and adopts a walking cane.

FAVORITE

            Wow.   I haven’t thought about any of this before so please, bear with me as we get through this.   Though I doubt I’ll be changing much, some of these headcanons are subject to change as I develop John.

COLOR:   Blue—light blues.   Baby blue.  Pastel pinks.   Pastels(???).  I don’t think he cares for extremely dark colors or anything neon.  The aesthetic of neon lights reminds him of his childhood, ‘home’, but there’s no fondness tied to the remembrance. HAIR COLOR:  Disregarding personal attraction entirely, he thinks blond hair is pretty.   Pure. EYE COLOR:  I don’t know why this detail amuses me so much but—blue.  I suppose there’s a bit of narcissistic bias on his part in that, but, if there’s one thing John likes about himself, it’s his blue eyes.  Since that seemed kinda predictable, I’ll point out that aside from blue, hazel eyes fascinate him.  Jane and Jyn’s bright green eyes are beautiful to him, and when the light catches just right, Kaidan’s eyes shine an amber gold.   And that, my friends, blows the dude’s fuckin’ mind, I swear.  Having blue eyes for all his life, it’s enthralling for John to see a weave of green and brown in someone’s gaze.   It’s the little things, y’know?

ENTERTAINMENT:   This is a ridiculously broad question.    When condensed into a measure of a few days, or even a few hours, shore leave doesn’t often provide John enough unfettered time to seek a means of entertainment.   He’s kind of a workaholic.  However, if there is time on his hands, it’s spent catching up with friends.  Maintaining relationships is an absolute priority for John.  Regardless of the era, without his companions and loved ones, he wouldn’t have made it this far in life.  He feels like he owes it to them to visit and put in some quality time, hanging out and just chatting.  I’d imagine they’d go out and eat, go see the latest action vid or whatever. PASTIME:   What annoys me the most about this question is that no matter how I explain what Shepard enjoys doing in his free time, he’ll still seem like a complete square.  … Like I said, he doesn’t get enough free time as it is.  If he isn’t working on reports and whatever paperwork the alliance swamped him with, he’s working out, eating, or getting some goddamned sleep for once.

FOOD:   GOD.  THIS IS THE HARDEST QUESTION IN THE UNIVERSE WTF.   Okay, after dropping another day into thinking about this—and I know I’m going a bit off tangent—I’ve come to the conclusion that John is a Fool.

As awful as it sounds, he prefers eating ration bars, and he eats them way too often.  I'm not saying he likes them, I’m saying he prefers them.   Although they’re mostly kept for when they’re on the front lines, ration bars aren‘t thirst provoking and they’re nutrient dense, which pass them as ideal for his backward-stupid mindset.

With approximately 4,000 calories packed into a block, he can just shove that in his face and go straight back to work.

It’s also imperative to understand that good tasting food will be eaten too fast; they recommend bad tasting emergency food as it will be eaten only when necessary.  John ‘prefers’ to eat bars of chalk, apparently.

When it comes to normal food, John relishes any chance to eat meat.  He loves comfort foods such as ribs, steak, mac and cheese, bacon, ham, mashed potatoes, chicken-anything etc.  High-calorie count dishes don’t faze him.  He could clean out someone’s fridge in one go.  On the sweet spectrum ...  While he isn’t big on sweets like ice-cream and decadent cakes, that doesn’t mean he’ll turn them down.   John didn’t get to have those things as a kid.

He also likes dessert pastries.  They’re tiny and delicate and he has trouble bringing himself to eat carefully decorated ones.  Has a soft spot for sweet cinnamon and custard-anything.   Likes cinnamon rolls and pecan pie.  A lover of brown sugar.  Still doesn’t know what ‘the hell a macaroon is.   Someone buy him a macaroon.

DRINK:   I don’t see John as someone who drinks soda regularly.   His go-to drinks are water, fruit juices, and tea.  As someone who doesn’t drink alcohol, therefore cannot contribute much firsthand knowledge to this headcanon aside from providing detailed descriptions of the taste from various sources, I believe John appreciates good whiskey.  Bourbons, if you want to get specific.  Ryes on a good day, and rums, on the nights he knows he can kick back without worrying about the next morning.  Gin and vodka, on the undoubtedly bad nights.  

Still, I don’t really see him as someone who gets absolutely hammered on purpose.  Although whiskey will lead to a much worse hangover, even if ingested carefully, something tells me he just doesn’t care for much else?  If he drinks, he’d rather the drink taste good.

BOOKS:  [ answered ]  you mean the concept of shepard, having enough free time on his hands to read a book?  sorry, but you’ve got the wrong shepard.  i’ll be frank, i doubt he cares much for reading books, less if it’s fiction.  unless there’s intel to gain that will aid in his current objective, even biographies don’t make the cut.  john reads news reports and mission debriefings … sometimes, if he’s feeling up to it.  once again, content relevance and long-term value are what sways shepard’s interest in engagement.  besides, he enjoys vids way more than books.  less quiet.  less boring.

HAVE THEY

PASSED UNIVERSITY:  no. HAD SEX:  … yes. HAD SEX IN PUBLIC:  no. GOTTEN SOMEONE PREGNANT:  no. KISSED A MAN:  yes. KISSED A WOMAN:  yes. GOTTEN TATTOOS:  I’m still thinking about this one.  perhaps, from jack. GOTTEN PIERCINGS:  He’s thought about it as a young, reckless teen, but no.   In a normal modern verse, he’s pierced his ears. HAD A BROKEN HEART:    Uh.   The closest thing John’s had to a ‘broken heart’ is when Kaidan had spurned his offer to join the Normandy SR-2 on Horizon.  However, the sentiment had been a direct contradiction to his beliefs at the time.  Despite John’s reliable sense of optimism, he had been certain he would die destroying the collector base.  The fact that Kaidan decided against joining had eased as much as it had crushed his spirit.

Also can’t forget his reunion with Liara.  When she’d kissed him upon reuniting but chose to follow her work instead of leaving with him, he’d felt bitter inside.   While he realized she had more important things to handle at the time, John was butthurt.  You kinda can’t blame him.

BEEN IN LOVE:   Yes.  But only after he’d met his ‘canon romance’.  John only knew of ‘puppy-love’ before then. STAYED UP FOR MORE THAN 24 HOURS:  definitely.

ARE THEY

A VIRGIN:   Why would you ask this when, in just the previous section, you inquired if he’s ever had sex?  Omg this meme.  I suppose I could delve into this, then.  Oh, let me just mention, John is ... really, terribly oblivious sometimes.  Given his background and his comparatively early admittance into the alliance military, he simply hadn’t garnered enough experience with the normality of intimacy in relationships, be it casual or not.  I bet a lot of the social cues flew right over his head.  

When individuals came on to him, which did happen a handful of times while in ICT, it was painfully obvious what they wanted, but John was never convinced until they’d slapped down an outright offer.  I have a good feeling he lost his virginity around this time of his life.  These experiences were more like one-night stands.  Extremely cut and dry affairs since most were more focused on getting off rather than expecting something out of it. A CUDDLER:  Yes.   The little spoon, too haha  p: A KISSER:  I mean.  Does he have lips??  Of course, he likes to kiss.  I dunno if he’s much of any good at it...  But John’s good at everything he does so. A SMOKER:  In his youth, yes. SCARED EASILY:   Goddamn right, Shepard gets scared easily.  And his fear manifests in a remarkably strange manner if you ask me.   But first, I must address what constitutes as ‘scary’.  What Shepard faces on a regular basis is life-threatening so, we’ll be disregarding trivial things like horror movies etc ...   Fear, for John, evolves into driving factors for him, motivation—for lack of better wording.  If anyone—or anything—happens to threaten his loved ones, especially, while he isn’t there to do something about it, himself, Shepard is prone to all manners of violence and extreme behavior.  In short, John gets fucking pissed when he’s truly scared.

JEALOUS EASILY:   John is.  ... Possessive.   And I say that with a measure of self-conflict as well, because I don’t think he’s possessive either.  It might just be too soon to know.  From what I’ve gleaned off his temperament, and his intermittent displays of headstrong aggression, he demonstrates jealousy and possessiveness only when driven too far.

John is a patient man, but he’s far from a saint.

Let’s just say, for example, his lover decides to chat up another individual.  Just an amicable discussion.  However, that individual seems to inch closer and closer to his lover.  Combine that with some not-so-friendly-touches and his lover, made uncomfortable by that, and you will have John seeing red.  God, forbid the situation ever flips the other way around.  I don’t imagine he’d take infidelity well...    Trust is everything to John. TRUSTWORTHY:   You won’t find a more loyal, reliable, and honest man. DOMINANT:   Oh, god.   This is one I’ve been experiencing trouble figuring out.   John is ‘dominant’ for reasons that are obvious.  He’s a ranking officer; a commander; a spectre, a captain, and above all, a leader.  No matter how you crop it, John is a dominant force to be reckoned with.  Hmmm.  However, when loved ones are involved, and the situation is domestic and not dangerous, John is rendered useless lmao.   Around the right people, he’s softhearted and ridiculously malleable.  If they asked, he’d bend over backward for them.  But only for them, y’know? SUBMISSIVE:   I —  o h.   ...  This is awkward.   I only just now realized there might be a sexual theme to ‘dominant’ and ‘submissive’.   Wow.  Okay, well, I’m not gonna get too into that.  John is malleable around loved ones.  That’s really all there is to it.  So far, Jane, Kaidan, and Ryan have him wrapped around their fingers. SINGLE:  ( verse dependent ).

RANDOM QUESTIONS

WANTED TO KILL SOMEONE:  yes. ACTUALLY KILLED SOMEONE:   the count is steeper than he’d like. RIDDEN A BEAST:  … Yes?  I bet he asked Wrex to piggyback him once.  Probably got headbutted instead.   And I have no doubt that grunt had to piggyback him when injured. HAVE/HAD A JOB:   yes. HAVE ANY FEARS:   lkfkjlsflkd.   For now, I will list a couple of things because, once again, these are things I’ve only vaguely speculated rather than fully explored.

1.  failure. 2.  here, have one he reveals himself: ❝ I’M  NOT  AFRAID  TO  DIE. ❞           shepard held their eyes, aware they could see straight into the shadows at the bottom of his gaze, and all the harshly controlled thoughts and fears that burned there.   he felt the rush of cool air brush against his cheek, and the shift of reality began to decline like the tides of  VIRMIRE,  falling back from every nerve.   john plunged himself into it, down uncertain contours of dislodged sentiments and reverent possibilities on the rise, moving in a disorganized flurry, windswept within his mind.

another distant look in the commander’s eyes.  perhaps, fighting one of the many battles that never showed.   ❝ i’m afraid of SURVIVING.   getting to the end of this fucking war, only to find out i’m ALONE.   that everyone I knew and cared for is GONE       ! ❞

FAMILY

SIBLING(s):  Jane Shepard, Ryan Shepard.   ( twins | verse dependent ). canon:  none PARENTS:  David Anderson.   ( adoptive father | verse dependent ) canon:  none CHILDREN:  none.  ( verse dependent? ) canon: none PETS:  I will be featuring his pets in a completely different post. TAGGED BY: @risenspectre  Thank you! TAGGING:  @littleredrenegade​ @sentinelmade​ @therevcnant​ @kyberborne​

[rkjinwook]

░▐ ★_힘내 stay strong 、

@rkzyx:

early in the morning come the 12th, yixing is still sleepily rubbing his eyes from the moment he gets up from his bed until he’s reached the kitchen. without a glance at the clock, he knows just how extremely early it is but he has to be in order to finish this in time. washing his face hadn’t helped him nearly enough. the cold water enough to keep his eyes open for a few moments but not sufficient to keep him from coming this close to nicking his finger as he cuts the vegetables. luckily, he doesn’t or he’d have to explain to baek jiyoung-sajangnim how he got another injury even if this wouldn’t compare to the one he’d had before. before woohyun and jinwook can leave for the day and the filming, he’s greeting them with a lunch box and a handwritten letter than he jokingly says he hopes isn’t too boring they fall asleep if they read it on the way there. seoul forest is pretty far. “don’t get eaten by any bears, okay?” because if one says forest, that means wild animals right? maybe that’s something yixing ought to look up before he says anything else.

their meal is a traditional packed lunch, courtesy of what yixing’s been taught since moving to korea and briefly living with a host family. his own twist to it is the way he’s cut two apples for them to share. in woohyun’s is a butterfly and in jinwook’s is the rose. with a bright smile, he launches himself at jinwook, pulling him into a hug.

“ dear jinwook-ah,

             uwaaa ~ our jinwook is filming today! everyone will see your brilliance again like they did on the mgas. i’m very excited! aaa… you don’t need me to say this, do you? i should anyway… i’m very proud of you. as a fan, as a fellow trainee, as a best friend, and as a group member. since we met, we’ve always been part of the same group already right? ㅋㅋ  i know you’ll bloom beautifully like a rose and no one will be able to take their eyes off you! the way you and eve sunbae had a beautiful performance that no one could take their eyes away from, i know you’ll be that kind of idol and group member. one that shines and blossoms in a way unique to you, right? i hope today is the beginning of a beautiful spring for you. eat well and stay strong! 

                                                               ♥ 레이 ”

jinwook wakes before his alarm on february twelfth, stares at the shadowed ceiling, and tries to identify the feeling in his gut. not quite dread, although he can’t deny his hesitance to brave the cold all day. not quite nerves, or anxiety. it’s definitely not excitement either, but with this acknowledgement, a sense of guilt follows. jinwook ought to be more excited. he ought to feel more grateful today.

he shakes his head and slides into the slippers beside his bed. that’s probably woohyun he hears in the kitchen. gentle footsteps and quiet clinks of cutlery, trying not to wake the others. this day comprises an extra early schedule, since they are to be briefed, styled, and set up on location in time to film the sunrise. jinwook thinks his spirits should lift once they arrive. pretty skies, crisp air, winding paths… it’s the quickest, surest way to calm his heart, which is why jinwook had been so adamant to film something outdoors in the first place. even the sun goes down, though, and now he simply feels due for a fresh dose of optimism.

when he walks into the kitchen, his medicine materializes in the comfort of zhang yixing. jinwook’s eyes widen at the gifts, a laugh escaping him. “you’re up too early, leader-nim,” he chides. his voice is gravelly with sleep, but the honorific is habit by now. “i thought you would be savoring your extra rest, without the two of us in your hair today.”

he matches yixing’s smile and bows, thanking him, deeply touched. if jinwook thinks too long on the sentiment his bright facade might chip. has he become so transparent that yixing knew he needed this? he tucks close into his best friend when they hug, lingering. “..i’ll eat it well.”

later, jinwook cradles his camera like a security blanket, frozen fingers not quite deft across the dials. his forehead is exposed and his ( flannel shirt ) yields easily to chilly breezes. he wishes he’d been given a stylish peacoat like woohyun’s. in between locations, jinwook sinks into a heavy parka that hangs to his knees, hands clasped tightly around a hot packet from the staff. he manages, though, and the shoot is relatively simple — a walk in the park, if you will — at least compared to dancing or modeling.

jinwook quickly learns to deprioritize his own photography for the sake of the teaser, but he sneaks in a few solid shots along the way. he finishes off the half-roll of film he’d practiced on last night ( hong jonghyun was all too happy to pose — jinwook thinks those ab photos could be a hot topic if they were ever leaked to fans ) and makes solid progress through a second. 

woohyun’s silhouette against the sunrise, woohyun’s cute attempt to climb a stone wall; his eye-smile as he tosses leaves in jinwook’s direction; their legs kicking side by side as they sit on the edge of the water bridge. jinwook will be excited to get everything developed; it’s been ages since the camera has gotten proper use.

it’s lunchtime before he knows it, the sunlight a harsh backdrop. jinwook bundles up again for the short break. only then is yixing’s letter is carefully unfolded, and what jinwook feels most, as he rolls his eyes at the mention of eve, is warmth.

[cassether]

Soldier On

Category: Angst /Missing scene 

Pairing: Dutch/D’avin

Summary:  Tag to Reckoning Ball, takes place after Dutch, D’avin and Johnny all meet up at The Royale.

Warnings: Spoilers for 3x09 Reckoning Ball. Contains bad language. 

Disclaimer: Own Nadda!

Johnny zipped up his jacket as the door swung shut behind him, the closure muting the rowdy noise coming from inside The Royale. 

It was dark and he scanned the alley for his brother shivering as he tried to spot D’avin in the narrow passageway. Fortunately he'd done his fair share of reckoning and the copious amounts of alcohol sheltered him more than the thin layer of leather cradling his chest. It was cold but bearable and he drew a slow breath as he stepped down the cobbled walkway. 

He really ought to try and sober up but with no idea what was coming getting shitfaced seemed like a perfectly reasonable game plan. It was becoming a trend just like the imminent danger lurking around every corner, ironically, the same place he found his brother hiding.

"D'av?" 

He squinted at the figure pressed to the wall, one hand cushioning his forehead and the other nursing a glass of hootch. He made no acknowledgment of the approach and Johnny frowned sidling up to his older sibling, "hey... you okay?” 

D’avin jerked at the sound and quickly flexed his wrist trying to shake off the sudden intrusion. Everyone was supposed to be inside getting hammered, paying homage to their call to arms, but he should have know better than to assume his brother would get swept up in the comradery. "Fine.” He brushed off the concern with a wave, “just getting some air."

The gruff response was a poor excuse for an explanation and Johnny narrowed his gaze. "Bullshit.” He folded his arms with a tight nod, “this is me remember?"

D'avin flinched steeling himself against the ‘family’ card. He had no problem opening up to his brother but he was consciously aware of the fleet drinking less than a few hundred feet behind them. He was their commander, awarded general, and if he couldn't get his shit together how was he supposed to lead them into a war? He could cry like a fucking baby on his own time. 

"I’ve got this.” D’avin raised the glass to his lips ignoring the fiery burn in his throat as he knocked the liquid back. The problem wasn’t alcohol. It was his decision to remain semi-sober despite all the shit going down around them. “I mean it,” he wiped his mouth with a steady hand, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

"I know." There wasn’t a beat of hesitation as Johnny stared him down. A few years ago there might have been some residual trust issues left between them but they’d moved on from all of that or at least he thought they had.  “I know it, so does everyone else in there-” he directed a thumb over his shoulder, “so talk to me... what’s really going on?” 

As soon as the question hit the air between them Johnny had his answer. He knew his brother; in and out of the field, aboard Lucy, and more pertinently from the years they’d spent growing up together. At age ten Fey Rel’ma had cheated on D’avin and broken his heart. Since then Johnny had always been able to read heartbreak in his siblings expression no matter how densely it was compacted.

“You’re worried about Dutch.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

Lucy had informed him the moment his best friend and brother had rekindled their relationship. His girl liked to gossip but John sensed now wasn’t the right time to dwell on schematics. "We'll find a way to get her through this.”

"Like we did with Pawter?" The words were sharp, honed from fear and D’av immediately regretted them. He was supposed to be in charge, in control of his emotions not taking potshots and alienating himself from the team. "I’m sorry, that wasn’t cool." He apologised stressing a genuine note of remorse in the quiet tone. If he shut down now they may as well hand the war over to Aneela.

"No ass-wipe, it wasn’t.” Johnny scuffed his boot trying to ignore the dull ache the jab left behind. There were no guarantees, shitty things happened to good people but he’d be damned if he was going to lose another women he loved without one hells of a fight. “You’re scared, I get it. I am too but we didn’t come all this way just to get this far... there’s another way around we just have to find it." 

Silence fell heavily between them and Johnny breathed out slowly as he lifted his gaze up to the sky. Before long they’d have an armada bearing down on them but he had something Aneela didn’t; a family to fight for. 

"You know, when I was gone I thought the two of you might...” he motioned his hand alluding to his brothers relationship with Dutch. It wasn’t something he’d advocated but since Pawter’s death he’d faced a lot of home truths including his own insecurities. “It made me angry, thinking about how reckless and selfish you were the first time-” he stopped, leveling his gaze again, “but then i realised it wasn’t even about you. I was jealous... afraid of losing two of the most important people in my life but I chose to leave. I wasn’t here and she had you, how could I possibly be mad about that?” 

"We didn’t... I mean, nothing happened.” The honesty was raw and it urged D’avin to take another drink, the liquid smoother as it rushed his throat. He and Dutch had kept things professional but flashes from the previous night triggered a wave of guilt that left him questioning everything, including how he was supposed to let her go. If it came down to it he didn’t know if he could act impartially and if he could that was equally as terrifying.

Johnny sensed his brothers turmoil and a slight smirk tugged his lips. In the beginning he’d been pissed about the changing dynamic but D’avin had worked hard to find his place on the team and they might have differing roles in Dutch's life but she needed them both, now more than ever. "Don't read too much into this but I was wrong about you two." 

D'avin turned his head curiously, detecting a slight note of humour as his brother continued.

 "I'm always going to be her favourite, that's pretty obvious-" Johnny ribbed him with a gentle nudge, "but you can give her something I can't. She needs that and so do you."

The words hit home and D’avin tried to steer away from the emotion clawing at his throat. The sentiment was appreciated but it didn’t change the fact they were starting a war with limited advantages at their disposal. He’d wasted so much time already and drew a shaky breath as he finished the last of his drink. "While you were gone we fought side by side, drank too much, screwed with all the wrong people...” his hand tightened around the glass as he recalled their argument, “the whole time I didn’t say a thing, not one god damn word.” It hurt to admit and he threw the tumbler barely registering as it shattered against the wall. He didn’t care too busy berating himself for every missed opportunity. “I was a coward and she deserves better than that, than me."

Johnny didn’t so much as flinch combating the outburst with a firm stance. “You’re wrong.” He wasn’t afraid of his brother, what scared him was the air of defeat rapidly surrounding them. "In case you missed it Dutch has a hard time trusting people. She’s been let down by pretty much every guy in her life so I’m sorry but you don’t get to beat yourself up for proving her friendship means more than just sex. If it didn’t we wouldn’t even be having this conversation” 

The protectiveness was tangible and D’avin landed his fist against the wall wishing it made the situation easier to accept. Even if Johnny was right it didn’t change the fact Dutch was in danger and there was nothing he could do to help her. "I don’t know if I can just suck it up and let her go-” the admission was raw and he drew his arm back scrubbing the hand across his face, "dying is a really shitty way to break up with someone.” 

"Which is why we fight.” Johnny launched over his brother’s doubt with forced optimism. It had always been his role in the family no matter how bleak things looked and he refused to give up hope now. “We give this everything we have, no matter what it takes."

No matter what. It was noble but didn’t ring true to what he’d learnt as a soldier. He was military and this was war which meant every promise equalled a sacrifice; one life for another, and he was personally responsible for making those decisions. “What happens if I screw this up?

“You won’t.” Again there was no hesitation and a genuine smile ghosted Johnny's lips. He knew his brother and he knew Dutch. That alone gave him the boost of confidence he needed. “You’ll do the right thing and not because Dutch asks you to. You’ll do it because you love her and I can bring myself to live with that.” 

The unwavering faith didn’t remove the acrid taste from D’avins mouth. It didn't squash the memory of waking up in Dutch's arms or stop him praying for a miracle but it derailed the growing need for vengeance that had started itching beneath his skin.

He wouldn’t fight out of hatred.

He'd fight to protect everything behind them and that was their advantage, something Aneela would never understand and the one thing that made it their war to lose; they were fighting for family.

[empyreanturtle]

The Darkest Hour, Chapter 2 (A Final Fantasy XV Story)

A/N: Chapter 2... in which I start to explore exactly why Gladio is such an asshole for a few chapters in the game, and we start the slowest burn of relationships in existence XD I wrote these scenes a while ago, long before the Episode Ignis trailers came out, which means they're no longer canon-compliant to the DLC patches - but I don't plan on editing/changing them at all. Also, I currently plan on using this story for some writing practice during NaNoWriMo - I'm not sure of how much of it will actually get shared in the end, but I'm pretty content with these couple of scenes!

AO3 | Chapter 1

Gladiolus sat in a chair in Noctis’s room at the First Secretary’s estate as the prince lay unconscious. Doctors had been in and out of the room all day trying various methods to wake him up with no success. They had initially frowned on Gladiolus’s usual methods for waking Noctis up in the mornings, but even those were tried eventually. In the end, they had concluded that Noctis was under some sort of magical slumber caused by the Hydraean. The stream of people had fizzled out not long after, leaving the room quiet.

“Guess She really took it out of you,” Gladiolus said to the silence. He leaned to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a long, drawn-out breath. What good is a Shield with no one to protect? The Marshal’s words haunted Gladiolus as much as anything they had seen on their journey.

“Just means I’m gonna train you even harder when you wake up,” Gladiolus taunted. “After all, you still have three more blessings to get.” Gladiolus waited for Noctis’s voice, making some wise-ass remark or dismissing the idea entirely. It never came.

Gladiolus frowned and leaned back in the chair once again. “Can’t sleep your way out of this one either. I’ll be here as long as it takes,” he said.

Gladiolus wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake from a day before. He had been too far away, and it had taken him too long, to get back to Ignis after the Imperial shell hit. It was nothing short of a miracle that only his face was damaged. Gladiolus couldn’t help but wonder if Ignis would have been hurt at all, if only Gladiolus had stayed with him instead of splitting up.

But Ignis had been hit, and was recovering in the next room with Prompto at his side. The only thing Gladiolus could do now was wait until Noctis and Ignis recovered, and make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

He picked up the closest book he saw - an autobiography of First Secretary Camelia Claustra - and began flipping through the pages to pass the time. Gladiolus was barely into the second chapter when Prompto peered around the doorframe.

“Uh, Gladio?” Prompto asked meekly.

“Yeah?”

“I really gotta go,” Prompto replied as he shifted back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. “Can you watch both rooms?”

Gladiolus held back a laugh. Prompto might not have been a fighter like the rest of them were, but his loyalty and devotion were unparalleled. And, his silly optimism had helped take the edge off of Gladiolus’s moods more than once.

“Can’t you piss in a cup or something?” Gladiolus replied with as serious of a tone as he could manage.

“W-w-what?!”

The panicked look on Prompto’s face was exactly what Gladiolus had expected. He smiled at his friend to reveal the joke, then walked to the door. “Why don’t you sit with Noct when you get back? I’ll take a turn with Specs.”

“Ha ha ha, good one, Gladio,” Prompto replied through a forced smile. Gladiolus clapped him on the back to send him down the hallway, then walked into Ignis’s room.

Ninety-eight. Gladiolus bent his elbows and lowered his head to the padded carpet in a hallway of the First Secretary’s estate. He held himself for a beat, then straightened his arms again. Ninety-nine. He repeated the motion one more time. One hundred. After his arms were fully extended, he let his legs fall to the floor and stood up straight.

Gladiolus grabbed his shirt and ran it across his forehead. The rest of his workout would have to wait until Prompto was awake and he could get out of the estate for a while. After only two days of recovery, Altissia was still pretty messed up, but there was a stretch between the estate and the southern camp that was good for a couple sprints. Between sitting at either Ignis’s or Noctis’s bedside, and the broken bits of sleep in between, he was eager for any chance he had to get out and do something.

Gladiolus settled himself in a chair in Ignis’s room. Ignis had first woken up nearly a day ago, but the doctors insisted he stay on bed rest while his wounds healed. Gladiolus and Prompto had been taking turns sitting with him in case he needed anything, while the other stayed with Noctis. To all of their disappointment, Noctis was still out from his battle with the Hydraean.

Ignis’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His bandages completely covered his eyes, but his stillness made Gladiolus conclude that he was asleep. Gladiolus leaned back in the chair and replayed the day of Leviathan’s summoning through his mind again, analyzing every detail to see what could have been done differently for a better outcome.

He never liked the idea that he, Ignis, and Prompto had to be the ones evacuating the city, but the First Secretary was very clear on her requirements. After Prompto had left on that Imperial craft to fly Noctis up to Leviathan, he and Ignis had worked to direct the citizens to safety. Gladiolus would have preferred to be at Noctis’s side, but again, the situation hadn’t given him any chance for it.

Of course, he’d done a piss poor job of protecting Ignis, too. He knew Ignis would tell him that they had done the right thing - splitting up to help more people, instead of sticking together - but it still didn’t change the fact that Ignis had gotten hurt while Gladiolus remained unscathed.

“It should’ve been me,” Gladiolus grumbled under his breath. He clenched both his fists tightly. He couldn’t change the past, but he was going to do everything he could to prevent it from happening again. The Empire was going to pay for what they did.

“Did you say something?” Ignis’s voice came from across the room, startling Gladiolus.

“Shit, Iggy,” he replied. “Thought you were asleep.”

“Unfortunately, my injuries have intervened,” Ignis replied.

“They make pills for that.” Gladiolus walked to Ignis’s bedside table and poured water into a small glass. “Which ones do you want?”

“None, for the time being,” Ignis said. “I can’t think clearly when I’m on them.”

“You’re not supposed to be thinking, you’re supposed to be resting,” Gladiolus replied. He picked out a few pills that he remembered giving Ignis once before.

“I doubt your sentiment would be the same, were you in my position.” Ignis struggled to sit up, but shoved Gladiolus’s hand away when he tried to help.

Gladiolus shook his head in frustration. “Yeah, well, I’m not in your position.” He shoved the glass of water and pills into Ignis’s hands.

Ignis’s mouth turned down in a frown. “There is presumably no shortage of willing Imperials, if you would like to be,” he said sharply.

Gladiolus stepped back in surprise as Ignis swallowed the pills and water. The only other time Ignis had been so short with Gladiolus was that time he interrupted some coffee date nearly five years ago. Even after losing that Imperial Commander at Fort Vaullerey, Ignis hadn’t snapped at Gladiolus or the others.

“My apologies,” Ignis added more softly, when Gladiolus made no reply.

Gladiolus shook his head again. “No,” he replied. “You’re not the one that needs to apologize, Iggy. Niffs did this. They’re gonna apologize for it.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Ignis asked. “You can’t be reckless right now, Gladio.”

“What other option do I have?” Gladiolus asked, hearing his voice grow louder. He felt his anger and frustration rush hotly through his limbs. “I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for them to make their next move.”

“You bloody well know that is not reason we are still here,” Ignis replied, matching his raised tone.

“How could I forget,” Gladiolus grumbled. If Gladiolus had been the Shield he was supposed to be, they would all be healthy and on their way to the Crystal instead.

“Guys?” Prompto walked into the room. “What’s going on?” Their argument must have woken him up, because he was still rubbing the sleep from one eye.

“Gladio was just leaving,” Ignis said, before Gladiolus even had a chance to open his mouth. Prompto spun his head to look at Gladiolus, noticeably confused.

“Yeah, sure,” Gladiolus confirmed resentfully. If Ignis wanted him gone that badly, Gladiolus wasn’t going to object. And running some sprints to the southern camp was sounding pretty appealing. He could at least check in on Weskham while he was there.

“You’ll be back in just a bit, though,” Prompto said quickly. “Right?”

“We’ll see,” Gladiolus replied. When neither of them replied, he added, “Call me if something important happens.” As he walked out of the room, he heard Prompto quietly asking Ignis if he needed anything.

 Felicity sat in the center of a small sailboat between four crates of fish. She was headed back to Altissia to unload her catch and deliver one crate to each of the four relief kitchens that the city had set up. One week had passed since Leviathan’s awakening; the First Secretary and the Empire made sure the necessities were handled before focusing on clean up and repair.

After Felicity’s confrontation with Gifre, she had been herded by an Imperial relief force to long rows of tents set up at the outskirts of the city. Not even a full day later, they found her again - one among a short list of names that had classified themselves as a fisherman during the internment process - and herded her to the only pier that had survived Leviathan’s awakening. They had assigned her a number and a boat, much smaller than the Cormoran, and tasked her with filling four crates of fish every day. The Empire hadn’t given Felicity much of a choice, but she didn’t mind providing fish for the city’s recovery.

Three working boys were waiting at the docks as Felicity finished her approach. She barely finished tying off the boat when they grabbed the crates for their respective chefs and began pushing their way through the crowd of people gathered. The crowd wasn’t there for food - the Empire had provided enough ration vouchers for each of them. Instead, they spent their time begging and bribing the fishermen to take them to Lucis to go home, to start a new life, or to just be anywhere other than Altissia. The Empire wasn’t allowing any transport away from the city, so the fishermen’s boats were their only hope.

Felicity double checked that her fishing gear was tied off and that her map and compass were secure in her waist pouches. She lifted the final crate out of the boat, intended for Weskham’s tent, and began pushing her way through the crowd. People immediately started shouting at her from all sides and shoving money pouches in her face as they tried to garner sympathy or intimidate her into helping them get to Lucis. Felicity set her mouth in a thin line and continued pushing through with no response. She wished she could help them, but one less boat bringing in fish meant less food for everyone.

As she got closer to the Imperial tent, where each fisherman had to check out in the morning and check back in at night, the crowd’s volume dropped to whispers before suddenly ending several paces from the tent. They hadn’t taken long to learn the consequences of an Imperial overhearing their attempts to illegally get out of the city.

Felicity quickly filled in her catch amount in the log, beneath the writing of the three worker boys that had taken her other crates. A young Imperial soldier hovered over her shoulder as she finished, and the way he read her record aloud, she knew he was new to the post.

The Imperial smirked, “So Merric failed to pick up the last load.”

Felicity shook her head. “I told him not to. I prefer to deliver it myself, sir.”

The soldier clucked his tongue at her. “Not your decision to make.”

“So long as the delivery is done, does it really matter who makes it?” Felicity asked. She gave the soldier a shrug and a smile before picking up the crate again. The soldier mumbled under his breath, but waved her on.

Felicity’s smile dropped as soon as her back was to the soldier. In truth, Felicity learned from Weskham that Merric, the fourth working boy, only had a younger brother left for family after the chaos from a week prior. Ever since, Felicity tried to make sure she would be the last boat to dock, so Merric could go off his shift early and take care of his brother. She knew it wasn’t much, but since the only inconvenience of it was to herself, she had to do what she could.

Felcity entered the perimeter of the southern camp where Weskham’s food station resided. The Empire and First Secretary had set up each of the chefs with a larger tent than most, in exchange for help preparing food for the people in their respective camps. As Felicity got closer, she heard Weskham talking to a deep-voiced man inside.

“And where are you headed?” Weskham asked.

“The tomb at Cartanica,” the other man replied.

Felicity rounded the corner, clearing her throat. I doubt I was supposed to hear that.

“Ah, welcome!” Weskham motioned towards his stove in the corner. “In the usual place.” The man sitting at the long table inside tensed and eyed Felicity suspiciously. He had more muscles than even the ironsmith, brazenly on display beneath an unbuttoned shirt. Felicity averted her eyes and carried the crate over to the corner indicated.

“Are you going by boat the whole way?” Weskham asked the man. Felicity waited for his reply, but before it came, Weskham spoke again, “Don’t worry about her. She can be trusted.”

“Yeah,” the man said after another second. Felicity had never seen him before at Mhaago, but the way he so quickly accepted Weskham’s judgement, he had to be someone who knew Weskham well. “It’ll take a while, since we’ll only travel in the day,” he continued. “Won’t know enough of where we’re going to travel at night.”

Felicity snorted as she tried to hold back a laugh. Guppies. She looked up to see him raising his eyebrows at her, and she couldn’t tell if the look on his face was from annoyance, amusement, or both.

“You don’t need to know where you’re going to travel at night by boat,” she clarified.

“That so?” the man asked.

Felicity nodded. “All you need is a compass and a good map.” From his work counter, Weskham chuckled softly.

The man crossed his arms and made a noise of contemplation. “Hm. Don’t suppose you mind sharing the how of all that,” he said.

Felicity gave him a knowing smile then walked to the empty side of the table. She pulled out her map and opened it to the sea around Accordo, then set her compass on top. “Here,” she said. “Easier if I show you.”

The man came over and leaned over her shoulder to look at the map. Felicity tensed up, despite silently reminding herself not all men were leches like Roux. To her relief, the man took a step back from her and leaned on the edge of the table instead. She cleared her throat, then pointed to a spot in the sea.

“Say you’re here. And you want to go over here,” she dragged her finger across the map to another point. “You’ll want to sail west-north-west, and go a total of ten miles.”

The man nodded along as she spoke.

“If you know how fast you’re going, and have a way to keep time, you know how far you’ve travelled,” Felicity finished. “Just be sure you know exactly where you are before you start.”

“Seems easy enough,” he said. “But what about rocks and shit?”

“Maps are good for more than just directions,” Felicity stated. She pointed at a few symbols that littered the area between Accordo and Lucis. “Those indicate rocky waters. Stay clear of those at night, and you should be fine.”

The man smiled at her and crossed his arms once again. “Last question. Where can I find a good map and compass?”

Felicity smiled back. It had been far too long since someone had genuinely asked for her advice, and even longer since they had taken it. “Take those,” she offered.

He raised his eyebrows at her again. “Won’t you need them?”

She shrugged, “Nah, I know these waters well enough. And if I do need another set, I can get them easier than you could.”

“Thanks,” the man mumbled as he worked on folding up the map.

“Just remember, lad,” Weskham chimed in, “Speed doesn’t help if you’re dead before you get there.”

“I just want all this done with as quick as possible,” the man said. He tucked the map and compass into his pockets. “I should get back. Take care of yourself, Weskham.”

“You as well,” Weskham replied. “Give my regards to the others.” The man nodded his agreement, then left the tent.

As soon as the man was gone, Weskham turned his attention to Felicity. “How are you doing? What news is there from the docks?”

“Nothing new,” Felicity replied as she took a seat at the table. “More people arriving daily, getting more desperate to get away.”

Weskham nodded. “I imagine the crowd will only continue to grow.” He paused, then asked, “Has there been any word of the crew from the Cormoran?”

Felicity shook her head, but averted her eyes. Weskham already knew most of the crew had perished, but she hadn’t told him the details of her final encounter with Gifre. She certainly didn’t regret anything she had done, but Gifre was the first man she had killed that wasn’t an order from someone else. It was easy to ignore emotional burden of the decision to take someone's life when it could be excused as just following directions.

“Well,” Weskham said, filling the brief silence, “If they never find the captain, I for one wouldn’t be disappointed.” Felicity gave him a grateful smile in return. “Did I ever tell you about the time Clarus fought off pirates during one of our fishing trips?”

“You have,” Felicity replied as her smile grew into a grin. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

[a-heart-attack-ow]

Snowfall. Chapter 3

1

2

3:

Your vision was blurry.

The last remnants of the tears you’d been crying caught in your eyelashes. Your mind was racing from the range of emotion building within you. The emotions your desperately tried to pretend didn’t exist. Your trembling hands move to wipe away any trace of evidence, before a new thought troubles your mind.

With every step your winter boots make against the hardwood floor, you become more and more aware of how quiet the loge is.

           The lodge was silent.

                       Silent as the grave.

Your body seems to freeze in place, right at the top of the stairs, when you make this connection. It’s so quiet that your ears are ringing. It’s so quiet that you feel your mind begin to race and a sensation of unease fills your chest.

With every breath, you take, you expect to hear the rest of your friends.

           But you don’t.

                       You don’t hear them.

                                   Or the sound of their laughter.

                                               Or the sound of a party starting.

Out of curiosity your feet take a step off the first step, an action that makes you realize how cold the air suddenly feels. The lodge seems to grow more and more eerie as you reach the top of the stairs, your (e/c) eyes glancing over the railing.

From your perch, you can’t see anyone or anything, a sight that only seems to unnerve you more. When you’d gone upstairs everyone had seemed to be in good spirits. They were making jokes and laughing, but now the home felt vacant.

The vacancy makes your stomach turn as your hands grip the railing beside you. Putting one foot in front of the other you make your way down the stairs, your eyes hyper aware of your surroundings.

“Oh Josh…”

You whimper to yourself as the cold air in the room sends a chill up your spine. You continue down the stairs, your feet silent until you reach the last set of stairs. From there you see just how empty the room is.

Your eyes move to the fire burning in front of the sofa, but the warmth radiating off it doesn’t reach you. Instead you remain paralyzed with your hand firmly planted on the railing.

“… Where is everybody?”

Your voice comes out in a barely audible whisper as you force yourself forward. With shaking hands and limbs, you look around waiting for some sign of life only to not find anything. Your mind starts to race until you feel something grabbing your ankle.

Out of instinct you pull your ankle out of the grasp of the unidentified hand and a mutilated scream falls from your lips. You run down the stairs and your eyes find the culprit who’d put their hand on your ankle. For a moment, your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, but when your gaze locks with the offender you feel a new emotion overtake you.

Josh smiles back at you, his smile wide as he puts his hand up in defense. He’s laughing when he looks at you, seeming to get a kick out of the expression gracing your face.

“Josh!”

You find yourself yelling as relief overtakes the panic that had been pulsating through you. Your hand moves to your chest as you try to catch your breath.

“Why would you do that to me? Gosh, you’re such an ass! Fuck you!”

You yell once again as he takes a step forward, his hands reaching out to pull you in against him. Your chest meets his. He licks his lips as he looks down at you, a smirk moving to his lips. It’s a look that makes your heart skip a beat, a look of mischief seems to flicker in his eyes for a moment. It’s like a switch has gone off in his head, a switch from playful to seductive.

“Is that an invitation?”

Double meaning finds his words and tone. You roll your eyes for only a second before leaning in slightly. It takes him a mere second for his lips move to yours. His lips work against yours, his touch warm and inviting. The burning desire forming between the two of you.

It’s only a kiss, but it’s enough to get your heart pumping.

Enough to drive you insane.

           Enough to make you want more.

You half want to deepen the kiss, but before you can Chris’ voice interrupts you.

“Wow! Slow down you two. If you’re going to do that you should take it upstairs.”

His voice makes it so the both of you still your actions, your bodies freezing together. His comment is followed by a set of laughs from Ashley and Sam. The sound of your friends make your cheeks redden, your lips pulling away from your boyfriends. You almost feel embarrassed because of how heated things had gotten within a mere few seconds.

You give Josh one last look before pulling away, your body still mere inches from his. Your cheeks redden further when you see the look on Chris’ face. He stares at you with raised eyebrows, his lips mocking a kissing face. A part of you wants to smack him when he makes the face, but instead you smile.

“Oh shut up Chris.”

You laugh, your tone joking as he puts his hand over his heart. He fakes being hurt for a moment before returning the smile on your face. Chris was like your brother and he loved to mess with you. In fact, it was his favorite thing to do.

“I’m just messing with you (y/n).”

He playfully punches your arm before he looks to Josh. They share a laugh at your expense before Sam speaks.

“Okay, I know you said you wanted to prank (y/n) and it was super fun! But do you think you could work on the water heater now?”

She sounds eager when she says this, a look of pained impatience flickering across her face as she looks at Josh.

“Sure, I’ll get right on that…”

Josh whispers, a gentle laugh escaping him as he looks to you.

“…. You up for a ride along?”

You nod your head ‘yes’ even though a part of you is less than eager to spend time in that awful basement. You feel the chill that had been in the air moments ago, find you at the thought of that basement and how creepy it looked. It was the only place in the entire lodge that freaked you out, but if Sam needed hot water you’d do your best to help her get it.

The dread worsens when you find yourself following behind Josh, the both of you descending the stairs.

“I sent Chris and Ashley on a mission to find a Ouija board while we do this. I figured we could bust it out like we used to.”

Nostalgia finds his voice when he says this, a look of sentiment moving over his face. He looks to you and suddenly a look of sadness threatens to show itself. He’d gotten good at hiding his sadness over the year but, rather than point it out to him, you simply stop at the bottom of the stairs before reaching out to touch his back. The contact makes him freeze for a second before he turns to face you, his back facing the movie theater room.

“I’m okay.”

He whispers before you can say a single thing. You’d done this a thousand times, so when he says this you simply nod and breathe a deep sigh as he turns away from you. You both resume your trip down the stairs and follow him as he gets the flashlight and leads you down to the basement. You make it a few steps inside before he stops and looks back to you.

“(y/n)…”

He starts, his eyes wide as he grips the flashlight in his hands.

“… I just want to say thank you for being here. I know it would mean so much to Beth and Hannah. I know it would mean so much to them that we’re all here together.”

Your head nods once again, your brows furrowing at his words. “I’m here for you Josh. We’re all here for you. I care about you and I’m going to be here for you no matter what.”

Reassurance finds him, his lips finding the top of your forehead. His kiss is quick and fleeting before he moves away, his hand grabbing yours. He guides you with him down the stairs, your eyes wide as you take in the cement walls that surround you. The lodge itself was nice, but down here it was just plain creepy. It was enough to make your skin crawl.

The feeling of unease continues when he guides you towards the water heater.

“I hope this is easier to do than it looks.”

You whisper to yourself when he hands you the flashlight. He walks to a metal box attached to the wall and opens it, his eyes looking over whatever issue is preventing heat. You shine the light on where he’s reading and smile when he looks up at you. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” He states with a smile. He flicks a button and walks around you, his feet carrying him to the water heater. His eyes glance over it for a second before he turns the key to start it up, hitting the button once he needs to.

Victory overtakes his handsome face when he turns to look at you, clearly impressed with the fact that he was able to get the heater working. It’s moments like this that you feel your heart skip a beat. Sure, he was alluring, kind, attractive, funny and sweet, but when he smiled you felt a deeper sensation pull at your heartstrings.

He didn’t smile like he used to, so when he did it was enough to make you feel hope. Hope that one day he’d be happy again.

           That you’d both be happy again.

You offer him a high five for his victory, but he uses it as another excuse to pull you in to him.

“Tonight, is going to be a good night. (y/n).”

You breathe a deep sigh and nod at his optimism.

“It will be good, it’s nice to have us all back together.”

Your reply makes him smile for only a moment before vanishing all together. Suddenly he can’t look at you. Suddenly he seems like he’s a million miles away from you, even though he’s right there. Seeming to sense that something is wrong you place your hands on either side of his face, concern washing over you.

“Josh?”

Your voice asks in caution as you watch the wheels in his head turn. Something was troubling him, but what?

“I need you to promise me something.”

Josh answers before you have the chance to ask him a thing, his voice low. Your gazes lock when you hear him speak like this. In all the years, you’d known him, you’d never heard him sound so serious, so eager. You feel your brow furrow as you nod, eager to hear what he has to say next.

“Whatever you need Josh. I’m here.”

Your answer makes his breathing hitch for a moment, the wheels in his brain turning slowly as he thinks of what to say next. You can see that whatever he wants to tell you isn’t easy for him to say. Whatever is bugging him is serious and that scares you.

           It scares you unlike anything else.

“Can you promise me that, no matter what happens tonight, you’ll still love me in the morning?” Your heart drops when he finishes speaking, your breathing hitching.

“Of course, I’ll still love you. I will always love you…”

Your admission causes his dark expression to ease, but your less than comforted. There was still a lot worrying you about what he said. Something that made you feel nervous… the same feeling you’d gotten when you were upstairs.

“… But what’s going to happen tonight Josh?”

The question falls from your lips before you have the chance to stop yourself. Before you have the chance to think about how to respond.

Your question seems to knock him out of whatever daze he’s in, whatever fear is pulling at his heartstrings.

“It’s nothing…”

He rasps as he moves his lips to your forehead, his lips so light they’re like a ghost on your skin.

“… I just always worry that one day I’m going to wake up and you’re going to realize you deserve better. Like, someone who isn’t so fucked up.”

His words come out in a quiet whisper, his eyes moving from yours. He gazes at the floor, his face ashamed.

“You’re not fucked up…”

You start, your hands finding either side of his face as you look up at him. He’d muttered these words to you before, with the same defeat he always felt whenever he said this to you. It pained you to hear him think so little of himself, for you to realize the person you love more than anything is hurting so much.

“… You’ve gone through shit and life’s tough. You’re not fucked up, you’re dealing the best way you can. And I love you Josh. I’ve only ever loved you.”

Your mouth rambles faster than your brain can think. Faster than it should, but somehow Josh hangs onto every single world.

He understands you even when you’re not understandable.

“I’ll only ever love you…”

You mumble calmly, your throat suddenly tight.

“… I promise.”

Your promise makes him smile as he bridges the tiny gap between the both of you, his lips finding yours.

“I love you too.”

He rasps against your lips before giving you another kiss, his forehead resting against yours when he breaks the kiss.

You breathe each other in for minutes, your foreheads remaining together. Somehow in this moment everything feels alright, everything feels safe.

But even as you stand there with his forehead against yours you feel unease begin to creep in.

An unease that tells you there’s more that’s bothering him.

           More that he wants to tell you.

                       But he can’t.

                                   Not yet.