#but i cannot resist fucking with this poor bastard

[transingthoseformers]

Look

On one hand, if Tarn was ever in earthspark there would be immense angst

But i have such a thing for reducing Tarn into a mess like a wet cat of a person, like oh he doesn't know what to do without Megatron, ohhh noo

[redbleedingrose]

Hey , how will our bat boys would react to No Nut November ? 😂❤️

All three of them would not complete at all 😅

This is an interesting question LMAO! I think all of them would lose, neither of them would make it till the end of the month.

NSFW 18+

Rhysand

I feel like Rhys would last at least a couple of days, no longer than a week. He has patience as high lord, but lets be so for real, Rhys is a SLUT! He is absolutely taken with you and cannot go long without having you in some sort of way. This male only goes on his knees for you, so do we really think he would last without having a taste of his favorite girl?

I feel like he would try to distance himself and force himself not to think about you by holing up in his office and busying himself with paperwork, but that doesn’t last with you constantly sending him dirty images of him bending you over his desk and fucking you senseless, of you crawling into his lap so you can bounce on his cock, of him tasting your sweet cunt, of you sucking the soul out of his cock. He can practically taste you, smell you, feel you having your way with him and he can’t resist.

Maybe five days in, after a long day of dirty images sent to him with murmured pleading through the bond, the high lord is practically restless, his cock throbbing and nearly bursting out of his pants, and you just walk into his office completely naked, nipples tight from the cold air and cunt soaked from your teasing. His pretty violet eyes roll back into his head, groaning at your scent that fills the air, practically tasting you on his tongue, and he pounces.

You don’t leave that office for hours.

And lets just say when you do, Rhys is carrying you out because you can’t walk.

And he may or may not be carrying you to your shared bed so that you can continue your Nut November festivities.

Cassian

Sigh LOL.

Poor Cassian wouldn’t last even a day. He would give up after a couple of hours LMAO. This male has no self control when it comes to you, absolutely no sort of patience.

You were probably just standing there minding your own business, not even knowing the challenge he and his idiot bat boy brothers came up with is happening, and he gave in. And to be quiet honest, I think he was trying to find reasons to give in since he started the challenge. The bastard was probably knocking down books from your bookshelf, chuckling to himself a raspy “oops” as you glare over at him, cock hardening in his pants as you storm over and point at him to pick it up.

The second he is on his knees before you, he gives in. He smirks up at you, standing ever so slowly until he is towering over you and you are glaring up at him with your fists pressed on your hips and your foot tapping away on the ground. He murmurs a “sorry sweetheart,” brushing your hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear before leaning in to press a hard, chaste kiss to your lips. And how can you not forgive him?

And then, he throws you over his shoulder, smacking a hard slap at your ass while you cry out, “Cassian,” in shock, tearing up the stairs so he can have a taste of his favorite cunt because fuck no nut November when his mate is as gorgeous and sexy as you are.

Azriel

Azriel would last the longest out of the bat boys. Full stop he would.

He is the epitome of patience, and restricting himself. He has to be as spymaster. It’s basically in his job description to deprive himself of simple pleasures. He waits for hours to have a sip of water while he goes out on missions to spy, waits days to eat and has gone up to a week without sleeping. He can restrict himself. He can.

But with you?

With you, it becomes incredibly difficult. He loves you, more than the moon and the night sky. More than he has ever loved anything. More than the night court, and even more than his love for his brothers. In all honesty, Azriel would betray Rhys if you asked him to. Don’t get me wrong, it would be hard and you would get push-back from him. But he would. It is one of his deepest secrets. Maybe one of his darkest secrets. Because when it comes to the question of loyalty… it will always, always, be you. No matter how much he loves his court, no matter how much he loves his brothers, it would always be you.

With that being said, is he able to resist you? I think he would for maybe two or three weeks. He gets pretty far into it, not that it isn’t the hardest thing he has ever done, but he gets far into it. I think it is probably harder for him than you realize. You obviously know about this little challenge your mate and his brothers created for themselves, and honestly, its very amusing seeing Az try so hard to resist you.

Even his shadows cannot resist. His shadows defy their master every day by playing with you. Traveling in whisps around your hair, brushing a cool touch against the back of your sensitive neck to the point your hair is standing, tweaking at your nipples till the peak beneath your shirt… they certainly know how to tempt their master.

Azriel gives in when he walks into your home, tired from his day long mission, and walks in on you completely naked, splayed out on your bed, legs held open by his shadows as they circle around your pussy, sensitive clit while you squirm, moaning and whimpering his name. From the looks of it, his shadows have been teasing you for hours, the smell of your arousal is absolutely divine, he can hardly tolerate it. You’re practically laying a puddle of your own arousal, staring at him through hooded, pleading eyes and he cracks.

Yeah, no one is able to get a hold of you or Azriel for a solid two weeks after. It’s practically like the mating frenzy all over again. And it is incredible.

Masterlist

[theexaltedbride]

Redeemed Recombinants AU.

A soldier's duty to disobey an unlawful order is greater than his duty to obey a lawful order. That doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to do. Especially when the survival of your species is on the line. 

Yet you have an imperative, and obligation, to resist any order which is illegal or immoral. If a government military enshrines that into its codes and laws, how can any good soldier, sailor, marine, and pilot, not do the same, even when acting as a mercenary?

Warriorship is never its own virtue in and of itself. Only righteous service gives a soldier's life meaning, not just the ability to take life. It must be with purpose.

Each of the Recombinants knows this in one way or another. The pain and doubts they may have had were all drowned out with more violence, with drugs, alcohol, sex, but it is always there. Each time they have to hear the sobs and pleas of the Na’vi, it only gets worse. How many times can you tell yourself its ‘for the greater good’, when you are committing the same acts you once enlisted to stop? 

“A Good Soldier exists to protect those that cannot otherwise protect themselves.” was what someone told you once. Can you even remember who it was? Did the RDA delete it from your mind, or did you invent it? does it even matter anymore when you’re given a brand-new body to live in?

We have to live with our sins because we only get one life to live. But what if you could get another chance? Would you do it all the same? 

Colonel Miles Quarich and his Recom soldiers will never see themselves as part of the Na’vi. But they are not human anymore. They all toe a line that makes them separate from their original species, just as they toed a line that made them forever stand apart from the civilian populace they once came from. 

Pandora is not their home, it is a second chance for humanity. But a second chance means being able to do better, to be better people. This is what eventually puts them into conflict with the RDA. The company is just doing the same things to Pandora that destroyed Earth. They couldn’t give less of a shit about saving humanity if they tried. 

The companies and governments may sell the lie that it was people enjoying a slice of pizza, having air conditioning, or a TV that killed Earth. Thats all bullshit. it was the megacorps, the greedy politicians, the fortune 500 billionaires cutting down entire forests, enslaving the poor in inhuman working conditions, and polluting the planet; all to make an extra buck and have another McMansion that they would never live in. They were the ones who fucked the Earth to death. Not average folk just trying to get by, who now have to pay the price for the avarice of the wealthy fat cats who did everything in their power to make sure nothing could be done to slow or reverse the damage, until it was too late.

Then they left the world so screwed up that the only option which followed was constant war over what little resources were left, and then taking the nearest habitable planet by force.

Now those same greedy bastards who ruined the mother world are doing the exact same bullshit on mankind’s last chance at survival. They know exactly what they are doing, the greedy bastards can only see the universe in the sense of ‘how can it make me richer?’, because that's all that matters to them. At what point does it stop? It only stops when someone stops it themselves.

The Recombinants could be the ones to put an end to it, more so than Sully and his people. The recombinants can give the humans of Earth, and any other newly minted Recoms, a third option beyond going native, or sitting back to die. 

All it takes is the courage to finally stand up and say ‘No’. 

============================

This is the product of me enjoying the concept of the Recombinants way too much (and Recom Quaritch having way too much charisma and little redeeming moments). I don’t think I will ever do much with this, but perhaps someone else will enjoy reading it and do something with it if they enjoy it (you have my full blessing). Below I will include some random ideas related to this entire topic.

*Recoms escape with any scientists, engineers, soldiers, or civilian staff who is willing to come along and is sick of being corporate puppets and committing atrocities on the native populations of Pandora. They want to stop the violence, but don’t want to abandon all the scientific and social progress humanity has made, like those they see as going primitive like Jake Sully. Sadly, the RDA will seek more violence to keep this mindset from spreading to anyone else. 

*When the Recoms engage former allies they will give them one chance to disengage, or drop their weapons and surrender. Those who do are treated respectfully and given the option to join, or be sent back to the RDA with a few broken bones (to take them out of the fight for a while, since the rebels don’t really have the capacity to care for prisoners long term). Some accept, some are spies, and others don’t care, they are in this for the money.

*Recoms, humans (and maybe even Na’vi interested in technology) finding cave networks to set up secret hideouts to hide from RDA air patrols and hostile wildlife. Using a combination of skills and equipment from both species they make it livable and can seal off sections ot be breathable for the Na’vi or humans.

*Recom Rangers coming about as result of cooperation with the Na’vi, and applying the skillsets of both species to make them better able to use technology and the native biology of Pandora to their advantage.

*Scientists and botanists within the Rebel Recom hideouts working on medicines that can benefit the Na’vi and improve relations with them, while also experimenting with foods that both species could eat, and thus better share the land.

*Recom vs Recom combat as the RDA brings in crueler mercenaries to hunt down the rebels. The Rebel Recoms have to fight their own dark mirrors and see what they could have been if they’d lost their souls to corporate greed.

*Rebel Recom hideouts tend to be far more energy efficient and sustainable than anything the RDA makes. It is out of necessity (since they don’t want to be leaving smoke trails from burning oil or coal like the RDA does), and because they want to actually have a better start for humanity one day.

*Na’vi who join the Recom Rebels will be taught their ways, and learn more about humanity than just the negative picture the RDA gives by stripminning the planet. Some may find an enjoyment in the stories the humans brought with them (with some even comparing the Recoms to ‘Frankensteins’, it seems even aliens make the mistake of not knowing that name is for the Dr. not the creature). But music will be what truly starts to be shared among them, as it proves to be a universal language. 

*Sometimes the rebels will have to raid RDA facilities of convoys, and try to limit casualties as much as possible. They are there for the supplies, not to slaughter people. But the RDA will adjust the numbers to make the rebels less appealing to anyone who may have sympathies to their cause.

*Recoms tend to find cave networks full of oversized insects, and have to go in to clear them out to make it livable for rebel hideouts. There is a near constant stream of ‘bughunt’ jokes going on. Sometimes the networks can be too small for a Na’vi sized soldier, so a human volunteer will have to go in and clear out the remaining bugs before the cave is safe for habitation.

*Some Na’vi tribes end up siding with the Recom Rebels for a variety of reasons. Be it because they like the idea of a more reliable food source thanks to hydroponics, medications to aid those with disabilities (be it from injury, sickness, or from birth) among the tribe to live without pain or constant discomfort, or even be able to regain some mobility and independence. The rebels quickly end up being called the ‘Moonwalkers’ (much to the amusement of the humans and recoms) by allied tribes because they only ever want to walk freely at night, when they know there are less RDA patrols and drones out. 

*Not all such encounters with the Na’vi are wholesome. Many still remember what the Recoms, Humans, and RDA did to their lands, people, to the natural world. They still consider the rebels as enemies, even if they fight the corporation. The Rebels try to follow ‘only fire if fired upon’ rules of engagement, but sometimes things get crazy, and they have no interest in dying.

*Eventually, the Recoms might be given a chance to swap back to a cloned human body thanks to the transhuman level tech involved in avatar control and while some will take it, others wont. Their Recom body is their true self now. They are different than who they once were, and want to move on from that past to a better future.

[gryficowa]

I came across shorts with free-Palestine (With Jews who rebel and fight for Palestine) and comments full of Zionist shit that say how these Jews don't know their history and classic, texts about Hamas

Or they try to say that they are not Jews, because Jews do not fight for Palestine

Yet more texts calling Hamas Nazis, damn it

Israel is Nazis, Hamas has flawed methods, but it was founded as a resistance movement, and many of the people in today's Hamas are new generations, not those who harassed other Palestinians

But coming back, the Zionists piss me off, they say how they care about the Jews, while they themselves harass them and wipe out the Muslims who saved them from concentration camps, because if Hitler had a deal with some Islamist, then all Muslims are bad

I'm fed up with Zionists wanting to brainwash other Jews and give them doubts because they have the courage to talk about what is happening in Palestine

Am I defending the past generations of Hamas? Absolutely not (Although they were right about some things, like Israeli Jews blowing up their houses or that Israel is a country of colonizers), but we must remember that today there are a lot of new people, and they took Israeli hostages because they elected a right-wing idiot who wanted to persecute Palestinians, and then there is the story we have today

So yes, Israel wanted to persecute the Palestinians even more, Hamas rebelled, but Hamas is evil because Israel has been doing what it has been doing for many years and with the election of this right-wing bastard, they wanted to intensify it? Seriously, we live in an absurd situation where a victim of persecution cannot rebel because he will be convicted of evil

Yes, you heard right, Israel wanted to take further steps in destroying the lives of Palestinians, it was already segregating people racially, and the Palestinians themselves had many basic rights fucked up, they couldn't live wherever they wanted, they couldn't walk the streets that Jews could walk, schools were also separate (Tia… A familiar story), the patients were also screwed if they had to go to the hospital, because Israel and its checkpoints, plus the Palestinians have difficult trade

Electing this right wing fuck again (Whose name I can't spell) led to more oppression of the Palestinians, but no, the poor Israeli hostages because they were kidnapped by Hamas while Israel fucking bombs civilians

I'm guessing that these Zionists would also attack the Jews who rebelled in the concentration camp, because how could you do that without thinking about the poor Nazis?

So yes, Zionists are bastards, they persecute other Jews and support the oppression of Palestinians because they are fucking bastards

The missile from Hamas itself was a reaction to the decisions of this idiot president to make life even more difficult for the Palestinians themselves, but it is the Palestinians and Hamas who are evil because they rebelled, so they all need to be murdered under the guise of fighting Hamas

It pisses me off when people ignore all that Israel is the perpetrator and they chose a fucking fascist who wanted more harm to the Palestinians. Do we really live in a fucked up world where the victim is evil because he rebels?

You blame Hamas but you forget the real cause of all this, fuck Israel and that fucking Zionist fascist in power

The truth is that no matter what the Palestinians or Hamas do, they will always be the bad guys for the Zionist bastards, Israel is the oppressor, it always has been, it didn't even have to kill, it was enough to destroy the lives of civilians themselves and call them "The Threat" (Which many countries believed and that's the worst)

Israel is a fascist country, like the Third Reich once was, but it is defended because it is not ruled by an atheist, but by a Jew, it's fucked up in this situation, but it's the norm with religion, hello, Christian murder and calling those who defend themselves "evil". it was also not documented as crimes we learn about at school, because attention it would be an attack on believers, but atheists and agnostics can be attacked, double standards

Israel is a Jewish country, many people profess Judaism, so they are not as attractive as Hitler, who was an atheist, which shows a big problem in this topic, because it turns out that only if you are an atheist, you will be recorded as a criminal, and not as a believer (I guess that you are an Islamist, but Muslims have always been persecuted, and this shit escalated from 9/11)

However, the most invasive side were the Christians, their crimes are so great, but many Christians prefer to pretend that many evils in the name of their religion did not take place, which hurts

Today we are witnessing Judaizers who use their faith as an argument to commit genocide (What Christians have been doing for years)

This is more than just an ordinary genocide, it is a genocide in the name of faith, which is the worst type of genocide, because it is not written down, and everyone who is against the crimes is the bad guy, today we can write it down, but I doubt that it will be treated as the Holocaust of the Jews, which was caused by the "Bad Atheist", which seems more attractive to people, to harass atheists and agnostics

I'm an agnostic and I see believers (Mostly Christians) explaining all the shit with their book, it's fucked up

The Torah/Bible/Quran should be taken as inspiration for good things, not fanaticism that leads to harm to anyone, justifying being a bigot with a book is disgusting

Seems like I've gone off topic? Well, no! Zionists are religious fanatics who harass other Jews for being sober

Zionists use their book to justify genocide, which is something I mentioned, which unfortunately means that after many years it may not be written down, because there is no "Bad Atheist and Good Believer", i.e. the same thing that happened with the Third Reich

The only way for no one to forget about these crimes is to remind everyone about it and keep it, I don't count on it being written down in history books at school, because it antagonizes believers (Hello, there are no crimes of Christianity, so we don't have what can you expect, because conservatives would be outraged)

It will probably not be recorded how Zionists harassed other Jews, because it would be too unattractive for the conservative group

I know, I've gone on and on, but this is simply the problem we see

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 299

The Thing/The Ghost Monument

“The Thing”

Plot Description: Sam and Dean head to a Men of Letters outpost to find a crystal that opens doors between dimensions. Ketch reconsiders his arrangement with Azmodeus

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I’m hoping I wouldn’t be in this situation but…I can’t tell if she actually died

Dean, you’re basically the entire audience for the post it notes you put on Sam’s back…

Don’t lie, you don’t love books, Dean

Sam, you should get your brother back for….YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW TIL NOW?!

Sam’s so excited to have found the hole in the ground door to this outpost

I can’t believe they only had one bunker for the whole US MoL

Oh she’s anything but dead. She’s over 100 years old but barely looks over 20

Boys, if you thought introducing your mom who died in 1983 to the future was hard, this woman has not seen the surface of the earth since 1925

Did Azmodeus call Ketch in just as a power move?

How…how are there still other MoL in the US and why is one of them working at this random diner?!

And why is her being gone from the outpost a problem?

Marco, you can’t just poison the food!!

Oof, Ketch. I can see why you’re regretting teaming up with Azmodeus. Maybe don’t be an opportunistic bastard next life (he’s not dead…yet, but I bet he kind of wishes he was)

They’re kind of lucky…well, Dean and Sandy are SOMEWHAT lucky some creeps in robes showed up. Sam’s started eating the poisoned or at least drugged food

Oh damn! So Sandy is like a vessel for another dimension’s god…but a literal monstrous one

Is Azmodeus injecting grace into himself?

This speech Azmodeus is giving Ketch isn’t not a little hot. The gist was that they’re not so different and that’s why no matter what Ketch does or where he goes, he belongs to Azmodeus

Ah, poor kid. He didn’t even want to go check outside

Has Azmodeus been siphoning Gabriel’s grace? Oh my fucking god, I can’t tell if Gabriel is resisting this rescue by Ketch or what

That does sound like your kind of Hallmark movie, Dean, one with tentacles

Dean, you weakling, you don’t want to be a betentacled god alongside Sandy? Move over gayboy, I’m bout to get it

Dean, you don’t get to say there’s nothing wrong with “tentacle porn land” (his exact words) after passing up being its god

They really framed that to make you know someone was either already in the bunker or about to arrive just after the boys (Ketch & Gabriel)

The fact that Ketch thinks this bunker is a safe place for him…….honey, you’ve got a big storm coming

DEAN?! I did not expect you to fold to Ketch’s request so easily

Oh good. Ketch is going to apocalypse world with Dean. Lmaoooooooo, love that Dean is so honest about not caring (and in fact hoping) Ketch dies in apocalypse world

This cannot end well

“The Ghost Monument”

Plot Description: can the Doctor and her friends stay alive long enough to solve the mystery of Desolation?

Oh. Oh! Ryan and Graham got picked up by a different ship than Yas and the Doctor after getting zapped to space

Oh good. The ship Yas and the Doctor were on nearly crash landed on top of Ryan and Graham

Ew. This dude makes people race for fun but only one person gets to actually survive and go home at the end

Oh. The ghost monument is actually the TARDIS

I would LOVE to have seen some of the race before these four got here. The hunger games-like history the last two contestants have

Ryan and Graham’s ongoing issues are going to be heartwarming when they get them sorted

So this planet is basically dead but for flesh eating microbes in the water………..and robot guards in some ruins

I hope the guy contestant loses. He’s such an asshole. Like, obviously I hope they all get to leave. I just hope he doesn’t win the prize

Ohhh, horrifyingly, 1) the alien they faced off against last episode seems to be some sort of big bad that will come up again and again this season (maybe), 2) that alien race abducted, tortured, and forced a bunch of scientists to come up with a whole bunch of ways to kill people, 3) some kind of sentient cloth is now suffocating the guy contestant, and 4) there is not enough time left to wrap up this story in this episode

Why does the sentient cloth know how to talk

I’ve heard The Timeless Child get mentioned before

They really went full hunger games with joint winners

I really didn’t think they could wrap this up in this episode

Of course, when all hope seems lost, the companions rally together and then the TARDIS shows up

I don’t know if I like the TARDIS interior redecoration…I need a better view. Ok. It’s cool. We’re back to the warmly lit interior Ten had and Eleven started with, but it has a different vibe all the same

[gotnofucks]

Lover’s Quarrel

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: You have the powers to resurrect if you’ve been murdered, and a jealous Steve Rogers indulges heavily in your abilities. He would not let you steal his best friend, that was for sure. So what, if your rivalry regularly caused fire and harm to public property? You just couldn’t let the other win. 

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Smut, enemies to lovers, violence, killings and murders (but reader cannot die, it’s weird. She has some sorta powers that help her revive when she’s been murdered), language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Is this crack fic? Idk. Maybe?

The sixth time Steve killed you, you decided he needed to be dealt with in a similar way. It doesn’t matter that he cannot come back from the dead like you. He just needed to go. You were tired of him offing you every time he felt threatened by your existence. But this was the last straw. He had pushed you off the Quinjet while flying home from a mission and you’d fallen into the lake and drowned. You would NOT recommend dying that way.

Bucky had dragged out your dead body and watched over you as the blessing of the necromancer worked its magic over you and brought you back to the world of the living. The first words out of your mouth as you spewed out water were, “I am going to kill your best friend and you can’t be mad at me for that.”

Bucky, far too happy to have you back – poor guy still mourned every time you died – ignored your comment and pulled you into a hug. He’d never quiet gotten used to seeing you die. You patted his back, muttering a few there-there’s until he was calm enough to press quivering kisses on your head and temple.

“You need to stop dying.” He said into your hair, holding you close.

“I would not be dying if your best friend didn’t murder me every time! He is a menace, Buck!” You cried in exasperation. The said best friend was watching you from a few yards away, and he rolled his eyes as your words reached him. He scoffed loud enough for you to hear and you sharply turned your head to glare at him.

“You!” You shouted, quickly standing up and marching over to him. “You rascal!” And then you pried out your wet shoe from your feet and threw it at his stunned face. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit his face but smacked against his chest, leaving the wet print of your soles against his far too tight t-shirt. He gaped at you open mouthed before baring his teeth in warning.

“Oh god, every time you come alive again, you’re even more awful than before!” Steve shouted, and then just because he is fucking drama queen, he threw out his hands. You sneered before turning to look at Bucky meaningfully, the most obvious ‘see what a dick he is’ look on your face.

Bucky shuffled uneasily, caught between your quarrel once again. He came behind you and gave you his jacket to wear to shield you from the cold. And just like that, your anger melted a little. Somehow, with his steel blue eyes, Bucky Barnes could sooth every wound you’d ever had. Even those given to you by Steve Rogers.

“I am so sorry. I should have seen what he was about to do. I wouldn’t have ever let you fall had I known.” He apologized and you swore your heart physically quivered. You pulled Bucky into a hug, hiding your face in his chest, savoring his arms coming around you to hold you tighter. You could have stayed in his embrace forever, but it was an annoyed groan that ripped you both apart.

“Is there any way you can stay dead a little longer?” Steve asked, breaking your moment. “I mean, I’ve tired a bullet and knife and water and poison. What can I do that you’d be gone for just a little longer?”

He was worked up, a red flush creeping on his face and neck. Pacing, he was muttering, and you wondered for the millionth time how Bucky could be friends with him. He was just so extra! You wanted to tell him to shove a stick up his ass, along with the one already there when he turned swiftly like the wind and threw a dagger at you. A metal hand caught it before it could hit you and you were pulled into the warmth of Bucky’s body quickly.

“Steve! Cut it out.” Bucky yelled, glaring at Steve. “You will not kill her again. I don’t care if she can come back alive again. You won’t hurt her.”

With that, he dropped the dagger on the ground and walked away with you. Unable to resist, you looked over you shoulder and flipped Steve off. Fucker could kill you a hundred times and yet he would not be able to do anything. As far as you were concerned, Bucky was as much your best friend as his. And if Steve Rogers couldn’t control his jealousy without trying to behead you every time he felt you were stealing Bucky from him, you would just have to make his death look like an accident.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that you can’t kill him either?” Bucky said teasingly, his eyes soft and fond. “I need you both to survive.”

You groaned, bumping your shoulder in his and snuggling into him as a cold breeze hit your wet clothes. He could read you like an open book.

“You are no fun Barnes.”

There was rubble and fires and shrieks. Natasha was yelling in Russian as she ran about with a fire extinguisher and Clint crawled out of his vents to help Bruce out who was turning a dangerous shade of green. Tony was sitting in the ruins of his kitchen, his mouth half open as he spied on the ensuing battle in the middle of it.

Sam was using his shield to push Steve away who was shouting curses that had probably not been invented yet. Bucky was holding you back by your middle, yelling in your ear to calm the fuck down but all you could think of to do was smacking Steve’s face with that chair that was currently on fire. You suppose once everyone was calm, you’d feel guilty about your part in destroying the Avengers kitchen but right now that wasn’t important.

What was important was that Steve had tried to kill you. Again. He had actually thrown a fucking grenade at you. You barely had the time to kick it away where it exploded in the kitchen and then Steve was on you, calling you a bitch in all the 9 languages he knew.

“Calm the hell down, Steve!” Sam yelled, struggling to keep Steve at bay from you. You were glad to see that Steve’s nose was busted. That will teach the bastard to ‘look down his nose’ on you now.

“She pierced my ears! The fucking bitch pierced my goddamn ears!” Steve yelled. Even you had to admit, the golden hoops looked amazing dangling from his ears. Just perfect.

“You are lucky I didn’t stick a knitting needle in your eye Rogers!” You sassily replied, “The only reason you’re still in one piece is because I promised my best friend that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The muscles in Steve’s arms tensed and Sam groaned, barely keeping his own footing. A dark shadow seemed to have crawled over Steve’s face, turning the blues of his eyes an angry shade and had you been a weaker person, you would have trembled. This was the face of someone who had stood against armies alone and came out victorious. But for all you cared, he could kiss your ass.

“He is MY best friend. Mine. Not yours, not anyone else’s. Bucky Barnes is mine and I will kill you a thousand times until it sinks in your thick skull!” Steve growled. You scowled, a scathy remark bubbling on the tip of your tongue when you suddenly stopped. Why say when you can show? So, looking Steve directly in the eyes, you went limp in Bucky’s arms, turned around and cupped his face. And then you kissed his cheek.

Steve let out a strangled cry behind you, but you focused on Bucky who was blinking in disbelief at your audacity. And so, just for the heck of it, you kissed his other cheek. And then his forehead.

“Bucky Barnes, you are my best friend and always will be!” You said, hugging the life out of him. You heard Steve break away from Sam, heard Bucky yell out a curse and holding you protectively as his jealous pal came rushing to claim him. And all through that and the chaos that ensued later, you just smiled broadly.

Tony was giving a lecture, and he sucked. He gesticulated too much for your liking, and you really didn’t like how he kept emphasizing things by looking pointedly at you. It wasn’t even that much of a big deal, and even if it was, it was not your fault. Like every other time, the only person who could be held responsible was the blond super soldier sitting beside you, wearing the same shade of annoyance on his face as yours.

“I repeat” said Tony, his hair askew, “we do not use Friday to settle idiotic, absolutely ridiculous personal vendettas!”

“You have Friday tell you how pretty you look every day!” You countered and Tony slammed his hand on the table.

“Because I am!” He huffed. “You, on the other hand, stopped a mission in the middle to ask Friday who had a higher score! I mean, what the actual fuck? And what score?”

Steve had the decency to look at least a little sheepish. You however didn’t put up with any of that nonsense. It was his idea anyway, and you wouldn’t take the fall for him. Not when Tony looked murderous like this.

“Rogers bet me he’d take down more enemies than me. We only asked Friday to keep a count. I had literally nothing to do with it.”

Tony turned the ire of his glare at Steve who was too busy giving you a dirty look. He was just pissed you won, and that Bucky had spent the entire ride back tending to your wounds rather than Steve’s. It wasn’t your fault his jealous ass always threw a fit whenever he saw you and Bucky together.

“You said the team could use Friday as we saw fit.” Steve said, though he did look a little guilty. It wasn’t like him to lose command and control. Even when he’d been Captain America, he had never let anything rattle him. Not until you had come prancing in his life and stealing his best friend.

“I said the team could use Friday, not stop everything in the middle of a high risk mission to see who has a bigger dick.” Tony said, and then he just collapsed in his chair. Poor guy had been working too hard to carry the team forward, and in that moment, even you felt guilty. Your rivalry with Steve shouldn’t have to affect everyone else, not when they had been so welcoming and loving to you ever since you joined.

You walked over to Tony and dropped a kiss on his head, caressing his hair. “I am sorry Tones. You won’t have more trouble from me.”

Tony looked at you as if seeing an angel. He looked at you as if you were the solution to all his troubles. Despite every furniture of his you’d broken and set fire to, he was so grateful to have one sane voice between them. Cupping your hands, he looked imploringly at you and asked, “Really? You’re gonna stop fighting with Steve?”

At that, you solemnly nodded and patted his hand gently. Poor him and the poor team going through hell because you and Steve couldn’t settle your differences. It was obvious what had to be done.

“Of course I will” You said magnanimously, because of course you were the better of the two. “Steve just needs to find another best friend and there won’t be any reason to fight anymore.”

If any of them had been drinking water, they would have spit it out. Since they didn’t, they just kind of choked on their saliva and sputtered at you in absolute disbelief. Tony actually looked betrayed and Steve seemed to have licked a lemon, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“She” He said, voice thick with contempt, “needs to go away. We can launch her in outer space or somewhere from where she can never return. You know why? Because Bucky is my best friend. Since we were yay high!” And he raised his arms a foot off the ground to show just how high.

And just like that, the moment was gone. Rogers opened his mouth and any goodwill you had had went poof. So, you did the only reasonable thing any sane person would do right now and that was to flip him off and call him a pig. You knew he was inching to strangle you; you could see his fingers twitch. A part of you was anticipating it, for Bucky would never forgive him for killing you again. Just as he would have lunged at you, push Tony out of the way and did you away for good, Bucky burst into the room with the expression of a cantankerous 100 year old grandpa who had had enough with the world.

“For fucks sake! Just shut up you both!” He yelled and paced the room. His eyes were bloodshot and hair disheveled, a clear sign that your rivalry was taking a heavy toll on him. Steve opened his mouth to say something when Bucky raised a finger to shush him. “No no no! You listen to me you oblivious, utter moronic fucklets!”

Your mouth dropped open. Bucky never cursed at you. He had never called you a fucklet before.

“You two need to stop. You hear me? You need to STOP!” He raked a hand through his hair before kicking the ground in frustration. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep! I can’t fucking breathe without you both arguing over who is a better friend to me. So, here’s an idea. Instead of fucking me over in the middle of your sexual tension, why don’t you find a room and fuck each other? Because I tell you now, I cannot fucking take it!”

Silence sat pregnant in the room. You blinked at Bucky. Steve blinked at Bucky. Tony blinked at Bucky. And Bucky didn’t blink at all.

“That – uh – what?” You said, eloquent as ever. “That is so stupid.” And you laughed awkwardly.

Steve glanced at you and then stammered, “What? That – I haven’t – that has nothing to do with it. She and I – what?”

You both found each other’s eye, quickly looked away and just became silent. The tension in the air was suffocating you, and a terrible heat was settling in your stomach. Without another word, you walked out of the room, muttering about how ridiculous the whole idea was. The three men watched your exit, and a moment later, Steve left too, still very much in disbelief.

Tony and Bucky sighed, sitting across from each other and just taking in the fact that the elephant in the room had finally been address. A moment later, Tony began drumming on the desk, looking up at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t have put it any better myself.”

You felt antsy, as if staying one more moment in your room would drive you mad. You kept jerking your legs and arms, a weird restlessness in every action of yours. What the hell was Bucky saying? The sheer nerve to imply that you…you and Steve had some sort of feelings for each other. You hadn’t heard that kinda crap since you nursed your nephew who’d had diarrhea.

The only reason you and Steve fought was because you wanted Bucky. He was supposed to be your best friend, and clearly it was his inability to decide who he preferred more that had led you here. And to pretend, on top of that, that it was you who was at fault was just ridiculous. As if you’d touch Steve Rogers with a ten foot pole.

But…would you? You suppose he couldn’t be that bad to touch. He did have gorgeous eyes that got all dark and dilated when he fought with you. And his breath hitched when you got him mad and he bit his lip to stop from cursing you and he flushed a very becoming shade of red that started from his cheeks and disappeared down the neckline on his tight shirts that –

Holy fuck!

The realization rocked your world. What the hell? When you thought about it again, it seemed as if you’d just described Steve being aroused. Did you really fight him and got him mad to stimulate yourself? Oh god. Bucky was right. You wanted to fuck Steve.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. You quickly changed into your work out gear and rushed to the gym, intent on sweating out whatever feelings you might have for Steve. After all, nothing says fuck you like imagining someone’s face on a punching bag and just going to town on it. Thankfully, when you arrived the gym was empty.

You’d been working on your stretches for only a few minutes when your worst nightmare entered the gym. He probably had the same idea as you and froze the moment your eyes met. His blue eyes narrowed at you and you stood up straight. You hated Bucky for putting the thought in your head. Now all you could think of was tackling Steve to the ground and fucking him senseless. You still wanted to beat him, but in a very different way.

As Steve entered, his eyes fixed to your form, you decided it was time to leave. After that fiasco in front of Tony, you didn’t think yourself capable of talking to Steve. Staying alone with him was something you didn’t trust yourself with. So you picked up your bag and started for the door when his voice stopped you.

“Running away? Am I to believe that there is something that finally scares you?”

Anger, red hot anger simmered under your veins when you turned to face him again. He had a mocking smirk on his face that made you grit your teeth. His eyes, dark and challenging beckoned you to him, but they didn’t hold resentment there either. Something between you had changed today. The very air around you was different, thick with tension and apprehension that had your nerves tingling.

“Scared?” You scoffed, dropping your bag on the matted floor and walking until you stood right before him. He towered over you in height, but he’d never been able to actually look down at you. “Me, scared of you? You wish Rogers.”

One corner of his lips lifted up, and he put his hands on you. One hand hooked around your waist and pulled you closer, the other trailing a finger down the side of your face to your neck, following the path down your arm until his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Oh, I so do wish” He whispered and his lips met yours. You rose up on your toes, mashing your body against his and mapping the planes of his body with your palms. The smell of his sweat and soap surrounded you, your arms coming to hold him around the shoulders as he hitched you up so you could wrap your legs around him.

Like everything in your relationship, the kiss was explosive. You didn’t melt against each other like people do in books; you collided like two warring armies intent on conquering the other. You collided like night and day, basking your surroundings in the dawn and dusk of your lust. Steve took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, smiling as you shamelessly moaned.

“What do you say?” He asked, pushing you against the wall, his hardness digging between the heated center of your legs.

You pulled him closer, letting your lips trail over his jaw and neck before you branded him with a quick bite. “You’ve always been so aggressive Steve, let’s see you let loose some other way. I sure do hope you fuck better than you fight though, or I’ll just be disappointed.”

Steve growled, kissing you again as he ground his cock against you, trapping you between the wall and his hard body that prevented any escape. Your hands slipped under his t-shirt, meeting the firm muscles on his abdomen that rippled under you. He pulled back just enough to allow you to remove your clothes, his own being flung sideways without any care.

Even before, you’d never thought of Steve as anything but beautiful, but now, seeing him in all his glory, you could only look him up and down in appreciation. He was trembling slightly, as if holding himself back with effort, his eyes not leaving you for a second. You both looked at each other, naked and unashamed before frantically coming together. His hands were everywhere, squeezing your ass and thighs as his lips pulled at your breast.

Your fingers rolled his nipples softly until he moaned, and then you pinched them. He jerked under your touch, kicking the back of your knees so you collapsed down, and he covered your body with his. Anger, arousal, lust and longing, all emotions built together in a storm of incoherent desire that had you both rolling over each other, fighting for dominance and power. Steve pinned you down with effort, holding your wrists in one hand over your head as he gave a smug smile to you.

“Will you finally surrender today?” He asked, positioning his cock at your entrance that was drenched. You would have loved to taste him, to have him taste you, but as of now, all you wanted was for him to slide inside you. You hungered for him, burnt for his touch. For years you’d been left wanting, and now with the prize so near, you weren’t about to wait any longer.

“The only surrender today will be yours.” You whispered sweetly before slamming your head against his. Steve jerked hard in surprise, allowing you the opportunity to free your hands and roll over him. You sat on his pelvis proudly, his throbbing member right underneath you and as he blinked at you, stunned, you rose up over his tip and slowly sunk down.

Steve groaned as your wet channel fell like velvet heat along his shaft. You had never been so full before. He stretched your limits, as he had always done, and you decided you very much preferred rendering him speechless like this under you than your usual punches and throws. His hands dug into your waist, helping you bounce on his cock and you threw your head back at the feeling.

It was a beautiful ache, one that took your breath away. As you rolled your hips and clenched down there, Steve’s voice rose in appreciation and you grinned. You finally had the golden boy at your mercy. You fucked him, changing your pace to punish him, never letting him up. For every time he killed you, you bit on his lips and neck, marking him. It was punishment and cherishing, a culmination of feelings you didn’t understand.

“Touch me.” You brokenly said, and his fingers found your nub. The slapping of skin, the sounds of debauchery and the smell of sin filled the air. You leaned over him to meet his lips, the heat in your gut bubbling until you snapped and came atop him, falling blissfully. It was one moment of weakness and the world titled, Steve having finally pushing you on your back.

“You’ve always been strong, because I’d hate to break you when the fun has only just begun.” He said and thrust into you hard and fast. He was an animal in heat, a man possessed, and you didn’t mind one bit. You met his every thrust with a raise of your hips, you clawed at his back until he bled, your lips tasting of the salt of sweat and tears and desire. He brought you impossibly closer, looking right into your eyes as he took you.

For the life of you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t get enough of his grunts and moans, of the breathy whispers of your name that slipped between curses, of the way his lashes would flutter over the dark blues that kept your eyes captive. He had you completely in that moment, mind and body; and for some reason, his gaze felt infinitely more intimate than his cock that was currently spearing you open. You keened in pleasure, whimpering as he touched your overly sensitive clit and had you coming again.

A minute later, he twitched inside you, his warmth flooding your core and you sighed. You laid entangled and sweaty, both of you spent and tired and yet completely overtaken by the urge to be closer still. To think this is what you’d both missed for all these years.

“So, what do you say, still feeling aggressive?” Steve asked and you looked at him with a grin that you couldn’t have suppressed had you wanted to. Oh yes, some battles were never meant to end, but they sure could be altered to meet new demands.

“With you? Always.” You replied, kissing him deep until he couldn’t think of anything but you. “Just remember one thing.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“I am still a better best friend to Bucky. I did fuck you to keep him happy after all.”

Steve frowned darkly and before you could blink, he was over you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I think this time I’d fuck some manners into you.”

“I think this time you should actually put your back into it. I did all the work before.” You taunted and he dived at you.

Meanwhile, in Tony Stark’s office

“Friday, what’s the score?” He asked smugly, offering Bucky the packet of blueberries. Bucky was sitting with his feet on the desk, a small smile on his face.

“I am afraid I am not at a liberty to say Boss.” Friday replied. If the AI could blush, she would.

“Seems like they are at an impasse.” Tony suggested, and Bucky shrugged, licking his lips.

“Well, some things never change.”

[aenaxes]

one to ten

[jesse x gn!reader] there are ten things you remember about jesse.

warnings: tcw s7 spoilers, suggestive themes, mentions of death

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: sorry for the constant parentheticals lol. ishei is a spin on a biblical name/the hebrew name basis for jesse (yishai) as a kind of namesake (surprise, you've now adopted a togrutan).

01. Your first glimpse of beauty in war comes in the form of a clone trooper.

It doesn’t make sense. They all look the same, you groan to Uche, the one other civ enlistee who didn’t waste their breath (or your time) waxing poetic about galactic justice or pining after the out-of-touch idealogues holding rank in the jedi temple and Senate floor.

What’s so different about him? Uche asks, and you don’t have an answer.

You remember sneaking furtive looks from inventory protocol drills to the landing platform, seeing the unnamed soldier step off the dust-beaten hull of a gunship transport with a straight-backed swagger. Even from afar, he demands attention, presence, in ways the men with him cannot.

I don’t know, you mumble. Maybe it’s the tattoo on half his face.

02. You learn the name of this beautiful man when Uche ditches the buddy system to wander off with a trooper in red armor at 79’s.

Shitty friend, comes a voice you’ve heard a hundred times over. You turn your head, ready to shoo away a shiny eager to prove his mettle, but instead you are met with the beautiful soldier and his ridiculous face tattoo in Uche’s seat. He flashes you a grin, raising his brows at you in a way that oozes the same confidence you remember in the landing bay. Can I make it up to you with a drink?

Will it be worth my while? you shoot back. (It’s amazing how well you mask the excited tremor in your voice. The wonders of working in a military hierarchy.)

No promises, he shrugs as he flags down the barkeep. But I think you already know your answer.

Then fine, I guess, you fight the smile playing over your lips. And when he closes his eyes and laughs, you think it’s only fitting that your nameless soldier has a laugh as gorgeous as himself.

I’m y/n, you say.

Jesse.

03. You meet this beautiful man again (Jesse, you curl your tongue over his name), and it just so happens that you end up assigned to the same ship as him. You board the Resolute, your civ certification in hand and a drab uniform as your completion gift, and as you claim your quarters aboard the destroyer, a firm tap at your shoulder stops you at your door.

Fancy seeing you here, y/n.

You’re kidding me, you smile. When you turn around, Jesse’s grinning back at you, bucket tucked under one arm, the other propping him up against the hallway wall in the worst attempt to look even remotely flirtatious that you’ve ever seen.

I’m hard to resist, I know, Jesse laughs, and you do your best to muster the most irritated expression possible despite the elation in your chest. I guess 79’s wasn’t enough for you, huh?

Sure, I can’t get enough of me absolutely drinking you under the table, Jesse, you snort.

Okay, okay, I was off my game. But you can’t tell me I’m not a better kisser when I’m tipsy, he shrugs.

I haven’t kissed you sober, you deadpan.

You think I could change that by the end of this tour?

04. You’re in bed with this beautiful man for the nth time this month, and you’ve never been too good with pillowtalk, so you tell him what you have always thought since the day you first saw him. Your fingertips light over his cheeks, you tell him that he is beautiful.

Jesse laughs and leans in to kiss your wrist. Between kisses trailing up your arm, he tells you that he is one face of many; that he is all rough skin and scars; (that there is no beauty in war embodied, cemented in the flesh over and over and over); that you just might have poor taste.

You jab his arm (because fuck you, Jesse, this was supposed to be a romantic moment), and he yelps, cackling. But you’ve successfully stroked his ego, and he thanks you by pulling you down onto his bunk again.

05. You’re in love with this beautiful man.

The revelation is a long time coming and yet somehow the greatest surprise that shocks you awake one morning when Jesse is still asleep in his bunk with one heavy arm draped over your bare hips.

It’s more than simple beauty as you watch him sleep, his lips parted and brow slack. Done away with the bravado and big talk, with the tension lifted from his proud features, Jesse is terrifyingly vulnerable in the way that makes your heart ache (even if he might be drooling just a little bit).

And then the ship alarm blares, and Jesse’s scrambling awake, sleepy apologies and bleary eyes as he shuffles around you to fumble for his armour.

See you in a few, sweetheart, Jesse laughs, locking his vambrace in place before he leans close and presses a quick peck to your cheek. And then he’s gone, breaking into a jog down the hallway as you shrug on his GAR bomber and pull it close over your chin.

You tell yourself that you don’t breathe deep on purpose, that you don’t shiver when you catch Jesse’s scent, standard-issue aftershave and spritzes of the Corellian cologne you’d bought him planetside, saved for the nights you spent over in his quarters.

You’re in love. (Fuck.)

06. You’re in love with this beautiful man.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, he says softly, perched beside you on the stout nose of a laatie. You lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his unreadable gaze (all you know is that it is soft) with a furrowed brow.

When you ask him what it means, Jesse—smooth-talker, sly bastard, a snappy retort always a word away—sputters unintelligibly, forgoing any excuses or mistranslations for sliding down the gunship’s hull and breaking into a run across the dewy grass. And you forget that you haven’t run this fast in months when you take off close at his heels.

Tell me, asshole! you shout, sprinting after him.

Not on your life! he shouts with a grin thrown over his shoulder. But he is slowing, his run pacing down to a jog, then a funny little walk on the heels of his feet as you close his lead and tackle him to the cool grass underfoot.

You feel a bruise blooming over your knees, and you’re fairly certain he’ll have a worse bruise over his tailbone. But all you can do is laugh as Jesse traps you in his arms and wrestles you onto your back under the silver light of the Nemoidian moons. (When was the last time you had laughed so freely?)

And when you catch your breath, vision blurry with the best kind of tears, you look to the wonder in Jesse’s eyes as he kneels above you.

You think he might be in love, too.

07. You’re in love with your beautiful man, and when you call him yours (when he calls you his) between hushed breaths and soft moans, you savor the thrill that rushes up your spine every time.

General Skywalker’s married, Jesse says one night, his voice rumbling under your ear as you lie over his chest.

It’s kind of obvious, you respond, and he laughs.

No—I mean, I knew—we’ve all known. But what if we got married?

You lift your head, and something heavy and warm lurches alive in the spaces between your ribs when you meet Jesse’s eyes. There is no witty playfulness, no heckling rise—only yearning, deep and vast and held with bated breath when he reaches up to touch your cheek.

Just you, me, some peace and quiet. I’d make a hell of a mechanic. And kids, maybe, well, if you want, he says, and with each word, his voice grows softer and softer still until you can just barely make out the last sound that passes his lips.

You could be a realist, cruel and cold, listing some regulation manual clause and the twofold speed at which Jesse would live and love (and die). You could tell him that the chances of you both making it out of this seemingly endless war were slim to none. You could tell him that the grief of losing a husband would fester where the loss of a friend would heal. You could leave.

But normality is so, so sweet—the vague yet enchanting idea of life beyond a war for which your beautiful man was born, a war which has swallowed you whole.

Rules and probabilities be damned, it’s worth the risk.

I’d like that, you whisper, and Jesse’s incredulous, enthralled laugh sweeps you off your feet before he’s kissing you like it’s the first time all over again.

A week later, Fives officiates, Echo bears witness, and they shower you with handfuls of tiny blue flowers scrounged from the flaxen Lothal plains as Jesse kisses you breathless.

(Both of them are dead within the year.)

08. You’re in love with your beautiful man, and you don’t think yourself a fool when all you can wonder is whether he still loves you from behind the mirrored visor of his helmet, one pound of pressure away from two blaster bolts and twin wounds (one for Ahsoka, one for you).

It is not his voice you hear over the labored blare of the ship alarms. It shares the same breath and passes through the same lips, but it is not the cocksure charm in rank or the languorous warmth of leave you have come to call your own.

You’ll be demoted in rank from commander and subject to execution along with the traitors Ahsoka Tano and y/n l/n.

It is not Jesse’s voice. (The last time your full name found home over his tongue, Fives and Echo had been alive.)

And then you watch him fall.

The hangar is a flurry of blaster fire and gunsmoke, and it’s a wonder that through it all, only one shot manages to graze over your leg before Ahsoka hurls you onto the docked y-wing and into the gunner’s seat.

The thrusters rumble to life as you slam your viewport shut, and you hear Rex’s voice crackling over the intraship comm for you to strap in. But all you can do is search frantically for any flash of twin ARC pauldrons and a shock of royal blue in the violent sea of helmets paying forgotten homage. You press your palms to the glass because he was there, he was there, right where Ahsoka spears her lightsabers into the metal, he was there.

The floor drops from beneath your feet, and you tell yourself the smoke and ache in your lungs is from your head connecting hard with the domed viewport glass as you scramble for your controls.

(What goes through a man’s head when he knows he will not wake when he lands?)

09. And then your beautiful man is dead.

You will think later that you were lucky, blessed, even, that you were not the one to pull his mangled body from under the charred belly of a destroyer, but that fact makes uncovering his face no less difficult. The broad ink stretched over his skin does little to hide the blood dried over his brow, bled into glassy eyes unseeing.

Did he feel it when the ship tore apart? You slide his eyes shut. (You do not hear your own wailing.) Was he in pain?

His brother tells you to leave his helmet over his grave because you buried bodies, vessels, ghosts of who they had once been. Jesse was not himself when you ran. Why would you carry a marker of someone you no longer knew, someone who no longer knew you?

There won’t be space for it on the ship (leave the dead with the dead), and you pretend not to hear how young Rex sounds when his voice bows under the loss of everything he’s ever known.

You hang the bloody plastoid back onto its perch.

It feels like the death of a saint, not because Jesse was some paragon of virtue, but because it is cruel, uncaring and unjust and pulled out of your hands into a single divine lie. It’s a wordless eulogy come too soon, and you cannot seem to pull away from the scuff marks and chipped paint at your fingertips.

It’s time to go, Rex says.

We got married, you say.

I know, Rex replies.

I’m not ready, your voice cracks. I didn’t say goodbye.

You feel strong arms pull you close, and if you focus on the sound of the slowly groaning hull before you, you can pretend like you aren’t being pulled apart at the seams, crashed into some cold moon, dirt under your nails, blood on your knees, alone.

I know.

10. Sometimes, you see your beautiful man in fleeting glimpses over his brother’s face. They are only split-second visions blurred by sleep (denial, denial, denial). You see copper skin and a soldier’s eyes, but that is where the familiarity ends and reality begins.

Even if you took away the tattoo arcing over Jesse’s skin and placed them side by side, Rex does not have the slight curve in his nose from a sparring session kicked too high; he does not have the dark freckle just below his chin; he does not have the playful twinkle, the knowing gleam that lit up his eyes whenever he saw you. (Rex only looks to you with shared grief, pity, these days.)

Clone or not, he is not him.

So you sleep.

If only for a glimpse of Jesse, his face blurry and voice warped under the weight of memory (played, rewound, and played again), you treat your precious shifts of sleep when Rex takes the helm as nothing short of speaking to the divine itself. Even if your dreams are more often than not nightmares of staring down a blaster barrel, part of you thinks that it’s worth the shaky hands and uneven breaths as Rex shakes you awake, that you might try to say goodbye.

Tonight, you see him again. But this time, the hangar deck is silent, blasters raised but frozen in place, a snapshot frame of the day a part of you died with him. The script changes. He lowers his blasters, you step forward, and when you reach up to lift his helmet from his shoulders, it is the clearest you have ever seen his face since you laid him to rest.

I’m sorry, his voice floats, settling in the space between your ears, soft and strong. I love you.

Goodbye, Jesse.

And when you wake, for the first time in weeks, your eyes are dry.

You will heal.

—

00. Buir, a soft voice filters down from the top bunk as your ship hums around you.

Ishei, you call, lifting one hand to rub at your eyes. You catch your son’s little horned head peeking over the edge of his bunk, and he scampers down the ladder when you beckon him close.

I can’t sleep, he whispers as he crawls beside you and tucks his arms around your waist. Will you tell me about father?

(Jesse will never know the orphaned Togrutan boy who calls him buir. You wish he did.)

Every night, you laugh softly, gently rubbing between his budding white montrals. Every night, I tell you about Jesse’buir. You don’t tire of the same stories?

You feel Ishei shake his head against your chest. Jesse’buir is my hero! Did he really look just like Rex ba’vodu?

Not at all, you smile. Not at all.

[damselofblueroses]

The Children of Paradise

Summary: Set three years after the Rumbling, a young captain of Paradise Island, Anna Doukaina suddenly learned that her husband alive during the Paradisian Revolution.

Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS AND ESPECIALLY CHAPTER 139, Descriptions of Depression and Grief, Mentions of Death, Emotional Hurt. Progress of the fiction contains nsfw / Smut, minors please do not.

Note: The idea of Paradisian Revolution and the transformation of Historia Reiss are the offspring of my imagination, I would like to think about how would Levi's aftermath of the Rumbling be in my head after I read chapter 139 :)

Word Count: 6.7k

Chapter 1: Misery of the Sea

The sky on the horizon was not dark at all.

It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood.

And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.

“Just a retired one.” I said to myself in quietly. “Just like you.”

It did not help to inflate my ego and bolstering my self-confidence. I looked at to my hands, were they still in crimson, after I have been washing them over and over again?

They were pale as the moonlight, there were no single spot which was dirty on my body. I have been scrubbing my skin like wanting to tear myself from my mortal and sinner flesh since years, being a clean freak was just a default feature of my contract.

I made that deal long time ago.

When there was no white in my hair.

I could still recall the memories of selling my life. If Commander Smith could hear one of us, he would correct our words as devoting ourselves, our hearts to the salvation of humanity, however, even he knew that all of us were lying. Those high hopes, from the morons who wanted to serve humanity to the daydreamers who thought the war could be ended were buried under six feet, their remains already had to be become manures.

All of them became tools of nutrition; some of them for titans, some of them for animals, some of them for plants.

But in the end, the circle of life just continues.

And there we go. Again.

I was rubbing my hands to each other. I hate the weight of weapon, after I had to use them against humans. Against my team members, against my squad, against my friends.

In the end, the circle of war just continues.

I did not sign the deal for killing my comrades, my friends, my family. I was taught to destroy the fucking titans, not my kind.

How was I ended up in Military Police?

That was the biggest mystery of my life. I was ranking around 13th, I did not want to be in MP, therefore, I chose to wear the cape by myself. That was my bloody agreement.

I wanted to have my own wings.

When I remember that 14 years old girl, I could not help but smile at her naiveness. Her hopes. Her desires. Her dreams and loses.

I was a fool who believed humanity could be saved from the fate pending on it. Sometimes I could hear that girl’s voice in my head, lecturing me on how I could help the others, how I could be useful for humanity.

Humanity can go and fuck themselves.

I had no debt for people, I had already given to them everything I have.

So why the heck you are here, holding a rifle and targeting a high ranked commander of Yeagerist Unit?

My answer was so simple. I did not have anything to prove to those rats over the streets, but I hated to live in a new war. My war was ended when Eren Yeager and his rumbling were defeated, my war was ended when I saw that girl, Mikasa Ackerman’s endless longing for Eren Yeager, poor girl was spending her days and nights just for being with a ghost, a memory.

My war was ended when the Titan Curse was broken.

I was mourning for the people I lost since I was 10 years old. Losing my beloved ones started before I joined into the army when my entire town was smashed by an unexpected titan attack. They reported the incident like this, unexpected, if someone could expect a titan attack. I still had nightmares which composed by the screams of my friends and my family.

Worst… My little sister’s.

There were a few of survivors, a cousin of mine, me, two neighbours and a father, a grandma, four kids, a baby, and my grandpa.

We moved to Shiganshina before its doom before that those shit-faces Reiner and Berthold attacked to there. My grandpa died after one year when we started a life in the suburbs of Shiganshina.

I was all by myself.

There was two options ahead of me, join the army or work as a maiden. There was a shortage of jobs where I could work as a handmaid, so I went to the registration. I had to find a shelter for myself, there was no one who could take care of me, I had no one who I could trust on. I had to join into military if I wanted to live even for couple of days more.

Commander Smith would be rolled on the other side in his grave, but I never devote my heart to a fucking noble aim or shitty high hope.

I just did what I had to do in order to survive.

But survivingcosted me everything I had.

I was around 11 years old when they took me into the training and since then my heart became a graveyard of my beloved ones.

To my dismay, I had a perfect memory. I remember almost every day of my life, beyond, even the little details that were given to me, Hange and I were not very close for nothing.

Hange…

I was mourning for my friends. My comrades. My companions. My lover.

Nonchalantly I touched my left ring finger and rubbed it before pulled the trigger.

Why I am here and continuing to fight?

My war had not been ended yet. I was mourning but I refused to mourn for those people who died for their purposes. That’s why I was pulling the trigger, putting my life at risk again and killing that bastard with a single bullet.

I knew that my comrades were still watching me above, I would do everything to make them proud. That’s why I was still fighting back with a world where it was extremely cruel.

I used the bricks as a natural shield for myself and disassembled the rifle as fast as possible.

“That was for Hange, you bastards.” I murmured to myself. “She did not die to see Paradis under the yoke of your crazy queen.”

I could feel that Hange was nodding at my words just like she was standing next to me. I knew that no one from my comrades could approve this world where Historia Reiss ruled and transformed it to another planet only to fight.

Tatakae, was our motto. Tatakae, was our national anthem. Tatakae, tatakae, tatakae.

I remembered once I have heard this from Eren Yeager when they kept him into the prison, when Hange went to see him.

He was repeating tatakae like a chant, but I was sure he did not sacrifice everything he had just to see a mad queen on the throne of Paradis, or the army that was named as Yeagerists and divided into new units.

What did it mean? Being a Yeagerist?

Supporting mass genocide or sacrificing yourself for a plan?

For me both options were not the best ones, but if I had to prefer, I would sacrifice myself for a plan like breaking the titan curse.

But in my understanding, there was no place to the toleration of a control freak queen and her decisions to start another endless war.

That’s why I was walking around my second destination today. I was very famous of my quietness, speed and logic especially when it came to assassinate someone.

I learned every trick and move from a retired criminal.

I was like a sculpture on his hands, and he craved me till I became exactly what he wanted.

I sat on the edge of roof and started to count.

Revolution, we call this. Revolution.

I pulled my trigger again and did not bother to see the result. I knew that I killed two important commanders, and I was going to kill the last name for today. The headmaster of the palace, Edward Strauss, then I could go back to the home.

Liberty, we call our aim. Liberty.

Have we ever got a proper taste of liberty?

Have we ever got close to be free?

Have we ever reached a point where we could live far away from the sounds of broken bones, the smell of blood?

Have we ever just enjoyed our lives and let ourselves to live freely?

“That was for Levi.” I whispered before started to walk again. As always, saying his name was the hardest one. I had any idea about his life, I even did not know if he was living or not after the explosion, but I always made sure that naming him among my beloved ones.

He was.

“Please, join me, Captain Doukaina.”

I smiled to the young, energetic blonde boy who was sitting on the bench by himself in the middle of night. His ocean blue eyes were not as same as the time we met.

“You are grown up, huh, Armin?” I bestowed my hand to him. His face was brightened. “I have heard your stories enough for a life-time.”

“I tried to do my best.” he was modest as he was a trainer. “But my best was not enough to save everyone.”

Poor kid. He was still in pain of losing his friends. Eren and Mikasa were the closest thing to a family for him. His shelters. I remembered the day when they went under the yoke of Shadis. Armin was really tiny to be compared with a lot of boys instead of Eren, Jean or even Connie.

“It was not about your efforts.” I was very honest. “All of you did your best, but you cannot challenge to some paths. You knew better than me.”

“Yeah.” he beamed. “I learn the paths with all my heart, Captain.”

I remembered this kid was one of the nines…

“Armin,” I raised one hand. “Can you stop calling me as captain? I already dropped the titles I had once. Call me Anna. Just Anna.”

“Okey, Anna.” he tried my name on his tongue just like my name was tangy. “It is a little bit hard; you know.”

“Old habit never dies.” I beamed to him, enough to made him blush a little bit more. “So, how was your day before I bumped into you?”

“Extreme.” he smiled. “I am trying to deal with two lieutenants who do not want to cooperate with us, however they already joined into the resistance. I cannot let them go as they know so much.”

“What do you think to do?”

“I am going to persuade them.” he burrowed his eyebrows. “I wish the things could be different, but we are still in war.”

“Who are these two lieutenants?” I murmured. “If they will not change their minds after your speech, maybe we have to go for different tricks.”

“One of them is Lieutenant Arya Springer, a distant cousin of Connie; the other one is Lieutenant Johann Willenburg.”

“I know Willenburg.” I sighed. “A total blockhead.”

“Well, he is one of the best shooters.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “There was nothing I could do when he wanted to join since he has a strong reputation.”

“Yeah, these guys are so stubborn when it comes to fucking reputation.” I exhaled. “They want all the heroes in their team.”

“I could kill someone to have Captain Levi in my team.” Armin laughed. “But he rejected to come back with us.

I stared at Armin like I could not see him anymore. His words were echoing in my mind like a severe, horrendous, and horrific chant that had given hope to the audience, hoping that everything was going to be okey at the end.

“Cap- Anna?” he reached to me. “Anna, are you okey? Shit, you look like on the verge of fainti-

“Armin.” I grabbed his hand with all my strength. “Armin, tell me, is Levi alive?”

“Yes, he is.” he gave me a weird look. “He is in Marley, living with Gabi and Falco, do you remember those two Marleyan kids?”

Levi is alive.

“He did not contact with me.” I murmured to myself. I was not seeing Armin for real, I felt dizzy, my heart was pounding, my breathing pace was quickening, my blood was rushing in my veins. “Why did he not alert me?”

“How much you know about Captain?” Armin carefully interrogated. “I mean after the Titans war?”

“I only know the explosion because of that fucking monkey.” I hissed. I cannot feel my legs. “My knowledge is little, I could not learn anything, there was no one to tell me.”

“Do you want to learn?”

“What kind of question is that Armin?” I yelled without control. “I want to learn what the fuck happened to that bastard!”

“He does not want to be back, because he is not the Captain Levi Ackerman anymore. At least he thinks like that.”

“Ha?”

“After the explosion, Captain Hange found him, actually saved him from Floch and Yelena. To sum up, he was healed, he was still fighting when we ended the war, but his all body is covered with scars, he lost one eye and two fingers, in addition he has some problems with his legs. He uses a wheelchair time to time.”

My chin was dropped into the ground while my soul was leaving my body.

“So?” I heard my voice. “But he is alive, right?”

“Yes, he is.”

“And he thinks we do not need him anymore.” my brain started to function again. “Son of a bitch, he believes that we could not need him.”

“Exactly.” Armin approved. “At least this is what I believe also. I mean, I tried to have a civilized conversation with Captain, but you know how he is. He just sent me off.”

“You cannot have civilized conversations with Levi Ackerman.” I looked at him by gaining my self-control again. “Armin, you are the leader of this resistance. I want to go and drag him back.”

“Ha?” I knew I caught him guard off, but I really had no fucks to give.

“I am going to Marley.” I stood up. “If he thinks he can save his ass from this hell, he is wrong.”

“He does not want to s-

“He is going to see me.” I cut the shit off. Although his words, Armin was watching me with an admiration. “He owes me, you do not know how much he owes me.”

“How much he owes you?” he asked diligently. This was something about Armin, he was always so careful catching the nuances.

“A life.” I was not a sweet talker; I have never been till now. I suddenly scrubbed the wraps on two of my fingers like I have been doing every time I had talked about Levi. “If you will not let me to go, I have no choice but break some bones of your body, so you cannot prevent me.”

“You cannot across the sea without the documents in need, money and protection.” Armin raised his hands. “I do not object you, if you think you can bring Captain Levi back, I fully approve that. But you ne-

“I already have everything you mentioned. I have money, I can protect myself better than anyone can do for me, and I possess the documents, my identification card, my health report and insurance. Marley wants to see them, right?”

“Yes.” Armin nod but it was very clear he was surprised. “Since when you prepared all of these?”

“Do not make a wrong deduction.” I inhaled. “I did not prepare them in order to flee if I have to. My brother is one of the soldiers who chose to stay in Marley, I keep those documents because I wanted to be organized.”

“Well…” Armin stood up. “I guess there is no way to stop you, you will do what you decide on. I give you my consent, no better than this, I command you as the leader of resistance. Go and escort Captain Levi back to Paradise.”

“Your wish is my command.” I groaned and shook his hand. He was a little bit confused, he hesitated to send me over, but he exactly knew that he could not halt me.

Nothing can avert me from my way at this point.

My blood was boiling, I felt like someone was choking me. I could not believe that Levi was still alive and to my dismay he let me to think he was dead.

I spent last three years to mourn for him, and he did not bother himself to let me he is alive.

I rushed back to my little flat where the memories really became a burden. Every night was another nightmare in this place, every piece of the area carried something belonged to Levi.

I really cannot recall every minute I whimper his name, crying and longing for him.

And he did not let me know.

Since when he became a selfish bastard like this?

How could he?

I grabbed some clothes, the basic requirements in need, some food, and beverages into my luggage. Even this fucking luggage belonged to Levi once. I angrily wiped the tears off, I was definitely frustrated, mad and horrified by his extremely self-centred decision.

So, he is living, and he let me to believe that he is dead?

Unbelievable.

How could he do that to me?

I even did not bother to check how could I reach to Marley. I only know that I had to go to the ports, that was going to what I do. I left the home and started to my new journey.

When I will find you, Ackerman, you will pray to be dead.

Marley.

I was sitting on the benches of the boat by watching the notorious walls of Heaven, at least, what had been left from that. Paradise made sure its destruction, but some parts of the walls were still visible if you knew where to look.

That was my biggest problem, I always knew where to look and follow what I saw.

Even now, my biggest problem is connected my ultimate problem: Levi Ackerman.

He was always what I saw, whose I followed without even a single hesitation. Wherever Levi goes, I go, that’s my deal.

For a moment, 18 years old version of me appeared in front of my blurry eyes. I still could see her arms tangled around her chest with a determined face expression, standing before Commander Erwin, being examined by curious eyes.

“Captain Levi wanted you into his squad.” Commander slightly raised his eyebrow. He was more than curious; it was very obvious that he could not see a logical reason behind Captain’s request. “Before approving your promotion, I would like to ask you one question.”

“All ears, Commander.”

“You devoted your heart, no discussion on that.” he stood up and took his steps towards me. I was suffocating because of the power his glare. “But to what? I always wonder that.”

“To whom, you mean?” I questioned his question, for a second, a ghost of smirk formed around his lips but as usual he controlled himself so swiftly. He approved me with his head, I knew that today or tomorrow I had to answer this question.

I was too tired to hold it back.

I was too naïve to try to disguise my true colours.

“I devoted my heart to Captain Levi.” I said. Plain and clear.

Commander did not reply to me. He just looked at me for a minute then smiled. I was afraid of seeing his smile, with all my respect to him, when he smiled, I always felt the goosebumps all over my body, his smile was irking my self-defence system. I felt like I was trapped and dragged into something I should have not want to do, but I was supposed to perform.

When Commander smiled, I felt like I was a puppet in his hands like every cadet in the Scouts.

I had been questioning every incident, decision, and stage of my life since that day. Was I really acknowledged of my words when I blatantly stated my devotion to Levi?

What had I gained in return of my devotion?

A journey to Marley by myself, countless corpses on my conscious and permanent blood traces on my hands.

A myriad of sleepless nights.

Longing for someone who never comes back.

I clenched my fists over the fabric of my skirt. I hated wearing skirts, but Levi persuaded me to wear them when we had to peel ourselves out of uniforms.

I always suspected Levi had something with the skirts, those soft and pastel ones.

What the fuck you are thinking right now?

I could feel my nails digging into my palms, they were going to leave some marks for sure. Maybe a little bit blood too.

Maybe I should have kept myself in Paradise, with my duty. I could distract myself with new missions, new plans, and decisions. Maybe it was not the best option for me, maybe I really had to respect his decision and never went on board to drag him back.

Back to hell.

To the hell he lost everyone whose were very dear to him.

I was cruel and reckless, he had been losing more than anyone else, he had been in such a hell even before people labelled him as the humanity’s strongest. Just once he told me how sick and tired he was of that humanity’s strongest shit.

How much he wanted to leave all these behind himself.

And now, I was on my way to drag him back.

I could feel the panic started to invade my body and affected my limbs; I immediately bit my lower lip in order to keep my mind straight.

Even this little trick, you learned from Levi.

A strong smell of salt rushed all over me with the promising sound of waves. I lifted my head up, my hands automatically turned into the fists.

He already dared to break his promise, why should I care for his thoughts and desires? He did not think of mine, he decided all by himself. Why should I be upset for him?

I could easily forgive him, to be honest, I have already forgiven him for leaving his hell behind. What I have been not going easy on was his decision to leave mebehind like I was a part of his personal abyss. He was the last one who could break a promise, and he never choose a path which could make him to regret of his selection. I knew his way of thinking to the bits, in these circumstances more than I could wish for, if he concluded on the way to follow, he made sure that he would not be regretful. Needless to say, if he chose to leave me behind, it was the solid proof of his view of me.

I mourned for him every second of my life since the end of war, my feelings were always so complicated towards Levi, but I was always certain on my love for him.

My feelings were not reciprocated. I could understand my one-sided affection and its heartbreak if he did not give me a promise for lifetime.

While the boat was arriving the shores of Marley, I was definitely not in my best mood. I could not name all the frustration, fear, anxiety, anger I felt, but at the same time I was so excited. The silence of my mind was sudden and was not like it normally was, it was a total, dead silence, laden with an uncomfortable tension that cut me like the edge of dull blades. There were words on the very tip of my tongue that every inch of myself burned to scream, but my lips were like sealed. My posture was changed by our arriving to the port of Marley, I stood up and took a deep breathe. The air was so thick, I could not deny but I remained bound by unspoken thoughts and empty promises. When the doors were opened to the passengers, I grabbed my luggage and stepped into the foreign lands.

I have been in Marley before for educational reasons. After the war, I was one of the soldiers or civilians who were selected as the students go abroad, I spent two years here by attending college. After graduation, the government of Paradise assigned me as the head of royal library because I denied giving courses to the students.

I could work as a librarian. I could not work as a teacher, not again, I could not bound myself to the pupils. Even thinking about having students around me causing a lump in the middle of my throat. I was not made for mentoring kids, as my own history could vouch for that.

I still hear those screams.

Memories were stuck in my head and for the life of me, I could not erase them from my thoughts. Every little step I took, the labyrinth of my memory has been providing me with a new reason of pain. Anger. Frustration. Sadness.

Loneliness.

I have been always by myself. I fought for my life, my troop, my battalion, my people, my country, and there was no end of the shitty list. Dedicate your heart, we have been trained, dedicate your hearts. My eyes were masked in sheer layer of moisture, I knew, my tears of anger because the world was being nothing but cruel to me. I knew this way of thinking was not being entirely rational, I wanted to hear that it was not my fault, I wanted someone to praise my efforts.

And that someone has been living the best of his life in a little shop where it occupied a very good, visible spot of one of the main streets of city, where I was standing just in front of the door.

I had been losing the understanding of time, but when I found myself in front of the ivory-coloured door, of course Levi would kill someone who can even propose choosing another colour, I checked my clock.

Should I go inside?

I did not know why he did not send a message to me, and I did not fully recall all the circumstances of our shared past, either. I was so determined to see and drag him back, but now, all I remembered was the feeling of falling, crumbling, crawling, and seething pains before blackness. There were blurry bits and pieces, but when I tried to reassemble them, there were just the colour red. Red again, crimson red.

What should I say if I go inside?

What will happen if he is inside?

What if he would be disappointed to see me?

I reached to the knub of door, however all power I had till now was leaving me. Emptiness was what I felt, there was no driving force, there was even no anger against his crimes.

My heart was pounding on my throat, my sight was blurry, then I let the knub of door and turned my back to the shop. I did not want to see what was inside of that little tea shop, even thought it was one of the smallest shops I have ever seen, it was certain that that shop was bigger than my life and more valuable than me in the eyes of Levi Ackerman.

Although I was full of retaliation feelings, I could feel anything but my love for him.

Why should I step back into his life again, when his decision keeping me away from him is clear as fuck?

The city lights peeked through the cracks of the pavement, creating a jagged patch of gold in the way as I took it as a sign for me in order to keep going by myself. I just looked at the door once more, then I inhaled.

I have to write an explanation to Armin as formally. He loves me, but he is not the type of letting the issue go.

“Excuse me?” I heard a young but strong boy voice. “Captain Doukaina?”

I closed my eyes, because I recognized the owner of this voice like hearing it just one yesterday. I kept remain to walk, acting like I did not hear my name but just in one second, a cheerful, energetic face jumped into me.

“YOU ARE RIGHT, FALCO!” Gabi screamed all the air out of her lungs. “SHE IS CAPTAIN DOUKAINA!”

“Ah.” this was only thing I could said. “Hi, Gabi.”

She hesitantly looking at me, her arms were reaching to me, but she knew that I had been refusing to talk with her for long time until that night I had to keep both of them between my arms, protecting them as the frightened kids who survived.

“You can.” I approved her attempt. “We are not enemies, and I am sure both of us changed a lot.”

She did not wait to hear the end of my words; she just hug me like I was the miracle of life. Falco, always kinder than Gabi, patiently waited for his line.

More like waited for Gabi not being extra.

“How are you?” he asked me politely, I could laugh his disgusted face towards Gabi who was circling around me by murmuring an inaudible song.

“I am very well.” Liar. “I hope you are doing well, either.”

“Yes, we are living with Uncle Onyankopon and helping to Mr. Ackerman for running tea shop.” Gabi shared this two information with everyone on the street.

My heart was hammering in my chest to hear that Mr. Ackerman, I hated myself for my reaction, but the kids were unaware of the glossiness glazing over my eyes.

“Did you come to visit us?” Gabi asked. “Why it took this much, we have been waiting for you since the end of war?”

“Gabi, please have some manners.” Falco murmured to her. “Captain Doukaina has her own life, you knew that.”

“Ah.” Gabi stopped and looked at me in the face. “I am sorry, I did not want to be rude, but I thought you would have come very long time ago. We missed you.”

“I did not know where you are.” I spilled the beans without thinking. “No one told me.”

“Uncle Onyankopon said tha-

“She means that maybe there was a problem between Marley and Paradise communication ways.” Falco made a heroic attempt to save a secret from me, but I was playing the game even before he was born. I gave him my signed deathly glare and turned back to Gabi.

“What he says?”

“Mr. Ackerman insisted on you have to live your own life.” Gabi grumbled. “Falco and I tried to persuade him to call you here, but Uncle said he could not dare to play against to Mr. Ackerman.”

“Mr. Ackerman can go to hell.” I cursed beneath my breath. Falco heard me for sure, but Gabi was so busy giving me a detailed story of almost 5 years after the war. Mostly I did not listen her, but I caught two important details.

She knew that I attended college here in Marley.

She knew that I was the head of royal library in Paradise.

Are you still watching me Levi, or she knows these because of another reason?

“Would like to come inside?” Falco interrupted Gabi’s endless stories. “I strongly believe that you came here today, we have fresh bakery and tea, and we happily serve them to you, Captain.”

“Call me Anna.” I smiled to him. What is these kids’ fault? They wanted me with them, they were trying to call me back. How could I remain angry towards them? “Thank you for your kind inv- Gabi, what are you doing?!”

“You have to taste blueberry spongy cake!” she yelled at me. Maybe I can exactly remain angry towards Gabi? “And we have a delicious Earl Grey which came to the shop just a few hours ago. You like Earl Grey, right? Plain, strong and harmonious.”

“How do you know that?” I could not help but ask.

“Mr. Ackerman.” she gave me a weird look like it was very usual, talking about my preferences between the folk of this fucking tea shop. “When he orders Earl Grey, he always check the quality of tea according to the rule of Doukaina.”

“What the fuck?” I tossed my head back, my feet tapping on the pavement. “Gabi, I am really sorry, and I have no intention making you upset but seriously I understand anything you say.”

“The rule of Doukaina is our standards in order to value everything around us.” I heard a baritone voice which I was fucking familiar with. “Welcome to Marley, Captain.”

“Onyankopon.” I pressed my lips into each other. I could not help but felt the irritation against him. He smiled to me by raising his hands.

“I have nothing.” He remained his posture. “Can I join you?”

“We will serve to Captain.” Falco explained. “She just came to Marley today; she has to be thirsty and hungry.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I am very well, but tired. If you could allow me to go back to my flat, it would-

“No!” Gabi just sticked into my arm like a gummy. “We will not, right Falco?”

“What are you doing there, brats?” I heard another voice. Baritone. Strong. Grumpy. Familiar to giving orders. “Did you take a hostage in a blink of eye?”

“She is Captain Doukaina!” Gabi screamed like she was sharing the most wonderful miracle of this bloody world. “How can we take her as a hostage, Mr. Ackerman? She is the cleverest as you always say!”

“Captain Doukaina?” I heard his voice again, full of nothing but disbelief. “JesusfuckingChrist, do you lose your mind?”

“I am here.” I choked out loudly enough for him to hear my voice. “Anna Doukaina.”

There was silence like our walls circling Paradise before we crumbled them down.

“Anna Doukaina.” the voice repeated my name again. Would he be crueller to me, still staying in the shadows?

“Yes.” I lifted my chin and let all emotions filled me up. Did I really unload these 5 years on him, in front of everyone here? I knew I was not going to, but God, if I had the courage, I would. I would ruin his life; I would set everything he did on fire and leave here as the happiest woman.

He came out of that fucking ivory door, and I forgot how to breathe.

No one told me how he was.

No one told me how bad he was hurt.

No one told me how horrible his scars were.

Onyankopon grabbed the kids due to rapidly increasing tension, even though Gabi’s rejections, and left Levi and me by all alone in front of the tea shop. We were staring each other like enemies, we could be enemies, I wondered if I had ever felt like this before in my life.

“Anna Doukaina.” he sighed at me. I clenched my fists and took a really long, refreshing, and deep breath. “You are not Anna Doukaina.”

“Ah.” I barely held myself back from making a scene. “I guess I know my identity better than you, Captain Ackerman.”

“It seems you forget.” he took one step towards me. I could see all of his face, all the stitches, all the lines and his eyes. Goddamnit, his Aegean eyes. “Your name was changed, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I raised my left hand and showed him the little bandage which I always wrapped on my finger.

“Why did you wrap your finger?” he dared to ask to me by furrowing his eyebrows.

“What should I do?” I nicely asked but I could feel the taste of blood inside of my mouth. “Should I unwrap the bandage? What is the point of it?”

“Since when married woman keeps their marriage rings under cover?” he grunted, but he was careful as always not causing any unwarranted events. I could easily see he was fuming inside; he was calculating but I could not understand the rest of his feelings.

He was upset, that was so clear.

He did not want to see me, that was another clear point.

“They do.” I forced myself to smile. Do not let him to see your feelings. “If their wedded husband are not with them.”

“So, were you covering your ring since the last 5 years?”

“Every day of it, and I enjoyed that a lot.”

“Why you did not take it off, Godfuckingdamnit, if you were so upset by wearing it?!”

“Protection.” I chuckled. Make him mad. Give nothing but only pain to him if you can. “You know, if I will financially collapse, I can always sell this. It is 24k gold. A luxury for Paradise.”

“You are not changed even a bit.” he leaned back on the heels of his feet. “Still a witch.”

“I changed a lot.” I said. Back in the Corps, I was loud and commanding, I was a leader, one of the cleverest. Now, I was timid and tired, I may be broken down because of his absence. “I am not a witch anymore; I became a bitch.”

“Yes, I can see that.” he nod. Very sweet of Levi. “Why you are here?”

“I came because I am looking for my husband.” I said.

“Why?”

“To ruin his life.” I smiled. “I want ruin that bastard for letting me down, for letting me mourn for him every fucking day, for everything he did to me.”

Levi glared at me with a deadpanned face. I unwrapped my bandage and showed my hand to him.

“I have been waiting for this since I learned you are alive.” I murmured. “I want a divorce.”

“What?” his face was entirely blank.

“I always thought you were dead, but since you are unfortunately in flesh and soul, I want a fucking divorce.” I grinned. “Do you think I across the sea in order to see you? No, Levi. No. We are going to divorce, so you have to come back with me to Paradise, then you can go to even hell if you want.”

“Thinking I was dead did not prevent you to live your life fully, huh?” he raised one eyebrow. “Why do you want a divorce right now, all of sudden? Why did you show yourself at the door of my teashop? Are you run out of money?”

“You cannot hit me with these, Captain.” I chuckled and took the ring out of my finger. “See? I came for giving this back to you.”

I directly went to him, in front of him, my mind did not catch any of my moves or decisions. I never felt like this in my life, I was like captured by another soul, I was watching myself out of my body. I grabbed his hand, opened his palm and placed the ring.

“You can do whatever you want with your fucking ring.” I hissed at him. My voice was keeping all the pain as a secret. Even now, even I am full of pain, the only thing I want is hugging and kissing him, staying at his side forever! “I came to say this.”

I turned back to him immediately, but before my first step, he grabbed my wrist and forced me to walk with him inside of his tea shop. He literally dragged me into the next table and held my hand with all force.

“You are my wife.” he dropped his voice to lowest version. Damnit, how he dare to give me that voice, he uses when I was a cadet?! “You are mine.”

“Ah, really?” I pushed him back. “Where were you if I am your wife?”

“Where were you?” he questioned my question. “If I am your husband, why you were not with your husband? Why did you not come to find me after the war?”

“MR. ACKERMAN!” Someone yelled by entering from the door, and both of us turned to the boy. “I NE- wow.”

The little blond kid just stared at Levi, looking like a revengeful god and me, pressed on the table as a suspected witch. His little mouth shaped as an O.

“What happened?” he asked.

“No- nothing. We did not know you have visitors. Hi, lady!”

“I do not have a visitor, Paul.” Levi gave me a piercing look. Do not fall. Do not fall. “She is my wife, Mrs. Ackerman.”

“DO YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” The little kid screamed for his dear life.

“No, I am not h-

“Yes, I have.” Levi said. “And she is going to live with me from now on.”

[tamorasky]

Number 15 “I like to think we’re more than ‘just friends’.” for Elsamaren, dealer's choice for the universe ;)

#15 “I like to think we’re more than ‘just friends’.” – 1970s AU

She hadn’t expected the party to be this fancy, making Honeymaren wonder if perhaps she should have worn something other than her paisley blouse, tied in the front just under her breasts and denim bellbottoms.

With narrowed eyes she looks to her girlfriend; standing in her light blue dress with a white collar, her hair pushed away from her face with a white headband.

“You didn’t tell me that it was going to be this fancy.” She says quietly as they walk into the garden, surrounded by neatly put-together people.

“It’s really not that fancy, you look fine.” Elsa shrugs, glancing at her girlfriend.

“I look like a deadbeat.” Maren quips back, her heart pounding as she makes her way through some of New York City’s elite. She hadn’t known what she expected once Elsa told her that her parents lived in Mill Neck, Long Island but even still it wasn’t this.

Glancing around the expansive and immaculate garden, which for a reason unbeknownst to her contained a rather large round stone fountain. Maren had known that Elsa’s family was wealthy, but this is nearly excessive.

Her gaze catches another young couple; the auburn-haired girl in a green knee-length dress with a full skirt. Thankfully the blond man standing next to her was in a similar situation; dressed in only a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.

Anna races across the stone veranda at an unmatched pace toward her sister, wrapping her arms around the blonde in a tight embrace. Maren smirks while watching Kristoff trail behind her as if trying to remain invisible to everyone around him.

Both the blonde and brunette are greeted with a hug from the younger Rendell sister, who is nearly bouncing with joy at their presence.

“Took you long enough to get here!” She exclaims with a grin. “Gerda and Kai are just bringing out the cocktails.”

“I think what you mean is that we arrived just on time then.” Elsa retorts, trying to spot the drinks table among the crowd. Maren laughs at that, sharing her girlfriend’s sentiment.

But the laughter quickly fades as an imposing man wearing khakis and a light blue sweater with a white-collar poking out of the neckline approaches. His mustache immaculately groomed for this occasion.

“Elsa, Anna, I’m so glad you two could make it.” The patriarch of the Rendel family greets with a warm but polite smile. To any onlooker, the simple gesture would seem like a sincere form of greeting to the two daughters Agnarr barely saw. It doesn’t escape Maren’s notice how the older man ignores Kristoff’s presence, turning to her instead. “And who might this be?”

“This is my friend from school, Honeymaren.” Elsa resists the urge to put her arm around Maren’s shoulder as she introduces them.

Honeymaren cannot resist chuckling at the statement, muttering under her breath to her girlfriend. “I mean…I like to think we’re more than ‘just friends.’”

The comment earns her a light smack on the wrist from her girlfriend, not helping the grin crossing Maren’s features.

“It’s very nice to meet you…Honeymaren…” Agnarr replies, the comment made by the unfamiliar girl escaping his notice. His eyes widen as he looks over his daughters, a smile crossing his features for the first time that Maren has seen.

Without any regard for his daughters in front of him, Agnarr calls out for a man standing across the veranda departing from them.

“Fuck I need a drink.” Elsa groans, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll come with you!” Anna volunteers. The Rendell sisters move their way through the crowd toward the drinks table.

Maren smirks up at Kristoff, cockiness overtaking her. “I’m Agnarr’s favourite out of his daughter’s significant others.”

The blonde man looks down at the small woman in front of him, brows furrowed. “He doesn’t even know you two are dating.”

“I know, that’s what this soo much better.” She giggles, folding her hands behind her back.

“Shut the fuck up.” Kristoff chuckles, shaking his head. Maren throws her head back with laughter at her friend’s offence.

“You know I’m incapable of doing such a thing.” She retorts as she notices Elsa dodging her way through the crowd with two drinks in her hand, Anna nowhere to be seen.

The blonde woman approaches the two, handing Maren her drink. “Anna is coming with yours Kris, I lost her to one of the Westergaard boys.”

“Fantastic.” Kristoff groans, “I’ll be back.”

“They’re by the food table!” Elsa calls after him as he begins his journey through the crowd of people.

Maren takes a sip of her drink, which is a strongly made gin and tonic. She smirks reaching into her pocket, “You know if you wanted to take the edge off you might need something stronger.”

The brunette discreetly holds up a joint to her girlfriend, causing the other woman to gasp.

“You did not bring marijuana to my parent’s garden party.”

Maren pauses briefly, staring at her girlfriend incredulously. “...it’s a garden party.”

Elsa rolls her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief before glancing back at her girlfriend with some hesitance. “I have the perfect spot we can go. I think we should get Kristoff too though, poor bastard needs it.”

Throwing her head back in laughter, Maren agrees with the statement; hoping that perhaps this afternoon won’t be as bad as she thought.

[belit0]

Okay hear me out something really really and really dark with indra 🤭 Like you “cheating on him” ( Reader didn’t probally just some weirdo mailman arriving at theyre mountain home asking for stuff and the reader lets him and somehow they make it into the bedroom?? 😭) and indra comes in and it just becomes really dark

"something really really and really dark with Indra..." 

My brain didn't need much more to create something completely bizarre and sickening.

TW: Non-con, kidnapping, blood, s3x with a dead man lmao.

The night was short, too short for your liking. You always get this feeling when Indra is absent when his presence is so far away he is not even perceptible in the scope of your reach.

If your man is with you, you know when the sun goes down the torture begins. Upon meeting him, you never expected such a handsome countenance could carry so much evil inside. And although he claims to want you, at this point you understand all he wants is absolute possession over you, he is not interested in pursuing your love or seeking your adoration.

But of course, whoever fell into the clutches of such a beast, and to make matters worse, voluntarily as you had done, had no way to escape. Who would dare to face the mighty Otsutsuki? He who would make people run in dismay at the mere sound of his name.

Trapped in the depths of an isolated forest, you had given up any hope of ever walking the earth freely years ago. There was no way to evade the surveillance of your partner, who was everywhere with the secrecy of a feline.

If you had the courage to try to run, to scream for help, what awaited on feeling his hands around your neck was even worse than death. He always got what he desired, and the only thing he had craved was you.

It took several frustrating attempts to free yourself that led you to be brutally clamored by him on the forest floor, while his grip left bruises on any part that had contact with your skin. The scene ended grotesquely, as he carried you back home as if nothing had happened. Your bloody form, with clothes torn off and a few bones, were broken by Indra's violence, lay fainting on his arms, time after time.

Eventually, you understood that there would be no point with such an approach when in your last try it all got too much and he decided to break both of your wrists to make you stop resisting. The recovery was long, and when you were back to normal, you decided to succumb to being used every night rather than savaged that way.

But now, as you sat looking out the window, you thought to yourself. Indra had left on a trip weeks ago, and as usual, it was unclear where he was heading. Escaping would be imprudent, for perhaps it was all a test, a made-up situation to see how you would react to such a prolonged absence.

Forgetting the matter, you got up to the kitchen when a loud noise on the outside caught your attention. Resuming your previous position, you watched as a man with long black hair fell to his knees a few feet from the door, dropping to the ground and barely holding himself up with his hands.

There it is, Indra's damned testing.

Rushing away from the window and leaning your back against the wall, you gasped for breath, trying to calm yourself. As sorry as you were for that human being, you knew that your partner would appear at any second and cruelly end his life. He was simply trying to make you take a false step, tempting your big heart and your ample generosity.

Minutes that felt like an eternity passed, as the pleas for help grew lighter and lighter and the volume diminished.

No one was attacking.

The man continued to kneel, trying to reach the house.

Unable to endure, you decided to betray your preemptive alarms and ran out of the house. This person was severely wounded, unable to move or walk on his own. 

A sense of security assaulted you as you helped him in and laid him down on your bed, while you analyzed the wounds and the origin of the blood.

No one was attacking!

It was a tough job to put the man's battered body to rights, but after extensive treatment of his wounds, he was no longer in danger and regained his breath, still lying on Indra's pillow.

And with that, the man grabbed you by the nape of your neck and leaned you over him, causing the lips of the two of you to gently meet. It wasn't like Indra's touches, it wasn't possessive or unwanted, it was romantic, gentle, warm, and beautiful.

"You saved my life and I don't even know your name..."

"No need to exaggerate, gentleman. Had I left you there, you probably would have woken up after a good few minutes, I simply relieved the pain. As for my name... I regret to say that I cannot reveal it."

"A beautiful mystery... in that case, there's no need to know mine either."

The temperature rose, not taking long to exchange tongues, and avoiding to climb on top of him because of the state of his poor body, you lay down on your side of the bed, where Indra had taken you countless times.

Not wanting to let go, you simply let him handle the moment.

After a slight hesitation, he pulled away and looked into your eyes, asking permission to do it again. Licking your lips, it was you who initiated the action this time.

Hands danced everywhere, and clothes were lost with speed. He had you mount him, making it clear he could not exert himself too much due to lack of strength. Not wanting to argue against that logic, you sank on his erect length with a moan, while your eyes closed tightly.

You only opened them when you began to feel your orgasm approach, seeking eye contact for more pleasure. But you were disconcerted to see that his gaze was fixed on a corner of the room, to which your back was turned.

A pleased smile graced his features, not even paying attention to you.

"This way is fine, boss?"

Your blood froze in understanding.

Indra's test.

But what you didn't expect was for the man beneath you to suddenly become completely paralyzed, as a muffled THUD rang through the room and the hot liquid splashed your face and chest, as well as your arms.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a kunai was thrust into his forehead, killing him on the spot. A quick instinct assaulted your muscles as you tried to pull the slain man's limb out of you and run, getting away from your partner and trying to save yourself.

Now, this was the worst situation in the world.

There was no way you were going to pull through this.

But a huge, strong hand grabbed your hair as he noticed your intentions, pulling you down on the man's body and extracting the murder weapon with the other hand.

Tears began to stream down your cheeks as your hands closed over his wrist, futilely trying to make him let go of your hair.

"Unsightly..."

"Disgusting..."

"It only took you a second of my absence to jump on a bastard's cock. I knew you were an insufferable fucker from the way you cry and beg for my touches, but now I see it's your natural way of acting...you're just a whore, aren't you?"

It has been a long time since you realized how your rejections towards his actions were perceived and qualified as wanting, where Indra's reality was completely distorted.

"I...N-N-N..."

You can't get your tongue to move properly to outline his name, trying to defend yourself somehow. Ironic, for that heated muscle had danced shamelessly seconds ago across the man's lips lying beneath you.

"Shut your ungrateful mouth you rotten filthy bitch."

Your face is pressing against the man's neck, being held still by Indra. The blood dripping from the mortal wound on that person's forehead oozed down your features, mingling with your tears.

"Is this what you wanted? It takes a worm-like him to make you realize who you belong to? A damn misfortune that cute little cunt of yours has been desecrated in such a manner."

And as your breathing continued to heave and your body was convulsing in revulsion because the murdered man's limb continued inside you, you didn't notice Indra's weight on your back until it was too late.

"I allowed this hole to remain virgin waiting to be taken when my first son was inside you... The notion of fucking you along with my offspring was wonderful, but as you won't outlive this, I'll give myself the treat I've been depriving of."

You can feel the tip of his cock exert pressure on your ass, and even as a dead man lies beneath you both, filling your pussy, Indra has no trouble getting fully hard and forcing his way into you.

Holding your neck with both hands, his chest is pressed against your back as his waist slams viciously over your form, making you cry out in pain and getting halting pleas for mercy from your lips.

Everything is a nightmare.

Indra is a nightmare.

And even with the dark picture in that room, with your face smeared in The Otsutsuki's latest victim's blood, you hear his breathing pick up pace, grunts coming from deep in his throat as his dick mercilessly works your tight channel.

The man's length beneath your body lost its rigidity, uselessly stuffing you.  

You have no idea how much time elapsed in that assault, for your consciousness shut down a few times and you were forcibly awakened by his slapping.

Eventually, his seed mixes with the blood coming from your not-so-virgin opening. Beastly sounds are heard from behind you as your eyes close in defeat, tears continue to fall unchecked.

And suddenly the last sensation you experience in your life is that of such abuse. 

Accompanied by the sharp cold metal teeth of the kunai that slits your throat and robs you of your last breath.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Yeah, so I read your HP headcanons/analysis and I found it really well put. I was wondering about your thoughts on Dumbledore and who he really was as a person. (It’s okay if you don’t really want to reply :> )

We’re just getting all up into The Carnivorous Muffin headcanon land, aren’t we?

Well, this one’s probably obvious to anyone who reads my work.

I fall on the manipulative Dumbledore side of things and then some. Dumbledore is not only a bastard man but is a raging misogynist and extremely classist (which is funny because I don’t see too many people calling him out for those last two when to me canon all but shouts it at you). 

Basically, what it comes down to, is even taken in very good faith I simply cannot read Dumbledore’s actions as benign in pretty much every single goddamn decision he makes ever.

God, where do I even start here? I guess we can go chronologically.

Well, there was Dumbledore’s Wizard Nazi youth with an oddly Dorian Gray flare to it with Gellert. I think it’s fairly obvious why Dumbledore’s not exactly... good there so I’m going to skip past it. Suffice to say, it took his sister’s death (and maybe murdering his own invalid sister) for Dumbledore to stop planning world domination. Even then it wasn’t so much that world domination was wrong, but because his sister died and he was an asshole.

I’m going to go ahead and include CoG and Fantastic Beasts because I can (CoG, while a terrible movie, actually does entertain me in many ways). Anyways, before the films came out I always considered the younger Dumbledore far more stoic and brooding. He doesn’t get his eccentric persona until after the defeat of Grindelwald and was before then angsty mcangsts and an academic at heart. 

Well, per CoG, apparently he was a budding spy master long before defeating Gellert/Voldemort popped up. We see him manipulating Newt, sending him to Paris as his own agent, WHEN NEWT DOESN’T WANT TO GO AND HAS ACKNOWLEDGED THAT DUMBLEDORE USED HIM INTHE LAST FILM. Dumbledore writes off having used Newt for his own agenda with a charming smile but none the less it paints a pretty grim picture that Albus has always been... Albus. There has always been a greater good out there somewhere and the man is always using someone as a pawn.

Cut to canon and his treatment of Tom Riddle. Frankly, Dumbledore’s treatment of the young Tom Riddle, and even Tom Riddle just before he came Voldemort, is insane. The thought experiment I like to run is “replace Tom in those scenes with Harry Potter”.

Harry was a poor orphan, whose guardians would more than match what Mrs. Cole said about Tom Riddle, who had spurts of accidental magic now and then and enjoyed when his bully cousin was discomfitted. Now, imagine Dumbledore giving Harry his letter, and then pretending to light all of Harry’s possessions on fire to “teach him a lesson”. What the fuck?

Now, am I saying Tom Riddle wasn’t creepy here and that killing a rabbit was terrible. No. But I am saying Dumbledore had a horrible reaction to it and is proud of it years later. (Also, the fact that he uses this memory to convince Harry of how evil Tom is, is hilarious to me. Dumbledore, you were the shit that lit people’s wardrobes on fire. If I was Tom, I’d be upset too). 

Dumbledore is always like this with Tom Riddle. He thinks the worst of Tom even in points where Tom hasn’t done anything. I’m not talking about later when, yes, Tom did live up to Dumbledore’s fears but when Dumbledore treats him like garbage and actively sabotaged Tom’s career.

Anyways, cut to later when the Marauders are in school. One of the big things is that Dumbledore puts up a guerilla resistance gang OF SCHOOL CHILDREN. While most members are older, James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Peter are all only just out of Hogwarts. “Well,” you say, “It’s their choice and they did graduate. Surely Dumbledore wasn’t actually recruiting school children.” I point you towards canon, where Dumbledore convinces three actual school children that the fate of the nation rests on their shoulders and to go fight the good fight. So yes, Dumbledore canonically uses child soldiers and has no regret for doing so.

The other is letting James and Sirius off the hook for the Lupin incident. While Dumbledore talks the talk this showed that he was not willing to walk the walk. True, while getting them into major trouble would have involved outing Lupin (who was innocent in all of this) at the same time they were nearly responsible for the murder of another student. It’s very convenient that Dumbledore lets off the rich son of a lord, two individuals who later end up in the resistance movement (Potter likely funding part of it), and tells the impoverished half blood to sit down and shut up.

And in canon, yes, I believe that Dumbledore absolutely knew what Harry’s home condition was like. While the blood wards are an excuse they aren’t a particularly good one as for most of Harry’s childhood the Death Eaters were all accounted for. Harry was in no extreme danger from them. To not have had an inkling of Harry’s home life (when Harry even hints at it when wanting to stay over the summer, Harry runs away from home in third year, Fred and George see the bars on the window, and he even visits Harry’s home in sixth year) would be such laughable incompetence and stupidity it’s right out.

With that, I absolutely do believe what Snape showed us in the memory, the Dumbledore behind the scenes as it were. That Dumbledore knew fairly early that Harry Potter was a horcrux and began grooming Harry for suicide. Specifically, that’s what sixth year really is. All those memories of Tom Riddle, the pretext to get some memory from Slughorn, it’s an excuse for a smear campaign designed to convince Harry that Tom Riddle is inherently evil and must die at all costs, even Harry’s own life. 

Dumbledore didn’t need that Slughorn memory. Sure, it was useful to know Tom intended to make seven but think about it. How did Dumbledore know there’d be anything remotely useful in there? He doesn’t know that Tom actually drops a number on Slughorn. Even then, he doesn’t know whether Tom actually goes and does it. All of it felt like, “Harry, I have a super secret important mission that only YOU can do. Can you handle it, Harry? Because without this the country is surely doomed” And in that I mean it was an effort to win back Harry’s favor after the previous year meltdown, keep him busy, and start in on the excuse to show Harry some pretty damn innocuous memories of Tom Riddle and go, “See, HE IS EVIL!”

Due to this, I frankly think that the train scene was a hallucination on Harry’s part. Wishful thinking for some gentle explanation of how Dumbledore had not cruelly used him for years and intended his death. 

Well, that and it never made much sense that Dumbledore could predict Harry’s a) becoming the master of death b) miraculous second resurrection.

In the first case, Harry becomes master of death because of wand lore bullshit and happenstance where Harry happens to save Draco’s life. Dumbledore had no idea such a thing would happen. Dumbledore’s plan was for there to be no master of death, as the wand would default to having no owner when Snape defeated Dumbledore on Dumbledore’s orders. That Draco got the wand is a sort of Deus ex Machina. Sorry guys, Dumbledore intended Harry to die.

More, even then, while Dumbledore was very into the occult of these things we leave canon without any idea if these things are even responsible for his resurrection. They’re just relatively nifty objects with a legend behind them. There was nothing concrete to suggest that, should Harry happen to get all of them, he would be able to rise from the dead.

Otherwise onto the misogyny and classism parts.

In terms of misogyny this is from every time Dumbledore talks about Lily Evans or Merope Gaunt. In the case of Lily, she’s this weird Madonna figure whose love for Harry was so powerful it saved his life. That she also happened to make these blood wards Dumbledore cannot reproduce and extended her protection to Harry wherever he went is irrelevant. It’s her love that counts. That feminine, maternal, love purer than all others.

Basically, Dumbledore seems to be of the belief that women are flowers. The best of women are these demure, selfless, brave women who sacrifice themselves for their children. Yikes, Dumbledore.

Merope’s the really bad one though. Merope’s tale is how she drugged and raped a defenseless muggle for months and then he escaped. Dumbledore spins it into this Victorian tale of woe where Tom Riddle Sr. THE KIDNAPPED RAPE VICTIM is the asshole here who abandoned Merope to the merciless cold world. How dare he. 

It’s very clear that Dumbledore doesn’t see Merope, or women in general, as people. Instead these weird Victorian ideals who can be tragic victims of circumstance.

As for the classism.

While Dumbledore’s very against the pureblood culture we see in the Malfoys a lot of his treatment of Tom Riddle feels very... classist. The big one, which is a little tangential but I say it counts, is Dumbledore’s theory that children of rape are incapable of love. Granted, he’s saying this while convincing Harry to kill himself for the good of the cause and there is a real world parallel in that alcohol/drugs while pregnant is a very bad idea that can lead to extreme mental and physical health disorders. That said, we’re talking love potions at conception, and it always read more as “rape babies” vs. specific drugs. And that is... just yikes on so many levels.

Now, do I agree with manipulative Dumbledore we see in many fics? No, because Dumbledore’s not that stupid.

He doesn’t need to borrow money from Harry’s vault, he doesn’t need to pay off Hermione and Ron to be Harry’s friends, he doesn’t need to choose Harry’s friends for him, he doesn’t need to manipulate Harry’s memories directly. He doesn’t need to do any of this because he got what he wanted just fine in canon.

Dumbledore is one of the smartest characters in canon, far smarter than Harry, and he doesn’t have to stoop to such outrageous schemes to get what he wants. Poorly concealed smear campaigns convincing Harry to commit suicide are more than enough.

[limerental]

ficletvember - day 2

yennskier/yenralt/geraskefer - prompt: amnesia

"Ah, Geralt! There you are!"

Geralt looks up from his untouched morning meal of soggy groats, peering through the haze of cigar smoke that fills the mess hall of the boarding house even so early in the day. He does not quite have the patience or time to deal with the bard's theatrics, not when last night Yennefer had not met him at their first planned rendezvous or their second. Geralt has been reluctantly forced to fall back to their third option which is, infuriatingly, wait as instructed until something happens.

Jaskier, ignorant of or used to his tense mood, flops onto the stool across from him and leans to inspect Geralt's meal for anything worth stealing.

"Morning, good morning, I've uh, well, I've acquired something of a charity case since we last parted."

"Is that some code for something I’m meant to be savvy to?"

"Yes, yes, you old man, it's code for I found a lost girl last night with not a lick of memory. Must have bumped her head or something. And very poorly dressed. Barefoot on the streets. Brought her back to my room to--"

"Jaskier."

"Oh hush, always thinking the worst of me, Geralt. It's truly offensive. I fetched her some clothing and was quite gentlemanly. She's still sleeping."

"And?"

"And we're going to help her."

"I'm busy."

"What with your erm… what were you doing with Yennefer again? Tracking that mage?"

"She didn't meet me last night."

"Oh."

"Could be trouble."

"Right, yeah, and what's the plan then?"

"Wait for her," Geralt grits out. He hates this plan. But trusts Yennefer. The mage is dangerous and potentially ornery, and this is Yennefer's business, Geralt involved only by chance meeting and because she allowed it. Nothing to be done. 

"Mmmm riveting. Sounds like you simply have too much on your plate to help one poor young maiden. Booked full."

Geralt sighs.

If this is just another of Jaskier's more elaborate methods of wooing some poor, confused, likely hungover girl, then he will have some choice words to say.

*

The girl is not hungover or otherwise impaired, the stink of enchantments hitting him before Geralt has even reached the landing on the narrow stairs that lead to the bard's rented rooms. Soot and copper and something else, something familiar.

The room is sparse but comfortable, a spare cot placed by the crackling fire and a lumpy shape on the mattress by the window. A woman, curled in a fetal position, slight and olive-skined, lies dressed in one of Jaskier's blue undershirts, her dark hair tangled across the pillows. At the sound of the door closing behind them, she startles awake and shoves herself up, the oversized shirt slumping off one shoulder and hair a mess of frizz.

Geralt knows her at once and in the same breath, she is a stranger. He grunts, his mind blurring as he resists whatever magic lies heavily on her. Simply requires some concentration.

"Here she is then, Geralt this is-- ah yes, she's forgotten her name. Poor dear. We can fix that though, yes? My friend is here to help you."

"I know her."

"Er…"

"It's a memory enchantment. I could push through it with a bit of time."

"Right, right, don't allow me to hold you back. Get right on that. Push on through."

"And quiet."

"Peace and quiet, yes, yeah. Undoubtedly. Makes a good bit of sense."

"Jaskier?" asks the woman, her voice soft and touched by uncertainty. "Is it too late to come back to bed? My head is killing me." 

She gestures with an open palm, the other resting on her folded knees, as though expecting the bard to settle down with her on the mattress. 

Jaskier reaches to take her hand.

Geralt gives him a Look.

"Thought you didn't--"

"I didn't! She had a nightmare. She--"

"I'm no maiden," says the girl. "I don't need your protection."

"Haven't you lost your memory? How could you know that?"

She goes a bit cross-eyed in consideration of this. Jaskier settles onto the bed beside her, his arm snug around her shoulders. She lets out an unsteady breath and slumps against him, turning her forehead into his side. Jaskier ignores Geralt's disapproving look to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"Geralt can help. He'll moan about it, but he’s plenty good at helping. Except with sums, I swear, that man cannot count to ten to save his--"

"Jaskier. Concentration."

"Right. I'll just let you--"

"Jaskier!"

Geralt breathes through his nose, eyes closed, allowing the room to fall away and the enchantment to thrum around him. Wood-ash and smoke, a sharp, acrid scent, then lilacs and--

He opens his eyes to see Yennefer cradled under the bard's arm, brow relaxing its deep grooves as he hums something into her hair.

It may take only her name to dispel the fog in her mind and lift the curse.

Geralt hesitates.

"Would you sing the one you did last night?" Yen mutters, meant for only Jaskier to hear. How vulnerable she looks, voice heavy with sleep. "The one about the nightingale?"

He relents at once, whispering the lyrics against her hair, shifting subtly back and forth in time to the melody. How small Yennefer looks curled up next to Jaskier, how strangely well-suited they appear to one another. They scarcely can stand each other at the best of times, falling into nagging and bickering when forced into close proximity. 

Not so now.

Yennefer balls her hands into fists against her the bard’s chest, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Jaskier's eyes drift shut, cheek against the crown of her head, shaping the lilting tones of the lullaby with rounded mouth.

Oh, neither of them are ever going to live this down.

"I know who she is," says Geralt softly, loathe to break the moment. 

"And?"

"It will have to break naturally. Memory is fickle. Dangerous to mess with."

"And when will that be?"

"Not long. It's a strong enchantment. But not for one such as her."

"Come to bed," whispers Yennefer against Jaskier’s neck, her jaw stretching in an exaggerated yawn. "Fucking exhausted. Sing me the one about the housecat and the fiddle."

"Right away, my lady."

*

Geralt feels the curse break just past midday, Yennefer tensing suddenly in the sleeping bard's arms, her head lifting from his chest. 

"Geralt," she says stiffly, rousing him from his light meditation near the threshold of the room. "How much did I fucking drink last night? And please, if I embarrassed myself -- which I clearly did -- tell me it wasn't in public."

"You'll be the talk of this town for ages."

"Shut up, Witcher. What did I--"

"Memory curse. On you and around you."

"Amateur bastard," she cursed. "He could have at least cast something more creative."

Jostled by her shifting and griping, Jaskier awakes with a sleepy moan, soon swallowed by a shrill squeak of alarm as he recognizes his bed partner. He seems ready to attempt a dramatic escape off the other side of the bed if not for the body pinning his arm.

"Yennefer! Lovely to er… remember you!"

"Good morning, darling. Give us a kiss," drawls Yennefer.

Jaskier blanches, looking from the mage in his arms to Geralt and back again, until his floundering is finally interrupted by his brain properly kicking back on.

"You!" He points at Yennefer who blinks at him innocently. "You made me sing you lullabies."

"Mmm doesn't sound like me."

"And you!” He swings to point at Geralt. “You knew and didn't say anything! Gah!"

Yennefer shoves herself up, narrowing her eyes. Uh-oh.

"You knew? And allowed this idiot to rock me in his arms like a babe?"

"You looked peaceful," says Geralt. 

"Mmmm," hums Yennefer.

"Oh!" Jaskier exclaims, his hand curling around Yennefers hip as he snuggles down into the warmed linens. "I slept with Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yennefer’s violet eyes gleam.

"You have permission to beat him," says Geralt.

"When did I ever need your permission to do anything?"

Alarmed shouts echo through the walls of the boarding house. 

But that night, music.

[witcherslittledove]

A prompt sent to my main by @reveniemus that I made DD with permission! This will be on AO3 probably tomorrow.

Have some Geralt/Jaskier/Valdo.

CW: Non Con (Poor Valdo), Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Inappropriate Use of Axii, blow jobs, anal sex, threesome - M/M/M, rough sex, humiliation.

__

Jaskier smirked as he sipped at his wine, watching his dearest nemesis peacock from across the room. His witcher’s hand was on his thigh, a low growl in Geralt’s chest as they watched the man who had attempted to drag Jaskier’s name through the mud and ruin his reputation. It was only Jaskier’s high standing at Oxenfurt that had saved him from falling from grace, but the Academy’s hands were tied and Jaskier was not allowed to bite back at Marx.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t have his revenge, it would just have to be a more crude execution. Luckily, Jaskier had Geralt on his side, and the lovely witcher was rather smitten with him, so desperate to please him. Even if that meant going against that adorable moral code of his.

And thus, Valdo Marx was in more danger tonight than he could possibly realise. They weren’t going to hurt him, not physically at least. That would be too obvious, too hard to deny. No, Jaskier planned on scarring his rival in a more mental capacity. Valdo had nearly taken Jaskier’s entire career from him, his reason for existing, so Jaskier was going to take Valdo’s body. He just needed a little assistance from Geralt to… convince his dearest rival to agree.

“That him?” Geralt asked, voice low so only Jaskier could hear over the music.

Jaskier hummed in agreement, catching Geralt’s wandering hands in his own and bringing them up to his lips in a kiss.

“It’s too busy, too many people.”

Too many witnesses.

“Not to worry, dear heart,” Jaskier sang sweetly, and then slid from his seat and strutting over to the troubadour. “Marx, you overgrown peacock!” he called loudly, distracting the audience. “Why don’t you let some real talent play, darling?”

“If any arrives, I will,” Valdo shot back with a smirk that Jaskier couldn’t wait to wipe off his face.

Jaskier hissed, his fists clenching at his side, but he managed to bite his tongue before he could launch a full attack. “Your life surely must be a misery if you cannot see that I am clearly the superior bard, please, indulge me, dearest.”

Valdo scoffed but gestured to the shitty makeshift stage. “I need a drink anyway, try not to murder my eardrums.”

Excellent, the plan was coming together. Valdo would head over to the bar and Geralt would be able to lure him upstairs with a quick flash of Axii whilst Jaskier was entertaining the crowds. The audience was quickly captivated by Jaskier’s performance as he danced and twirled around the room, ignoring the stage as he flirted with the most beautiful people, fleecing them of their coin. His eyes tracked Geralt as he led a rather docile Valdo Marx away from the bar and upstairs, then after just a couple more songs, Jaskier announced that he was done and thanked them for their time.

He had other business to attend to.

By the time Jaskier had reached their room, Valdo was stripped naked, his clothes crumpled and wrinkled on the floor. His silvery grey eyes were blank and unseeing as Geralt watched him from where he was leaning on the wall. The witcher gestured to the helpless bard on the bed as if to say ‘all yours.’

Jaskier winked, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips as he approached the bed, his cock already filling out, his head dizzy with power. “Oh Valdo, look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so quiet.”

“Hmm.”

Grabbing a fistful of Valdo’s dark brown hair, Jaskier pulled his rival’s head back, admiring the lack of fight from the normally bratty bard. “Can you snap him out of it whenever?”

Geralt nodded.

“Brilliant, wait until he’s choking on my cock, then we’ll see what he has to say,” Jaskier winked. “Care to open him up for me, love? Don’t be too careful, we want him to feel it.”

The witcher rolled his eyes but dutifully joined Valdo on the bed, slicking his fingers in oil before pushing two of them into the bard's hole. Even in his drugged out state, Valdo whimpered, tears springing to his eyes. Jaskier noted with delight that his dear rival was hard, and if they wanted to, it would be so easy to pretend the little whore was with them willingly, but Jaskier had no such wishes. He wanted this just as it was, the knowledge that they were taking this without permission burning through his veins.

He wondered why he’d never thought to do this before. He could have fucked Valdo a hundred times over when they were students at Oxenfurt, the bastard slept like the dead, he probably wouldn’t have even woken up.

Gods, he was messed up.

But Geralt was right here with him. The monster slayer helping a monster… how quaint.

Every sound and helpless whimper that fell from Valdo’s lips only heightened Jaskier’s arousal, until he found himself palming against his cock in a bid for release. Geralt’s own erection was evident in his sinfully tight leather trousers, his eyes blown wide as he caught Jaskier’s gaze. He looked magnificent, his fingers deep inside Jaskier’s rival, silver hair falling in front of his face, his eyes almost as black as the night.

Jaskier moaned, tearing at his own doublet and trousers. He left his shirt on, too desperate to bother with it as his breeches and smallclothes fell around his ankles. He was almost tempted to jerk himself off, cumming all over Valdo’s face and hair. The other bard loved to look as perfect as possible so the image of him covered in Jaskier’s spend was almost too much.

He bit back a moan, stroking his cock lazily as he winked at Geralt. “Ready, love?”

Geralt groaned, his eyes trailing down Jaskier’s body, hungry and wanting. “Yes,” he grunted.

This time, Jaskier couldn’t contain his moan as he pressed his cock into Valdo’s mouth, gripping his shoulders as he tried to steady himself. His breath hitched as Valdo’s jaw went slack and there was very little resistance as Jaskier’s cock was enveloped by the slick heat of his rival’s throat. Gods, the bastard would struggle to sing tomorrow if Jaskier did this right, and under the sign of Axii it seemed as though Valdo had lost his gag reflex, taking Jaskier deep into his mouth until Jaskier was fully sheathed.

He almost came from the sight alone.

It was heaven sent.

“Now,” he hissed at his witcher.

Geralt’s fingers moved quickly, one hand gripped on Valdo’s hips to keep him still and pressed against his clothed erection. Silver eyes brightened with recognition and Valdo choked beautifully around Jaskier’s cock, but before he could protest, Geralt had pulled his own trousers down, fucking into the bard with one sharp thrust.

Any cries that would have escaped were muffled by Jaskier’s cock, but that didn’t stop Valdo moaning helplessly or clawing at the sheets beneath his fingers. His eyes were wide and pleading, tears catching in his long eyelashes. The poor bastard could do nothing as Geralt fucked into him, pushing his mouth further onto Jaskier and every moan, cry and pitiful whimper sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. It was electric, sparks of lightning flying through his body like magic.

The best part was the dribble of pre-cum leaking onto the sheets beneath Valdo. Despite his protests, Valdo’s body was reacting perfectly, and Jaskier knew exactly how to dig the knife into his rival’s soul.

“Such a pretty little bitch,” Jaskier cooed, “taking our cocks like this. Gods, Valdo you’re already leaking. I bet you were just desperate to be fucked, you wouldn’t have said no even if we’d given you the chance, would you?”

Valdo couldn’t reply, but Jaskier could see he was trying to shake his head.

“Now, now, darling. You can’t lie. I can see your arousal, and I have no doubt that my dear witcher can smell it on you. You’re going to cum on our cocks, aren’t you darling?”

There was another muffled cry, but Jaskier just pulled at Valdo’s hair, fucking into his mouth with little care. It felt sinful, wet and warm around him, a hole for Jaskier to use no different from his arse was to Geralt. The noises coming from the room were obscene, no better than a whore house, as both bard and witcher chased their pleasure from the less than willing body beneath their hands. Geralt grunted, his eyes squeezed tight as his head dropped forward. Strong muscles bulged as they held Valdo in place, his scarred skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

He looked like a gift from the gods, everything that Jaskier ever desired.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as Geralt’s thrusts grew erratic and Jaskier felt his own carefully crafted control start to crack.

But it was Valdo spilling onto the sheets, moaning around his cock, that sent Jaskier over the edge, and Geralt followed soon after. Once they managed to catch their breaths, Geralt and Jaskier tidied themselves up.

“Well this was a delight, Marx, truly a pleasure,” he winked at Geralt. “But my witcher and I must leave you now. No hard feelings, dearest.”

And then they left, leaving Valdo covered in cum and sweat, sobbing into the filthy sheets in some forgotten inn at the edges of civilization.

[isabilightwood]

The Problem With Authority - Chapter 7

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

[AO3][1][2][3][4][5][6]

Awareness rushed in with a crack like lightning. With it came pain, but not as much as Wei Wuxian would have expected from exploding into a pulp of blood and guts.

The ground beneath him felt solid. Cool and rough like poorly sanded wood, nothing like the smooth, burning volcanic stone that should have bordered the river of lava, should he have been unlucky enough to neither fall in nor die on impact.

Wei Wuxian was still, it seemed, in possession of arms. Because those were what hurt — and only those. That, and a bit of a crick in his neck from lying face down on a hard surface, and a possible splinter in his cheek.

He inhaled the scent of dried blood with every breath, and still, only his forearms burned.

Dust from the floor made his nose itch.

Fuck. He was alive. And definitely not at the bottom of a cliff.

He could only conclude that he had been resurrected. A few feet away he would find the names of whoever someone had decided to give up their very soul to destroy.

What if he just… didn’t? Wei Wuxian hadn’t agreed to this. He hadn’t wanted to be brought back. He’d only wanted the two people left in the world he cared about to live, without him around to get in the way.

He lay there longer than necessary, contemplating it. But in his heart, he always knew he would get up. Besides, he felt… not great, honestly. But more alive than he’d felt in a while. Like his soul had taken a nice sabbatical.

Like he’d come out of an extended, impossibly peaceful meditation. Similar to that used to cultivate to immortality, but for the dead. And landed in a body only slightly less full of resentful energy than the one he’d vacated.

Wei Wuxian pushed against the floor, raising his head. Someone gasped.

As he raised himself into a seating position, he swept the curtain of hair away from his eyes, and laid eyes on a stranger. A short young woman, draped in Jin gold and muted pink, both hands pressed over her mouth. A sword lay on the ground next to her, almost like she’d dropped it.

But cultivators never dropped their swords.

“A-Xian!” The woman breathed.

That couldn’t be good. Only Shijie had ever called him that. Did the Yiling Patriarch still have obsessive followers even after he so publicly self-destructed? Or worse, had the Jin decided to use him for their own purposes.

Wei Wuxian had only just been resurrected, and he was already in trouble.

Unfortunately, wherever he’d been must have been peaceful, because Wei Wuxian was feeling a lot less self-destructive, compared to the last thing he remembered:

Lan Zhan, still trying to save him, though he was already dead long before destroying the Stygian Tiger Amulet sealed the deal. Jiang Cheng, finally done with him, but missing his swing, and nearly killing Lan Zhan as well. Wei Wuxian had been happy to fall.

Yet now he felt more alive than he had in years.

Which meant that whatever this was, he had to deal with it. Ugh.  “Who are you?”

“Oh, right. You won’t recognize me like this.” She hurried to the wall behind her, and picked up a tureen. Wei Wuxian maneuvered himself into a sitting position as she did so, readying himself to run, once his legs felt strong enough.

And once he figured out who this woman and who the poor sap had killed himself for revenge expected the great and terrible Yiling Patriarch to kill.

She set it down on the edge of the array, and lifted the lid.

Only one thing in the world smelled like that. Just the smell was enough to bring tears to his eyes. His world shifted on its axis. “Shijie?”

She nodded, blinking rapidly.

He launched himself forward out of the array, and into her arms. “I’m sorry.” He sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Xianxian, no. I’m here.” She said, but she was crying too.

They fell to the ground together, and, because neither Wei Wuxian nor Jiang Yanli had ever been ashamed of crying, stayed that way for a long time. He stroked her hair and clung like he was nine years old again, and she was the first person he could remember tucking him in at night. The one he ran to when he didn’t understand why Madame Yu hated him so much. But now, she clung back just as fiercely.

He couldn’t believe she was here. Who would ever have summoned sweet, caring Jiang Yanli to take revenge? Few people knew how strong she was in spirit. And the body she was wearing remained entirely unfamiliar. Smaller, but more solid in his arms than Shijie had ever been.

Eventually, she pulled away, just far enough to ladle out a bowl of soup and press it into his hands. She watched him like a hawk until he’d eaten half the bowl, though he was still more than a little choked up.

When she was satisfied he wasn’t going to wither and starve to death in the next five minutes, she said, “There’s something else you should know. Your Lan Wangji —”

“He’s not mine.” No matter how much he wished it. Wei Wuxian had only ever cast his shadow on Lan Zhan’s light. He couldn’t let himself do that to him again.

“You should let him decide that for himself, but that wasn’t the point.” Shijie rolled her eyes as she patted his hand. She even took away his bowl and set it on the ground, which went to show that this was serious. Shijie would never take away soup without good reason. “He saved your A-Yuan. Lan Yuan, courtesy Sizhui now. ”

“Sizhui? Lan Zhan — me?” Lan Zhan couldn’t really have named his A-Yuan Sizhui, could he? That was — Wei Wuxian had been the one yearning, longing for someone out of reach. After Wei Wuxian’s first stint in the Burial Mounds, he never could have been worthy of Lan Zhan, of what they could have meant to each other. Lan Zhan, well meaning, had persisted in trying to help him. But he hadn’t thought Lan Zhan would still — not after all he’d done.

“A-Xian.” Shijie wiped her thumbs under his eyes, and he realized he’d begun crying again. “Those of us who know you for who you are, and not the masks you show the world, cannot help but love you.”

Lan Zhan was — Lan Zhan —

Wei Wuxian could not drag him into this, whatever revenge he was expected take. But maybe, someday —

“Anything else I should know while I’m out of tears?” He asked, when his eyes were swollen and puffy and finally dry.

She told him about the Wen siblings, and he wasn’t out of tears after all. At least Shijie had always been a sympathetic crier, so at least he wasn’t alone in his weeping.

After their tears finally died away, and Shijie had plucked a pair of his drying talismans from her sleeve, she refilled his soup. Wei Wuxian really was out of tears this time, or he might have started off again.

Only then did he remember to clarify what, exactly, was going on. Now that Shijie had told him all the important things. That he hadn’t gotten everyone he ever loved killed or condemned to a life of misery, after all.

“How did you manage this?” He asked around a mouthful off heavenly pork. “Whose body is this, I mean? And yours?”

Wei Wuxian listened with increasing horror as Jiang Yanli told the story of waking up in the body of the new Madame Jin, all the way through to the array he’d woken up in. His curiosity was sparked by the implications of what Qin Su had done — closer to what he’d been trying to accomplish with the arrays than anything he’d been able to achieve.

And she’d done it entirely by accident, with consequences they had yet to fully understand. All of which seemed to rest on Qin Su’s shoulders, with no signs that Shijie was anything but firmly anchored in her body. It bore further investigation anyways.

Though for the moment, another concern was more pressing.

“Xue Yang?” Shijie had gone near Xue Yang to bring him back? That twisted, murdering bastard without even a sense of scale to temper his depravity. And she’d done it for him. He wasn’t worth the risk. He should have killed Xue Yang years ago, when he had the chance — There was a wrenching feeling in his gut as his fear and anger spiked, irrationally, over a matter already settled. “Oh, ow. What the fuck.”

No, not his gut. His lower dantian.  That sure was a tainted golden core, so it really must have been Xue Yang. The state of his golden core would certainly explain why Wei Wuxian felt so off.

Xue Yang’s golden core, which was now his. A golden core, something he’d long believed lost to him forever, resting inside him, an unwilling gift from his enemy.

Wei Wuxian was simultaneously disgusted and euphoric.

He’d never had to deal with the risk of qi deviation before, because the resentful energy hadn’t interacted nearly so badly with the sluggish flow in his meridians after its driving force was removed.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Yanli put one hand over his forehead, and held his wrist in the other. He felt her, prodding around for what was wrong with spiritual energy. Something she never could have managed before.

Only Wen Qing knew how to treat this, though.

“Well, when a cultivator with a golden core uses demonic cultivation, it taints it with resentful energy. A little is fine and gets burned off, but a lot like Xue Yang — I’m surprised at how well he was holding off from a qi deviation, honestly.” “That’s why when I —” He broke off in a laugh.

Shit.

It was too much to hope that Shijie hadn’t caught his slip. “A-Xian. What happened to your golden core?”

“Um.” He really should have said Wen Zhuliu, but he couldn’t lie directly to Shijie. Not when she was staring at him, wide-eyed and concerned. Even if those eyes weren’t the ones he knew.

Wei Wuxian dared anyone to resist that.

When his confession was complete, she said nothing. Only sniffled.

Finally, she hugged him tight again, and ladled out more soup, though Wei Wuxian had yet to finish the second bowl. He dug in, shoveling each bite in, but chewing slowly, savoring the flavor like he’d never known he should before.

Tainted or not, the golden core inside him was fully formed and strong. An impossibility and a blessing.

“Are you all finished with the emotional reunion?” Nie Huaisang of all people swanned through the door. “Great! Hi, Wei-xiong!”

Gaping, he looked from Nie Huaisang to Shijie.

Shijie’s expression said oh right, him.

Ok, then. This was happening. “Hi, Nie-xiong. How have you been.”

Nie Huaisang plopped down in a heap across the soup tureen from him. “I’ve been better! Jin Guangyao killed my Dage, so we’re getting revenge.”

“Right, Shijie told me. Is he the only one I have to kill?”

Shijie shook her head, confirming his suspicions. “Him, another sect leader, and a few of Jin Guangyao’s guards. I’ll write the names down for you.”

Wei Wuxian really wanted to be done killing people. He wanted to — well, he wanted an impossibility. Traveling with Lan Zhan and A-Yuan, visiting Shijie and Jiang Cheng often in Lotus Pier, helping Wen Ning grow new varieties of vegetables in his garden, and arguing cultivation theory with Wen Qing. Even if Lan Zhan still wanted him, if they saved both the Wens, Jiang Cheng would never want to see him.

Shijie turned to Nie Huaisang. “We need to get him in to see Wen Qing.”

“Well, I can certainly provide a distraction, but he can’t just walk into Koi Tower like that.” Nie Huaisang hummed, tapping his closed fan against his lips. “You need a disguise.”

“A mask?” That would be the easiest thing to get a hold of.

But Nie Huaisang was shaking his head. “No, no, that won’t work. That’s just suspicious. You need something no one will see through.”

“I’ll think about it.” He wasn’t entirely sure that a mask wasn’t the solution — just not the sort of mask anyone else had ever come up with.

“You do that. In the meantime,” Nie Huaisang clapped his hands together. “Questions.”

“How did you get Xue Yang to give up his body to me?” Shijie hadn’t mentioned the details, but Wei Wuxian assumed the trickery had been at Nie Huaisang’s hands.

But Nie Huaisang tsked and shook his head. “I didn’t do it. Your sister did.”

“Shijie?”

“I lied.” She said, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. By the time she finished explaining what she’d done, he was looking at her in an entirely new light. “I wanted you back. I could save you, so I did.”

“Shijie. I — but. Your husband.” Wei Wuxian had been so caught up in having her back, that he hadn’t even apologized yet. What kind of useless brother was he?

Nie Huaisang got to his feet and practically ran for the door at the first sign of emotion.

“It wasn’t on purpose.” Shijie tried to put her hand on his shoulder, but Wei Wuxian flinched away.

“How did you know?” After all the time he’d spent antagonizing Jin Zixuan, calling him the Peacock and even attacking him in public, no one should have been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Shijie did not deign to answer, simply looked at him as though the question was ridiculous. As though she still trusted him, after everything.

“Well, you’re right. I didn’t mean to, but it was my fault.” No matter how he thought of it, if it were not for Wei Wuxian — if he’d taken a less obvious route, if he’d taken Wen Qing with him instead or gone alone, if he’d imposed on Lan Zhan enough to ask for an escort, if he’d simply remembered how easily the power given by the Yin Iron could be stolen away — . “I stole Wen Ruohan’s control, and I forgot someone could do the same to me.”

“It is not your fault. You were ambushed, and scared, and trying to defend yourself.” Shijie hugged him, and again, he melted into her arms.

“It is, though. It is.” Wei Wuxian choked down a sob. He really couldn’t start that back up again. “I just wanted to meet your son.”

“You will.” She assured him, petting his hair soothingly, the way she had as long as he’d known her. Wei Wuxian couldn’t believe his luck.

When they emerged from the warehouse, Nie Huaisang was waiting.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Shijie asked Nie Huaisang.

“If it’s here, Xue Yang hid it well.” He sighed heavily, and didn’t even flourish his fan. So clearly whatever he’d been searching for was important.

Something in this little town full of coffins and burial goods, complete with paper mannequins peering out the windows. It was scarcely dusk, but the streets were already empty. He could feel — but not see, not like the mysterious resident of Shijie’s head — the mostly inert resentful energy everywhere. He could see what would have attracted Xue Yang to the town, but not why he wouldn’t have simply made it more of a living hell, and moved along.

The slippery little bastard had done nothing but complain of boredom on the way to what should have been his execution, after all. “What was he doing here anyway? It’s an eerie little town, but you said he’d been here a while?”

“Well, he was kicked out by Jin Guangyao, and it seems he set up a domestic little arrangement with Xiao Xingchen.” Nie Huaisang made an effort to sound flighty but his mind was clearly still elsewhere.

How the — no, actually, he didn’t want to know. Everything Wei Wuxian learned of the events following his death was stranger and more unsettling. “And my shishu won’t wonder what happened when he never comes back?”

Peering into the darkness of an alley, Nie Huaisang flapped a hand dismissively. “I’m having Song Lan tracked down. He’ll forget all about him soon enough.”

Good for his shishu. He deserved his second chance at love. Wei Wuxian hadn’t had time to be devastated over their separation, the failure of what he’d wanted his life to be because he’d been too busy throwing it away.

But maybe, just maybe. If he completed Xue Yang’s revenge and was here to stay, if Shijie and A-Ling and the Wen siblings were all safe and secure. Maybe he could earn a second chance with Lan Zhan someday.

It would take years to make up for his mistakes, Wei Wuxian imagined, a slow courting of hundreds of handmade gifts and tracking down the most challenging hauntings across the cultivation world. He’d remind Lan Zhan that he was good with children, and be there to help him raise A-Yuan the rest of the way. Show him he would never miss another moment.

There went his imagination, wanting things that were distant possibilities as best. Who was to say Lan Zhan hadn’t moved on? All Shijie had to go on was guesses, gossip, and a glimpse.

They passed a row of coffins, just waiting to be filled with some unlucky sap. Wei Wuxian drew up short. “Why do I sense some really strong resentful energy?”

“Xue Yang was turning people into puppets for fun.” Nie Huaisang said, causing both him and Shijie to glare at him. It seemed he’d failed to mention that to both of them.

Though, honestly, Wei Wuxian should have guessed. He pinpointed the coffin that felt like a mass grave, and whistled with no force behind it. Even so, a shifting spiderweb of resentful energy briefly became visible. That was a ward. One that would take him about an hour to unravel, using demonic cultivation.

Or, conveniently, application of Xue Yang’s own spiritual energy.

“No, this is more static. Almost like — “ He shoved hard at the lid of the coffin, and it slid forward a few inches, letting out a cloud of black smoke. “Shit, Xue Yang’s piece of Yin Iron.”

“Excellent! Exactly what I was looking for.” Nie Huaisang perked up, his usual good humor restored. “Do you think you can —” Shijie, uncharacteristically, pinched his arm sharply. “Jiang-guniang, why? I was going to say destroy it.”

“Sure,” He said absently. “Same way I did the Tiger Seal.”

“Can you destroy it without hurting yourself?” Shijie asked gently, reminding him exactly how that had gone.

“I can’t, but didn’t Lan Xichen manage it somehow?” He kept shoving at the lid, to no avail. Right, Xue Yang must have a sword somewhere. He reached into his sleeve and found a hilt, as well as a pair of qiankun bags.

“He said that, but Dage told me in confidence that the pair of them sealed them away again in secret. I don’t know if Erge told him where. I certainly don’t know.” Nie Huaisang paused. “And yes, I do mean that.”

The sword felt worse than the core, like it was used to Xue Yang’s cultivation. Jiangzai, it was called. That felt suiting. But though it resisted him, when Wei Wuxian sent a bolt of energy through it, the lid went flying into a wall thirty feet away.

Oh, so it was either nothing or too much with Jiangzai. He saw how it was.

Wei Wuxian stared down at the contents nestled inside. The Yin Iron was there, shaped into what looked like another Tiger Seal, but less powerful by far. Stacked right on top of two items that were undoubtedly just soaking in that resentful energy. Fuck. “Um. Nie-xiong? I think Xue Yang has your brother’s body. Also Baxia.”

It was agreed that Nie Mingjue’s body would have to be retrieved the next day, as Wei Wuxian had only just been resurrected and neither Nie Huaisang nor Shijie could fly. Shijie didn’t say, but he assumed she either hadn’t had time to learn, or temperamental swords were a side effect of resurrection.

In case it was the latter, he should probably bring that up at some point.

Shijie handed him some talisman paper, so he could construct a ward over the coffin, and they went down the foothills to an inn where Jin Ling was waiting.

His baby nephew had already been put to bed by the time they arrived. Which was all for the better because that meant Wei Wuxian actually got to see him.

Jin Ling was so big already, grown bigger than A-Yuan had been in what seemed to him the blink of an eye. Six years old, when he should have been all of a hundred days. Wei Wuxian reached out and hesitated, looking up at his shijie.

She nodded, watching them both with her heart in her eyes.

He hesitated several more times on the way to touching A-Ling’s hair, afraid that touch would shatter the illusion. But A-Ling didn’t disappear when Wei Wuxian touched him. A-Ling’s skin had the downy texture of childhood and his hair was silky under his fingertips, a sign of how healthy and loved he was. Jiang Cheng had taken such good care of him, though that never should have been his job, if not for Wei Wuxian.

A-Ling stirred under his touch, and he snatched his hand back, but the boy only shifted onto his side, and stuck his thumb into his mouth.

Wei Wuxian loved him so much, just as he’d known he would.

Because Wei Wuxian couldn’t bear to give up his scant moments with his darling nephew, he, Shijie, and Nie Huaisang sat on the floor to discuss how they would break Wei Wuxian into Koi Tower unnoticed.

Not something he ever expected to want. But he did want to see Wen Qing for himself — they needed to yell at each other for self-sacrifice, without her paralyzing him again. And Shijie would worry if she didn’t know he was alright. So Wei Wuxian supposed he would let Wen Qing poke around in Xue Yang’s core.

As Shije and Nie Huaisang heatedly (for them) debated their methods, Wei Wuxian occupied himself by unpacking Xue Yang’s bags item by item.

The current Nie First Disciple, a woman he’d fought alongside on occasion during the Sunshot Campaign, stood guard outside the door. Neither she, nor the younger disciples accompanying her, had seen remotely surprised to see him. So Wei Wuxian assumed resurrecting notorious traitors was just par for the course in things their sect leader did.

He reached in and grabbed something with an odd, elastic texture. Pulling it out, he flinched. And flung it on the floor.

It was a mask of someone’s face. He’d seen them before, when a possessed woman in Yunmeng had started carving the faces off her neighbors and wearing them as masks. This, though, was melded together to form a face disturbingly similar to Song Lan’s. And according to Nie Huaisang, Song Lan was still alive.

Had he written about that night hunt? Xue Yang could easily have modified the method. He would bet Jin Guangyao had focused on the profitable ideas among his inventions, and let Xue Yang make the most grotesque techniques of his demonic cultivation worse. The techniques that could do good had almost certainly been left to languish.

Even if Jin Guangyao wanted to leave reform as his legacy, he couldn’t openly use techniques that showed demonic cultivation was not all sacrificing virgins and creating puppets from amalgamated rotting meat. Better for him that the Yiling Laozu remained a monster under the bed, even if it meant leaving people to starve, their fields and forests tainted with resentful energy.

Well, if Xue Yang could twist his techniques, Wei Wuxian could twist them back.

“You, Wei-xiong, look like you’re having an idea.” Nie Huaisang fluttered his fan. Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between it, and the creepy skin mask on the ground.

He thought back to the brightest period of his childhood, flashes of a masked figured twirling and kicking on a stage, flourishing a fan in sharp movements, creating an illusion of transformation. “Nie-xiong. You’re a cultural connoisseur.”

“I make an effort.”

“That dance where the performer changes masks behind a fan — do you know how it works?” The dance, from Meishan, involved face changes, using greasepaint or changing the color of a beard. Or, more importantly, masks. Madame Yu had enjoyed it, often hiring troops from her natal sect’s territory to perform for guests and during festivals. Wei Wuxian didn’t know the trick to it, but Nie Huaisang might.

“The Bian Lian? That is a particular favorite of mine.”

“No, really? I would never have guessed.” He never would have expected Nie Huaisang of all people to enjoy a dance that involved fans! Or masks!

Nie Huaisang rapped him on the shin with his fan, and “Ow, fuck, is that thing made of steel?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Nie Huaisang said primly, which Wei Wuxian took as a yes.

“Huaisang.” Shijie gave him a disappointed look.

It wasn’t quite as stern as in her own face, Qin Su’s heart shaped face rendering it somehow even more gently chiding, but it was just as effective. Nie Huaisang sighed. “Yes, I know how it works. Would you like me to sketch a diagram?”

“Please.”

Wei Wuxian interpreted Nie Huaisang’s caving to Shijie as his having been officially taken under her wing. He wondered if that meant they were brothers now.

It was a little-known secret that Wei Wuxian was not the only child raised by Jiang Fengmian to collect family wherever he went. He had, in fact, picked up that trait from his sister. Around the time she’d decided he was her didi, no matter that Wei Wuxian was never officially adopted into the clan.

“What are you thinking, A-Xian?” Shijie asked, while Nie Huaisang was busy being unnecessarily artistic with his diagram. Wei Wuxian would have so many extraneous swirls to work around.

“Well, I’m not wearing that thing. I’m pretty sure it is human skin, just not the person’s face it’s copying.” Wei Wuxian might control corpses on occasion, but he wasn’t wearing one on his face. That was just gross, in a uniquely Xue Yang fashion. Just remembering the moment he’d touched it made him want to spend the next week becoming a prune in an excessively soapy bath. “But I can’t just run around like this.”

Neither Wei Wuxian’s own face nor Xue Yang’s was exactly ideal. But Xue Yang had committed each and every crime he was accused of, with more undoubtedly yet to come. Wei Wuxian had only committed some of crimes he was given credit for. He was grateful Shijie had ensured he was given his own back.

Besides, Wei Wuxian was clearly better looking than Xue Yang, whether they were being judged on a scale of handsomeness or prettiness.

That didn’t stop either face from being a problem. “So I thought, why not make a mask where I can pretend to be Xue Yang? But where I can also quickly change to a harmless face, and avoid any future angry mobs.”

Wei Wuxian would strongly prefer not to be the target of future angry mobs. The once had been more than enough.

“Impersonate Xue Yang? But A-Xian —” Shijie frowned, an expression he never wanted to put on her face. “Don’t get more involved in this than you need to be for my sake. I brought you back for selfish reasons, and I can ensure those marks disappear and leave you free.”

Obviously, Wei Wuxian would never do that. “Shijie, you brought me back because you care. And I love you too, so don’t tell me not to help you.”

She reached out to pet his hair, and he leaned into it. “You’ve sacrificed enough.”

Shijie might think so, but he would never agree. Wei Wuxian would always want to help. Not because he owed her for what he’d done — which he did — but because he loved her. On top of that, she was trying to overthrow a child murderer, and improve the lives of ordinary people in an unprecedented way. Of course he would do anything he could to help.

And he didn't want her to have to learn how to kill.

He pulled away, and grasped her too-slim shoulders instead to meet those bizarre, smaller eyes that still, somehow, felt like her. “It’s not about sacrifice. I can be a distraction for you. If Jin Guangyao’s as clever as you say — and I remember that was  my impression of him — he won’t stay ignorant of what you’re doing forever.”

“A-Xian—”

Wei Wuxian cut off her protest. This was the best way for him to help. Any protest she had could only be an attempt to protect him. “But if Xue Yang’s a ghost he can’t catch? Maybe you can pull it off.”

[gondorosi]

The gradual separation of show!Jon from book!Jon - Part II

Magic

The showrunners deciding that magic is an unimportant part of the saga and to be relegated to the background is utter horseshit. There’s a bloody REASON direwolves and dragons reappeared in the world when they did, more or less at the same time. There’s a fucking reason why in Martin’s version Dany’s fireproof nature was a one-time thing, the dormant magic in her reawakening as needed BECAUSE dragons needed to be brought back into the world. Dany, Jon and Bran are the three most magic-sensitive characters in the whole story - and only one of them have anything to do with it in a significant manner (though significant might be stretching it). With Dany, her magical nature is only sporadically referred to (the dragons are the be all and end all) and Jon has nothing.

Show!Jon is a mortal man on every level, without a drop of magic in him. Book!Jon is no Bran, but there are three fundamental factors which show how deeply he is connected to the land.

Ghost: Removing Ghost's importance to Jon is akin to removing part of his soul. He isn't just 'big, white fluffy doggo'. Ghost is part of him, his familiar. Ghost is the physical personification of the magic running in Jon's blood, the proof of the Old Gods awareness running through Stark children's veins. Direwolves have a deeper, subtler and less apparent magic than dragons, but no less potent, and no less essential to Jon than her dragons are to Dany. Out of all the Stark siblings, Jon’s connection with Ghost and Bran’s connection with Summer seem to be the most symbiotic. All the siblings have strong bonds with their direwolves, molded to their own personality - Arya’s connection with Nymeria persists even across the sea in Essos, all legends of Robb in battle are accompanied by legends of Grey Wind and poor Rickon becomes so enmeshed in Shaggydog’s mind that there’s little to distinguish between boy and beast. However, perhaps due to the nature of their POVs and story arcs, none of the Starks save Bran and Jon have their journeys so closely aligned to their wolves. Which is why it’s nigh impossible to even consider Jon’s story moving forward without Ghost, especially post resurrection. The show omitted the obvious implication that Jon warged into Ghost before he died, had no role for him in the BoB, completely erased him in S7 and relegated him to a damn stray in S8. On the other hand, the show AMPED up the Dragon Queen part of Dany to the detriment of all other aspects of her character.

Warging: In a universe where Martin has tried his best to weave in strong magic with actual medieval politics, concentrating all Northern magic into one single character (whose surface they barely scratched) is utterly lazy storytelling. Jon's warging abilities are mighty and second perhaps only to Bran, though I hold the belief Arya is as powerful a warg. But unlike both of them, Jon seems to actively resist exploring his warging possibilities. Some of the resistance may be explained by his environment - with both the NW and the Freefolk considering warging to be something of a ‘black’ art or dark magic. Sure, the Free Folk are more open about it, with Varamyr envying Jon’s gift with Ghost in his thoughts:

“He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. Mance should have let me take the direwolf. There would be a second life worthy of a king. He could have done it, he did not doubt. The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it.”

The show makes NO mention of it. Jon being considered a warg is a major reason behind half the NW hating and fearing him. I don’t remember the show ever bringing up the fact that Jon was feared - they seemed to make Thorne and Slynt’s animosity out of sheer spite and disgust at his bastardy. 

The Lord Commander's Raven: This is a favourite obsession of mine. Old Mormont’s raven pops out at Jon at seemingly random moments, but for the reader bursting with conspiracy theories, the raven is just another nod to the fact that Jon has a far greater role to play in the story than is visible to the eye. There's a popular theory that Bloodraven wargs him from time to time, since Jon is the secondary piece on his chessboard. The raven has come to Jon’s aid atleast twice that I can remember:

When Mormont is attacked by the wight:

Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away and snatched the lamp from the Old Bear's fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. "Burn!" the raven cawed. "Burn, burn, burn!"

Spinning, Jon saw the drapes he'd ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands.

During the election for Lord Commander when Mormont’s raven flying to his shoulder is used as a sign by Sam to argue for Mormont’s approval of Jon as the choice.

Bastardy

Jon's entire sense of self is centered around two things:

Ned Stark is his father

He's a bastard

His entire character arc is trying live up to one of those and distance himself from the connotations of the other. His bastardy is the formative lodestone of his character and moral compass but in the EXACT opposite of how Catelyn and Westerosi society as a whole expect it to be.

However, there's a twist to that. Jon's inner desire is EXACTLY what Catelyn feared. He DOES want to be Lord of Winterfell. He DOES harbour resentment that Robb (seemingly) has everything handed to him while the best Jon can hope for is to die at his post, unknown and unsung. He DOES want glory and power and to exact some kind of revenge on a society which deemed him vile and detestable for no fault of his. All the elements for him to become the Starks' own Daemon Blackfyre is already present.

But there's one difference - Ned Stark is no Aegon the Unworthy. Even more than all of the above heart's desires, Jon wants to be like his father. He wants to do what is right. He wants his father to be proud of him. He wants to be nothing like the greedy, vengeful and lusty creature he's always been told he is. He wants to help people and stand up for the weak because that's who he is. At the very heart of it, he just wants to be loved by Ned as much as his trueborn sons. And thus he takes Tyrion's words to heart and wears his bastardy like impenetrable armour.

In show!Jon, ALL of this inner struggle is lost. Jon's bastardy is rarely affixed other than as a side. Show!Jon is a 'good' man. Yes, undoubtedly. But what makes book!Jon a great man is that he masters his baser desires to focus on what's more important. THAT'S what Jeor, Mance and Stannis all saw in him. That's why the Free Folk follow him. That's why half the NW will die for him (yes I know the other half will kill him).

When you have spent most of the show without anywhere referencing how vital the armour of bastardy, and being Ned Stark’s son is to Jon's psyche and sense of self, even the best directors will not be able to depict WHY the news of his parentage will have ripped out the ground from under him. Dany's quest for the throne is out there glaring at us thus atleast on paper making sense that having her undeniable right threatened will rattle her (I personally hate hate HATE the creative decision that Dany's immediate reaction to find out Jon's a Targaryen will be paranoia and concern for HER throne but I digress).

Intelligence, ability and cunning

Up until S4 and most of S5, show!Jon and book!Jon exhibited similar levels of intelligence and cunning. One of my favourite scenes is Sam trying to stop Jon from marching into Mance's camp to try and assassinate him. Jon gets in his face with his frustration and despair boiling and asks if he has any better ideas. At this point he's done a superb job commanding the defence of Castle Black but has also just lost Ygritte, Pyp and Grenn all in one night, a significant portion of the meagre Castle Black forces and is fully aware that they cannot survive another charge. He's beyond desperate and aware that his efforts are likely suicidal but he can't just retreat, lick his wounds and do nothing. 

The show labours under the popular delusion that truly good guys can't be really smart, as being smart means preserving yourself and truly good guys will always jump into danger first to protect other people. Politics is bad so if you're a good strategist then you can't be a good person. 

Both book and show characterizations of Jon have been criticized for being examples of the ‘Chosen One’ the ‘reluctant hero’ who turns out to be the right man for the job, and for painting ambition and the quest for power as negative pursuits. In the book however, Jon’s ambitions never really had a chance to form. He’s prideful enough in his abilities to believe he would be an immediate select into the elite Ranger ranks and is devastated when that doesn’t work out. By the time he’s come to terms with the fact that being Mormont’s steward means being groomed for command, the truth of the White Walkers is in front of him and that becomes his sole consideration.

To many readers, Jon’s election to Lord Commander was ‘contrived’ though I do believe Sam played the long political game as he believed his friend being in a position of power would lead to an easier path for him. However, Jon doesn’t crumple under the weight of the responsibility - his actions as Lord Commander are revolutionary enough to completely destabilize his support. The show entirely omits all the strategic parts of his negotiations with both Stannis and the Freefolk. Unlike show!Jon, book!Jon does not allow the Freefolk through the Wall only on the account of goodwill and the fear of a common enemy. He takes their children hostage to ensure compliance. He negotiates with the Iron Bank for a loan to stave off starvation come winter. He repopulates the Gift with Free Folk. He shelters, counsels and aids Stannis. He addresses almost every logistical and material issue he can think except for the most fundamental - his people. 

On the other hand, there’s no strategic and political angle to Show!Jon in S6 and S7, instead being posited only as warrior extraordinaire.

'The greatest swordsman in the North' - but too naive to not keep the sister who tricked him almost to his death at arm's length. Brave, loyal and courageous beyond belief - but completely befuddled by politicking. Immediately trusting a sister he’s never been close to and who has been Littlefinger’s pupil for a considerable time. 

Book!Jon's abilities as a leader are sorely underappreciated, especially considering that his tenure as Lord Commander saw the status quo of almost every aspect of NW life upended. The previous LC is killed in a mutiny. The Wildling army launch an attack. The Others finally rise. A King/King Claimant FINALLY takes the NW's warnings seriously. The Wildlings are brought south of the Wall.

Despite being a new beginning for all recruits, the Night's Watch is the one order in Westeros whose traditions and rules have not changed in millennia. Understaffed, under-resourced and facing a threat the likes of which people would struggle to comprehend, Jon does the best he can. His major mistake is one most young leaders make, and that is assume all of those under automatically understand his reasons for doing what he does. 

Relationships

Brother:

If there's one role Jon takes more seriously than 'Ned Stark's son, it's that of brother. Book!Jon is pretty much the pinnacle of brotherly love - Robb's right hand, Arya's champion and dutiful protector to both Bran and Rickon. There's a subtle tragedy in this too - despite how much his siblings love him, all of them, including Arya, have othered him. He's brother, but only half. Snow, not a Stark. The last in the list. 'The last brother left to me' - as felt by both Robb and Sansa.

Book!Jon and Show!Jon are both shown to be loving, dutiful brothers but once again the show is incapable of portraying more than one character at a time in a certain way. Thus all of Jon's brotherly love is concentrated on Sansa, the sibling he was least close to. Show!Jon never mentions Robb after his death mentions Arya not at all when book!Jon never stops thinking about the two of them.

Maybe, maybe if the show had bothered to flesh out Jon Snow's emotional attachment to his home and siblings, his dilemma between his family and Dany wouldn't have been so shoddy.

Friend:

Book!Jon, despite his aloof demeanour attracts fast friends. His staunchest supporters in the NW are those who he befriended when he first stepped within the gates. He's the only one to ever have stood up for many of them. And it's his NW friends who do become truly brothers, as they see and stand beside him during his rise to leadership.

Show!Jon is no different - he's got his loyal friends but there was no apparent discord after him being elected LC. Which is surprising considering that this is the moment that Jon effectively decides to ‘Kill the boy.’ The Gilly baby switch storyline is completely done away with, probably because it is the one decision that very clearly paints Jon as grey. The book Sam struggles to understand this decision - in his mind his best friend would never have done that. Maester Aemon is the one who sets him straight - Jon is no longer just a brother of the Watch, he’s the Lord Commander now. He can no longer be taking decisions just as Sam’s friend.

The show never really dwelt on the chasm Jon’s position as a leader would have created with his brothers who till them were his equals. Book!Jon knowingly starts distancing himself and this is a flaw that comes back to stab him in the chest - again a misstep in one raised to leadership at a young age.

Lover:

This part will be a bit of a cop-out since at this point the only common love interest between the books and the show is Ygritte. The show axed Val, who’s one of my favourite secondary characters and my main preference for a Jon pairing pre-Dany. And of course, there’s far too much plot to cover before Jon and Dany even meet in the book (if they’re ever finished).

There are factions of the fandom who don’t think the Jon and Dany romance in S7 was set up convincingly. Admittedly that’s going to be hard for me to judge fairly as I’ve been in the Jonerys camp ever since ADWD made it clear how Jon was growing as a leader and as a magical touchstone in direct parallels to Dany. It definitely helped that Kit’s portrayal of Jon had FINALLY started to appeal to me once The Watchers of the Wall aired. I’d been one of the many fans who had been waiting for these two to meet on the show - and though I personally found the Jon-Dany relationship progression to be one of the few good things about S7, I can perhaps get why many neutral fans (i.e not commited to any rival ships for either Jon or Dany) think its out of character for them to be so involved so soon.

There are plenty of popular assumptions perpetuated by the show which have no backup in the original material - one of them is ‘dumb, lovable idiot’ Jon paired with the ‘awkward and oblivious as fuck with women’ Jon. Now, I’ll not deny that the latter portrayal works QUITE well with show!Jon (Kit’s face is the perfect cast for this characterization) but I just don’t see it working with book!Jon. The boy isn’t seeking out women but its not like he’s not around them. Alys Karstark was quite obviously taken with him, and I doubt Jon missed it, but there were far greater things of import to consider for both of them - I saw no awkwardness in the text. Jon dislikes Selyse and manages to be both cordial and deferential as required. Melisandre makes no secret of her fascination with him - there’s no bumbling awkwardness there either. And Val - he’s quite smitten and there’s some awkwardness there, sure but its hardly the bumbling variety.

As for Dany - considering that at this point the 7 seasons of the show is all we will ever have, I somehow think the softer show!Jon makes a much better pairing with the more hardened show!Dany. Its as if certain aspects of their personalities were flipped in the show - book!Dany is definitely much softer and gentle without her power and strength being diminished, whereas book!Jon is far more calculated and ruthless without compromising on his honour and integrity. 

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 8//

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd) 

“From what my spies have gathered, he’s been holding secret meetings with the other camp-lords and generals for years; persuading them to rally against your rule and Cassian's command. Kallon has been using the number of losses, and other injuries their warriors obtained from the war along with the grief from the widows, as evidence that we are seeking vengeance for how we were treated as children, that we pose a threat and will only continue to destroy their race and culture. What’s worse is he’s gathered together those who resent us and see us as no more than bastards, further helping his cause,” Azriel explained to Rhys and I as we joined his and Cassian’s side at the desk, pouring over the reports the shadowsinger gathered from his network of spies. “He’s managed to convince them that as a high-born lord from a strong lineage of Illyrian warriors who have commanded the Ironcrest camp for centuries, he has the better claim to command their armies.”

Cassian scoffed as he scanned a report, “The prick has only been camp-lord of Ironcrest for a few years and has the balls to think he knows how to command the entire Illyrian army.” 

“He’s as much a brute as his father was,” Azriel muttered with disdain.

“And just as stupid,” Rhys retorted, glaring at another document as he read through it. 

I frowned and set down the report I was reading, crossing my arms. “How many?” I asked quietly, turning my attention to Azriel. 

He knew what I was asking, and the shadowsinger didn’t break my gaze as he answered, “He’s allied himself with half of the lords and their war-camps.” 

We all stared at him; dumbfounded, confused, enraged. 

“Half of the Illyrians are backing the rebellion Kallon has started?” I asked before the others had a chance to. 

Azriel nodded grimly and Cassian swore, his siphons flickering as he tried to contain his rage and ran his hands through his silk-black hair. Dark shadows swam at Rhysand’s back, wings flaring as he strode over to the wall containing the map of the Illyrian territory. He studied it closely as Azriel continued, “He means to incite a civil war with those who remain opposed, if they don’t side with him sooner rather than later, he will gather what forces he has to overrun their camps.” 

“Then the stupid bastard will try to turn those forces on us,” Cassian began.

“And once we’re overthrown, he will try to separate from the Night Court altogether,” Rhys growled, fists clenching as he continued to study the map before him.

“How do you know that?” I asked with a dull shock.

“There’s only one reason why a male like that would want to take control of the entire Illyrian force. He wants the territory for himself,” Rhys explained, voice dripping with disdain. 

My heart tightened for my mate as darkness continued to swirl around him, the shadows darkening the room—wings now tucked in tight at his sides. I realized those shadows were mournful, rather than from cold fury. These were his mother’s people; he grew up in their camps, trained and fought alongside them, bled with them and for them from the time he was a child. Despite their resentment of his high fae blood, their dense views and resistance to change, he respected them—the culture, because they were his people too. I glanced over at Cassian, his face unreadable as he let the weight of Rhys’s words settle in him. Azriel was the only one who remained, unsurprisingly, unfazed. I supposed with his own animosity towards his people, he saw something like this coming long ago—though I could tell deep down he secretly hoped it wouldn’t. 

I walked slowly towards Rhys and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, stepping into his line of view to force our eyes to meet. “That won’t happen,” I said decisively. “We won’t allow it, and we won’t stand for it.”

Cassian finally broke his silence, “How did the whelp manage to keep this a secret for ten years? We’ve barely let him out of our sight, and we’ve more than covered our bases during our monthly visits at Ironcrest.” 

“He’s had help,” Azriel replied.

“But how?” Cassian insisted, “I haven’t kept my eyes off the bastard since he made it through the Blood Rite, and neither have you and your spies. How did this escape our attention?” 

Rhys squeezed the hand on his shoulder, turning back to his brothers. “Winter Solstice,” he started, “It’s the one time of year all the camps gather, and while we’re here celebrating, our spies are reduced because of the holiday. Giving them the perfect opportunity to meet without the added worry of our eyes on them.”

“So they gather and plot on Solstice,” Cassian growled, “And probably during the period of the Blood Rite when we aren’t normally around, and neither are Az’s spies. Until this year.” 

I frowned. This year, after Azriel’s intel picked up on Kallon’s suspicious activities resurfacing, they stayed the entire week for the duration of the Blood Rites ceremonies and traditions; with the intention of gathering more information. They turned up empty at the time—save for the little details they already knew of. 

“They’ve let information slip since then,” Rhys said, and it was true.

“They’ve gotten cocky,” Cassian scoffed. “They’ve plotted and gathered their forces for ten years; somehow now they’ve gotten arrogant enough to speak more freely of their plans in the camps.”

“That’s not all,” Azriel added, “based on the reports, some of the talk also revolves around an outside ally working with Kallon.”

“Who the fuck would help that bastard?!” Cassian barked, wings broadening slightly. 

Rhys’s own wings widened a bit in an effort to shield me, but he cleared his throat and tucked them back in, giving Cass a hard look instead. The commander looked at me in apology, but I shook my head in dismissal. He was angry, all of us were. I slowly made my way over to the trio of ceiling high windows in Rhys’s study as I contemplated how Kallon had help keeping their meetings a secret during Solstice. What outside force would aid and abet him to the point where he believed they could successfully carry out a revolution? The Illyrian brothers began debating the same possibility as I stared out at the gardens the windows faced, seeing Elain and Mor sitting together by the fountain and chattering happily—the soft-spoken seer and the dreamer born into a court of nightmares. 

Suddenly, realization struck and I gasped, turning to face them. Rhys instantly returned to my side; Cassian and Azriel stepped closer to me, equally alarmed, but before any of them could speak I blurted, “It’s Keir.”

I continued quickly, “Who else would benefit from us being removed from power? Who else would want nothing more than to take over as ruler of the Hewn City, and install himself as High Lord should we be deposed?” Rhys’s eyes widened, cold rage filling the room as Cassian and Azriel realized the truth in my words. 

“He’s probably promised Kallon his army of Darkbringers, who also suffered a great loss after the war, who have the same motives and could sympathize with the Illyrians to a point. Keir’s most likely convinced Kallon that once they’ve overthrown us, he’ll allow the Illyrians to separate and form their own nation. Meanwhile he’ll take over Hewn City, and take over the rest of the Night Court, including,” I gulped, “Velaris.”

Cassian and Azriel both swore as Rhys growled, “With Keir’s backing, Kallon has the incentive to move forward with his plans for a civil war. Once the opposing Illyrians are taken care of, his and Keir’s forces combined can turn against us.”

Nausea roiled in my gut as the full burden of this understanding washed over us, of what this meant. Rhys slipped a protective arm around my waist, no doubt feeling my distress through the bond, “We have to move before they do. Azriel, you’ll go ahead of us to Hewn City. Question whoever you have to and get information without raising Keir’s suspicion. I want to know Keir’s exact role in this and every single step in their plans,” he commanded his shadowsinger.

Azriel nodded and in a split second he disappeared into the shadows, Truth-Teller gleaming in his hands before he was gone. Rhys turned to Cassian next, “You’ll come with Mor and I to the Court of Nightmares after Az’s gathered the information we need. I want our presence to send a message to the bastard.”

I blinked in surprise, and turned to face him, “You mean ‘Feyre, Mor, and I,’ right?” I asked.

His expression was hard as our eyes met, and I stared at him incredulously—daring him to keep me excluded. “Feyre, this is dangerous. If Keir finds out you’re pregnant he’ll-” he began, but I cut him off with a huff of disbelief.

“You mean when Keir finds out I’m pregnant,” I challenged. Cassian took a careful step back, allowing us to have this conversation without leaving the room. Keeping a watchful eye on us, Rhys especially. 

“I cannot put you and our child at risk, Feyre. If he’s really working with Kallon, it's not just us in danger, it's our unborn child too,” He continued calmly, but I could see he was struggling with his overprotective intuition.

I wasn’t going to have any of it, “You don’t think I know that? Our whole family is at risk, and I’m not going to sit idly by like some poor damsel in distress!” 

“I’m not asking you to do that. I’m asking you to stay here, where it's safe, where I’ll know you and our child are safe!” Rhys tried to reason, holding my arms carefully in his hands—the unadulterated panic gathering in those violet eyes once again.. 

I frowned at him, an old and familiar sense of panic beginning to bubble in my chest, but I fought it down. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m an invalid. We go to the Court of Nightmares together, and we use the news of my pregnancy to reinforce our rule. That will send him a message,” I explained. 

Rhys shook his head, gripping my arms lightly, desperate. “The minute he finds out you’re pregnant is the minute he and Kallon decide to move up their plans, giving them an advantage. We need to gather our own reinforcements before they have that chance.” 

“You’re a mated male Rhys, Keir will know Feyre’s pregnant regardless. He’ll smell it on you,” Cassian interjected on my behalf. 

I turned to look at him and Rhys let out a feral snarl, violet eyes darkening as he turned on his brother. “Stay out of this, Cassian,” Rhys warned, his entire demeanor shifting as his preternatural instincts ordered him to protect his pregnant mate. 

“Not a chance Rhysie. It’s about time you ease up on that mating bond, and if I have to be the one to do it again then I will,” Cassian replied coolly as he ran his hands through his hair, tying it back with a worn leather strap.

I realized what Cassian was doing. Our mating bond was sensitive now that I was pregnant, Rhys’s primal urges compelling him to protect his mate while in such a delicate condition. This new threat was igniting those vigilant impulses, and while he previously did his best to reign in some of that hostility, it would ease up considerably if he released some of that aggression on Cassian—just as he had all those years ago. Now, thanks to the prospect of a war breaking out in our own court, Rhys was consumed to the point of trying to shield me away completely. Cassian wouldn’t let that happen, he wouldn’t stand aside and watch me be sidelined; so he would take some of that edge off, but I couldn’t let that happen, not like this.

“Cassian, it’s alright-” I began but he quickly interjected.

“It’s not alright. You are my High Lady too, and you have every right to attend that meeting at the Hewn City, pregnant or not.” He insisted, turning to look at Rhys as he said it. 

Darkness continued to swirl around Rhys’s shoulders, “Of course she has a right to attend the meeting,” he snapped.

“Then let her come with us, you bastard.” 

“It’s not safe.” Rhys snarled, baring his teeth.

“You sure about that? She’d have me, and Azriel, protecting her. Two more males than just you-” Cassian baited, taking a step closer in my direction but Rhys immediately stepped in front of me and landed a blow to his face, sending Cassian stumbling back.

Cassian wiped the blood from the side of his mouth with a wicked grin. “That’s right, you bastard, take it out on me—not her,” he said as he straightened.

Just as Rhys was about to advance on him again, I grabbed his shoulder and cried out, “No! Not here,” I glared at Cassian, “Not now. I can handle this Cassian, just go.”

“Feyre, let me-” he started but I hardened my stare. I didn’t like to pull rank, but I needed to work this out with Rhys myself.

Cassian glanced at Rhys again, who calmed considerably the minute I touched him and was staring at my stomach with a pained expression, and reluctantly left the room. The second he was gone, I turned to face Rhys with a frown. His eyes met mine, those violet star-flecked eyes now pleading as he stepped closer to me and placed a hand on my stomach. 

“I can’t lose you, Feyre,” he began softly, “It would be better if you stayed behind this time with your sisters and Amren. If Keir sees how vulnerable your condition is-”

“I am not vulnerable!” I snapped, taking a step back from him, that panic beginning to rise once again—this time mounting before I could get a hold on it. 

“You are susceptible to more danger,” he amended. “He’ll see it as a weakness, our weakness, and he’ll use that to push whatever plans he and Kallon have.”

My chest tightened and my eyes burned, waiting for the inevitable order he would give to force me to stay behind—to lock me up. He promised to never do it, swore he wouldn’t command such a thing. He wasn’t that kind of male I reminded myself. He wasn’t Tamlin. 

He wasn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn’t.

Please don’t lock me up. 

Rhys’s eyes widened, “W-What..?” 

I realized I sent that plea down the bond as the tears in my eyes began to fall and I sobbed, “Please don’t lock me up,” I begged.

“Please Rhys, dont…” I sobbed again and Rhys gathered me in his arms instantly as my knees crumpled, my breaths coming in gasps as I cried. 

“Feyre, no. Gods, I would never,” he swore as he lowered us to our knees, holding me against him, burying his face in my hair as he consoled me. “I would never do that to you.” 

“You’re doing it now,” I whimpered as I looked at him. “You made a vow to me, making me your equal, and now…” I sniffed as I tried to control my tears, but the fear—the tightness in my chest was overwhelming. 

Rhys’s eyes widened in horror as he realized his actions and he looked down in disgrace, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute before leaning in to press his brow against mine. His hands cupped my face gently as he smoothed the tears away and our eyes met, his lined with silver as he began taking deep cleansing breaths—encouraging me to breathe with him. I did, struggling at first to follow the pattern of his breaths until the tightness in my chest finally eased and breathing became effortless. I slipped my eyes shut as I finally calmed and relaxed against him, the tears stopping. 

After a minute of holding me there, our brows touching and our breaths in sync, Rhys admitted quietly, “I wasn’t going to force you to stay behind.”

I opened my eyes and met with the gut-shattering guilt on his face, but before I could say anything he pressed a kiss to my temple. 

“I was never going to lock you in our estate Feyre. I would never, never, put up wards around our walls and keep you inside. For a moment I made you feel that way and I’m,” his throat bobbed for a second. “I’m so sorry.”

The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me. 

The raw confession he made to me during our time Under the Mountain echoed through my mind as the image of that dark, fallen prince now sat before me. His family had been in peril before, thanks to a friendship with another court. That friendship, that trust, cost him his parents and younger sister. His mother and sister were innocent, just as our child was now, and I couldn’t fathom the fear that rose in him now that we knew of the hazard in our own court—among our people. In my own alarm I compared his protective instincts, the ones created by our bond that enforced his desire to safeguard me and his child, to Tamlin’s actions. I compared him to the male that was responsible for the loss of his family. The loss he still blamed himself for. My gut wrenched with my own guilt, and I gently cupped his face in my hands; lifting the head he dropped in shame.

“Your need to protect me, to protect our son, is justified Rhys, but we can’t live in fear. I panicked,” I said softly. 

“You had every right to panic, Feyre. I shouldn’t have tried to convince you to stay behind. For a moment I just-” he paused and I nodded my understanding. 

“You panicked too,” I said softly. “Not just because of your male-bonded instincts.”

I took his hand and placed it on the tiny swell of my stomach and he caressed it gently, “You’ve lost so much, Rhys. I understand that, but I want you to understand that it won’t happen again. You won’t lose us.” I squeezed his hand encouragingly. 

His eyes met mine, “You’re safe,” he said. “You both are.”

“We’ll face this threat together, just as we have before.” I said, wrapping my arms around his shoulders loosely. 

He slipped one arm around my waist and the other under my legs as he stood, lifting me off the ground and carrying me over to the lounge by his desk. He sat me on it and knelt before me, holding my hands in his. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“I forgive you,” I said, leaning forward to kiss him. “Promise me you’ll release some of that pent up aggression. It will help.”

His thumbs caressed the top of my hands, and he nodded in agreement. “Cassian will be more than happy to oblige,” he said with a wry smirk.

“Anything for his High Lord,” I mused. 

“Anything for his High Lady,” he corrected.

He brought my hands up to his lips, turning my palms upward and kissed the twin mountains tattooed in each. When he lifted his gaze back to me, his thumbs caressed my palms lightly. 

“Cauldron save you. Mother hold you. I, High Lord of the Night Court, will serve and protect you, Feyre Archeron.” Rhys began, reciting the same vows he made to me on our wedding night. 

The night we married in secret before the confrontation at Hybern. My eyes burned as he squeezed my hands before he continued, “I hereby swear you as High Lady of the Night Court, not consort, and not just my wife,”

One of his hands reached up to wipe away a stray tear after he finished, and he kept his hand on my cheek. “You are my equal Feyre, and I say these vows again as a promise that this will never happen again. I will never make you feel cast aside again, or our son. You are my High Lady, the mother of my child, and the most resilient female I have ever met. We’ll go to the Court of Nightmares together, and remind them all of that.”

I smiled, placing a hand over his before I noticed the whorls of ink on his left forearm begin to shift. We both watched as the patterns swirled at the base of his wrist, forming a band with a crescent moon at its center. The blue-black ink matching perfectly with the rest of his tattoo—the mirror of mine, the one created out of our promise to move onto the next life together. 

I ran my thumb across the new tattoo as my smile widened.  “Anything for his High Lady,” I said and Rhys returned my grin with his.