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snidgetwidgeon · 4 years ago

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Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

#breath of the wild #zelink #fanfiction #roleswap au #prince link #champion zelda #urbosa #king rhoam #Son of Hylia Daughter of Farore #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

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shatouto · 3 years ago

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custody

2.2k, gen, post aa1-4, character study, angst, mvk & miles (ao3)

Miles Edgeworth decides to pay his fallen mentor – also the man who murdered his father in cold blood – a visit in prison.

The local prison consists of four main buildings of similar sizes and architecture that form a full block, plus a smaller one built slightly to the side; and two yards, one in the front and one at the back. A thick wall runs along the perimeter of the entire complex. Other than protecting the premise, it serves only to further remind outsiders that the world within is completely severed from their own. As for the inmates, they already know that.

It’s not the first time Miles has set foot here – far from it. The first time he walked past these doors, he was seventeen, chaperoned by Officer Gumshoe (back then not yet promoted to detective); he’d come in to gather data for a school assignment (as he specialized in a particular track geared for law school). By the second visit, he was already a prosecutor, new but well-known, there to observe the police questioning a man who had been incarcerated for over five years, for a re-opened case. Miles suspected the inmate was innocent from the start; and, indeed, his testimony turned out to be decisive in convicting the defendant the very next day.

From then on he doesn’t keep track anymore, even as he comes back time and time again – and witnesses more than one innocent person be set free while someone else took their place. Justice makes mistakes, sometimes. Prosecutors are only human. To aim for a perfect record is not only unattainable, but dangerous.

To think, he has spent so long convincing himself otherwise.

“Mr. Edgeworth, you may enter,” says the officer who showed him in. “Last cell, to your left.”

Miles nods in acknowledgment, murmuring a thank as the officer holds the door open for him. She already knows him by sight, and knows that he doesn’t need a guide to navigate this place either, but she still accompanied him all the way to the right place. Maybe she’s just following procedure, as she should, but Miles can see the understanding in her eyes.

Discreetly, he takes a deep breath and steps in. It’s quiet, sterilely so. The lights are harsh and the corners are sharp and the greys are dull. Last cell to the left…

“Manfred von Karma.”

The man, who was once his mentor, his superior, his role model, turns around. It has only been a week since the beginning of his incarceration, and von Karma’s stance remains proud even as he sits there, on the edge of his bed, in prison overalls. In the harsh light of the singular bulb overhead, the sneer on his face is no more or less bitter than usual.

“Miles Edgeworth,” he drawls, his voice bone-chillingly smooth. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Miles breathes out, steeling himself, holding his head high. “To the fifteen years you spent raising and mentoring me after murdering my father.”

In the dimness of the cell, von Karma’s lips twitch into a grotesque smile. “And look where you are now, my boy.”

His words, benign as they seem, are a stab to Miles’s chest. “Perhaps I could say the same to you, Manfred.”

He’s lucky, he thinks, that his nine-year-old self insisted on calling this man by his name, occasionally his title, and nothing more. Nothing like ‘father’. He feels a little ill at the mere thought.

Von Karma’s smile twists. His laughter reminds Miles of the whirr of a rusted chainsaw. “Is that how it is, darling boy? You’ve come here to gloat at your fallen mentor?”

“It’s just like you to put words into others’ mouths.”

A thin silver eyebrow arches. “Why are you here, then?”

“I want to know why,” Miles says, coolly, as if his heart wasn’t thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird. “Why you raised the child of a man you loathed. As well as how you came to do so – if you would care to elaborate.”

The convicted prosecutor eyes him, sizes him up like a predator mid-hunt. It’s Miles’s last chance to ever ask this question; von Karma knows it and revels in his importance – or rather, the importance of the one piece of information he alone carries, both of which amount to the same outcome anyway. That he has something Miles doesn’t have and wants to. That it gives him leverage. All of this shows in the sharpness of his saccharine smile.

“Do you truly want to know?”

A chill runs down his spine, yet Miles doesn’t care to cross his arms. It would be tantamount to defeat, if he showed that he feels the need to guard himself even with the bars between them. With von Karma, it’s always a psychological battle – he treated the people in his life the same way he treated his witnesses, with intimidation and a revolving barrage of carrot-and-stick bargains, and words that strike harder than a whip to the face. Even Franziska was not exempt from this treatment, never mind Miles.

He stares back into von Karma’s terrible, half-fevered eyes. “Just tell me.”

Von Karma doesn’t laugh, but he might as well have. “I took you in… because I pitied you,” he says, so lightly that Miles can barely tell if it was in jest. “You didn’t watch my trial, did you?”

“I had other matters to attend to.”

“Allow me to catch you up, then. Do you remember Year One in law school, Miles? What is another, more poetic name for voluntary manslaughter? You’ve always taken a liking to poetry and all that little romanticist nonsense”—von Karma sneers—“you would remember, don’t you, boy?”

“A crime of passion,” Miles mutters through gritted teeth. His fingernails dig painful crescents into his own palm. “But that wasn’t your charge. Your were convicted of aggravated murder with.”

“And you can thank Chief Prosecutor Skye for that,” von Karma lilts. “Miles, my boy, you must remember that I took Gregory out ‘on a spur, in a state of disorientation and excruciating pain,’ to quote my defense. All thanks to this little gift you left me.” He taps his right shoulder, smiling like a panther, and now Miles can taste bile at the back of his throat. He doesn’t deign von Karma with an answer. “I would’ve paid you the same courtesy, if the magazine wasn’t already emptied at that point. You see, being in the system is a terrible thing – especially for a naive little boy like you were. And because I couldn’t deliver you from that fate… I thought I’d take you under my wings. A noble cause, isn’t it?”

Aside from everything that is ethically, morally, fundamentally wrong with these ravings of a death-row convict, something else is out of place. A contradiction, the voice at the back of his mind helpfully supplies. A blatant one, at that. Miles smooths out his frown before it can set into creases over his brows.

“You aren’t telling the full truth, Manfred,” he points out, blankly and bluntly, no theatrics needed. “You didn’t ‘deliver’ me from anything. I had other relatives. It would have fallen onto them to take custody of me.”

Von Karma still smiles, shaking his head. “Tsk, tsk… And there I thought you’ve learned to always come prepared. That Phoenix Wright must have rubbed off on you worse than I’d thought.”

Miles glares up. “What are you saying?” he lets slip, a slight raise of the voice. He knows instantly, by the look on von Karma’s face, that he has lost.

“I’m saying that you just made the most see-through bluff I have ever seen, my boy. Tell me this, Miles Edgeworth: Have you ever met your grandparents? Did your father ever take you to see any of your relatives?”

Miles is silent. The answer is No, and it burns like ice on his tongue. He can’t say it.

“As I thought.” A small lock of white hair falls over his eye as von Karma tilts his head. “Seems like your father wasn’t telling the full truth either, was he?”

Do not talk about my father like that. Miles straightens up, carefully shuffling his hands behind his back. He doesn’t want von Karma to see his blanched knuckles. His muscles tremble in his forearm for how tightly his fists are balled up. Von Karma seems to take his silence as an invitation to continue.

“You had relatives in the South,” he drawls, “family that your wonderful father had cut out of his life a long, long time ago. There would inevitably be a lapse of time until they were notified of your existence. Evidently I didn’t want to leave a child like you waiting. So I stepped in, and took the necessary steps to gain custody of you. Of course it was not entirely legal. You must know that by now.”

I don’t believe you, Miles wants to lash out. He cannot, because he does believe von Karma is telling the horrible truth. To feign outrage would be akin to admitting that he’s affected. So all he can do is stare and stand his ground, as Von Karma rises to his feet and takes one stride forward. His elongated shadow slithers towards the bar. Miles stiffens in checkmate.

“Ah, I can hear the gears grinding in that clever head of yours. Yes, this is a confession. By all means, Prosecutor Edgeworth, you may take action against me.” Von Karma barks out another laugh. “With luck, you will succeed in piling another charge on me before I swing.”

“I don’t care about that,” Miles says, numb and neutral and needless. He straightens up, drawing his shoulders open. Pretending von Karma’s shadow cannot touch him. “We are still at square one, is what bothers me. Do correct me if I’m wrong, Manfred – you’re saying that you went through all of that trouble to gain custody of me because you pitied me. Why? Why the pity?”

Von Karma watches him in another stretch of deafening silence. “…Why not?”

The last whit of self-restraint vanishes from Miles’s body. “Stop toying with me, Manfred.” He steps onto the shadow, a rather heavy footstep, to walk up to the bars. “You said you were going to kill me if you’d only had one more bullet to spare. And then you jumped through hoops to take guardianship of me away from my kin. I would have believed you more if you’d said you were simply insane – but I know you aren’t, because you are perfect and a crime cannot be perfect without a motive!”

The lightbulb swings lightly with the volume of his voice. Their shadows tremble. Miles takes in a breath, and is appalled to hear how shuddery it is.

“So just… tell me why,” he concludes, hoarse from hiding his exhaustion. “Why did you do this to me?”

The smile finally slips from von Karma’s face. “Do what to you, exactly? Don’t forget what I’ve given you, Miles Edgeworth. You lived your childhood in velvet and silk and wanted for nothing. I gave you the best education any child could have had on this continent – you never would have made it with your inheritance alone. I am a once-in-an-era genius and I personally mentored you. Do you think you could have gotten where you are without my power?”

“No,” Miles grits, “because without you I would’ve still had a father.”

“Ah, how I’ve missed that insolent look in your eyes.” Von Karma hums. “Or dear old Gregory’s eyes, rather. I would've said 'like father, like son', but you don't seem to have even that.” His upper lip twitches, distorting his smile into a snarl. “You've got nothing of your father in you. You think I intended to steer you away from your father’s path? Have I ever forced you to do anything?”

“I—” The words catch in Miles’s throat. “You—You were the only adult figure in my life,” he says, even though he has no duty to defend himself from von Karma’s accusations. He feels like he has to answer to something, though. Answer to someone. To his father, perhaps. Or to himself. “You influenced me.”

Von Karma tuts. His smile is back again. “Think twice before you point your finger. All I ever did was provide for you. You had everything you needed to have a career in law. Let me remind you that when presented with the options, you begged me to mentor you. You were the one who wanted to walk in my footsteps.”

Miles gapes openly, embarrassingly, eyes rapidly blinking. His anger wilts as shame overcomes him. “You… Perhaps, but that was because…”

“Miles, Miles, my poor boy. You still don’t get it? Let me give you a hint.” Von Karma inclines himself forward. His lips move slowly, snarlingly, with every syllable.

“You. Chose. This.”

He straightens up at once, and his smile smooths out into civility once more.

“So before you accuse me, Prosecutor Edgeworth, take a good look at yourself, and think. Think about everything you’ve done. How proud would your father be to see you now?”

Before Miles can answer, the alarm goes off above him. A different officer comes in to fetch him, reciting to him the rules of visits, perhaps mistaking his combative stance for resistance against her. He doesn’t tell her he already knows the rules by heart – she looks like she is new, and too eager for her own good. He doesn’t tell her that he is thankful to be able to leave at that very moment, either. He’s too much of a coward to admit that.

He simply turns tail, leaving Manfred von Karma’s question to hang in the air like a noose.

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #shatou writes

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mariamermaid · 4 years ago

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Patronus-Protector

Sirius x Reader

Summary: Much to your dislike, your friends have been hiding something from you. Now it is your turn to find out what has been slumbering beneath the surface of the marauder group…

Words: 3.1k

A/N: requested by @divergirl9-blog Sorry it took so long!

Warnings: swearing, blood, little bit angsty

Patronus{m}, Latin- Protector

“Have they been avoiding you?”

Lilly frowned as you sat down across from her in the great hall. It was a custom habit of the two of you to do the potions homework on Tuesdays together. But your mind was everywhere but on the potions.

“What do you mean?”

“Don´t act stupid, Evans. Did James tell you anything?” You scrunched your nose and leaned a little over the table, so the red-head couldn´t avoid your glance. She held in for a second; James hadn´t particularly mentioned anything. On the other hand, the past times she had seen her somewhat secret boyfriend, there wasn´t much talking involved.

“Not really”, Lilly sighed and tried to get back on the homework. But you were too stubborn and took away her pen. You wouldn´t let this slip another time. “Not really? Is that all you got Lilly?”

“For Merlin´s sake Y/n, I don’t really know! He mentioned something about going to the Shrieking Shack.”

It was your turn to furrow your brows in confusion. “What do they want there?” You asked muttering more to yourself. Lilly rolled her green eyes, until they landed on a certain dark-haired boy. You quickly followed her glance, finding Sirius standing across the hall. It seemed like he had either watched, maybe even eavesdropped, but before you could further question the whole situation, he left the hall with hasty steps.

“You´re done, Black”, you cursed as you hurried after him and to hell with the homework, which you left behind.

Lilly watched as you left, her head back in her hand. “Young love.”

It was no secret to her that you felt a little more than just friendship for the heartbreaker boy. It was also no secret, that Sirius Black was only heartless until it came to you.

There was no thing he wouldn´t do for you, much against his own denial. However, Sirius was best at one thing; protecting you. Mostly, from himself.

Oh yes, he wouldn´t trade your long friendship for anything or anyone, but his craving to feel your soft lips on his, was getting stronger by the day. The fear of breaking in took away his sleep. But as the time the night came, he realized the empty spot in the bed next to him. However, he decided on the empty spot, instead of losing you forever. He had determined years ago, his purpose to protect you was greater than his pain.

You made it hard though. Especially as you ran after him through the halls, after he was explicitly advised not to talk to you with the upcoming full moon. It would be hard to contain Remus and James couldn´t babysit a werewolf and an Animagus at the same time. Especially, if said Animagus was only focused on protecting the girl he loved.

“Sirius!”

He ignored you.

“Sirius Black if you do not stop running, I´ll hex you!” Finally, he stopped in his tracks. So abruptly, you almost ran right into him.

“For Merlin´s sake, you better tell me what is going on!” You scolded him angrily. He avoided your eyes, staring out of the window instead.

“I don’t know-“

“Don´t!” You became angrier by the second, but beneath all that anger was hurt. Why didn´t he tell you? What had you done, that made him loose trust?

“Don´t do this, Sirius. We don´t have secrets from each other, I´ve known you my entire life. If I did something wrong-“

It was his time to cut you off.

“You didn´t do anything wrong!” He assured you quickly and you sighed, as he finally starred into your mellow face.

“But clearly something is wrong and as long as you prefer to keep it from me, instead of letting me help, you can shove our friendship up your ignorant ass!”

He wanted to prevent exactly what just happened; you getting hurt. But you were hurt and his actions felt like betrayal to you.

Angrily and gloomy, you left him standing in the empty hall.

For the next two days, neither of the marauder´s saw much of you. Lily, who shared her room with you was the only one. Sirius, who had given up on trying, after your recent fight, only watched you from afar. Both James and Remus attempted to catch you after class, but you slipped away and hurried back into safeties of your room. All of them worried about the silence that hung like dark thunder clouds, but the full moon was approaching fast. They had bigger worries.

It was on the second day of your oppressive silence; night was approaching and your stomach growled in hunger. You had skipped dinner in order to evade James and Peter, who sat with Lilly. It was weird seeing them without Remus or Sirius, but you hadn´t given it much thought. They were probably up to no good as always.

But as you snuck out your room hoping to get at least a late-night snack, you heard toned down voices. Waiting at the end of the stairs of the common room, you listened to James and Peter.

“Come on, Potter! You can always talk to your girl, but we have to get going now! Sirius will need our help.”

James sighed defeated. “If this continues, Lilly won´t talk to me just like Y/N.”

“If Sirius would´ve acted a little more elaborated, she wouldn´t be as pissed as she is. That boy knows how to charm every girl, but her.”

James snickered at Peter´s comment. “You´re right, let´s go!”

You had no idea what was happening, but your feet acted on pure instinct as you hurried after the two boys. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

They left the school building and you had trouble keeping up, cursing at Merlin for their endurance from the quidditch training. You watched as they arrived at the whomping willow, hiding behind rocks and high grass, and then, they disappeared.

How did the old willow not even attempt to crush them? You eyed the plant structure from a safe distance, analyzing where James had previously stood. Something was there, you couldn´t fully make it out, but James had leaned down a little to touch the willow.

“For Merlin´s sake, those boys will be the death of me!”, you cursed whispering as you hurried to the willow. Hastily and purely relying on hope, you searched the plant for anything. It was your luck, that you found the knot at the base and a secret passage opened up.

Your mouth slightly opened and quietly you admitted, that the marauder weren´t completely stupid. At least not all the time (often enough though). It was a rather awkward slide into the passage, but luckily, James and Peter were already more far off and they didn´t hear your stumbling.

It didn´t take long until you found yourself at the shrieking shack, slowly the pieces were put together. However, you already heard loud voices coming from inside.

At this point, your gut feeling took over your prudence and you hurried inside, following the yelling. Screams from all of the marauders echoed through the old shack and you panted, when all kind of horrible scenarios came to your head. Argument or not, they were your friends and you´d do everything to protect them. With your wand safely in your hand, you entered the large room, but what came to your view wasn´t at all what you had expected…

At the back of the stone wall was Remus… But he wasn´t himself.

In the rise of the silver full moon his eyes turned savage and fur crawled across his skin until he was fully covered. You heard the breaking from the metal chains as he rose from the ground, taller than ever before. A gasp left your lips, which brought all the attention to you.

“Remus!”

James, Sirius and Peter exchanged quick looks, it wasn´t their first battle against the full moon, but this time you were a new meeple in the game. James and Peter lunged forward, trying to keep Remus, who was in full werewolf mode, back and Sirius ran to your side. “What are you doing here?” He asked furious and your head snapped at him.

“Me? You were the one lying to me! I wouldn´t have come, but you were hiding something from me!”

“I wasn´t!”

“Uhm, how about Remus being a werewolf?”

“I wanted to tell you!”

Your argument was interrupted as both James and Peter were thrown against the wall, Remus was on the loose. Sirius who had positioned himself safely in front of you, let out a growl as well.

In the next second, he jumped forward, his clothes ripping and when landing, the four paws scratched across the wooden floor. Yes, you had spent many hours cuddled together with Sirius in his hound form, watching sunsets and sometimes sunrises as well. But it was the first time, you witnessed him other than an adorable dog. This time, he truly seemed dangerous.

Not only he, but Remus as well and you felt fear growing. You didn´t know what they were capable of. Barely realizing how Peter grabbed your arm to pull you back from the fight, you watched as the two shadow figures began battling.

“Y/n stay back”, Peter tried to remind you, but you too captivated. Both he and James couldn’t do much, until Sirius was thrown against a nearby dresser, which fell to pieces. Sirius bellowed in pain and while James tried to help the hound pack on his feet (or paws), you placed yourself right in between him and Remus.

“Remus, remember who you are! We´re your friends!” You exclaimed, but aimed with your wand right at him. No one hurt your friends and seeing Sirius down, felt like a wakeup call.

Remus however didn´t listen and as he made another step closer to you, you were left no choice.

“Stupify!”

The red light bathed the dim room, but then the darkness crawled back into the corners and your senses. Your eyes had to adjust again, but then he was suddenly right in front of you. A sharp pain emerged, as you held up your arms to protect your body and head, then you felt yourself hitting the ground. Everything was spinning, you had lost your wand and burning red liquid ran down your outer, lower arms. Screams echoed further in the shallow room and you did your best to concentrate. Sirius´s dark shadow lunged off the ground and threw Remus back down, howling and growls cut through the air. But the two of them disappeared in blurriness. Two pair of arms grabbed your side.

“Y/n, can you hear us?” James´s distant voice rang through your mind; you formed a faint nod.

Peter starred at the continues blood stream.

“James, she´s losing a lot of blood, we need to get her to the infirmary.” Peter quietly explained and shock as well as fear was clearly written in both of their faces. “What about them?”

James felt like vomiting at the sight of your injury and feared the fact, that you were zooning out more and more. But Sirius had Remus pinned down, and Peter carefully, but rapidly put your arms around James.

“Get her to the infirmary, I´ll help Sirius in tying him down, go!”

It was at the edge of your consciousness as you felt yourself leaning against James, while he tried his best to get you through the dark, dirty passage. Then, before you reached the light of the moon again, you blacked out.

He had decided years ago, his purpose to protect you was greater than his pain.

Now Sirius sat on the marble bench outside the infirmary. All he ever wanted was to protect to you, and he failed miserably. Deep, dark circles from lost sleep were seen under his matt eyes. It had been almost two days since the incident and he had not the slightest idea, how James had explained the entire situation. Madame Pomfrey sure had enough to do as he carried you in, in the middle of the night with blood dripping on the way. They were able to stop the bleeding fairly quickly, but your body needed a lot of energy to fully close the wounds. As steps approached, Sirius looked up to find Remus; he looked just as tired.

He had lost all memory of the night, but seeing you pale and injured, hit him hard. He probably hadn´t slept as well. “She´s not awake?”

Sirius didn´t answer, his sole presence was enough. On the other hand, he wasn´t sure if he could even face you.

“Lilly´s with her.”

McGonagall’s lecture was hard, but bearable. Lilly´s on the other hand, only created more remorse. She was right, if he had just told the truth, things would´ve been different, under control at least. A deep empty pit inside his stomach growled as blame remained. But the heaping pain in his heart was even worse. The image of you in the hospital bed had been like a trigger, that created an avalanche. It could´ve ended worse, he could´ve lost you.

Sirius felt like throwing up again as the thought crossed his mind. It was his biggest fear; losing you.

“Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them."

“What in Merlin´s beard are you reading to me?”

Lilly´s head snapped up from the potions book, she couldn´t help herself but feel the need to entertain you. And maybe herself as well, while she held watch at your side.

“You´re up!” The red-head exclaimed excited and sat down on the bed next to you.

“How are you feeling?”

You let a small groan as you sat up a little higher, your limbs felt weak and heavy.

“Tired”, you offered her a small smile.

Your eyes traveled down to the bandages on your arms.

“Glad to see you didn´t amputate them.”

“At least you didn´t lose your humor.”

Then you found Lilly´s gaze again. “What about Sirius and Remus?”

She quickly shook her head. “You left us all worried and with terrible remorse, but we all survived, more or less.” You raised your eyebrow at her, questioning, but she ignored your gesture.

“I´ll just get them.”

Only seconds after, you heard steps approaching again. From behind the curtain came two terribly exhausting looking boys; your boys.

“You both look like shit”, you couldn´t hold back the comment and the three of you erupted in easier laughter. The tensions slightly shrunk. Remus was first to sit down next to you, guilt still hidden behind his eyes. But before he could even speak up, you shook your head.

“Don´t. It´s not your fault, you weren´t you.”

He offered you an apologetic smile.

“If I had told you the truth, or at least allowed Sirius to do so, this wouldn´t have happened.”

“Yeah”, you agreed nodding. “Better to remember for next time.”

Remus grimaced, still eyeing the bandages on your arms. “I hope there won´t be a next time like this.”

“If it helps, I barely remember getting here.”

Remus stayed still, but you carefully grabbed his hand. “Remus, I´m fine. Don´t beat yourself up about it, I forgive you.”

Finally, he looked up as well, nodding with tears in his eyes. It was a huge relief that he felt dropping off his shoulders. He gave you a careful hug. “I think I should give you some more rest, and don´t worry, I´ve been doing all your homework!”

Playfully, you hit his shoulder. “You should´ve started with that apology!”

Remus nodded at his friend as he left your side again, but Sirius remained standing next to your bed. You rose your eyebrow at him. “What´s wrong, Black?”

“Nothing´s wrong, you´re back and healing. It´s all that matters.”

“Something´s clearly wrong.”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose; it took all his strength not to break down. “We could´ve lost you.” He paused.

“I could´ve lost you.”

“But you didn´t”, you wanted to argue, but Sirius turned his back to you. Nervously wandering up and down in the room.

“I should´ve protected you better”, he mumbled quietly, his hand roughly running through his messy hair.

“That´s not your job-“

“Yes, it is. I can´t take seeing you hurt. So, I need to protect you!” His voice became louder, almost sounding angry. But beneath the façade was angst and deep distress.

“No, it´s not! Your job is to be my friend, not my patronus! You shouldn´t have to hide something like this!”

Suddenly he stopped, his back still facing you and his hands forming fists. You saw how his shoulders rose and dropped from his heavy breathing.

“Maybe, if I can´t protect you as a friend, we can´t be friends.”

His voice was low and so quiet, you weren´t sure at first about the words escaping his mouth. You felt your heart drop at his sentence, a gasp coming from your lips. Your mouth opened, but no words came out and you watched as Sirius pulled the curtain back, leaving the infirmary.

No, you wouldn´t let this go. Not like this.

You threw back the blanket and your bare feet touched the cold ground. You didn´t care though, or about the thin layer of white linen covering your body.

Just outside the infirmary, you caught up to him.

“Maybe we can´t be friends!”

He stopped once again, not bearing the thought of turning to look at you directly. He felt tears forming and he didn´t want you to see him like this. Weak and vulnerable, unable to protect you.

“And you can´t protect me from everything, especially not heartbreak! Because, you, you Sirius Black are breaking my heart!”

Carefully and slowly, he turned towards you, his eyes still glued on the floor. Your voice was quaking and your entire body shaking.

“You were never just a friend to me!”

Swift, in a blink, Sirius was right in front of you, his hands cupping your face. Only inches were left and you felt his warmth breath on your skin.

“I never wanted to break your heart, all I wanted was not to lose you”, he whispered with his voice shaking as well.

“You didn´t lose me and you never will.”

Then you felt his lips on yours and you eased into the kiss. His touch felt welcoming and you inhaled his musky scent. You had been right, no one was able to stop you from falling for your best friend. But after all, you didn´t need protection; all you needed were your friends and your love.

#sirius black oneshot #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #Sirius Black #ben barnes #harry potter imagine #marauder imagine #mariamermaidimagine

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greensaplinggrace · 3 years ago

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What Is There To Celebrate About the Darkling? (Part 3)

1 2 3 4

His shadow powers are so badass, literally how could you not celebrate him for that alone?

Villain wears black trope REPRESENT.

The way his cloak billows dramatically in episode one before Alina enters the Fold.

The way his cloak billows in general.

His little face in the background after his and Alina’s first kiss as he tries to compose himself.

Him knocking on the table in episode five when he gets back to see Alina. My mans was so hopeful that he’d finally get to third base with the love of his life. RIP.

Large hands. Very tall.

The way he literally cannot tear his eyes away from Alina during the entire scene where Alina dresses him and they have their first kiss.

The softest looking hair I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe Alina got to run her hands through it and she still left him.

How he urgently looks around for Alina outside after she leaves in episode five, right before he confronts Baghra. He’s very frantic and panting and clearly concerned and not being subtle at all about his emotions.

Also the way he walks when he’s leaving Baghra, with his hands stuck out to the side and his fists clenching and unclenching as his form grows smaller in the distance. He looks like a tiny penguin waddling away.

Son’s evil dastardly bastard plans once again thwarted by own mother. Can you imagine living for an eternity and never being free of your parents? Fuck all that other shit, no wonder he went darkside.

“She is all that matters now, not me. She is the future. She is the one-” SIMP

His little smile before he goes to answer the door after they kiss. The way his hold on her lingers as if he can’t bear to part with her. Forehead touch. They are giggling.

The way he runs back in for another kiss. This man is so gone it’s not even funny.

He calls her to him in the books and she spends the entire time agonizing over how upset he’s going to be. The man literally just wants to ask her about her day.

Defends Alina to Baghra after he witnesses her getting harassed. Defends himself to Baghra after she treats him like shit. Love that for him.

“I made something.” / “Let me make a mark on this world before I leave it.” / “It’s my own name I’m afraid of forgetting.” / “He understood then. The Grisha lived as shadows, passing over the surface of the world, touching nothing. Forced to change their shapes and hide in corners, driven by fear as shadows were driven by the sun. No safe place. No haven.” / “There will be, he promised the darkness, words written upon his heart. I will make one.”

Him offering Alina his kvas. They drink from the same glass.

Sasha “no thoughts head empty only Alina” Morozova having to look away and calm himself when Alina licks her lips after drinking his kvas.

Literally his entire confrontation with Kaz. Absolutely hilarious. Local centuries old Black Heretic gets bested by a teenager with one (1) flash grenade.

“I never intended for it to be the blight it’s become.” - Genuine regret. A+++.

Asks Mal what Alina’s favorite flowers are and then gives them to her. Was it manipulative? Yes. Was it awful? Absolutely. Was it the funniest and smoothest shit I’ve ever seen? 100%. I laughed my ass off.

Alina: *enters the fete dressed in the black kefta* *Darkling.exe has stopped working*

This man takes one look at her lack of guards and goes: what’s more important than how beautiful the wifey looks? her safety. *protective bf mode initiated*

He admires how pretty he appears in the mirror of his room with absolutely zero shame and 100% pride. We stan a vain icon in this house💕. Also the mirror is in front of the bed?!?! 👀👀👀

His knife ring.

“You looked like you needed saving,” as fire plays across his features and he looks at Alina with an expression that makes my soul want to splinter into pieces. The implications, the pain.

Will display his complete and utter adoration for Alina in front of the entire Court including the King and Queen despite the fact that that is the worst thing he could possibly do in the political environment.

“No ordinary tracker. No ordinary girl. Orphans of Keramzin reunited. AdOrAbLe.” - How do you say you have issues without saying you have issues?

The way he eclipses Alina when he’s stepping down from the dais. The inherent romantic symbolism of the eclipse and what that means for him.

Him getting excited about the stag to the point where he’s eagerly rummaging through the maps on his table and urgently asking Mal tons of questions.

The five second delay in his thoughts as he processes that Mal isn’t cooperating. Poor guy really thought that everything was finally coming up Sasha for once.

He constantly uplifts Alina after Baghra’s emotional abuse. He constantly helps her with her self esteem and reassures her that she’s doing well and that she just needs more time.

“Yeah I don’t know what Baghra’s summoning ability is,” he said, like a liar.

Even after Baghra suggests that Alina left he doesn’t believe it. He has to hear it from Kaz after searching for ages before he finally begins to believe it.

“You smuggle Grisha out of MY PALACE!”

Titty grab during the kiss scene.

He lifts her up onto the table!!

Local whipped dark overlord gets excited that Fedyor has found Alina and has to suffer through the embarrassment of acting like a lovesick fool when he learns it’s just about Nina.

His relationship with Nikolai.

The fact that Alina’s scarf blows past him before they even meet.

The way he nods with such an understanding expression when the Conductor is lying his ass off as if he sympathizes with everything the other man is saying and isn’t secretly planning his elaborate murder.

Puppy dog eyes all the time.

Every time his smile is forced and ingenuine and he looks like he’s about to stab someone.

Every time his smile is genuine and he looks super soft and loving.

“You have no chance, ShAdoW mAn.” Literally how is he ever going to recover from this.

His hands motions when he summons. I just think they’re neat.

He kills the Conductor. Hated that guy. And he looked sexy as fuck doing it.

He hates the Druskelle, he hates the Ravkan monarchy. I can relate.

He’s NOT a bootlicker, unlike some.

Dad mode gets activated when David raises his hand. Aleksander just goes along with it like an exasperated father.

Ben Barnes nose scronch.

He begs for Luda’s life.

“Merzost feeds on us. I forbid it!” two seconds later *frantic rummaging through notes on the merzost* *reading the Forbidden Knowledge™ without any hesitation* *Immediate Disaster Occurs*

“Mom look what I made!” “Your art is atrocious and you’re no longer my son.”

His history was written by the victors. The tale of the Black Heretic is straight up propaganda by the corrupt monarchy.

Immortal old man caught in a young adult love triangle: I read your letters. Malyen “what the fuck is happening on this here day” Oretsev: ??!?!?!!! who even are you??

Aleksander admitting he needs Alina.

Darklina hand holds.

He did not have to make that episode eight hand-hold on the skiff so sensual but he did it anyways.

The way he hides under his cloak like a turtle when Jesper shoots at him.

He looks so awkward and isolated at the fete surrounded by all of those colorful nobles.

He’s always ready to murder a bitch and honestly I respect that.

Would kill for his gf.

That entire scene where he kisses Alina in the snow in the books like the most awkward motherfucker and then goes “wtf just happened?! Darkling out” before fleeing the scene of the Emotion.

He’s eternally confused by his feelings for Alina and it’s hilarious.

“Looking for trouble, and if I cannot find it I will create it.”

He’s basically just a moth attracted to a fatal light. RIP.

The way he throws open double doors like a man on a mission.

“Follow.”

He’s utterly precious and I would die for him. 🖤

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my-bated-breath · 4 years ago

Note

Do you think Aang and Katara would still end up together if Katara killed her mother’s killer? How would that affect their relationship?

Hey anon! Sorry it took me a while to answer your question, but the truth is that there is no clear trajectory regarding Kata/ang in this situation, especially when we take into account that Kata/ang in the show canon was abrupt and significantly underdeveloped. More specifically on Kata/ang, both Katara and Aang’s arcs were twisted to accommodate for their endgame romance, but while Katara’s arc reaches its culmination by the end of the Final Agni Kai, Aang’s character had become inconsistent in its direction throughout all of season 3.

As such, two conflicting outcomes can result from this hypothetical scenario — one outcome which upholds Aang’s flaws and stagnated growth, or another outcome which forces Aang into growing, accepting, and understanding, as was the original intent behind his character.

From a broader context, Aang’s entire journey since he woke up in the iceberg has been about him reconciling his airbender and Avatar identity, and by the end of season 2 when he is with the guru, Aang is on the cusp of fully accepting his Avatar responsibilities, of letting go of his selfish attachments (or in other words, his blinding biases).

Except Aang cannot let go as he hoped he would be able to. Because his attachment to Katara is selfish, but beyond that his attachment to Katara is a replacement for his attachment to the Air Nomads — and it draws him away from his duties as the Avatar, causing him to embrace an ideal he does not comprehend. After all, the Air Nomads were not perfectly pacifistic either.

Still, just as Aang refuses to recognize the complexity in the Air Nomads’ legacies, dismissing what he may deem as an act of violence, Aang refuses to recognize the complexity to Katara’s rage and compassion, to her violent and protective nature. In my meta “On Ideals and Idealization,” I elaborate on Aang’s idealization of Katara:

Aang loves Katara, yes, but he is in love with an idealized version of her. In his mind, he holds close the idea of a gentle Katara, a smiling Katara, a compassionate and all-loving Katara. Even though he has seen her darkest moments when she bloodbends Hama - arms bent in disjointed angles, fingers curled as if manipulating puppet strings - it does not tarnish his image of her because, at this moment, she is not the persecutor, but the persecuted.

After her experience with Hama, Aang is there to comfort her and help her come to terms with the terrifying power she now possesses. With her face streaked with tears and eyes widened with horror, it is clear that this is a power that Katara does not want, that it has been thrust onto her against her own will.

The conclusion that Aang draws from this is that Katara’s inner darkness is a separate entity from her inner light, and he perceives this acquired part of her as a blemish on her inherent goodness. As such, in “the Southern Raiders,” when he witnesses how Katara’s anger and grief drive her to hunt down her mother’s killer, he equates Katara seeking closure to Katara succumbing to darkness, tainting her purity and compassion in the process.

Thus, given Aang’s reaction to Katara’s bloodbending, he may be inclined to love her in a piteous, nearly-obligatory manner. He’ll love her as the victim who lost sight and control and he’ll love her as a being of compassion and pacificity, but nothing more. Just like in the Southern Raiders, he may magnanimously grant Katara his forgiveness and his continued love even when she never asked for it. And in the end, Aang and Katara will kiss on the balcony of Iroh’s tea shop, only this time it’s not only “the hero winning the girl,” but “the bright and cheerful boy fixing the broken girl” as well.

This is the ending where Aang clings onto idealization even when it renders him a hypocrite, in the same way he is a hypocrite for shouting at his friends for pushing him to kill Ozai when it is implied he killed thousands at sea in the Siege at the North Pole.

This is the ending where he does not grow.

Note: Aang retreating into a ball of earth as a narrative parallel to the beginning of the series when he was encased in a ball of ice would have been much more powerful if only Aang entered the Avatar State through character growth rather than by the power of the Pointy Rock of Destiny (TM).

Now, let’s consider an ending where Aang’s perspective broadens rather than narrows and where Aang unroots himself from the past, pulling free from stagnance. Let’s consider a hypothetical scenario in which Aang finds out Katara killed Yon Rha. How may he react?

He may not be able to at first, too torn between his belief that Katara only uses violence as a last resort and the reality that Katara uses violence as a means of agency as well. Revenge corrupts; it is a stain that cannot be washed away. There is no reconciling Katara’s previous compassionate and loving nature with this dark path she has now chosen.

Except this is Katara he’s talking about, Katara who he loves and gave up the Avatar State for. Surely there’s a way to save her, right? Yes, just as Aang told Katara before she left, forgiveness is the answer. And while Katara may not have chosen forgiveness in the end, Aang can guide her by example.

The next day, he approaches her with the offer to exempt her from her wrongdoings.

Katara, tired and mournful, looks down at Aang.

“What was so wrong about what I did?”

Inside she is hurting. There is truth to what Aang said, that revenge is poisonous both to the victim and the perpetrator, but it is not poisonous for the reasons he thinks it is. As George Orwell writes in his essay, “revenge is an act which you want to commit when you are powerless and because you are powerless: as soon as the sense of impotence is removed, the desire evaporates also” (Revenge is Sour). There’s no doubt that Yon Rha was despicable, and there’s only a little doubt in saying that his punishment should fit his crime — the only regret Katara may have here is that killing Yon Rha is a meaningless act, for she has already gained power over him in every meaning of the word. Revenge is only a gateway to senseless violence and hatred; it is not a slope from which there is no recovery, and given Katara’s emotional intelligence, she likely has or will recognize this. Although she may feel regret, she needs no one’s forgiveness.

Aang is shocked. “But violence is never the answer,” he stands by, he pleads by. His voice grows quieter. “You know that… you knew that, didn’t you?”

Katara answers him, but it’s all a blur. She says something about agency, protection, and justice. He remembers something about that too, about the fury that burned in her eyes when she declared, “I will never, ever, turn my back on the people who need me!” Then there was the hostility simmering in her glare towards Zuko, the way she muttered that she didn’t trust him, not when he could still hurt them — hurt Aang — again.

Because Katara’s anger and compassion do not simply split themselves into two identities. Instead, they coexist and coalesce into one. They drive each other; they feed into each other; they are two sides of the same coin.

Excerpt from my meta Rage, Compassion, and the Bridge in Between

The beloved ideal of Katara — the one that he thought was on the verge of being tainted, the one that never existed — shatters. But just because it’s broken doesn’t mean Aang doesn’t want to fix it. So in the days leading up to Sozin’s Comet, he tries to pick up the fragments to the Katara-he-knew and piece them together again, all the while avoiding Katara’s mournful (yet resolved) stare. He ignores the way Zuko and Katara share glances with a heaviness as if they were the only two people in the world, full of some significance he cannot grasp. Still, it haunts him like the way Zuko’s touch lingers on Katara’s shoulder or Katara’s hand brushes Zuko’s briefly whenever they don’t think anyone’s looking, reflecting a togetherness escaping loneliness.

But there’s no answer that arrives quick enough to save Aang from his doubt and confusion. All too soon, Sozin’s Comet is upon them, and Aang wanders to another world on the lion turtle's back — but this time when he listens to the past Avatars’ advice, his perspective undergoes a paradigm shift.

They are right. The Air Nomads that he prioritized, that blinded him to his duties — they do not exist. Their love is still there, pure and human but not all-encompassing, tucked in the corner of his heart. And Katara was the same. She was and is not all-loving or all-compassionate or all-anything, really, because she is more human than that.

This time Katara’s image shatters again. But Aang does not follow the falling pieces to the ground, desperate to find them and force them together again. No, he sees past the remains and sees Katara for who she is. For who she wants to be. For who she can be (around someone else), when she’s not compelled to take on the caretaker role just for him.

(And he thought he was so generous, offering to forgive him. But it was never his forgiveness to give in the first place.)

Aang lets go of his last attachment.

The last airbender lives on, but so does the Avatar.

#atla #atla meta #anti kataang #anti kataang meta #zutara #aang #katara #anti aang #of sorts?#my bated breath's posts #my bated breath analyzes #i kind of rewrote aang's arc in the finale in my mind and a little bit of that slipped through #anon you asked a hard question so i gave you a 1.5k+ meta in response #i hope it's everything you ever hoped it could be #anonymous ask #ask #is tumblr hiding this post from the tags again?

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missscarletta7 · 3 years ago

Text

The Broken Crown- Chapter 3

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

Hello! Enjoy chapter 3! Sorry for any mistakes.

OoOoOo

"Just because we check the guns at the door

Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades

You're loving on the psychopath sitting next to you

You're loving on the murderer sitting next to you

You'll think, 'How'd I get here, sitting next to you?'"

~Heathens~

1919

It was true, Ada was pregnant, last night she and Polly went to the midwife to confirm it. Maggie had woken up to her sister entering into their room sobbing about how Polly was suggesting she get rid of the baby. It was unbearable to see Ada so sad, they both fell asleep crying in each other's arms. That very next morning Maggie decided to skip school, suggesting they go to the cinema to see the film Ada had been wanting to see. Then perhaps they could go shopping at the Bullring. Maggie was eager to make a 'girls' day' out of it, and Ada seemed willing to participate.

Both girls were now halfway through the picture at the Penny Crush, sharing a large bag of popcorn. A loud slamming of the theater door caused Ada to turn around in her seat and groan. Just as Maggie was about to ask what was wrong, she noticed a dark figure hovering over her. She remained frozen in her seat as Tommy sat down in the seat next to her, thereby trapping her in between her siblings and whatever fury was about to erupt.

"Tell me the man's name, Ada." He said curtly.

"Rudolph Valentino," the older girl replied innocently, causing Maggie to sink lower into her seat. This would not end well... She didn't have to look at Tommy, to feel the agitation radiating off of him. Quickly the man stood up and walked out of the theater. Neither girl was surprised when the picture on the screen began to roll to a stop and not long after the house lights went up. Their fellow audience began murmuring as to what could have happened.

"Get out!" The gangster shouted as he reentered the theater. "All of you! Go on! Now!" Everyone recognized what was happening and immediately rushed out to the exit.

He was now standing by their aisle and would only say this to her one more time, "I said tell me his fucking name." Nonetheless, Ada remained silent, popping another buttered kernel into her mouth.

Tommy was a busy man and didn't like to be kept waiting, "Maggie," his icy blue eyes moved to meet the younger girls, "tell me the man's name."

Shaking her head slightly, Maggie tried to tell her brother she knew just as much as he did. "I don't -"

"Right fucking now, Margaret!" The volume of his voice frightened her. Never in her life had Tommy ever yelled at her like that.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Ada's voice rang out, "Freddy Fucking Thorne!" The name caused Maggie's eyes to widen and it was clear that Tommy was not expecting that name to come out of her mouth either. "Yeah, your best mate from school, the man that saved your life in France! So go on, cut him! Cut him up and chuck him in the Cut."

Angrily Tommy stormed out of the theater, however, Ada wasn't finished with her yelling. Turning her head to the back of the room where they knew a worker must have witnessed the entire event, she rose from her seat and roared, "Oi! We're Shelby's too, you know! Put our fucking film back on!"

Someone did just that as Ada plopped herself back into her chair. The lights turned off and the film began to roll, allowing the two sisters to sit in uncomfortable silence, no longer paying any attention to what was happening on the screen.

OoOoOo

Tommy was still seething when he parked the car outside of the betting shop. How could his sisters be so stupid trying to hide this information from him? How could Ada be so naïve? He knew Freddie better than anyone. He knew Freddie wouldn't give a damn about Ada or the bastard he loaded her with. All he was ever going to care about was his fruitless political agendas. No, this was all an elaborate plan to get the guns, Tommy was sure of it. He turned the engine off and stepped out of the vehicle. Taking out a cigarette, he lit it before slamming the car door and walking on.

"Mr. Shelby!" He heard a familiar voice call out to him from the other side of the road. Tommy turned to see the Murray lad speedily making his way toward him.

Tommy wasn't stopping though, and continued walking, "Not a good time, Ross." Smoke exhaling from his mouth as he spoke.

"But my uncle phoned back sir," The young man informed him, keeping up with Shelby's brisk pace.

"That so?" Tommy's voice was gruff, he gradually began to slow their pace down. The two were almost to the door of the shop now anyway. "Good of him to do the favor."

"Like my uncle needs to be told twice to go to pubs," Ross chuckled out slightly, "He claims he went to every known pub in Dublin. Says no one in the area has ever heard of a 'Grace Burgess'."

This made Tommy stop his stride, keeping his hand on the doorknob he turned to the younger man, "You've done good. Keep your ear to the ground, eh?" Ross nodded enthusiastically and turned to walk away from the gangster.

So, Grace had lied to him, Tommy thought as he turned the knob and entered the betting shop. What on earth could she be trying to hide?

OoOoOo

When Maggie entered the Garrison later that day she was parched. She wasn't planning on staying too long, she knew in about an hour or so the bar would become filled to its capacity with drunken louts. Frankly, she was in no mood to deal with it. She had been expecting to see Harry behind the bar but instead, she saw a pretty young woman in his place. She was slightly confused before realizing this must have been the barmaid Harry had been trying to hire for a while now. She had never seen this woman around Small Heath before, and Maggie could only really describe her as looking... out of place.

"What can I get you?" The barmaid asked, her Irish accent was the tell that gave away what Maggie had already suspected. This woman was indeed not from here, though it wasn't unheard of, there were lots of Irish settling here.

"Glass of water," Maggie said, settling herself onto a barstool. She pulled out her journal and pen from her bag and began to write.

"Margaret, right?" The blonde barmaid questioned as she passed a glass filled with clear liquid across the wooded bar.

The girl looked up from her work, "Do I know you?" her tone was accusatory, coming from her family when strangers knew your name, it could be dangerous.

"Grace," The blonde extended her hand, which hesitantly the younger girl shook. "Tommy's mentioned you."

"Oh," was all Maggie could sound out. She moved the glassware closer to her, eyes narrowing slightly. Tommy had mentioned her to some new barmaid? She found that suspect.

"Don't worry, only good things." She assured Maggie hurriedly, grabbing a wet cloth to wipe down the counter. It was true, Tommy had talked of the girl, but he had been discussing family matters with his brothers, while she subtly eavesdropped. Hoping to change the subject, Grace went on, "What are you working on?"

Maggie's focus went back to the half-written page. "Just writing."

"I've heard you hope to be a novelist. Maybe I can read some of your work one day?" As soon as the words left Grace's mouth, the barmaid knew she had prodded a bit too hard when the dark-haired girl's head shot up.

"I don't really share my work with others," Maggie said protectively, subconsciously moving her arms to cover her work.

"It's only a story if it gets shared." The older woman shrugged. This was something Maggie had been hearing a lot lately. Before Maggie could respond, their conversation was ultimately interrupted by a shouting match that broke out between two of the regulars, which ended with three other men separating them. "Seems to happen a lot around here," Grace observed.

"You get used to it." Maggie replied uninterestedly, "Didn't you have men fighting in pubs wherever you've come from?"

"There would be," she answered calmly. The dark-haired girl tried to go back to her writing, but she could still feel the blonde's gaze on her.

"What?" Maggie asked somewhat exasperated.

"What's the real reason your brother doesn't allow singing?" Grace probed, leaning against the bar.

Growing up, her family instilled her with the mantra of 'Don't answer questions. Instead of responding to the barmaid's query, she downed the last of her water, which tasted a little of beer, roughly setting down the glassware onto the bar with a klink. Unable to write under the circumstances of inquiries and brawling and anyway, Maggie hopped off of the bar stool. With a final look at the blonde leaning against the counter, she said "Welcome to Birmingham," before exiting the building.

Graces' eyes were fixed on the girl as she left, perhaps she could be useful.

OoOoOo

Maggie felt a little lonely that next afternoon, Polly had finally convinced Ada to "do the right thing". They were on their way to get the procedure done in Cardiff to avoid any rumors and gossip. They left early this morning and Maggie had begged to go with them, but her Aunt thought it was best she stayed in Small Heath. She was about to leave her home to meet up with Cara when she unsuspectingly met her aunt at the door.

"Didn't expect to see you back this early," the girl said as Polly gently pushed past her. Looking out through the threshold, Maggie had expected to see her sister in tow, "Where's Ada?"

"Freddie came back," Polly spoke angrily.

"That's good, isn't it?" Maggie asked cautiously, closing the door before she followed her aunt back into the kitchen, who was now leaning her body against the counter.

"It would be if the stubborn fool would just get out of Birmingham. He's defying Tommy's orders, refusing to leave and he's going to drag Ada into his fucking mess." Polly lit a cigarette, inhaling and exhaling smoke. "I've been walking around the past hour trying to strategize what the next move should be."

"And what move did you decide?"

"Tell Tommy," Polly replied immediately.

Maggie nodded slowly before uttering, "I'd really love to watch you play chess sometime."

It was obvious Polly didn't appreciate her niece's sarcasm, "What else can I bloody do?"

"You sho-" But before the girl could finish, she was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

"All right?" Tommy greeted entering the home, causing Maggie to avoid eye contact with him. She had been successful in dodging him since he yelled at her yesterday. Instead of staying in the kitchen with her family, she quickly exchanged a look with Polly, before silently exiting the room through the doors of the betting shop and out of the residence.

She had not even walked five meters away from the home when she heard, "Maggie, thank Christ!"

The girl stopped and turned around to see John trying to catch up to her. "What's wrong?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

"I need your help," he informed her, removing his toothpick from his mouth, "Can you look after the kids today?" He pointed his thumb back to near the Shelby home where a seven-year-old James, two six-year-old twins, Izzy and Ben, and finally four-year-old Katie were all roughhousing.

At that moment, Maggie wished she had pretended not to have heard him or even stopped, "I can't, I'm on my way to go meet Cara in the park."

His exhausted eyes perked up, "That's perfect! Take them with you, let them run around 'til they tire out!"

"What, all four?" Her eyes shifted once again to the hooligans, who were now hitting each other with rubbish from the bins. "Are you mad?"

"Please Mags, they're driving me up the bloody wall." Her brother pleaded.

"Well don't punish me, I'm not the one who procreated!" Maggie whined. She was ready to decline his request until she looked into his sad eyes, sighing out, "You owe me."

He jerked her into his arms embracing her, "You're aces, you are." Pulling away he turned back to face the direction of his children "Oi!" John shouted out to his children, who all briefly stopped their brawling. "You lot, mind your Aunt Mags! She's going to look after you today!"

All four of them ran towards Maggie excitedly and her brother thanked her once again before heading into the shop. "C'mon," She sighed out to them, allowing little Katie to take her hand as they all made their way to Garrison Lane Park. It wasn't too much of a walk for them, about ten minutes. She found Cara sitting on one of the wooden benches.

"Hello, Cara," Maggie waved to her friend while her nieces and nephews took off running to the large patch of grass in the center of the small park.

"On babysitting duty, are we?" Raising an eyebrow at the children, who were now hitting each other with the little sticks that had fallen off the trees.

"They're demons," Maggie grumbled, as Cara rose from the bench. They soon began to walk the square trail around the perimeter of the park, every so often her eyes would glance over to the noisy kids. She loved Johns' children, but they were a handful. She had no idea how Martha was able to raise them on her own all those years. "After taking care of them it makes any woman not want children of her own."

The blonde laughed, "Leave it to Ada then eh?" Her comment triggered confusion. How did Cara know about Ada's pregnancy if she hadn't told her about it yet? Though she didn't have to wait too long for an answer, "Your sister came into the shop. Took a gorgeous white dress and veil, and she even wore it out of the store. Why didn't you tell me that Ada was getting married?" Cara paused, smile faltering. "Did you not know?"

Quickly Maggie wiped any emotion off of her face. "I shouldn't be surprised." It wasn't the fact that she was unhappy about the news of Ada's marriage, it was the fact that she wasn't even invited to witness it.

Cara seemed to notice the change of mood in her friend and thankfully had the tact to change the subject. "Have you heard from Ross lately?"

Maggie shook her head, "Not for a few days, why?"

She was silent for a moment before sighing, "Think I may have scared him off." Maggie stared at her waiting for an explanation before Cara obliged, "I told him how I felt as he was walking me home yesterday."

Maggie's jaw dropped, "No way! What did he say?"

"He said he didn't see me as anything more than a friend," Cara replied, disappointment dripping off every word. "And that there's someone else he was interested in."

Maggie's stomach dropped, "Who?" She asked cautiously.

"I dunno." The blonde sadly confessed.

"Well, he's an idiot," Maggie affirmed, earning a small chuckle from her friend.

That next afternoon, Maggie went into the kitchen and tried her best to heat up some vegetable stock in a pot on the last working burner. Yet, no matter how much she twisted the knob for the gas, the flame of the match would not ignite the burner. She tried again, lighting a new match and held it at the tips of her fingers. As she did so she couldn't stop all the emotions from bubbling up inside. Firstly there was anger, John had up and left his children overnight without any consideration to Maggie whatsoever. Though thankfully all four children were still upstairs sleeping. Secondly, she felt anxious about Cara and Ross’s current situation. At the very back of her mind, she couldn't help but think she already knew the reason Ross rejected her friend. She hoped she was wrong... Finally, she felt hurt about Ada's wedding. The lack of an invitation cut her deeper than she originally thought.

The match she pinched in between the fingers eventually died out, and once again Maggie lit yet another, hoping that this time the gas would absorb the flame. Would it have killed Ada to send a message about the event? Why couldn't Ross just return Cara's feelings? And where the bloody hell was John?!

Due to her lack of attention, the match in her hand finally burned one of her fingers. "Fuck!" She shouted, dropping the small stick onto the floor. She brought her hand to her face and sucked lightly on her tingling thumb.

"What's got you cursing then, Mags?" She jumped in place, gasping in shock she spun around to where she heard the voice. Standing in the doorway of the betting shop was an amused-looking Arthur.

"Jesus, you scared me!" Clutching at her chest she managed to catch her breath, "We need a new stove Arthur, the last burner went out."

"I'll talk to Tom about it," her brother assured her. "We can afford it now, soon we'll be having a shit ton of more money coming in."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "What d'you mean?"

"We're moving up in the world, legitimate business is the goal Mags," Arthur informed her, gladly sitting in one of the wooden chairs. "Got me a pub to put all our cash in. Things are looking up."

He continued to smile at her brightly as she crossed her arms across her chest asking her brother simply, "What pub?"

OoOoOo

Again, Lily heard the footsteps of her father pacing in his room…

These were the words Maggie had just finished writing in her journal. She had found that writing in her home that morning had become increasingly difficult in the past month. John had brought his children to number seventeen to be looked after yet again, so the home was filled with constant crying and yelling. The peace and quiet of the Garrison had become her safe haven. The only problem was...

"Your usual, Miss." Maggie looked up from her half-written page to see Grace, who placed a glass of water in front of her onto the bar with a small clink.

"Thanks," Maggie mumbled out, begrudgingly taking a sip from the glass.

"You, young lady, are going to be hearing a lot more singing," Grace told her excitedly. "I made a deal with your brother."

Maggie stared back at her unimpressed, "It would have been safer to make one with the devil."

Grace smiled, "I would have, but the Devil has a much longer queue." The blonde could have sworn that she spotted a smirk on the girl's face even though she tried her best to hide it. She had been persistent in befriending the youngest Shelby girl. Grace was sure Maggie had to know something, but she was careful in executing her plan because despite the girl's young age she was clever.

Unfortunately, Grace had gotten nowhere by the time Maggie packed up her bag and left the pub. As she exited and walked in the direction of her home, she noticed a woman was hurriedly running down the cobblestone street. Maggie could not believe her eyes, "Ada?" She asked in disbelief. "Where have-"

"Tommy!" Her sister interrupted, grabbing her shoulders, "Where is he?!"

Maggie could only shake her head, "I don't know."

"He's gonna kill him!" She cried pushing past her sister and ran towards the entrance of the pub.

Maggie turned to follow her, "Wait-What? - Who's killing who?! Ada!"

Ada shoved the doors open and began to look around the room, searching for her brother or husband.

Upon seeing the commotion Grace walked towards them. "Maggie what's going on?"

"Have you seen Freddie Throne?" Ada asked her immediately.

"No," Grace replied, instantly recognizing the name of the man who Campbell was searching for.

It was then Ada began to experience pain. "Or Tommy?" She was able to grit out.

"C'mon Ada sit down," Maggie told her worriedly, grabbing her arm to move her into a seat.

"No!" She cried, pulling out of her sister's grasp and moved towards the door to leave, but Maggie was able to catch up to her, seizing her sisters' arm again.

"Can you at least tell me what you're on about?!" The younger girl pleaded.

"Tommy keeps trying to make us leave," Ada sighed. "And Freddie is too bloody stubborn to listen to any of us. He wants to stay here with his comrades. I got word that he was asking around where Tommy might be. They're going to hurt each other; I just know it! I have to find them!"

"Drink this first," Grace ordered, walking over toward the sisters, handing over a glass of water to the eldest.

But Ada refused, "No, I have to find them! I think they're going to kill each other!"

"Wait. Who is going to kill who?" Grace questioned gently.

"My sister thinks her husband is going to kill Tommy," Maggie explained. "Or vice versa." Frankly, she really couldn’t decipher who was in more danger.

Grace looked from Maggie back to the anxious face of the mother-to-be, "Ada is it?" Grace asked, to which the pregnant woman nodded. "Your sister is right, you should sit."

Ada stared at the blonde before catching the pleading look Maggie was giving her and complied with the request. Maggie led her sister to a chair and sat down beside her.

"Did you want to talk about it?" The barmaid asked, leaning back in the wooden chair she had just sat into, crossing her arms. When Ada remained silent Grace added, "My father used to say, 'you'll never plow a field by turning it over in your head.' So, you may as well talk while you got the company."

"I just wish they would stop fighting over the same thing." Ada sighed, wringing her fingers in her lap.

"And what thing is that?" Grace pressed, leaning forward slightly.

Ada shook her head, saying tearfully, "Freddie won't tell me. He keeps things from me. He won't even listen to me. And Tommy-" She sniffed before adding, "Tommy keeps everything locked up too."

Maggie placed a hand on her sisters, squeezing it slightly, "He's just trying to keep us all safe, Ada." As much as Maggie was annoyed with her brother at the moment, she knew Tommy would move heaven and earth to ensure the safety of his family. Though Ada didn't seem to believe her sister's sentiments.

"I better go," Ada said after a few moments of silence and at last lifted herself out of the chair.

Maggie rose from her seat too, "I'll go with you." She had missed her sister so much and was excited at the prospect of speaking with her, feeling the need to soak in her sisterly words of wisdom on her current problems.

"No, Mags, I think he may have gone back to the flat, and I can't let you follow me there. It's not safe." Ada told her sadly but nevertheless hugged her sister tightly before exiting the pub without seeing the hurt that flashed across her little sister's face.

Grace's ears had perked up at Ada's words, this may be a chance to learn and report where the communist lives. She had to leave the bar quickly and inconspicuously. Grace rose from her chair too, "Well I suppose I should g-"

However, at the same time, Maggie asked, "Can I ask you something?"

The Irish woman looked at the girl hesitantly before replying, "Of course." She sank back into her chair, giving a fleeting glance toward the door.

Maggie sighed out and sat back down as well, "What do you do if you think someone may like you as more than a friend, but you don't think that you could see them the same way back?"

"Then you don't be with them" Grace leaned over the counter placing both her elbows on the table, "And you wait for the person you do feel that way about."

"I don't see that happening," She wasn't sure if she could ever love anyone more than the words she wrote in her journal.

Grace then places a hand over Maggie's, "If it doesn't, then it doesn't, you'll still have your family, friends... your stories."

The girl smiled at her words. Perhaps she shouldn't have given the barmaid the cold shoulder. She was obviously just a kind-hearted woman, who was just trying to make friends in a new city.

"Would you like to hear the first few pages of my story?" She asked hopefully.

Grace forced a smile, "I would like that very much."

Maggie beamed at the answer, and opened her journal to the first page, "Long ago when she was young, she believed that what she saw in her dreams could be a vision of what was to come..."

OoOoOo

Early the following morning she found herself sitting on top of the family car, with her journal sitting in her lap, she scribbled down words quickly. Talking about her work yesterday evening with Grace had been a revelation. A creative spark had overcome her as they spoke of possible themes, symbols, and imagery she could possibly use in her work. Eventually, she was taken out of her thoughts by a familiar voice, "Didn't think I'd see you up this early on a weekend."

"All right Ross?" She hadn't seen him in quite a while, he had altogether stopped walking her and Cara after school. "Where are you off to then?"

"Heading to meet with your brothers. I'm going to help the Peaky Blinders take on the Lees at Cheltenham." Ross replied, hoping she would be impressed at the news.

Her mind flashed back to that day when she last saw the Lees and what her brothers did. It made her stomach churn at what they may make her friend do. Staring into his hazel eyes she asked him quietly, "Why are you helping them with this?"

The smile dropped from his face and he remained silent at the question, so she continued, her voice a bit harder now, "You're no gangster, why are you pretending to be?"

His shoulders shrugged, "It's a good opportunity," he replied, but Maggie couldn't hold back her mirthless laugh. "And I'm not pretending to be anybody" Ross’s tone more indignant this time.

Maggie felt herself getting irritated now, "It's sad that you really think that."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" His facial expression tried to remain indifferent, but she could tell that he was cross.

"I mean that just because you want to be a fucking criminal it doesn't give you the right to break my best friends heart!"

"So, this is about what I said to Cara?" He realized furiously, scoffing out, "Are you fucking serious?"

"You knew how she felt about you!"

"What the hell was I supposed to do? Lie to her?!"

"You-" Maggie didn't finish her sentence because their argument was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Both teens' heads turned to see an annoyed-looking Tommy standing there with a cigarette in between his fingers. Neither knew how long the gang leader had been standing there.

Tommy looked over to Ross, telling him stiffly, "You're late. Off you fucking pop, the rest of the men have already gone to Charlies."

"Yes sir," Ross nodded, and with a final look to the girl, he walked off in the direction of Charlie's Yard.

"And you," Tommy turned to face his little sister, "Get off, I don't need your arse print on my car. I'm taking it to Curly before the races." Closing her journal, she allowed herself to slide off the hood easily with the fabric of her skirt. Once her feet were back on the ground, she began to head towards the front door of the home.

"You've been avoiding me," Tommy continued, causing his sister to stop and shrug. To be honest, she had gotten over her brother's words a while ago. Nevertheless, their relationship remained awkward the past few weeks. For Tommy, this silent treatment was starting to become unbearably annoying. "I didn't mean to yell at you that day at the cinema." Believing that was as close as Tommy was ever going to get to an apology she nodded and continued her walk back to their residence.

"Mags," He called out to her once more. She turned around to see he was already in the driver's seat of the car, "We all have to pretend in order to get by in this world," He stated this as if it were a universal truth, "Even us fucking criminals."

With that he started the engine and drove off, leaving his sister standing motionless in place.

#peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby #oc #shelbysister #john shelby #ada shelby #finn shelby #peakyblinders #polly gray #alfie solomons #1920

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mushroom-cartel--writing · 4 years ago

Text

begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

|||

There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gn!reader #gender-neutral reader #gojo satoru x reader #reader insert #one-shot #originally posted on ao3 #jujutsu kaisen #this is a dumpster fire

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jesuiscalmedammit · 4 years ago

Text

Mistakes Were Made – (6) Don’t Leave Me Alone || [Russell Adler x reader/fem!Bell]

note: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5.

tw: suicidal thoughts

“Bell, you okay?”

Russell sat on the edge of the bed and cautiously put a hand on your shoulder. This was the most he dared to do now and even that little gesture felt like he was intruding your personal space. Which he probably did by the way. But you didn’t push him away so for now he stayed like this.

Minutes passed in silence and without you even looking at him. He didn’t know what to do about this and how he should act around you. Should he say something? Should he ask if you wanted to leave? Then again, why would he ask that? As of now, he had no idea what this nightmare was about, maybe it wasn’t even related to him.

Before he knew it, you pushed his hand away and suddenly launched forward to pull him into a tight hug. It took him a few seconds to process what was happening, but once he understood what you were doing, he wrapped his arms around you. While a part of him was happy to have you this close, he also knew something was seriously wrong.

“Please, don’t leave me alone,” you murmured while you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “I–I can’t do this on my own.”

“Okay, I’m not going anywhere.” He put a hand on the back of your head, hoping this would make you feel safe. Soon he could tell you calmed down a bit, but you didn’t let him go just yet. “What’s wrong? What is it you can’t do alone?”

“Just… existing.” Russell had no idea what you meant by that so he let out a questioning hum, hoping you would elaborate. “It’s hard to explain it, but… I’ve been working for the CIA for so long that I don’t know what to do now. I mean, I know I don’t want to work for them again, this is why I agreed to enter witness protection, but the thought of it is terrifying. I would be on my own.”

So that’s what it was all about. Once he let out a sigh, he began to move his hand up and down your back in another attempt to calm you down. “I already told you that you can stay with me. I mean it, Bell,” he whispered into your hair.

“Yeah, but...”

“You don’t trust me?”

You shook your head and leaned back to finally look him in the eye. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. But they know what I did and they will come after me. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” you explained and your words surprised him. How could you still trust him after what he had done? If he was in your place, he definitely wouldn’t. “I know, I know, you can protect yourself, but I don’t think I could live with the thought of getting you injured, let alone killed.”

Russell opened his mouth to reply but quickly shut it. What was he supposed to say now? In his line of work, proper relationships never worked. Sure, he wasn’t happy about his ex-wife’s hoarding habit, but the problem was more serious than that, something that was related to his job. Because of him, she could have easily become a target and it often stressed him out. Was this how you felt now? If so, why?

That was a good question he simply couldn’t keep to himself. “Why, Bell? I… After I almost shot you back then, how can you still trust me, and how can you be worried about my safety?”

“Because of everything that happened between you brainwashing and trying to shoot me. I think the good memories outweigh the bad ones,” you explained as you buried a hand in his hair. “On the flight back from Germany I was still mad at you, but… I had time to think and after doing this job for long, no wonder we all get a little paranoid. You just wanted to make sure I don’t have the chance to turn on you later, that’s all.”

No, it wasn’t all, he knew it. “And? There has to be more to this.” Suddenly you got out of bed and headed straight out the door. With a frown, Russell followed you to the kitchen and silently watched as you poured yourself a glass of cold water. “Bell, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Maybe it would have been better if you pulled the trigger before Alex could stop you,” you blurted out so casually that it honestly shocked him. “If I decide to stay with you instead of entering witness protection, can you promise me to finish what you started there?”

“You mean…”

“Yeah. I’m certain I would chicken out, but you… you could do it.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Look, Alex wouldn’t do it, Frank wouldn’t do it because of Alex, Hudson would ignore me… You’re the only one I can trust with this,” you explained as if this conversation was perfectly normal. “I’m not asking you to do it right away, of course. We would have to plan everything so you could get rid of my body and hid–”

“Damn it, can you stop talking for a second?” Russell barked angrily, managing to make you fall silent right away. “I won’t do it. I won’t kill you, Bell. I want to make things better, not worse.”

“But you would make it better for me.”

He couldn’t help but let out a desperate laugh upon hearing this. Did you really think that would work on him? That he would kill you? “I’m selfish, and that would only be better for you, not me! I can try to fix you,” he informed you while he reached out to take your hand. “There has to be a way.”

“There’s no way, Russ!” With that, you pulled away your hand and refilled the glass. “Just… please, do this one thing for me,” you said quietly.

“No.”

“Fine, then I’ll leave and find someone who will do it.”

“What’s wrong with you? We had a nice and normal evening, what the hell went wrong?”

For a minute or two, you stayed completely silent and still, but Russell wasn’t worried because you were still there. The fact you didn’t pack your things and stormed out of his apartment meant there had to be a chance he could change your mind. But despite this, his heart was still racing. He didn’t really know how to deal with this and if you stayed there, he had to figure it out fast. The last thing he needed was you becoming brave enough to kill yourself with one of his guns.

“When I woke up,” you suddenly began, “it wasn’t a nightmare, it was something much better. I died in my sleep and it felt so good. It felt like I was finally free.”

“It was a dream, don’t be fooled by that feeling,” he warned you.

“But–”

“No buts, we’re not having this conversation. Just… try to go back to sleep.”

Oh, how he hated this. He sure sounded like his father. But apparently, this was what you needed, someone to be strict and tell you what to do. And right now, not letting you do anything stupid was the most important thing.

note: this... turned dark pretty fast. i swear this wasn’t part of the plan. || if you find any mistakes, i’m sorry.

taglist: @deviljoonie @ktdragonborn @pookolokon

#russell adler #russell adler x reader #russell adler x bell #russell adler x fem!bell #black ops cold war #black ops cold war fanfiction #tw: suicidal thoughts #call of duty #fic: mistakes were made

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lokidrabbles · 4 years ago

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Stop, And Think of Me (Loki x Reader)

After an incident at work, Loki provides reader with his own comforting methods

A/N: Another quick oneshot dealing with some work related stress, Loki fluff and smut. Again, thank you all for the follows and likes on my little stories :) As always, Gender Neutral Reader!

Warnings: Implied smut, lewd imagery, but fluff n’ stuff too!

A worker, the one Maria Hill, who still held some ambivalence towards Loki, was the one to inform him of what had happened earlier that day and why you had been dismissed.

The details of the situation were scattered. Your workplace at the facility had provided you with a sudden wave of paperwork, meetings, drills and overtime needed after another inter dimensional threat was discovered. Luckily no catastrophic worldwide panic was caused, as the Avengers meticulously took care of business. Through the midst of it all, there was some ongoing entanglement between the lower departments of the facility, with certain protocols having gone ignored and undetected by supervisors and authority figures. Whatever, or whoever had majorly fucked up, had decided to use you as a scapegoat to evade any type of consequences, throwing you in as the ‘newbie’ who had gone over everyone.

Loki admired your ability to defend yourself well with your own ability of verbal intervention, using your sharp tongue as weapon against anyone wronging you or him. You were quick witted, confident, and unafraid to speak your mind towards anyone. Whatever fool had wanted to try at you in this way wouldn’t have gotten the chance to defend themselves.

Never did he actually expect you to have utilized you own physical strength to justly give this person a broken nose.

Hill described the brawl being very brief as security was immediately called in to break you up. Luckily, no charges were pressed and Mr. Stark took the situation casually, finding it normal for seeming coworkers to punch the crap out of each other in this line of work. A good way to say no one was fired.

You were promptly sent home to ‘think about your actions’, but most importantly to cool off as you had become quite shaken up. Normally a situation like this wouldn’t have warranted his attention as it seemed things worked out on their own. You were an adult, who was more than capable of taking care of themselves, and probably wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon in privacy.

Despite these thoughts, Loki knew he’d find you in your home, and a certain obligation tugged at him endlessly. After all, what type of man would he be if he didn’t?

He would soon make way to your home (entering with complete disregard), and would find you shriveled up in your bed. From your dampened hair, he figured you had taken a much needed, life altering bath. The pressure of it all must have been to much for you to bear. Loki had noted how your gaze became hollowed, barely looking up to see him enter your bedroom.

“I guess you heard about my little episode.” You said flatly.

“Indeed. I have to admit, I’m quite impressed at the damage you left behind. Remind me to never get on your bad side.” He said while sitting at the edge of your bed.

You groaned, turning around for your back to face him. “What was I thinking? I totally lost myself back there.”

Loki inched up closer to you, beginning to meticulously straighten out your wet locks of hair. “You were defending yourself, were you not? I know you to be a level headed individual most of the time. I’d take it this person really hit a nerve.”

“Yeah, they were totally out of line! Calling me out in front of our department supervisor and calling me a ‘newbie’. Dickhead.”

“Oh, how I much I would have loved to see your pretty little knuckles land on this fool’s face.” He said teasingly, while still threading his fingers through your hair.

“It was totally awesome, don’t get me wrong. But I still feel like garbage.”

“Care to elaborate?”

He felt your chest rise with a deep inhale, and slowly fall down as you released. “Because, I shouldn’t have done that. I lost control over my temper again. I mean, it’s been a while but I didn’t think it would go like this.”

He noticed how your voice became smaller. This was something more than having an altercation with a coworker. This was something much more internalized, and Loki had come to know and understand your telltale signs very closely. You’d turn away, avoiding to see him in the eyes. You’d begin to take in deep inhales to control your breath. And your voice would begin to crack as the discomforting lump in your throat began to rise.

Loki wasn’t alien to comfort. In his childhood, Frigga would be his stone and the bearer of his doubts and worries. There were still times where Loki would remind himself of her sweet aroma and soft hair, caressing him dearly with intent and love. The memories of the late queen would forever linger with him, perhaps as a lesson for whoever would capture the Asgardian’s fondness.

A sniffle broke his thought process, and soon he saw how your body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears.

There was instinct which rose within Loki, a mixture of fury, protection, hesitation and warranted worry. His first flashing thought was to find the person responsible for causing you this pain, and swiftly burying a sharp object into their neck, but due to ‘certain restrictions,’ this would only make things much more difficult. Instead, he would provide you with what you needed at the moment.

“(Y/N),” He began, speaking carefully. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told, and you turned around to come face to face with the dark haired prince. Giant droplets dripped downwards, falling almost beautifully at the edge of your jaw. Uncontrollable sobs made it difficult for you to breath and articulate any type of explanation to him. Loki didn’t need you to explain however, as he knew exactly the conflict going within you. Loki understood sadness and shame very well. And perhaps, these were the most human emotions to use in efforts to connect to you.

He cradled your head justly into the crook of his neck, unbothered by the wetness coming from your face and nose. His arm cradled around your shoulders, holding you tightly and secure against his chest, close enough for you to feel the heavy beating in his chest. He encouraged you to drape your legs over his lap to support your whole weight onto him, as well as leading your arm around his shoulder. Your shudders continued, and he allowed you to experience everything within his embrace. He tenderly kissed your temple, murmuring sweet nothings and words of protection until your sobs stabilized.

“I don’t like seeing you this way.” He whispered into your ear, as if it would be only confessed to you.

“I'm sorry.” You said in between trembling lips.

“Stupid human. Don’t apologize for being upset.” He snarled.

“Ugh.” You let out an unappealing groan. “I c-can’t go back like this.”

“You won’t, because you will only show your vulnerability with me. Understand?”

He meant it. It made him physically uncomfortable to see you in this state, however it also sickened him to the core at the possibility of someone else wrapping their arms around you and allowing you to pour your tears onto them. For you, to have to resort to someone unworthy to bring you contentment? Unthinkable. As far as he knew, Loki was the only one who would witness this, and the only one who would provide you with the tenderness and care you needed.

“This individual was fortunate enough to only obtain a bloody nose from you.” He continued. “I’m sure I would be back in handcuffs and some type of cell if I was there.”

“Hmm?”

“I would have murdered them.”

You chuckled in between sniffles, and Loki could only imagine a small smile forming over your cheeks. “That’s horrible to say.” “Perhaps.”

You shifted within his embrace, just enough for your tear stained face to come close to his own. Loki felt your lips softly brush past his, and then return for a much needed kiss. He felt your small hand push the back of his head deeper into your taste, to which he eagerly reciprocated. You coaxed him to lay over you, and soon he would lean forward into you, pushing you softly onto your bed. You wrapped your arms justly around his neck as moans of contentment escaped the corners of your mouth. He returned these with his own guttural groans, taking in the sweet nectar of your mouth. He felt the heat rise in your face and his mind began to cloud with lewd details of his drippings all over your bare body. Indeed, no other individual would be able to bring this level of pleasure to you, or even begin to comprehend just exactly what your body needed. Only he was capable of such comprehension, and only his fingers, hands, lips and body were good enough to draw out the poison in you and replace with pure ecstasy and reverence.

He broke the kiss temporarily, catching his breath. He gazed at your glassy eyes, full of desire, and practically begging him to resume exploring your mouth.

“Feeling better, are we?” He asked with a satisfied smirk.

You nodded slowly, licking your lips over his remaining spit.

“Do you wish for me to continue? You know once I begin, I won’t stop.” He said, as if warning you for what was about to come.

“I know.” You responded self-assuredly. He loved it, your willingness to completely be pleased by his own doing and allowing whatever carnal desire he held back to be released onto you.

“Little human.” He began, trailing kisses from your salty cheek, and then all the way down your neck. “You will forget about all your troubles from today. I will fuck you endlessly, because you deserve a good fucking.”

“Loki, I-” You began, but he interjected immediately.

“No. Listen to me well. There will be no more hesitation with any of that. All I want to hear from you are those obscene sounds coming from your lips as I bury myself deep in you. Do you understand?”

“You’re gorgeous.” You said in a breathy manner.

Loki took you for the remainder of the day, lovingly and longingly. Your two bodies would join each other, sharing each other’s heat and sweat, providing you with the necessary distraction from your own turbulence, and providing Loki with a self-fulfilling deposition. You were his and no other man or woman could even possibly come close.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x (y/n)#loki x you #loki pov #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki drabbles #loki drabble #loki laufeyson #loki odinson

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

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Interlude (The Magnus Archives)

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Mikaele Salesa, Annabelle Cane

CW: Mental Deterioration/Memory Loss, Some Fluff but Mostly Angst, Spoilers for 181

This is not a home.

Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

_______

Jon wakes up to a smile.

It is Martin, looking peaceful and well-rested for once. It cuts through the hazy fog of his mind and lands somewhere near his heart. He deserves a break, doesn’t he? He can see the grime etched into the lines on his face- lines that shouldn’t be there, lines that he caused. Outside the birds chirp and a breeze rustles the trees. This is not a home, but maybe they can play at it. An interlude.

The rooms are luxurious. Martin stretches and pours tea from an elaborate set provided by Annabelle. Jon is thirsty and hungry but he’s not going to take anything from a spider unless he absolutely needs to. Martin disagrees, and Jon doesn’t stop him. It’s probably fine.

There’s a lovely clawfoot tub, barely big enough for two but they make it work. Martin lovingly works through his hair, sorting out tangles and scratching lightly at his scalp. Jon aches with nostalgia, remembering the days of the cabin when Martin had first tentatively touched him after months of the Lonely. They were always touching after that- holding a hand here and leaning against a shoulder there. When Jon ruined everything the touches turned desperate, like clinging to a buoy in a storm. Martin pours tea but the tea isn’t tea it’s spiders-

“Jon?”

He blinks. Martin has a hand on his shoulder. He’s relaxed, utterly at ease. They’re in Upton House. “You went away for a moment there. Still tired, eh? Me too.”

This is not a home.

When they’re clean and dressed in freshly-laundered clothes, Annabelle arrives. Creeping in the doorway, pointing them to a pantry and telling them to “make themselves at home.” They wait until she leaves to check it out. Jon follows Martin. He has already forgotten the way.

“Look at all of this, Jon! It’s like they raided a gourmet,” Martin scans the stacks, picking things up at random. He’s smiling so wide. Jon thinks it is the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. “What should we have?”

“Hmm.”

“Enlightening,” Martin rolls his eyes but is good-natured as ever. “How about some fruit?” He picks up an apple and holds it out enticingly. “Looks good!” he tempts with a sing-song voice. Jon doesn’t take it and Martin sighs. “Look, it’s only polite.”

“You can have some,” Jon replies. “I’d rather not.”

“You’ll have to eat sometime,” Martin says, taking a bite. “Time works differently here, I think.”

“Hm.”

There is opera playing somewhere in the distance. The house is so big the sound only reaches them in echoes. How long have they been here? His grandmother used to play opera while she cooked. She had a nice voice, humming along with the radio. Jon liked to watch her. It was their ritual in the evenings. She was trying. Jon played along. It was almost like a home, but not quite. Jon wishes for it dearly.

This is not a home.

Martin is already following the sound of the music, eager to talk to their host. Mikaele. Jon is eager too; the temptation of his story is almost too much to bear. He matches his pace and they reach a parlor. Martin knocks before Jon can stop him.

Mr. Spider has a guest! But Jon didn’t bring him a cake. Mikaele smiles and they enter. He’s not a spider, but he’s housing one. Isn’t that the same?

They’ve slept for 71 hours. Jon did not dream. He wonders if Martin did. Mikaele offers them a drink though it is far too early. Jon itches for one, strangely. But he shouldn’t, and he won’t. Their host is coy, leisurely pouring himself a drink and smiling like he has a secret. He does. Jon wants it. There is a tape recorder here and Jon wants to take take take but Mikaele just gives it a delighted smirk, as if the suspicious activity is an exciting turn of events. Jon asks. Mikaele refuses.

No? Jon is confused. He’s not used to being denied, not anymore. Mikaele and Martin laugh but he does not find it particularly funny. But Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

Mikaele asks how it is out there in Jon’s world. Jon doesn’t remember. How to put it into words? Does he even have the words to do so? Jon doesn’t think so. He only knows that he is hungry in a way he hasn’t been in a long time, and out there he was not.

Martin is talking. Martin is telling Mikaele about a quest to turn the world back to how it was. “Martin,” he admonishes. He doesn’t know why he is arguing with him. Martin sees the good, sees the potential and holds onto that desperate hope. It is infuriating but it is also what Jon loves about him. He is human and it is so, so beautiful. But Salesa is no salvation. He has carved out his corner of the world and he plans to stay.

Martin wants to stay too, for a bit. Jon knows this will not last- he would be too guilty, living in paradise while others suffer. And Jon can’t protect them here. Not from Annabelle. Doesn’t Martin know they need to be on their guard? Spiders only look for their next meal. Annabelle will devour them whole.

“Alright, I guess we can stay. Just for a bit.” Why does he say that? Jon is so tired. Martin is tired too. They deserve a rest in this nice big house. Jon has always wanted Martin to have nice things. For the first time he can offer something.

Mikaele is talking but Jon isn’t interested in small talk. He wants to know.

Look at him! Not three days without his master spooning knowledge into his head and he can’t bear it!

Mikaele is laughing but Jon is not. Martin asks again and the man indulges. It’s nice when Martin wants to know too. He knows he shouldn’t subject him to the statements when he doesn’t like it. But Jon wants to share his knowledge. He wants Martin to want it too.

Martin tells Mikaele he’ll behave. It’s impolite to badger your host, after all.

And Salesa is smart. Salesa prepared, Salesa survived. He is quick-witted and an excellent storyteller. Jon is entranced and he tries to drink it in but it is like empty calories, sweet and fleeting.

I can die.

… but still, if it means a comfort...anyway, no more stories I think.

You can’t trust comfort. But Jon tries, for the next few days. For Martin. Martin is at peace here and so is Jon, in a way. He’s never felt a hazy unknowing like this. Annabelle comes and goes but is never seen for long and Jon partakes in her gifts when the hunger gets to be too much. Martin tells him about the flowers and the trees. The sun hits their skin as they stroll the grounds. Jon can’t walk for long but he tries, because Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

They see Salesa come and go. Sometimes they talk but Jon can’t remember what it’s about. The tape recorder hasn’t shown up again.

Martin curls around him in bed. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he whispers.

“I think we need to leave.” Jon whispers back. It is the first real opinion he’s offered in days.

Martin pauses and then squeezes Jon a little tighter. “I know.”

This is not a home.

They pack and there it is. A tape recorder. Jon hasn’t seen one in days. He figures their peace wasn’t worth listening to, not for whatever is haunting them.

Martin asks one more time. But Jon can’t stay. He can’t remember how they got here. He is scared but the fear is gentle here. And that scares him more. He knows Martin will tire of this place eventually. But not in time for Jon.

Martin is worried about the implications of this. What happens if we actually do manage to- we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Jon doesn’t like to think about it. So he doesn’t.

Annabelle comes and Martin is angry. Martin wants answers.

The sun felt nice, didn’t it? Jon can’t remember what the sun felt like. Martin pours tea but the tea isn’t tea it’s spiders-

“Jon?”

Someone is talking. Someone is asking questions. Is the knowledge even worth it? Annabelle is answering something.

Elias once said that Jon chose this. Every step of the way, he pressed on.

Our world is made of choices, Jon, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless.

But did he choose this? Jon doesn’t remember. For some reason, he wants a cigarette. He toys with the lighter in his pocket.

Annabelle demurs. She is a spider, that’s what they do. Always behind the scenes, always underestimated.

“I can handle myself.” Martin always has. Martin is strong. Martin doesn’t need him. But Jon needs Martin. And Martin chooses him. It’s a blessing he doesn’t deserve.

“...I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re leaving.”

Martin takes his hand and they move towards the door. Annabelle speaks again but Jon isn’t listening.

“That’s the trouble with old houses. Full of spiders.”

This is not a home.

Annabelle shows them out. It’s fine. Salesa comes to say goodbye, but Jon has to...has to...has to…

Leave, right.

“Jon, let’s go.” Right, yes. They were leaving. Martin leads the way.

____

Jon feels better in the howling winds. He knows Martin does not, but Martin is brave. Martin is a kind soul. Martin couldn’t bear to watch others suffer when he thinks he can do something about it. And Martin chooses Jon, every time. Martin would never leave him and Jon is so, so afraid.

That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

For the first time, Martin knows something he doesn’t. Jon is as delighted by this as he is saddened. The time slips from his mind like a dream he forgot to write down.

It was nice. It was really nice.

Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it is the last time he will see it for a while.

#my writing #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jon/martin #tma spoilers #mikaele salesa #annabelle cane

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o-foramuse-of-fire · 4 years ago

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Surprise! There’s actually a PART TWO to your Secret Santa gift @ubilupus! I didn’t know whether you wanted an AH or canon story, so I wrote BOTH! The two go together, as they both concern Jasper and Alice passing notes at the Law Library at the University of Michigan.

Summary: Jasper’s studying is interrupted. Post-BD.

Title: Apricity

Words: 1,401

Rating: G/K+

Read on: AO3 or FFN

Jasper sat in the grand Reading Room of the Law Library, soaking in the other students’ anxiety and releasing tranquility. It was only a few days before finals at the University of Michigan, and the Reading Room was packed with students eager for a quiet place on campus to study, due to the strict no-talking policy enforced at the Law Library. Jasper had witnessed several students throw out one of their own for a stray cough or cacophonous giggle. Jasper was doing his best to ease the tension in the room and provide a bit of supernatural focus. He himself was very engrossed in his textbook for his torts class. There were so many new cases to read about since the last time Jasper had gone to law school.

When Carlisle had announced his intention to return to medical school himself, the family had quickly decided they would all enroll as students and--as Emmett would say--give it the ole college try. It had been a while since the family had all gone to college together. Renesmee had already gone to college once--on her own, to get the true experience as Edward had explained it (Bella had scoffed at that). The family was spread across the school, in different majors and years. Rosalie was a sophomore majoring in Business, whereas Emmett was a junior majoring in Economics. They were planning an elaborate classroom romance for next semester.

Bella and Edward had decided to start as freshmen like Renesmee, though they had agreed to give her as much space as she needed. Bella had returned to her comfort of English Literature, while Edward set his sights on a degree in Classical Studies. Renesmee had majored in Biology her first go around, and was planning on expanding her knowledge through exploring Biomedical Engineering this time. Jacob had thought it would be funny to attend a rival school--“Cause some things just never die” he had joked with a smug grin--and had instituted a year-long bet on the outcomes of every Michigan vs Michigan State game, no matter the sport. Emmett was thrilled by the idea, and he and Jacob spent many hours cheerfully ribbing the other over their school’s sports team’s various wins and losses. Rosalie and Renesmee, on the other hand, found the whole thing utterly annoying.

Esme had vacillated between several graduate programs, before ultimately selecting a path in social work. She adored her classes and the opportunity to be a GSI and return to her teaching roots, and spent her free time refinishing and reupholstering the antique furniture she had purchased for their new house. And Alice was busying herself as a junior in Art and Design, as well as delighting in telling people that she was Edward’s older sister, enjoying their confusion as they processed the height difference.

Like she knew he was going to think of her--which she probably did--Alice’s honeysuckle and lilac scent suddenly drifted into the Reading Room. Jasper breathed her scent in deeply as it swirled around him like a caress. Alice stood at the far end of the hall, her beauty striking him dumb as always. She was dressed simply, all in black. Her knee-length black coat was unbuttoned, flaring out at her waist, revealing a form-fitting black cashmere dress. It must’ve started to snow outside, for a light dusting of crystalline snowflakes coated her ensemble. Alice shook the snowflakes out of her hair with a gentle flick of her hand. She glided over to him, her high-heeled boots effortlessly silent as only a vampire could be. Jasper held up a finger in warning as she approached his table. Alice gave an inaudible sigh, sinking into the chair across Jasper as he wrote a message to her on his notebook.

What are you doing here? I thought you had claimed the kiln for the next several hours.

There’s going to be a blizzard tonight. Emmett’s planning a snowball fight in the Arb at midnight.

The Arb, formally known as the Arboretum, was a stretch of forest, fields, and flowers protected and cultivated by the University. A river ran through the park, and the acreage was enough that the Cullens could play baseball or any other game without disturbing the other students. Stepping into the Arb was like entering another world and leaving the University far behind. Almost like walking through the wardrobe to Narnia.

I’ll be there.

I know. Alice added a spiral flourish to the ends of her letters. But I was thinking we could head over to the Arb early, just you and me, and scope out the terrain.

Jasper could feel the innuendo through the subtle change in Alice’s emotions. He smirked as he jotted down his response.

I really should finish this reading.

Alice’s emotions turned towards annoyance.

Why? I know that you’re going to pass, whether you stay here and read or come with me. So why not leave this place and have a little fun? You’ve been here for hours.

I like the atmosphere. You should appreciate it, too. It’s very beautiful. Maybe it’ll give you inspiration for one of your finals.

Alice scoffed, but her eyes lifted to the high ceiling with its elaborate design. Jasper felt her appreciation as she took in the stained glass windows, the Gothic arches, the stone and woodwork that evoked a sense of arcane knowledge. He watched the subdued electric light that emanated from the chandeliers reflect and twinkle in her eyes.

See? Stay a while, darlin.

Alice read Jasper’s message with a furrowed brow. She briskly wrote him back.

Why are we even passing notes? We can speak so quietly that no one would ever hear us.

It’s the principle of the thing.

Alice rolled her eyes.

C’mon, Jazz. I’ve been handling clay all afternoon. I’d much rather run my fingers over...marble.

Alice’s dainty fingers danced over Jasper’s thigh. He stifled a groan he knew would get him kicked out of the library, and gingerly removed her hand. He gave an apologetic rub of his thumb across the back of her hand as he drew his back. Alice begrudgingly returned her hands to herself. She propped her elbows on the table, interlaced her fingers, and lowered her chin to sit atop her hands. She batted her dark eyelashes at Jasper and pouted.

Temptress.

Alice laughed silently. She radiated joy, and Jasper could not help softening under her gaze. Even now, decades after their first meeting, Jasper still felt the same sense of awe as he had in that diner in Philadelphia. Alice’s emotions were so wonderfully pure and magnificent; a dazzling light in a sea of darkness. They reminded him every day how lucky he was to have her. How lucky he was that she found him and brought hope and love and purpose back into his life.

Jasper unzipped the bag that sat at his feet, closed his textbook, and deposited it into the bag. Alice raised an eyebrow at the action. She quickly scribbled a message on the notebook before Jasper could pack it away.

So that’s a yes?

You know I can’t say no to you.

Grinning broadly, Alice swept the notebook and pen off the table, clutching them to her chest. She darted out of the library as fast as the human charade would allow. Laughing to himself, Jasper hoisted his bag over one shoulder and followed his wife out into the Quad.

Outside, Alice was gazing at a tree whose branch was curved, heavy with the accumulating snow. Icicles hung from the other branches like teardrop silver necklaces. The fresh snow sparkled prettily, as if thousands of minuscule diamonds were coating the ground.

“You know, maybe I will stay and sketch a while,” she teased. “Nothing like campus in the winter.”

Jasper swept Alice up in his arms, twirling her in a circle as snow flurries fell around them. He brought her close to him and kissed her deeply, her feet dangling in the air. Slowly, Jasper lowered Alice to the ground, but he didn’t break their kiss till her boots nestled in the snow.

“I don’t think so, ma’am,” he said cheekily.

And though the sun was hidden by a grey sky, Jasper could swear he felt its warmth spread through his body as Alice took his hand and skipped down the street.

#jalicesecretsanta20 #jalice fanfiction #jalice #my fic recs #twilight fanfiction #ubilupus #twilight renaissance #the twilight saga

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captainkurosolaire · 4 years ago

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Destined ‘X’ Forever

“Ye wouldn’t b’ doin’ anything that’d take a special kind ov’ stupid now would ya’ ma’ Lord?” A cheeky rattle hit in a echo of the barren Ruins. For all intended reasoning's this wasn’t a planned encounter. Last he saw his Noble other halve was after attempting to salve some helpful advice to put him in a discovery. Though what the amber optic witnessed was anything but the type of discovery he meant. The pirate meant from the self. This was someone who couldn’t move on. Didn’t know how. This is hurt. He had been there, embraced it, and the result damaged him past the point of repair a self-searing that he still hadn’t entirely resolved. And forever because he couldn’t contain or control his heartbreak he discredited and discarded it. Letting it coal until he lost himself and a savage feasted on his homed temple. A severance between souls. A path to nefarious and damaging for anything that crossed was a clear future for Elune. If he paid the price and fed that side of demonizing that festered in all thing’s in varied degrees of morality. He would become consumed with dangerous and devastating levels that may scar him in irrecoverably.

“I..hate..you.” Muttered off breath before turning to face and direct to ensure this was more personal his regality was cracking he was so shortly an ilm away from being granted his wishful desire by utilizing a forbidden relic that protruded a hint of Mhachi. However, by activating this, It’d cost his last remaining dignity, his humanity he akin to most chose to run from it thinking and disassociating it as ‘weakness’ for the appearance and value it often represented no-good. He was possessed and consumed with the empty. That hollow part of losing a piece that stabled and made you feel wholly, he had forgotten what living was like without it after a sip. Without something to protect to be any meaning, he found himself misplaced. Knights didn’t exist without their duties or their morals to wage crusades in belief or service; they were dull like any Samurai in the obligated swords sworn after they slew their intended advisory it was weightless and immeasurable. None of that crossed his mind that once was recognized and pristine for being intelligent, all other forms living or to be sacrificed were insignificant, they could all be shriveled and pay the price even if it brought utter devastation and internal turmoil to that which he so starved to have returned to him. This resentment stood beyond even their current vessel’s their souls were entwined to contest. Negatives and positives. “I hate you. I hate everything about you, your stupid hat, your trashy ingrate demeanor. All of it! Hate is my sum for you.. You--- you’re, why I am here in this position. You cost me, my world! If you weren’t such an irritating blight, I would’ve never lost control… I’d still have them!” Flailing his arms out in the arm like a tampered child throwing his blame. The crystallized air around him howled in chimed ice sang like a banshee as his instability continued. Captain swallowed soft listening before presenting a stepped chortle and follow, “You need a tissue? Or a tampon for yer leakage?” The Seeker fired back as during that entire rant he just nodded his head. “Mate, I’ll b’ straight blunt yer being a bitch. O’ boohoo, ye lost something in your sheltered life, you in your fancy Ishgardian Walls always catered and given and throwing a hissy fit when ye didn’t get something fer Starlight. Your rant is the same shite I’d get from a dozen of stuttering cucks at the Quicksands for me so effortlessly tossing their lass over my shoulder and tending to them from their plagued bore. -Ye hate me? What a crock… Matey you don’t hate me, you just hate yourself. You got caught, ye won a battle but I got in your most prized place -- your head. Fail to understand your performance in our last skirmish saw you ACTING more like a pirate than a noble. Ye can’t get those thoughts ov’ me outta your mind… How naughty.” Tsking with a finger waggle further adding antagonizing fuel with even more expression by holding his chest to shield his exposure in that unnerving smug. “Standing over there and wanting t’ talk about hatred and losses. Ye murdered my near entire crew, ye tried dismantling another. Ye kidnapped my Star Healer and stole her away to fuck who knows where and then n’ your whole, ‘I gotta be th’ Elite White Shining Knight’, ye let her suffer alone and vanish to silence! Ye point and like t’ remind others of their failures, their faults, but conjure a solid mirror with that fancy-dancy magick. Leviathan… I gave ye an ale and I didn’t even charge ye on your last visit t’ my Cabin. I told you…! I warned you…! I did more than enough in my part, so-wait, is this what I’m missing out on sticking around for parenthood? Just sheer disappointment? This was supposed t’ be your discovery, but let me guess, the only thing you figured out in this entire time is that, ‘O I’ve got a dick, so well, I must be one and I’ll damn the rest in my way even the ones I love? Not even factoring their own thoughts? YOU aren’t wanted back. There’s isn’t any riveting other reasoning why they discarded themselves from you.” He unleashed every form of his smash-mouth and laid out the crass even if overkill. Thick skulls often were swelled in ego and ego was born often of entitled never spoken against, here enters the brazen. All the while Shiro’s fist rattled and quenched his inner demonic price for all his sin’s and wrongs began transforming and corrupting his veins, his roots that stemmed inside became a grotesque green. “Enough! What does the pirate know of actual loss and pain? You are thieves, takers, you’re scum. Compassion and your kind don’t mix, nor does it exist. Use everything and leave, you can’t even remain devoted to a single solitary thing. Always roaming without purpose to the next big thing for your greed. Making every little detail’s about yourself. Do not forget, I met your crew… None of them are innocent. It didn’t matter which you led. They were all heathens. Neither of them could listen to their betters. They didn’t respect anyone outside you, and when you were missing and disappeared on your so-called ‘shipwreck’ those who salvaged and carried your flag paid your price. You brought them into a War against a literal Sea Empire. None of them were equipped or readied. And without me, they would’ve all been slaughtered maggots. They even wanted to kill each other and decapitate the latter to get some heroic favors or get into the panties of your ‘woman’ you led only a cult of unwashed stains. Threatening like the barbarians you raised to even lash out at my sister because her own heart was on the opposing side. Who even was brainwashed and used as another pawn on the board though despite that fact their inbreed tribal and unorthodox wild crew of yours was but the essence of chaos. You mere peasants outside the Pillars and the arrogance you bestow, are far grander than anything we harbor.” Now it was the Keeper’s turn to verbally unleash a hailstorm. They bickered like an old couple cover many generations of grudges. Building their resentments and hatred until… that moment where there wasn’t going any back and one swung. The words actually began rattling against the Captain’s inner instincts and primal urges. For his own bonded knot was mentioned and brought up. The tone of Shiro’s higher ‘superiority’ shout echoed against the blank and outdoor ruins in a condense clap. Was steering and disturbing a slumber that snarled, his complexion became more heated. Irregular and unnatural... The scoundrel’s blood began surging. Weapons in War only ever are mentioned what was used to quell or the materialistic solution. Never in mentioning how any War or Battle began. Often originated from disputes. The contesting of disagreement is what drew first-blood before any sharp dared part flesh from. “What th’ seventh hell did ye say?” The ruffian stepped in closer even against biting and foreboding chills. A vein vessel popping out of his forehead. Shiro’s visage turned to a dastardly and deviled one impractical aetherial horn’s started to lowly form on his temple. “Many things and all I assure you, I mean them all. Your crew was worthless they lapped up and swam under your dirty seawater. You a Captain? A joke, your, -kind- don’t have admirable emotions or hearts, you are written as heartless and crude as you’ll always be known utter tasteless, savaged buffoons. THAT is your booked cover and shall always be to me and anyone else with somewhat wit.” The Seeker’s steps continuing forward his framework began bulking up hit by a nerve earlier. Every part of Shiro’s weighted words came from a merciless and mean intent. Making every remark sound as categorized and labeled as possible. The first step of all Jailers and those that hide behind anything against the grain or that make them feel even the slightest uncomfortable about the insecurities often came from classification putting a firm distinction between someone else innocently in the cross-hairs to try so desperately to distance themselves and stay on their elevated ladders, artificial thrones above someone. Despite that answer wasn’t what left a sour look on the mug of the rugged slicker those didn’t seem to be what triggered him. “No, the other.” He corrected calmly his stance seemed like a preparing lunge.

Shiro knew all too well what he said and brought a gleeful sinister grin to further elaborate the struck cord. “Ah right, the pathetic and high-excuse of a complex woma--” Right before he could finish that deplorable remark. The Blackguard used a rash Ghost Step (Shukuchi) to close in and lob for a full-force spinning roundhouse. (Previous) — /References/ — ♫ ‘Invincible ♫ — (Next Page)

#Part 1 of 6 #Expect em daily #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #Lord Shiro Elune #Seeker of the Sun #Enough spat to melt an iceberg #Keeper of the Moon #Miqo'te #Noble vs Pirate #Rivalry #reader discretion advised #Battle from 0-3 #Time to warm out of this rust #creative writing

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untilmynextstory · 4 years ago

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Chapter 3: Small Tears

Word Count: 15k

It's been almost two months. Two months since she has had any contact with her husband. Today he was finally coming home. Alma thinks it would be naïve of her to think things would be okay. Him being home would solve anything that has happened. It wouldn't change anything that has happened.

Alma is understandably nervous. She thinks this is the first time she has been this nervous to ever be around Jax. She is more nervous than when she had to tell him that she was pregnant.

She also doesn't know where his head is going to be, which worries her. They had to handle the grief of losing a child on their own. Jax wasn't even there to hold their son or to say his goodbyes. She is scared that Jax may resent her for the loss.

Days have gotten easier. It is still hard, but she had Nathan and Kaylee to help her get through all of it. She still wasn't over it, but they helped her through the grieving process. Jax was alone and with his thoughts. He had no one to share his grief with. Not even one letter was shared between the two of them.

"Sweetheart, you are going to get premature wrinkles." Gemma says as she walks up next to her. They are under the awning as they wait for the guys to pull up. "Stop worrying. He is coming home and everything will work itself out."

Alma is only able to give her a closed lipped smile. After all, she knows Gemma has been more privy to things regarding Jax's case. She thinks that is the only reason why Gemma has been so calm these past two months. Alma thinks she would be calm too knowing that despite the absence the Feds had kept him in protective custody. It's just Jax is coming home to a family that is grieving – to a wife that had lost their child.

"I'm just…I just want him to be okay." Alma tells her mother in law.

Gemma wraps her arms around her shoulders. "He will be. He is coming home to his family. I'm not saying it will be easy, but things will be okay. It'll take some time."

Alma nods her head. She knows this. She knows there will be an adjustment period.

Soon they hear the growls of bikes approaching. Nathan and Kaylee replace Gemma's presence. Kaylee's fists scrunch the edge of her dress. Kaylee's hair is done in elaborate space buns with a bright pink floral dress and glittery pink sandals. Alma forms a smile at the thought of Jax's reaction to the explosion of pink. "You nervous, baby?" Alma asks.

Kaylee looks up at her mother. A shy smile is on her lips. This is the first time Kaylee has ever witnessed a prolonged absence of Jax that didn't last longer than two weeks. Even then Jax made sure to call.

"Daddy is going to be really happy to see you. He missed you a lot."

"He missed me lots?"

Alma smiles. "Lots."

"Mom, I see them!" Nathan shouts from where he is standing in the middle of the lot before rushing back to her side.

The family watches as the growls of the bike become louder. Clay is in front of the line and Jax is right there behind him. He doesn't follow the rest of the procession to their designated spots. He stops in front of the awning.

He barely has time to take off his helmet before the kids are all over him.

"Daddy, I missed you so much!" Nathan and Kaylee both exclaimed. Jax hugs them both tightly. He doesn't let go for what seems like a minute. The kids don't seem eager to let him go either.

Jax pulls back and smiles. "You two need to stop growing up." He tells them both. "Let me say hi to your mom okay."

The kids nod as he stands up to his full height.

Alma takes a deep breath.

Her husband is here and in front of her. She thinks her legs might buckle. He is there smiling at her and he is alive. The only remarkable difference is his hair that brushes atop of his shoulders.

She notices his eyes linger on her stomach and she can see the tension in his neck before he meets her eyes.

They both step towards each other at the same time. She hugs him first, her arms circling around his neck tightly. His arms wrap around her waist and she can feel him lift her up off the ground a few inches. She can feel the tears building.

She feels him exhale and it seems some tension leaves his body before she feels his hands tangle in her hair. He pulls her head back and she finds a burning kiss pressed to her lips. It's all tongue and even the clashing of teeth as they become consumed by each other.

"Jax –" Alma whispers brokenly.

He presses a softer kiss to her lips that silences any words that were going to come out of her mouth. He drops her back down lightly to her feet and another kiss is pressed to her forehead.

He steps away from her and greets his mother.

There is something off with her husband.

The smile on his face seems genuine, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Ever interaction between them from his hands tracing her curves and the kisses pressed to her head felt empty.

Alma isn't sure what to do. She is hoping it is just him needing to adjust. It has only been a few hours since his release and he is being tossed around like a newborn baby. It's probably a shock to his system to have to put on a front. After all, these men know what is like being stuck in prison and despite the mental trauma; they still think they can bury it inside a woman's pussy. She knows that all the men expect her to give Jax a very welcome home.

She would be more than happy if she could feel she recognized her husband a bit. She could be overthinking as well. They are in public and if anything it isn't a crime to ignore pressing matters for a bit. She just needs to revel in the fact her husband is home and her kids are happy.

With a new beer for her husband, the bottle is rapidly sweating in her hand as she reaches him. He is sitting back in the old worn out plaid couch with Chibs and Bobby hovering. The other hang arounds make a path for her, but Jax stands up before she is even halfway.

He takes a beer from her hands and leads her over to where his father's bike is. Her stomach forms butterflies if Jax really thinks he is going to take her back to a dorm to fuck her. It is not like she is above a clubhouse hookup, but she isn't sure she is up for one now. But he stops in front of the bike. He places his beer on the top of the memorial.

He isn't looking at her. He is looking past her. "You should take the kids home before Tig scars them."

Alma's brows furrow. That was the last thing she expected. "I mean…are you sure. Are…you going to follow?"

Jax's hands find home on his hips. "I'm gonna stay a bit."

Alma feels her heart against her rib cage. The twisting in her gut makes her want to vomit. A thousand thoughts are running through her mind and none of them are flattering to her husband or what he may be implying. She feels guilty for the thoughts of accusations sprouting in her mind. She wonders if Jax is deliberating ignoring how his words are coming across or maybe he simply doesn't care.

She licks her lips and tastes the salt from the tequila shots Luann had somehow convinced her to take. "Jax…"

"It's going to be a late night, Al. Don't wait up alright."

Alma is flabbergasted as Jax doesn't even let her reply as he walks away. He doesn't allow any type of resistance as by the time her feet are able to follow his path, he is already putting the kids in her car.

Two months he had to wait for this day. Two fucking months. He is surprised the club didn't handle it as soon as they discovered the truth. Yes, there was a witness to the murder of Hefner. Jax didn't inquire how they handled the young 17 year old apparent mistress. It wasn't his concern. However, the RICO case only had its roots because Kyle Hobart had ratted.

He got caught in some stolen vehicle parts scheme and once the police saw his priors and connections to the club, the Feds swooped down. Kyle only cared about saving his own ass.

Jax throws back a shot. He just pressed a swift kiss to Alma's cheek and to his own mothers as they left the clubhouse party. He is ready to handle this piece of business.

"You ready to handle this?" Clay asks him.

Jax nods his head. "Been ready for two months."

"He's at the cabin. Happy is already out there with the Prospect. I'll have Tig follow ya up."

Jax shakes his head. "Nah, you don't need to drag Tig away from the pussy buffet. I'll keep the Prospect and send Happy back down."

Clay eyes him behind his sunglasses, but doesn't voice an opposition. "I'm glad you're home son. The sooner you do this, the sooner you get home to Alma and the kids."

Jax nods his head and embraces Clay in a hug before he leaves.

Jax makes it to the cabin close to 11. He finds Half Sack keeping watch out front.

"Welcome home, Jax," Half Sack greets as he makes his way to the steps.

Jax nods his head as he enters the cabin. Happy is cleaning his gun and Kyle is tied up in a chair. He watches as the man's blue eyes widen at the sight of him.

Now, the club wasn't stupid. They didn't keep Kyle for the whole two months. Happy did keep surveillance on Kyle up until two days ago when Stahl had exhausted her resources in keeping him safe. Happy had swooped in and brought Kyle here.

Jax's nostrils flare at the man tied up. He just wants to put a bullet in the man's head. He just knows that it would be too easy. He wouldn't get the right satisfaction. Besides, in the end, he only has requested one thing to do tonight. He will let Happy have his fun. After all, he has a wife to get home too.

Jax takes off Kyle's gag.

"Hey, Jax…" Kyle says hesitantly.

Jax ignores him as he grabs two items from the table. "Knife or fire?"

"Jax. Please, I'm sorry."

"Answer me."

"Fire." Kyle mutters weakly.

Jax nods at Happy. Happy gets up from his chair as he grips Kyle's hands and links him to the hook happy probably installed just for this. Jax turns on the blowtorch as Kyle hangs from the hook like a piece of meat.

Jax doesn't know if it is just mean or mercy when Happy splashes the man's back with gasoline.

Kyle passes out in the first minute. Happy slaps him awake repeatedly through the whole process. Jax takes a break after 45 minutes. Half Sack is in the background lighting candles and opening windows. Kyle convulses on the hook from pain while Happy sharpens his knife.

"I feel killing him is too easy, Hap." Jax says breaking the silence.

This man broke their golden rule. It was bad enough he got Opie in prison, but then he tried to add more years to that sentence and have Jax rotting in jail too. And not only just him, Kyle could've taken down the whole club. Kyle made him miss the birth and death of his second son. And Jax blames Kyle for Alma having the miscarriage in the first place.

"Don't worry, VP. It won't be quick enough." Happy promises.

Jax nods his head. He walks over Kyle and quick his prone form. His face pinches in disgust at the slobber escaping from the man's mouth. He slaps him awake.

Kyle groans and whimpers in pain.

"Prepare to meet the Reaper."

That brings Kyle into full consciousness as he begins to struggle in his binds. Jax brings out his gun and for some catharsis, he shoots the man in the jaw. I think Happy won't have to hear him scream, but Happy probably gets off on it.

Jax sighs and makes his way to the door. "I'll have Alma make you some Masitas and Bunuelos," he promises Happy on his way out the door.

It took a while to get the kids settled down from their disappointment of Jax not putting them to bed, but somehow Alma was able to do it. She had been able to dodge questions of where their father was at. She soothed their worries about what him not being there could mean and she did the one thing she swore she would never do and promised that their dad would be there in the morning. She wasn't even sure he would be. Her mind didn't want to venture too far into where Jax was sleeping tonight.

She had treated herself to a nice relaxing bath and she had let the disappointment settle in her bones when it was nearly midnight and Jax still wasn't home. She decided for just this night she would live in denial and pretend things were fine. Things were normal.

She knows she hasn't been asleep for long when she feels warm insistent hands tugging at the lacy fabric underneath her nightgown. At first she tries to slap the hands away before her groggy mind catches up to what is happening.

"Jax?" She whispers as she blinks the sleep out of her eyes.

"Hey, darlin'" he responds as she finds his lips molding against her.

She is taken back and her mind can't really enjoy the comfort of it as he pushes her back into the mattress. She wants to get lost in this feeling – in him. Her body wants to. She is already sensitive enough as he grinds against her and the friction of his hands over her silk dress has her breasts aching for more.

She can feel how much he wants it and as her legs move to accommodate him better, she finds no barriers between them on his end.

She whines as she feels him tearing her underwear. He knows she hates it when he does that. She can feel him smirking against her lips as he ruts against her. Her hands reach up to his hair to pull on it in retaliation when she is taken back at their dampness. She pulls back from his kiss, which only makes him move to her jaw and neck. She cranes her head to look at the clock, which reads 4 AM.

She is not worried about the shower per say. She is worried about why he is home so late.

Jax goes to meet her lips again and she can feel his fingers between her legs. She closes them the best she can and pushes him back, "Stop."

Jax pulls back immediately. "What's wrong?"

Alma huffs and she sort of regrets stopping now, but the words are out. "Where have you been?"

Jax is silent and he leans back away from her. "Does it matter? I'm here now."

Alma swallows the lump in her throat. This isn't her husband. "The…the kids were upset you weren't here, Jax."

"Well I had some things to take care of." He retorts as he moves off the bed.

"Like what?" Alma presses.

Jax doesn't say anything as he gets off the bed and ruffles through some drawers before finding some basketball shirts. "You know…all I wanted was to come home and fuck my wife."

Alma sucks in a breath. Her cheeks and eyes burn from his words. "Fuck you, Jax. All I am asking is a simple question. Fuck a croweater for all I care."

"I was handling Kyle." Jax tells her darkly. "For ratting and for Ben."

Benjamin Luis Teller

That was the name she decided for their son. The name of her grandfather on her father's side.

Alma looks at her husband and doesn't know what to say.

"I could've killed Stahl that day when she told me what happened." Jax reveals to her. "I wasn't there for you. I wasn't there for our son."

"Jax – "

He shakes his head. "I'm tired."

He climbs into bed and he keeps his back to her.

Alma isn't sure if she really fell asleep. One minute it was dark and the next her eyes were blinking to the morning sun. She leans up on the bed and turns to look behind where Jax is still sleeping. His back isn't towards her anymore. He has moved to his back. The duvet is pooled down to his hips and his left arm is thrown across his chest.

Alma isn't sure how she should take what happened between them last night. They had their tiffs before, silly fights that never really mounted to nothing and would end up with them laughing at the stupidity of it all. Last night was different. It was colder than before.

Alma moves from the bed as she grabs her robe to cover her nightgown. She doesn't want to linger in her bedroom for too long considering it feels like a stranger is in her bed.

She leaves the bedroom and makes her way to the kitchen to begin prepping for breakfast. She jumps startled at the sight of her son up drinking a glass of orange juice. A sheepish look on his face and a pain shoots through her heart as Nathan looks like his father in that moment. If she had a photo album she can find the exact photo of a young Jax wearing the same look.

She folds her arms across her chest. "What are you doing up this early?"

"Couldn't sleep," Nathan replies as he shrugs his shoulders.

Alma raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't press her son. She walks further into the kitchen as she wraps her arms around his shoulder. She presses a kiss to the blonde hair he is trying to grow out to match his father's.

She holds her son close. He is her first baby and he is growing up so fast. She feels if she clings to him, she might be able to find that piece of Jax she is missing.

Since the loss of Ben or even the moment of Jax being arrested at their front door, Alma is scared for the future.

"You want to help with breakfast?"

Nathan nods his head.

Alma smiles and presses another kiss to his head.

He heard the footsteps before they even reached the door. He feigned sleep as the door creaks open before tiny footsteps made their way to the bed. He fought to keep a blank look on his face as he felt the mattress dip. The struggle on the bed was heard from grunts before a silence took over the bedroom.

Jax waits as he can feel the shadow looming over him.

He waits a few seconds before he strikes.

He opens his eyes, "Got you!"

His little girl screams in fright before erupting in giggles as he grabs her and begins tickling her.

Kaylee's cheeks turn red like cherries as her laughter fills the room.

"Daddy! Stop!" She gulps. "I am going to pee!" She warns.

Jax halts and looks at her with raised eyebrows. "We'll we can't have that now can we?"

Jax brings her into his lap and he holds her close.

He was denied holding his baby girl for two months. He doesn't want to let her go. Kaylee wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. He finds a wet kiss applied to his cheek. "I missed you, Daddy."

"I missed you too, Baby Girl." He pressed a kiss to her soft curly brown hair. "What you doing up this early anyways?"?"

"Mama made breakfast. We gotta go!" She exclaimed. "Nathan is going to eat all the French Toast!" Kaylee wiggled out of his hold and down from the bed as she ran to the kitchen.

Jax smiles before he collapses back on the bed. He knows he has some major groveling to do to Alma. Last night his behavior was uncalled for. He knows these couple of months hasn't been easy on her. It hasn't been easy on their marriage. Jax sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He stretches and groans from his bones cracking. He makes a detour to the bathroom before beginning his trek down the hallway.

Jax has to get familiar with the new house since he was arrested on moving day. For now, he looks at the massive display of family photos. However, his eyes pause over the smallest photo on the wall, which is of Ben's last sonogram when he had a beating heart.

Alma knows the kids were only somewhat behaved for breakfast because Jax was at the table. She didn't mind it. She was happy that they were a family again. She had been prepared for an awkward silence, but Kaylee could not stop talking. She even went on to inform Jax of her various bowel movements the past couple weeks.

Alma knows the kids are even more excited by the fact Jax will be home all day. Her babies are happy so that is all that matters to Alma at the moment.

She is drying all of their dishes for breakfast when she hears footsteps. Too heavy to be one of the kids, she turns to find Jax leaning against a counter.

"I noticed an extra bedroom has more nail stuff."

Alma furrows her brows. She dries her hands. She always had nail supplies on hand. She never thought Jax paid attention to the things she would buy pertaining to nails. However, a month ago, she had invested in new supplies. More salon approved materials to appear more professional. It did cost a pretty penny, but she has been getting more business.

"I've been doing more nails. Needed more things." She tells him.

Jax doesn't say anything for a couple seconds and the silence unnerves her more than his eyes burning into. "We having money problems?"

That question takes her back. Even with Jax away, he still gets his cut from the club. Usually they would hold it until his release and the only funds given would be for bills and change for other things. It seems from the start the club didn't trust old ladies to be wise with money.

However, Jax always let Alma in on how to wash, save, and spend money. Sure, Jax loved to splurge and spoil occasionally, but he was conscious. He was safe as if something happened the Feds could claim any assets of theirs being from dirty money.

Since Jax got locked up, Bobby had given her full access to Jax's cut per Jax's request. She knows she and Jax were not going to be hurting for money unless something drastic happened. Even then, Jax had made sure their kids would never have to struggle.

"No…no. Why would you think that?"

"It's practically a salon in there," Jax replies. "It's always been a hobby for you. That looks like a business."

Alma is confused. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"You don't need to work."

"I know that, but – "

"No, buts. You don't need to work. You don't need to be bringing in your nosey clients inside our house near our kids. You should be raising our kids, not focusing on a hobby."

Alma opens, but closes her mouth as she isn't sure how to respond to that. She thinks any response is caught in the hurt from Jax's words. Not once or ever has Jax spoken that way about her doing nails. He had always been supportive that this was something she needed for herself.

She doesn't understand where this is coming from, or why he is being so cruel.

She decides it's better not to even respond to him. She turns her back as she continues to dry the dishes.

She uses the towel to wipe her damp cheeks.

Gemma knows something is up. She knew the minute Jax and Alma walked through the doors. It's only been a week since Jax came home and she can see the small tears working their way between the couple – the family.

She knows Jax coming home wasn't going to be easy. Not after the loss of Ben, she knows her son is probably blaming himself and most likely that pain is probably being lashed out on Alma.

Gemma knows that is a result of Clay's parenting. She wishes Jax would've picked up the urge to write things in a journal like John. Gemma knows her family can work through this. She knows from experience.

Her main concern is Alma. She knows Alma is putting all her happiness onto the fact the kids are happy with their father being home.

If anything she knows Alma is taking the cold glares and tones from Jax until he can adjust back to being with her. Well, she thinks that. Sometimes, she isn't too sure of Alma's thought processes. She was only a kid when Jax knocked her up and she was a bride by 18.

Lord, if anything it reminds Gemma of the beginnings of her and John's relationship. She knows when she was about to be 25 she had hit a funk that Alma was probably toeing into. She wanted to be more than a mother and wife.

Then again to be 25 and to lose a child…Gemma's heart aches at the thought of Thomas and her grandson, Ben. Alma has been through so much in this life and she is scared that the way her son is acting will unravel everything.

Knowing her son, she knows that he will come to regret this behavior, but a woman can only take so much.

Gemma presses her lips into a flat line as she approaches her daughter in law.

Alma seems to be growing her hair out from the short bob she had seemed to keep since the birth of Kaylee. Her light brown hair was now reaching past her shoulders. She had a braided crown for the shorter pieces of hair that framed her face and she was wearing an off white floral sundress. Of course, Kaylee was wearing a matching hairstyle with white floral shorts to match the style of her mother.

Alma has been quiet throughout the day. She of course has been doting on her kids, participating in the conversations floating around her, and even tending to Jax with trips bringing him new beers and whatever he seemed to request.

It was just there was no affection between the two. She is used to Jax never being able to keep his eyes, lips, and hands off any body part of Alma's. Her giving him a beer would be rewarded with a kiss to a hand or a hand squeezing a hip. Jax was giving Alma none of that and Alma wasn't showing any affection for her husband. She barely managed to give a closed lipped smile.

Gemma doesn't like seeing her family like this.

"Alma, come with me for a sec?" She whispers.

Alma doesn't resist. Doesn't say anything as she follows her in the garden house and Gemma is worried. She closes the door to give them some privacy.

"What's going on between you and Jax?" Gemma asks.

Alma shrugs her shoulders. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Gemma echoes.

Alma says nothing as she looks past Gemma and at one of her plants.

"Alma…you know if you need someone to talk to…"

"About what?"

Gemma purses her lips. "How about I take the kids tonight?"

Alma folds her arms across her chest. "If you want too. The kids always love spending time with their grandmother."

"Alma…"

"Mommy!"

Alma jumps slightly at the sound of Kaylee's voice. She opens the door and leaves Gemma feeling scared for her family.

Dinner is more subdued. Jax is interacting with his brothers and tending to his kids. Alma is solely focused on Kaylee not getting her spaghetti all over her clothes. Not once has Gemma seen Alma and Jax exchange words outside of asking each other to pass something along.

Watching the bodily language, Alma is definitely more submissive than she ever recalls the young woman being. It isn't until Gemma is in her greenhouse smoking a cigarette that she is able to speak to her son. He comes in with his own cigarette already lit.

"Thanks for dinner, Ma."

"Anything for my family." Gemma replies as she sucks on her cigarette. "Happy to have you home."

"It's good to be home." Jax replies with a smile.

"Speaking of which, I was thinking of keeping the kids tonight. Give you and Alma some alone time."

Jax tenses. "Alma and I are fine, Ma."

"I never said you weren't."

Jax doesn't reply. Gemma doesn't add anything else as she finishes her cigarette. She suspects what is eating her son up.

"Have you gone to see him yet?"

Jax doesn't respond.

"You're his father. You need to see him."

"It's not going to change anything." Jax mumbles. "It's not going to fix anything."

"Avoiding it is going to make it worse, Jax. Let yourself feel that pain. Share that pain with Alma." Gemma advises her son. She knows this from experience.

"I wouldn't be in this petition if it wasn't for her." Jax snaps at the mention of Alma.

She feels the sting of her palm before she realizes what she has done. Her son clenches his jaw as the imprint of her hand on his cheek begins more prominent. She doesn't know if she wants to shake him or slap him some more. But there has never been a time where she was disappointed and ashamed of her son.

"Your father would be ashamed of you."

"You're not coming to the party?"

Alma jumps slightly at the sound of her husband's voice. She almost drops her grip on the basket of snacks she planned to take outside. The kids had wanted to do a camping trip in their backyard. They had been planning it for the last two weeks. In fact, this morning Kaylee had told Jax of their plans for this particular Friday evening.

It was clear Jax was not listening to Kaylee this morning. In fact, she thinks Jax was not listening much to anything pertaining to the family since the family dinner. She didn't push or prod Jax. She wouldn't be able to anyways as Jax had been keeping his distance it seemed. It was very cold in their bedroom. She wasn't sure how to break the ice.

A part of her wasn't wanting to break the ice.

She shakes her head. "The kids are having their camping trip. We've been planning it for two weeks."

"You haven't been to a party since I've been out."

"Who's going to watch the kids, Jax?" She asks him simply.

"My mother." He answers.

And for the first time in forever, Alma feels self-conscious in front of Jax in her loose sweats, white t-shirt, and oversized cardigan. Her hair is in a single plait and with no makeup on; she can feel Jax scrutinizing her appearance.

"Do you want me to go?"

"It's fine," he answers gruffly.

Alma smiles stiffly as she begins to make her way back to the kids. They need to work on building their fire with the wood Half Sack had graciously chopped for them.

"We cool?"

The sound of Jax's voice stops her as she turns to look at him.

Her grip of her basket of snacks tightens. "You tell me?"

He doesn't answer.

Jax is honestly bored. He really wasn't in the mood for a clubhouse party. He wasn't particularly keen on watching Bobby going down on two croweaters on a pool table. He also wasn't keen on going home either. He knows that is his own fault if anything. He is the one that is having a hard time with his head and heart seeing straight. He just feels so damn guilty. It is his fault that he had Alma experiencing so much stress in the first place. He doesn't really blame her for the loss of their son. He knows painful shit like this happens. He knows she is the easiest target to take his anger out on. Kyle is dead and it wouldn't be smart killing Stahl.

He just doesn't know how to handle this pain. He doesn't understand how his mom and dad got over losing Thomas. Worse, he never got to hold or meet his son. Thinking about his family - his wife - it is just too painful.

Too painful in fact that he doesn't register the strong scent of a floral perfume burning his nostrils, lips ghosting over his skin, and a hand rubbing over his denim. He isn't paying attention to any of that as his attention is soon taken by a BMW rolling onto their lot followed by a few black Chevy trucks. A man in a suit exits the BMW, but his lackies wearing button ups and clean shaven heads are a stark contrast. Jax can tell they are skinheads.

Jax detangles himself from the croweater as he stands next to Clay. The rest of the guys flanking them.

Clay lights a cigar. "What the hell is this? Garage is closed."

The man in the suit only smirks. "We're not here for, uh, car repairs. I understand you're a Camacho fan." The salt and pepper man says as he hands over a box of cigars to Clay.

Clay isn't impressed. "Who are you?"

The man next to him with a red tattoo on his neck speaks. "Just dropping by to give you a little friendly advice."

Jax rolls his eyes. "And what advice would that be?"

The suit looks between Jax and Clay. "We feel it would be best for all concerned if you stop dealing arms to the One Niners and the Mayans."

The club snorts and begins to laugh. A wide smile adorns Clay's face. "I don't even know what you're talking about. We're just mechanics and Harley lovers."

Tig standing on the other side of Clay adds. "That's one of Darby's guys back there."

"Mr. Darby is one of our supporters." The man confirms.

Clay's eyes narrow. "Mm. Expensive car. Hell of a suit. All your teeth. Must be the top of the Aryan food chain, huh?"

"What you do for a living is between you and your maker. I'm not here to adjust your moral compass. This is just a reality check. You're a criminal and you're done selling guns to color." Tig cocks his gun and the suit stops speaking and looks at him boredly. "Are you gonna shoot me, Mr. Trager? With all these witnesses?"

Clay answers. "Look, uh, I don't know what Darby told you and, uh, I don't know what your angle is, but let me be real clear. Nobody threatens SAMCRO. And nobody tells us what we can and can't do. Black, brown or white. So, why don't you just climb back into your little German clown car and drive back to Nazi town? 'Cause the next time you piss all over my shoes, he will kill you. I don't give a shit how many witnesses there are."

The man holds out a business card. Clay doesn't move to take it so Jax does and he reads the name Ethan Zobelle. He owns a cigar shop.

"My shop opens in a few weeks. Until then... enjoy." The club watches as the men go back in their cars and drive away.

It was expected for Kaylee to be the first one to be consumed with sleep. Alma has always been grateful that her little girl could find sleep easily. She knows it used to scare Jax how quick their daughter found sleep and would stay asleep. Nathan is still up, however. She knows reading him a story won't put him down quickly and after having another midnight snack, Alma suspects her boy is staying up to simply keep her company.

It makes her sad and worried that her son can be so perspective. Then again not a lot of families go through prison sentences and the death of family members. Her son has to grow up fast in this life. It makes her feel like a failure of a mother that she can't protect his innocence.

"Mom, are you and dad happy?" Her son is laying down with his head in her lap. He is bundled up in his sleeping bag. She runs her fingers through his hair like she does with Jax some nights. Right now, she is grateful that the darkness of the night can hide her face. She is not exactly sure how to answer that.

Right now, she isn't happy per say, but overall she is happy to a point. She is clinging to the fact whatever is happening between her and Jax is just a rough point. All relationships go through them, but her child shouldn't be asking this. She doesn't even want her children to even have to question this.

"You and Kaylee make us very happy." She replies as she softly flicks his nose.

Nathan smiles before his face turns serious. "I know that, but are you and dad happy together?"

Alma is quiet, but she pulls Nathan closer and cradles him as if he was a baby again. He lets her and she inhales the scent of wood and smoke that is clinging to him. "I love your father. I will always love your father. Right now, i don't think we're happy, but i am happy with him."

"Are you sad because of Ben?"

"I think Daddy is sad that he couldn't be here with us. He wanted to be here, but he couldn't." She presses a kiss to Nathan's forehead. "No matter what we love you and your sister very much."

"I just want you and dad to be happy again." Nathan mumbles.

"We will be." She promises.

Alma can't sleep. She tries to bury herself in the blankets and covers she has brought outside in the tent she shares with her kids. Sleep evades her. Not wanting to wake the kids, she leaves the tent and decides to do some housekeeping. She begins by throwing away wrappers and grabbing plates and silverware to wash.

She notices Jax never made it back home. She ignores how the clock reads 3AM. She decides to prep for breakfast to at least make that easier for her. After cutting up some fruit, she thinks a shower will do her some good to maybe help her relax.

She is too lost in her thoughts to hear the sound of the motorcycle or the front door opening. She has just stripped down to her bra and underwear when hands latch onto her hips. A squeal escapes her lips while a giggle and a hand covers her mouth.

"Shh… it's just me."

Alma moves the hand off her mouth and she turns to pull away from Jax, but his grip is tight. "What is wrong with you?"

His pupils are dilated and he reeks of alcohol. "Shh…" He tells her as he trips to connect their lips, but she pushes him back. She startles them both and Jax ends up falling backwards onto the armchair in their room. He pulls Alma to settle into his lap.

"Jax…" Alma whines.

"Come on, babe, I miss you." He whispers as he presses heated kisses to her neck, jaw, and collarbone.

"You're drunk." She points out. She is considered how he even managed to get on his bike and make his way home.

"So even when i'm sober I still want to fuck you."

She isn't able to respond as his hand forms a fist with her hair and he pulls her head towards him. Their lips meet in a searing kiss. She can taste the weed, beer, whiskey, and nicotine against his lips. She almost allows herself to get lost in the kiss, but a strong piercing fruity scent irritates her nose. It's not his cologne and it most certainly isn't' hers.

She pulls away from the kiss and her eyes burn and she can feel a tightness in her chest and throat. Jax is oblivious as he paws at her panties. She is barely participating as he places kiss after kiss across her skin. She doesn't stop him from pulling the cups of her bra down as he pays attention to her breasts.

Her mind is hazy as she clutches onto him. His face pressed into her chest. She won't allow him to kiss her again. She grips his hair tightly as he doesn't bother removing her underwear and pushes it to the side. She's not fully prepared for him as he slides into her.

He groans from the connection and Alma remains quiet. She tentally moves her hips and she feels Jax twitch inside her. She's breathing heavy as she sits up. She pushes Jax back firmly against the chair. She begins slow languid movements back and forth. Jax's hands are on her hips and he helps guide the movements until her muscles clenching around him make them become lax.

Her eyes don't leave her husband's frame despite how much she can't bare the thought of him fucking another woman hours before her. She grinds against him. Her thighs are trembling from the effort and her stomach trembling as she can feel Jax deep in her belly.

"Fuck, Al…" Jax moans as she clenches around him when a move stimulates her clit. Jax sits up startling her and he latches on to one of her nipples and sucks hard. She cries out from the move. Jax takes control and he begins thrusting up deep and fast.

Alma wraps her arms across his shoulders for some leverage against his deep thrusts. She grips his hair tightly as she moves against him. She can feel the mess she is making between them. The sounds between them filling their room.

It hits her abruptly and she freezes and trembles above him. Jax gives a few more sloppy thrusts before he releases inside her.

Alma is breathing heavily against him and for the first time she feels disgusted with herself. She knows that she shouldn't have done this. Worse, she knows that she should have confronted him about him coming home late and smelling another woman on him.

Instead, she pulls away from her husband and ignores him dripping down her thighs and gets into the shower.

He follows her a couple minutes later. There is no conversation as they wash themselves. She finishes showering first and leaves Jax alone.

It isn't until she puts on some sweats and an oversize shirt to go back out to the tent with the kids that she thinks she hates Jax at the moment.

Alma isn't sure when she fell asleep. Her body is stiff when she feels someone shaking her. She groans when her body is shaken again.

"Alma, you need to wake up."

Alma opens her eyes at the sound of Jax's voice. It's strained and he looks scared. "What's going on?"

Jax runs his hands through his hair. "It's my mom. She was in a car accident."

Alma knows something is off. They had spent three hours at the hospital waiting on news regarding Gemma's accident. Unser had been the one to take Gemma there. The kids were anxious about the news about their grandmother.

When they were finally able to see Gemma, the kids had immediately comforted their grandmother. Kaylee had broken down though at the sight of the bruises and cuts on their grandmother. Gemma despite the pain she was feeling was able to comfort her granddaughter. Alma wasn't surprised when Gemma asked to spend the day with them.

Alma keeps her distance. She cleans the house while the kids are distracted. It isn't until she starts working on dinner that Gemma is able to extract herself from the kids.

"What do you plan on making?" Gemma asks her.

"Pasta, garlic bread, and a salad unless you want something different." Alma tells her.

"This is fine." Gemma tells her. The matriarch begins digging out the material to make the salad.

"Gem, you can sit in the kitchen and relax. You don't need to do anything." Alma says after watching Gemma wince.

"I need to do this. Need something to keep me occupied." Gemma answers as she brings things to the breakfast bar. "You weren't at the clubhouse last night."

"The kids wanted a camping trip. Besides, there will be more clubhouse parties."

Gemma hums as she begins cutting up the block of cheese. Alma licks her lips as she tries to figure out where Gemma's headspace is at. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"Too much drink and bud. Just had a mortal jolt." Gemma explains.

Alma doesn't believe her for a second. She knows that if Gemma didn't feel capable of driving she would have stayed at the clubhouse. Gemma isn't telling her something. "Gem…"

"I'm fine, sweetheart," Gemma brushes off. "Things okay between you and Jax?"

"If you even have to ask you have your answer." Alma replies.

"I'm not going to make excuses for my son, but i don't want either of you to get hurt. I don't want my grandbabies to get hurt. You and Jax...it would break my heart for you two hate each other and not find your way back to each other."

"We'll always be a family, Gemma, no matter what is going on between Jax and I."

"He's gonna need you. He'll always need you. Don't forget that."

It was a long day and Jax exhales a deep breath as he walks into his house. He couldn't wait to be home after dealing with Luann's porn problem, which now gave him the idea of being partners with her, and the fact the Mayans had jumped them at a Niner's deal and managed to shoot Bobby. However, none of that compared to the fact his mother was in a fucking car accident. Jax would usually find his way upstairs to check on the kids, but his feet take him to the kitchen. He finds a plate already set out for him. His stomach growls at the sight of the fettuccine alfredo, salad, and breadsticks. His eyes scan for Alma, but he doesn't feel her presence anywhere. He stuffs his mouth with breadsticks and walks into the living room. No one is in there and only one lamp is on. He scans the place until he looks outside to find the sight of glowing amber.

He walks over and opens the door that leads to their patio. He finds his mom wrapped up in a blanket smoking a cigarette.

"What are you doing out here?" He asks his mother. Him and his mom haven't exactly spoken since she slapped him in her kitchen. He knows if his mom knew what happened at the clubhouse party he might receive another slap.

"Couldn't sleep." She tells him as she flicks her cigarette. "You're home late."

"Niners crashed our meet with the Mayan." He tells her.

"Shit. Anyone hurt?"

"Bobby got clipped in the shoulder. Nothing we couldn't handle." He informs her as he joins her on the bench.

"Should we be worried?"

Jax shrugs his shoulders. Honestly, he doesn't know. He just can't stand being in the middle of a beef the club has no interest in. After all, selling guns is just business. Who the Mayans and Niners decide to shoot is none of his concern. He doesn't even know what the hell they even did besides breathing to piss off the Mayans.

"We'll be fine. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just had a mortal jolt. I'll be alright." Gemma assures him. She pats his legs. "Go finish your dinner. Alma should be Italian with how much she makes pasta."

Jax frowns at the mention of his wife. He has been treating her like shit and he doesn't know how to mend the gap between them. "Ma…"

Gemma looks at him with her knowing brown eyes. "It takes time, baby. You'll both get there."

Jax nods his head. "Clay know you're here?"

"Yeah, I sent him a text a while ago."

Jax nods his head and stands up. He plants a kiss on the side of her head. "I love you, Ma."

"I love you, too."

Alma loves Luann. She truly does, but she can only handle her in small doses. Luann just always seems to be hopped up on uppers. Alma makes sure to have her lavender aroma lamp setting on high with the former porn star coming in for her biweekly nail appointment.

Alma listens as Luann struggles with the 15 year separation between her and Otto. Alma thinks she is the only person Luann really opens up to about that particular issue. Alma's own heart clenches as she knows one day it could be her in both Luann's and Donna's spot.

Worse, she is not sure how Luann can handle the 15 year absence of intimacy. She has suspicions that Luann is discreet about her flings, but she can't imagine having to live with the fact she has to find a replacement for her husband. The thought that burns the most is the fact becoming old ladies that have to accept the prison sentences. They have to be prepared to be a prison widow.

As she applies the gel coating over Luann's nails, the former porn star complains about some of the diva attitudes they have and now it is getting worse with that attention of the club men.

That causes Alma's eyebrow to raise. "What do you mean?"

She can tell Luann knows she spoke too much, but now she can't take the words back. "The club and I are partners now. Jax was the one to bring it to the table."

"Hmmm."

Luann doesn't say anything which makes it all worse. The silence regarding that one thing is more embarrassing than anything. She wonders what Luann has witnessed and the fact Jax doesn't care about the humiliation of his acts that bear witnesses.

"Does Otto know?"

"I told him. I think it is hard for him to not be here to support me. All of this…" Luann trails off. "I try not to complain, but this was one thing that I owned. I…" Luann stops again.

Alma gives Luann a couple minutes to compose herself. "If you want. I can hire you to do the nails. Give you the extra income."

"I'm sure that needs to be a club vote." Alma says.

"No, this isn't club business."

Alma gives Luann a real genuine smile. "Thank you."

"Us women need to stick together." Luann tells her firmly. "I'll drop by the official paperwork. It might be good to think of a business name as well. I'll try and network for you as much as I can."

When Luann leaves and she begins cleaning up. The news of Jax being Larry Flynt stews. She doesn't mind it and she knows that even if she did, she has no say in club business. She trusted Jax. Now, it seemed it was a big secret and she was the last one to find out.

It hurts that everyone else can see the cracks in her marriage too. She doesn't know what to do. The worst thing is she can hear her mom telling her "i told you so".

For now, she is going to try to focus on her daughter's upcoming birthday party. It is better than to think about the women keeping her husband company. It makes her not want to even attend any function and be exposed to the whispers. She won't cry though. She won't give Jax the satisfaction. She won't give him anything.

She'll put a fake smile on her face and go about her day.

She is writing down the list of supplies she will need for Kaylee's party when the door opens. She hears the jingling of keys and her husband walks into the kitchen. She is taken back when he greets her with a kiss on the head before rummaging in the fridge.

The words slip out before she can stop them.

"You're a porn producer now?"

Jax's body tenses and he slowly turns around. He stares at her. He has to know that Luann was the one to spill the beans. "Yeah."

"And you didn't tell me because?" She presses.

Jax doesn't say anything as he presses his lips together in the thin line. He runs a hand down his face. "It's club business."

Alma scoffs. "What happened to total disclosure?"

"At my discretion. I don't need to tell you shit."

Alma stands up from the table. "Did you really just say that to me?"

"Luann is obviously putting shit in your ear. So what is it you are exactly accusing me of?"

Alma shakes her head. She can feel her body shaking. When she is angry, she is the person that cries. Also, she doesn't think she ever really recalls being this angry with her husband. She wants to kick him out of the house. She isn't going to be his emotional punching bag.

Jax stands in front of her. She is forced to look up at him. She wants to take a step back, but she stands her ground.

"What the fuck did Luann tell you?"

Alma looks down and focuses her gaze on the single bullet pendant. She takes a deep breath and looks up into Jax's blue eyes. "It's old lady business."

Jax scoffs. "You got to be fucking kidding me." He moves away from her. "I'm not dealing with this shit."

"Shocking, you're walking away." Her words make Jax freeze.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"What do you think it fucking means?" She fires back. She wants to shiver from how cold Jax is acting towards her. She is honestly trying to figure out how in the world they got to this point. Jax doesn't say anything as he stares at her with furrowed brows.

Alma licks her lips. "Maybe…" She trails off because she knows if she says it, she can't take the words back. They can't go back to how things were before.

His blue eyes are burning a hole into her, but she never gets to finish her words as Nathan comes in. Alma goes back to making her supply list for Kaylee's party. Nathan manages to drag Jax into playing basketball in the driveway.

Alma feels like an outsider. She feels like a hypocrite. Donna didn't say anything though. She didn't make any snide comment as she opened the door wider for her to come into the house. In fact, Alma had faced the cold facts that Donna is truly her only friend. Alma was shocked to see boxes piled everywhere, but she didn't say anything.

Donna didn't say anything as she made them tea knowing Alma hates coffee. Donna eventually slides a warm mug in front of her.

"Thank you."

Donna nods her head. "I'm sorry for what I said the last time we spoke."

"Don't apologize." Alma tells her.

"No, I wasn't taking in my accountability for the situation. Mine and Opie's problems are our own." Donna explains.

"You moving?"

"I'm selling this house. Downsizing. Oswald is helping me with that. Got me a deal. If I stay here, I would go into debt."

"Opie knows?"

"Helped pick out the house."

"Things are…"

"Better. Manageable." Donna finishes. "I just know being angry isn't going to help. I have to take it day by day."

"I'm glad to know you're okay. I know I wasn't that supportive." Alma admits her fault.

"I mean how can any of us be in this? You want to support the man, the club, but we can't put that before our children."

"I just don't want you to be alone in all of us." Alma tells her.

Donna gives her a sad smile. "I don't think you came here to talk about Opie and me."

"I just came to get away, honestly. Things between Jax and I haven't been smooth." Alma admits.

Donna nods. "How have you been since Ben?'

Alma chews on her bottom lip. It wasn't as if she wasn't devastated about the loss of her child. She was, but she had the support of family to get her through it. She also thinks she had accepted things like this just happened. She knows Jax never got the closure of losing their son. He wasn't there to grieve with them. He never got to hold his son for those few moments to say goodbye.

She knows that she can't put a timetable on his grief, but the way he is acting and behaving...she doesn't recognize him anymore.

"Jax won't talk to me. About anything. I mean I know that...losing a child does break marriages."

"I'm sorry, Alma. How bad is it?"

Does Alma really want to admit that her husband cheating on her is a dealbreaker when he sells guns. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad if he wasn't blatant about it. If it didn't feel like he was throwing it in her face. Alma doesn't want to admit she has turned into her mother.

"Luann offered me a job doing nails for the studio. So I got a job." Alma replies with.

Donna gives her a closed lip smile as she nods her head. "Maybe we should brainstorm on business names, yeah?"

Alma usually can ignore the sound of Jax's phone ringing, but when both kids are experiencing explosive diarrhea and throwing up, she has hit her peak. It has not been a very relaxing day especially when she had no husband to help deal with the two sick kids.

Jax groans from beside her. Alma squints as she checks on the tme and sees it is 6:30 AM.

"What Luann?" Jax asks gruffly.

She didn't even know the studio was even open that early. Luann told her that she is only needed on set every other day and not on weekends due to the kids. Today is Saturday. She can hear Luann yelling faintly. Alma squeezes her pillow tightly as Jax sits up on the bed.

Alma can't help the shiver from the cold air hitting her skin as Jax leaves the bed. He grumbles to Luann about being there in about 20 minutes before she slams the phone shut.

"Chlamydia outbreak?" Alma says into the dark of the room.

Jax snorts, but doesn't reply.

Alma leans up and turns on her lamp next to the bed. "Are you gonna come back?"

Jax looks at her confused as he buttons his jeans. "Where in the fuck am I gonna go?"

"You promised Kaylee that you were gonna take her for a ride and some ice cream."

"It's barely 7 in the morning. I have all afternoon for that."

"That's not the point, Jax." Alma snaps. "She is gonna be crushed that you aren't here when she wakes up!"

"Jesus Christ, well what do you want me to do? Ignore Luann because if you haven't forgotten, she just gave you a fucking job at the studio."

That was a sore topic between her and Jax now. Jax didn't want Alma at the studio at all, but she sure as hell wasn't letting some of the workers come into her home. Some girls were lovely like Lyla. Others she could tell were judging her. She got a lot of comments for how good she looked for being a mother. They were surprised to see she was able to keep her figure. There was a lot of judgment.

She knows Jax's concern isn't with how the women are treating her, but the fact she is probably interacting with a woman he has fucked. It's telling how he never manages to be at the studio when she's there.

She doesn't bother in replying to Jax as she turns off the light and lays back down.

She's tired.

Jax smiles as he watches Nathan's failed attempt at skipping rocks. They were at the streams for a father and son day. Jax had a break in his long days and he thought spending time with his oldest would be the best way to figure out what the fuck he was doing.

Jax knows he is hurting Alma - he is hurting their marriage.

He just doesn't understand when it got easier to not talk to his wife. He knows Alma will hit a breaking point. He just doesn't know how to find his way back to her. He doesn't know how to bring up their dead son and how it had gutted him to have to find out through Stahl their family had gone through such a tremendous loss.

It's just every day, he sees his family moving further away from him while he is stuck in his own misery. He just knows there is no coming back from the shit he has been doing. He is even more surprised Alma hasn't called him out or kicked him out of the house. Though he knows why she hasn't taken that drastic measure. He knows Alma would rather live with them being strangers than for their kids to grow up in a broken home.

"Dad, I'm shit at this." Nathan cries as a rock plummets to the bottom.

"Hey, watch your mouth," Jax scolds gently. "Your mom will have my ass hearing you talk like this."

Nathan snorts as he moves away from the stillwater. He sits down beside him and Jax swings his arm around his son and brings him in a bear hug. He knows in a few years and heck maybe a few months that Nathan won't allow this. Despite his son only being on the cups of seven, he finds that his son seems older some days.

It is even harder to believe it's been six years since the birth of his son.

He still remembers a teary eyed Alma informing him of her suspicions of a possible pregnancy. She was a kid. 16 years old crying in his dorm room. He had done that because he couldn't help himself. He was the dumb one for not wearing protection.

He still remembers their first time. Alma was dressed up in a black dress that was very inappropriate to begin with. She got stuck in Stockton at a party in a club after a fight with a boyfriend. She had called him for a ride. She failed to mention how she had managed to even get a fake ID. Not one for washing dirty laundry in front of others, he had taken her to her house and forced her to drink some water to sober up. Jax knew he couldn't judge, but it was very stupid of her to get drunk somewhere unfamiliar.

Jax knew it was bad enough that his eyes would linger on Alma's curves or what her lips would feel like, but he knew he would never act on it. But he did.

Jax was weak and he fucked her.

She got pregnant and Ana threatened to have him arrested multiple times for sleeping with her daughter. He had only recently turned 18 and she was acting like he was damn near 30 years old. He can admit Alma's pregnancy with Nathan were the best months. The intimacy between him and Alma was what he missed the most. Despite knowing each other all of their lives, they were discovering each other in different ways. He isn't going to deny that the sex was fucking phenomenal either.

Just those small moments of laying in bed and watching Nathan move inside her belly is something he wishes he could go back too. He holds his son closer. He presses a kiss to his head. "You know I miss when you were a baby."

Nathan scrunches his nose. "Why?"

"You were a cute baby. Your mom would dress you in such ridiculous outfits."

Nathan scowls while Jax laughs.

"You used to like sleeping on my bare chest. You threw up on me plenty of times."

'If i was still a baby, Kaylee wouldn't be here."

"Well you are right about that." Jax agrees.

"Besides, you liked changing my poopy diapers?"

"You do make a good point, you had the worst diapers."

"Will you and Mom…" Nathan trails off.

"Will we what?" Jax presses.

"Will we get another baby in the family?"

Jax tightens his hold on his son. "I don't know." Having more kids is the last thing on Jax's mind. "Did you see Ben when he was born?" Jax asks softly.

Nathan nods his head. Jax doesn't think he is going to add anything, but he does. "He was really tiny. Smaller than one of Kaylee's dolls. Mom was in the bed holding him. She was singing "Dreaming of You". The nurses took him away and Mommy got quiet. She made a noise that scared me. She started screaming for you."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." Jax tells her his son.

"Are you and Mommy okay?"

Jax doesn't get to reply as his phone begins going off. He sighs as he pulls the device out of his pocket. He clenches his jaw at Luann calling again before he answers it. He is barely listening as she rambles until he hears that Clay had sent Bobby over there to handle books.

He knows Clay has been in a mood lately and for some reason his step-father didn't seem to think adding legal income was a smart move. He claimed it would be too much for the club since they didn't know where this bullshit with Zobelle was going. He also has a feeling Clay and his mom have been distant which is feeding into Clay's uneasiness.

"Christ, Luann, I'll be there in a bit." He tells her as he slams his phone shut. He looks down at his son. "We have to make a small detour."

"Just stay out here. I'll be out in a few minutes." Jax says hurriedly to Nathan. "Remember don't tell your mother either."

Nathan nods his head. His father presses a kiss to his head and rushes inside the very large building. Nathan is slightly confused why he can't go inside the building and he doesn't really like that his Dad wants to keep it a secret from Mom. He has noticed his parents aren't the same anymore. He makes him sad to know his parents aren't happy when he is happy. Him and Kaylee are both happy that their dad is back home with him.

Nathan watches a blonde girl pass by him with a very short skirt. He crinkles his nose at her and hears her snort.

Nathan keeps himself distracted by mimicking driving his Dad's bike and he is having fun doing that until he spots his Grandmother rushing into the lot.

She looks at him confused, but doesn't get to speak as he sees his grandfather right behind her on his bike.

"What the hell you doing here?" His granddad shouts.

His grandma frowns at him before turning to Clay. "Luann called. She's freaking out."

"That's club business." Clay spits. "You got no reason to intervene."

Nathan is distracted as Tig picks him up off his Dad's bike.

"What... intervene? She's my friend. She needs to talk." Gemma replies as she studs her keys into her purse.

"So when she wants to talk, you what, drop everything?" Clay fires back.

"Jesus Christ, what are you, three?" Gemma says exasperated.

"Get back to the garage." Clay orders. Nathan is even taken back back as his Grandma.

"Excuse me?"

"The last thing I need is for you running diva over a goddamn cum factory."

Nathan is shocked when his grandma kicks his grandpa's bike. "Asshole."

Nathan gets scared, however, when his grandpa picks up a brick and throws it at his grandma's car. It smashes the driver's side window.

"You stupid piece of shit!" Gemma screams.

Tig shakes him. "Go get your Dad."

Nathan runs off and into the building. His eyes widen when he sees alot of girls wearing very little. He finds his dad sitting on a couch with the blonde girl he saw earlier.

His dad notices him first. "I thought I told you to wait outside."

Nathan doesn't get to respond as the blonde lady comes closer. "Ohh, is this your son?" She says in a baby voice that makes Nathan wrinkle his nose in distaste.

Jax blocks him from view as he peers down on him.

"Grandma and Grandpa are fighting." Nathan says before tugging his dad back outside.

They witness Clay punching Gemma's escalade.

"Just what those arthritic mitts need, a good pounding." Gemma sneers before going to walk away.

"You want to see a good pounding?" Clay mutters as he comes up behind Gemma.

Nathan gets scared for his grandma as she freezes at the contact. She releases a startled breath and screams brokeningly. " Come on, bad ass, lay hands on me. I'll slit your goddamn throat! You are pathetic! Don't you touch... Don't!"

Nathan rushes forward and pushes his grandpa away. "Stay away, Grandpa!"

He doesn't like seeing his Dad or grandpa making his mom and Grandma cry. He is tired of seeing the women in his family looking so sad.

He hugs his grandmother's legs. "It's okay, Grandma. I got you."

There are a lot of things Gemma overlooks from her son. In this life, she knows her son does things that most parents would never want any child to even be aware of. Just growing up in this life, Gemma has accepted it. However, the fact her son brought her grandson to a porn studio is something she isn't going to let slide by.

If her son wants to sabotage his marriage there isn't much she can do, but for him to put his children in the crossfire, her son is a fucking idiot. She knows that Alma most certainly doesn't know about that visit.

Gemma didn't think she would raise such a dumbass for a son.

"You needed me?"

Gemma's eyes fly to her son. She notices that he has neglected shaving his beard and cutting his hair. He looks tired. Gemma thinks she can relate.

"What were you thinking taking Nathan to Cara Cara?"

Jax sighs. "It's not a big deal."

"Are you purposely trying to piss off Alma?" She questions hotly.

"What about what's going on with you and Clay?"

Gemma doesn't lower her gaze from her son's burning eyes. She is not oblivious that everyone has been walking on eggshells around her. She would love to tell her son and husband the truth about her car accident, but she knows they would do something stupid. She would lose her boys to that anger.

"Alma's not blind or stupid, Jax. Just because she hasn't outright done or said anything…" Gemma trails off. She has tried to pry her way inside Alma's mind. She was curious to know where her daughter in laws head was at. As much as Alma is Chico's daughter, Ana was the one that raised her. Ana was known for her plotting. She made her exit strategies. Gemma knows that Alma is getting all her ducks in a row and since her son is being an asshole she can't blame her.

Gemma watches as Jax looks away from her. She clears her throat. "Miss Double Penetration is waiting for you."

She is surprised to see the guilt in her son's face.

Alma is busy in the kitchen making dinner. Nathan and Jax have been out all day. She and Kaylee stayed inside and had a mini spa day. Kaylee wanted to learn how to do pretty nails like she did. Kaylee was not fond of not being able to go to see and all the pretty nails she does at work.

It was a good day though. For once, Alma didn't really feel stressed or consumed with negative thoughts about where her life had been going lately. She looks out to the opening where Kaylee is consumed with the TV. She is talking along with Dora as they speak Spanish.

Alma knows she should speak to her children more in Spanish. She knows her mother only speaks to them in Spanish. She knows though that her mother does it to irritate Jax. Jax has been able to pick up some words, but she knows he gets lost when she or the kids really get going.

Alma smiles as she turns back to the request for Burritos for dinner and some supreme nachos. She is busy filling the burritos and lost in her head when she jumps as she feels hands grab her hips.

The smell of nicotine and leather fill her senses and Jax's arms wrap fully around her and she is pulled to his chest.

Alma is making dinner with Kaylee when he comes home and surprises Alma with some affection. She is frozen as she places a kiss on her cheek and then on her shoulder.

"Where's Nathan?"

"Dropped him off with Mom."

"Did you guys have a good time?" She asks.

"Yeah," Jax mutters against her head. "Should plan a family day to the beach after Kaylee's birthday."

Alma is perplexed, but doesn't let on. if he wants to pretend things are fine. She'll let him. He isn't going to ruin her good mood for the day.

"Just let me know what i need to do." She replies.

Jax smiles. "Do you need any help in the kitchen?"

Alma shakes her head. "No. No, thank you though."

She is taken back by him giving her another hug and pressing a kiss to her head before joining Kaylee in her Dora adventures.

Alma feels unsettled. Jax had become more attentive and affectionate over the past couple days and it's throwing her off. She even woke up to him between her thighs and he didn't even want her to return the favor.

Something is just off and she wonders if all of this is happening because of his guilt about something. She didn't miss the headline in the news about some backwater trailer being blown to smithereens. There are reports of it being a meth lab and while she listens to the story, she realizes she has no idea what is going on within the club.

Jax would tell her everything down to the club voting on which toilet paper should be in the clubhouse. Now, he hasn't told her anything evident when she had to find out through Luann about him being a porn producer.

Alma sighs as she knows she and Jax need to have a talk soon. It is the only reason why when she went grocery shopping she let Nathan have fun in the snack aisle. She knows whatever talk she and Jax have is not going to be pretty.

She pulls into her driveway and narrows her eyes at a young blonde girl standing at her front door. The girl is wearing a micro skirt with a tube top as she chews on bubble gum.

"Stay in the car," Alma tells her son as she exits the car.

Alma watches as the woman trails her eyes over her frame. The woman is clearly judging her for some reason. Alma thinks she recognizes her and clearly from her outfit alone she knows this is a pornstar.

"Can I help you?" Alma asks her.

The girl blows a bubble with her gum. "Luann said you are supposed to be doing our nails." The girl holds up a hand with a broken nail. "I need this fixed."

"You need to make an appointment, or just wait until i come to the studio."

"Excuse me." The girl replies irritated.

"I'm sorry, but I don't take walk-ins." Alma explains. "I apologize if someone told you differently."

"I mean I wasted my gas and safety coming over here considering the whole situation with Georgie Carusco. Jax's been giving me rides back home." The woman says sweetly before walking away. "I'm Ima, by the way," she yells out.

Alma swallows the lump in her throat and she walks back to the car. She opens Nathan's door and smiles at him tightly. His words higher make her stomach drop.

"I seen her before. Dad was talking to her." She can tell Nathan realizes what he said as he looks at her worried.

"Where did you see her?" She can tell Nathan doesn't want to tell her. "Nathan."

"Daddy had to go visit Luann." He mumbles.

Alma waits. She makes dinner for the Jax and the kids. Jax volunteers to put the kids to bed and that is when Alma makes her move. She had showered and changed into a set of Pajama shorts and a cami. She almost feels bad as she hears Jax laughing with one of the kids.

She planned just to wait in bed to confront him, but she was too antsy. She couldn't keep still. She stands up and starts walking in a circle before she stands next to the small bookcase she and Jax keep in their room.

She knows after this nothing in their marriage can go back to the way things used to be. She can't decide if she feels anger or sadness.

She can hear Jax's heavy tread down the hallway. She can hear him enter their room and immediately closes the door. She doesn't wait. She turns around and looks at her husband.

"Who is Ima?" She asks with a blank expression.

She can tell he is taken back as the smile on his face disappears. He has a blank mask. "She is one of Luann's girls."

"And you're giving her rides home because?" Alma spits out.

"What the hell did my mother tell you?"

"It doesn't matter what your mother says. What do you say?" She fires back hotly. She ignores the sting of Gemma knowing about Jax's wandering dick.

"Whatever you heard is bullshit." He spits.

Alma doesn't realize she even grabbed the plastic ashtray until it is already flying across the room and smacks Jax in the face.

"What the fuck, Alma!"

"Am I not good enough for you!" She screams as she throws another meaningless item at him. "Did you have sex with her!"

Jax doesn't reply fast enough and he barely dodges another item that flies at him.

"Why in the fuck does Nathan know who she is, is actually the bigger issue." Alma spits. "You want to fuck your whore do it on your own goddamn times."

"He...I only took him there once, Al. It's not...he didn't see anything." Jax says trying to control the panic he is feeling. His marriage is about to implode.

Alma opens the drawers filled with Jax's clothes and throws them at him.

"Get out! I don't want you here. Go fuck your whores at the clubhouse!" She screams at him. She knows that she won't be able to bear hearing his voice or his touch. She runs into the bathroom and locks the door to avoid facing him.

She doesn't bother holding her sobs as the cries break out. All she can think is that this is what her mother had warned her about. Her mother told her this would happen. She doesn't know how long she kept herself isolated in the bathroom until a timid knock comes from the door.

"Mom?"

Alma immediately stands up and wipes at her face hearing Nathan's voice. She opens the door and gives him a watery smile.

"What's wrong baby?"

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"I'm just a little bit sad. I'll feel better in the morning."

Nathan looks at her confused before he hugs her legs. "I don't like it when you're sad, Mommy. Will a kiss make you feel better?"

Alma kneels down. "A kiss from you will always make me feel better."

Nathan smiles and gives her a kiss. She holds her son tightly.

Jax knows he fucked up. In fact, his mind is still back in his bedroom as he watched a piece of Alma crumble. He knows there is no going back to how things were before. Instead of trying to fix his marriage, he finds himself at Cara Cara. He had confirmed it was a late shot. Some girls doing a few things on the cam. He is surprised the doors are even open that late considering the whole bullshit with Georgie. He thinks the expensive ass guard dogs must provide some comfort.

He is pissed though. Despite this being his fault for fucking that stupid pornstar. It's his fault that his marriage is hanging on barley by a thread. Besides after taking a ride, the last place he wanted to be at was the clubhouse. He didn't want to explain why he was showing up there late a night. He thinks he will just sleep on the couch when he gets home and leave before Alma realizes what he did. Worse, he will find refuge at his mom's house.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and then flicks the bud away. He takes a deep breath as he walks into the building. The girls barely blink at his presence. He feels shame tainting his blood as he knows these girls know his wife. Alma does their nails and they know what he does at some of the parties here.

He knows one particular pornstar that works with Ima, Lyla can't hide her disgust for him. He follows the familiar path to the dressing room and doesn't bother knocking on the door as he enters.

Ima and Lyla are doing their makeup and both jump at his arrival.

Lyla rolls her eyes and slams her something down on her makeup stand. She stands up abruptly and looks at Ima, "Reminder we're on in 15 minutes." Lyla doesn't hide her sneer at him as she leaves and slams the door.

Ima stands up and immediately unties her sheer pink robe. She has a flirty smile on her face as she approaches him. "Miss me?" She asks with a sultry smile.

Jax doesn't say anything as she approaches and she leans up to kiss him. He doesn't let her get that far as he cups her face and begins to lead her backwards towards her station. He thinks maybe he should feel some guilt for what he is about to do. She doesn't see it coming as he turns her and she releases a moan before it turns into a startled scream as he slams her face against her makeup station. She immediately tries to get away from him as she begins crawling.

He pulls her back by her hair. His grip is tight around her throat as he leans over her as he presses her against a lounge chair that is in her room.

She is too scared to scream or even cry as the blood pours out of her nose.

"You ever flash that rancid pussy around my family again, I will kill you. You understand?" He threatens her.

Ima nods as a sob breaks through her lips.

Jax stands up and looks at her in disgust. "Whore." He mutters before he leaves her alone. He can hear her sobbing as he walks down the hallway.

Jax isolates himself from the club once they reach Eureka. He has a bottle of Jack and wants to be left alone with his thoughts.

His kids had given him a cheerful goodbye and he had promised them a souvenir to bring back. Alma, however, was nowhere to be seen before he left. In fact, they haven't spoken in a week since she confronted him about Ima. He isn't stupid and hasn't tried to sleep in their bed together. He has made a home in the guest room. He knows he has some serious groveling to do to even get an ounce of forgiveness from her. He is not even sure where to start.

The only thing that has been able to keep him busy is club business. They are still trying to figure out how to handle Zobelle and he can tell it is getting to Clay after their little showdown on how to handle getting Tig back from the bounty hunters.

He knows that most of the stress coming from Clay is from whatever his mom has been dealing with since her car accident.

The only thing that Jax can say gets him through the day is that his children are safe. He is hoping by Kaylee's birthday that he and Alma will have things settled to a point she can look at him and probably not want to stab him.

Jax hears the sound of footsteps and he turns his head to find Bobby approaching. Bobby takes a seat on his bike that is parked next to him.

"You doing okay?" Bobby asks him.

Jax shrugs. "Just some shit at home."

Bobby hums. "Alma find out what you did to Ima?"

Jax shakes his head. "Ima knew better than to go to my fucking house." Jax defends himself.

"I'm not judging. I have no place considering the shit I put Precious through." Bobby amends. "What you and Alma went through on top of club shit hitting the fan...it's tough. How we grieve is different and there isn't a right way, butare you grieving Jax or punishing her."

Jax glares at Bobby, but he can't exactly deny the accusation.

"In this life, we can't have therapists, but we have old ladies or Piney," Bobby quips that makes Jax snort. "Just where is your head at man?" Bobby implores.

Jax takes a swing of his Jack as he looks out into the darkness of the night. In truth, he doesn't know. "I don't know, really. It's just a let it get this bad, I'm not sure if I can find a way back."

Bobby nods his head. "Alma loves you. She'll listen and the forgiveness might not come easy - "

"What if I already lost her?"

Bobby doesn't have an answer to that.

Gemma and Alma are out shopping for last minute items for Kaylee's birthday party. Alma had been surprised by the request and even more she somehow managed to convince Donna to have a playdate while they went out shopping.

So far Gemma has been entertaining small talk and Alma knows Gemma wants to talk about Jax. She is trying to ease her way into it.

Alma decides to cut through the bullshit. "Did you know about Ima?"

Gemma freezes and looks up from the packet of napkins that read "Happy Birthday". "So he slept with her?"

"He didn't deny it." Alma confirms. "I'm also not stupid enough to think she is the only one."

"What are you going to do?" Gemma asks.

"Try not to murder him in his sleep." Alma remarks dryly. "She came to our house, Gem."

Gemma eyes widen. She can tell her mother in law didn't know that. "She what!"

"I also know Jax took Nathan to Cara Cara." Alma adds. "I'm sorry, Gem, but I don't think this is something that can be fixed."

"Al…"

Alma shakes her head. "I need distance from him and all of this. It wasn't even like this was from him being on a run. He did this at home. Do you know how stupid I look going to Cara Cara and knowing Jax fucked them the night before. It wasn't even like he wasn't getting any at home either."

"Maybe send him to the clubhouse. Put up some boundaries. Divorce is serious, Alma."

Alma rolls her eyes. "I tried to kick him up and he only went to the couch. We can't say we didn't see this coming, Gem. When a couple loses a child...it's almost inevitable this was going to happen."

"What about the kids?" Gemma asks.

"We'll still be a family even if Jax and I are not together." Alma tells her softly.

"God, you're mother must be loving this."

"She doesn't know about anything that is going on," Alma tells her. "Even then it's not like I am calling a lawyer for divorce."

Gemma snorts. "If you are going to file for a legal separation isn't that going to just lead to divorce." Gemma remarks bitterly. "Just set some boundaries for Jax. You're not the first old - "

"Please, Gemma, I don't need that speech right now." Alma interrupts. "I am not just Jax's old lady. I am his wife. We made vows that were pretty important to me. He fucked up. All of this is on him."

Alma doesn't wait for Gemma to reply as she heads to check out. She really does not need to hear how old ladies need to stick together or any other pro club bullshit. Although what did she expect talking to Gemma, she is Jax's mother, but she knows she can't go to her mother with this. She thinks maybe Donna would be someone to talk to, but she doesn't want to burden the woman with her problems.

Gemma is silent as she follows her. It isn't until they are out of the store and carrying the bags into the car that she speaks. "Look, I'm sorry. I just know this would break Jax's heart."

"As if he didn't break mine?"

Gemma is left speechless. There really isn't anything to say after that. Gemma purses her lips as she looks out into the parking lot. She freezes as she spots a very familiar blonde and the two lock eyes. Gemma's feet begin moving as she reaches into her purse for her gun. She speeds up as the woman realizes she is being chased.

Gemma can hear Alma calling for her, but she is focused on the woman, who finds an escape through Winston pulling up in a truck. Gemma falters as the man that has haunted her nightmares. Her eyes follow the truck that disappears into a tiny dot.

A hand reaches out and touches her shoulder and on instinct Gemma brings up her elbow in defense. She can hear the crunch of a nose.

"Fuck, Gemma!" Alma shouts.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry!"

"What the hell, Gemma!" Alma groans as she tries to staunch the bleeding.

"Let's get you to St. Thomas." Gemma amends as she leads Alma back to the car.

Her nose isn't broken, but she has a nasty bruise along the bridge with a black eye to match. Alma knows though something is wrong with Gemma. She feels guilty for not paying attention before. She's been too blinded by her breaking marriage to realize Gemma is still dealing with the after effects of her car accident. Gemma was clearly chasing some girl and she didn't miss how her mother in law was reaching for a gun.

"Who was the girl?" Alma asks Gemma as they drive back to her house.

Gemma side eyes her, but doesn't answer.

"You almost just blew my head off."

"Don't exaggerate." Gemma snarks.

Alma sighs. "The car accident wasn't a car accident was it?"

Gemma doesn't answer until they pull up into Alma's driveway. "The night of Bobby's party... A minivan pulls up behind me. That girl jumps out in a panic. Says her baby's choking it was a goddamn doll in the car seat. She hit me over the back of the head with something. They had me handcuffed to a chain link. There were three of them."

Gemma doesn't add any more, but Alma knows what happened and it makes her feel sick to her stomach. "You need to tell Jax and Clay, Gem."

"No, if I do…" Gemma trails off.

"You know who did this?" Alma probes.

"I know what is going on between you and Jax...no matter what i say or do, I just want the best for my family. I know if Jax finds out about this with the shit going on between you two...he doesn't need that." Gemma says softly.

Alma swallows the lump in her throat. She knows Gemma wants to protect her son from this pain, but she can't not this time. This need for this secret to be quiet is going to make things worse.

"You need to talk to someone, Gemma."

"Well now I have you."

Alma finds herself sitting on the back patio with a cup of tea in her hands. Gemma took the kids for the rest of the day and Alma is left alone with her thoughts since Gemma's revelation. Alma isn't sure what to do. It's not her place to tell Gemma's story and Gemma did leave out certain pieces so she couldn't even place together who did this to Gemma.

Alma knows it is somehow connected to the club and considering how Jax isn't telling her anything these days, she has no dots to connect.

Alma sighs as she lounges on the lounge chair.

She doesn't know what to do anymore. She knows Gemma means well in wanting to keep their family together, but it's not that simple.

"Hey, you alright?"

Alma turns at the sight of her husband, who is looking at her in concern.

"I'm fine."

"That's a solid shot to the face."

"It was an accident. I'm fine." She states as she looks at him for the first time in days. This is the first time they have spoken since their argument.

"Alma -"

"What Jax?" She snaps.

"I'm sorry." He whispers.

Alma chuckles bitterly. "Your words don't mean shit."

#the unknown #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy #jax teller x oc #jax x oc

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thestruidora · 5 years ago

Text

The Renegade

Supernatural Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Car Sex, Shower Sex, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Fluff, Oral Sex, thigh riding, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Love Triangle

Category: F/M

Pairings: Sam Winchester/Original Female Character, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character and Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester/Original Female Character

Summary: An angel is a spiritual creature, who dwells in heaven and serves as a messenger between God and the human race. They have no desires of their own, that is to say, they have not been given free will, as with men, and were created with the sole purpose of giving glory and fulfilling their Lord’s plan. For this reason, Eva would always be a renegade amongst her kin. A fallen angel receives no compassion or mercy, it is a black sheep strayed from its flock.

Author’s notes: Ok, so, I know, it has been a minute. Bear with me.

Chapter Three

The Times They Are A-Changin’

“The battle outside ragin’ Will soon shake your windows And rattle your walls For the times they are a-changin’” — Bob Dylan

“Witness? Witness to what?” Sam inquired in the midst of the confusion, the dust from Bobby’s living room being risen due to the strong winds.

“We need to go somewhere safe.” Bobby said before Eva could answer, gathering as many books as quickly as he could while he felt the atmosphere get cold, the breath he let out visible in the suddenly chilly air. “Follow me.”

They moved fast, trying to cover their eyes from the harsh air with their hands. The older man in front, guiding them as they went down through a flight of stairs into a lower level of the house that neither Sam or Dean had ever seen before. Opening a strong, tick iron door, Bobby allowed the three to enter into a special room before he got in himself, closing the door behind him.

The basement room was made entirely of iron and covered with pentagrams and Devil's traps. Sam and Dean took a good look around, not believing in what they were seeing.

“Bobby, is this...” Sam began, moving in to touch one of the walls.

“Solid iron. Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof.” Bobby responded, a proud look on his face as he started to lay down the books he held on top of a small table nearby.

“You built a panic room?” Eva asked, sounding genuinely impressed, her eyes inspecting the writings on the walls.

“I had a weekend off.” Singer replied, shrugging while focused on the literature in front of him.

“Bobby.” Dean said, eyes landing on a poster of a swimsuit model that had been plastered on the wall around all other anti-supernatural symbols.

“What?”

“You're awesome.”

“I don’t know how awesome I feel right now, boy.” Bobby sighed, fixing the cap on his head and turning from his reading to the boys, receiving a puzzled look from them as he frowned in weariness. “There’s a bunch of angry ghosts out there and we can’t stay here forever.”

“We won’t have to.” Eva murmured in a distracted ton, seeming concentrated on the writings on the walls still, unaware of her hold on the three man’s attention on account of what she had said.

“Care to elaborate on that by any chance?” Bobby spoke when he realized she would not.

“Oh.” She finally acknowledge them, brown eyes darker in the low lighting of the panic room, a nonchalant report in her features as she proceeded to explain. “I know a spell, but I will need some things from the kitchen and the spell has to be cast over an open fire.”

“The fireplace in the library.” Sam was quick to suggest, looking fixedly at the way Eva kept trying and failing to remove the curly hair of her bangs from her forehead, as if unaccustomed to the feeling.

“Perfect.” The angel let out, giving up on the task and bringing her hands down in a frustrated motion.

“Hey, hold on a second there, Chief.” Dean’s voice filled the small area, bringing Eva’s attention in his direction, a slight grin of irritation forming by the side of her lips and in the gleam in her eyes. “My brother here is clearly infatuated by your…” His hazel orbs scanned her body up and down before he continued. “Godly attributes. But before we go anywhere near that door, risking our lives for a spell that you just pulled out your ass…”

“Oh my God.” Sam closed his eyes, head tilting up in disbelief.

“I’ma need some answers from you.” The dirty blonde haired man finished, crossing his arms on top of his chest, the muscles expanding in volume by the change in posture and creating a more imposing figure.

“Sure, Denny. I’m an open book.” The sound of Eva’s timbre was sweet and upbeat while she offered Dean two good blinks, a sarcastic smile adorning her face.

“Alright.” The older brother’s tough exterior faltered a bit as he was surprised by the angel’s cool demeanor, but taking a quick moment to clear his throat, he pulled through. “Let’s start with these ‘witnesses’. Why are they here?”

“They’ve been risen. That’s why it’s called the Rising of the Witnesses.” She responded, short and condescendingly, but the dark-skinned woman’s allusiveness was not lost on Dean.

“Who rose them?” He inquired.

“I’m not sure, but whoever it was, they did it on purpose.” The hunters shared a look, an intrigued frown in their features. “See, these ghosts, they were forced to rise. They are called Witnesses because they have witnessed the unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. They woke up in agony. They're like rabid dogs. And the fact that they are all people that hunters, like yourselves, couldn’t save, it’s not a coincidence.”

“So you’re saying that who did this was targeting us?” Sam questioned.

“Most probably. Y’all do have some unfriendly acquaintances out there.” The way that she said it, so full and heavy with irony, plump lips moving around the words so slowly, finally became apparent to the taller Winchester, who gave out a puzzled look.

“And that’s why you’re here, Little Angel? To protect us?” Dean’s tone was challenging, provocative.

“Not quite.” Eva answered, punctuating her syllables. “Whoever did this had big plans. These ghosts being here is just the beginning. They are a prophecy, a sign.”

“A sign of what?” The siblings spoke together, their voices blending into each other, the same apprehension in them.

“The Apocalypse.” Her guise didn’t shift the slightest, keeping a serene composure while uttering her reply.

There was a sepulchral silence in the room. Bobby lowered his head and let out a long breath, a kind of recognition in his features, as if he already suspected that to be the truth. Sam’s eyes grew twice their seize, and he kept staring at the angel without blinking once, as if waiting for her to reveal that she had been joking. Dean’s mouth formed and reformed words that were never pronounced, his lips agape in a circular shape, brows knitted together in deep thought as he processed the repercussions of what was said, before he finally spoke.

“Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?”

“That’s the one.” Eva smiled an empty smile.

“So that’s why you’re here.” The shaggy-haired man said, a hint of accusation as he fixated his gaze at the girl. “Angels finally come to Earth and it’s the end of it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to stop.” She crossed her arms, tucking them underneath her breasts, sounding unaffected by the way that the Winchesters were reacting to her news. “There’s still time, but you two gotta be prepared.” She gestured to both of them, a superior air about her when she continued. “Big things are afoot.”

“Do I want to know what kind of things?” Dean was quick to ask.

“I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know.” She tipped her head to one side, her curls stirring gracefully with the tiniest of movements. “The Rising of the Witnesses is one of the 66 seals.”

“Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld.” Dean muttered from under he’s breath.

“Think of the seals as locks on a door.” Eva explained.

“Right.” Sam agreed, ears and eyes very open as he focused on everything she said. “Last one opens and…?”

“Lucifer walks free.” Her voice faltered for the first time in front of them, and all three hunters realized how her gaze didn’t met theirs.

“Lucifer?” The eldest Winchester said it way too fast, stuttering a little as he licked his suddenly dry lips. “You mean… Satan, the Ruler of the Underworld… The Devil? That Lucifer?”

Sam began to wander along the space, hands messing with his hair from the roots to the ends in a mechanic, stress reliving manner.

“He’s been locked in a cage for a long time now, and I believe that it would be in your race’s best interest that he stayed that way.” The curly-haired woman realized that she needed to regain control of the situation, upping the volume of her timber so that it resonated trough their emotions. “And in order for that to happen, I’m going to need you and your brother’s collaboration. Got it?”

“This is crazy.” Sam blurted out, hands still ruffling his hair when he stopped moving to face the angel again.

“Look, this is not some ‘monster of the week’ bullshit no more, ok? You guys have entered the big league now.” Eva’s deep brown eyes stared back at the light-colored ones with intention, reaching somewhere inside the hunters, somewhere that had been deemed dormant by them a long time ago, somewhere where their fears lived. “Welcome to the end of times.”

They had prepared themselves to leave the panic room as well as they possibly could, filling up many salt rounds to load their weapons with. The atmosphere in the place was cool and professional, almost sterile. The group worked in silence, the humans showing concern in their faces after the news that the angel had presented to them. She, in the other hand, helped to make the bullets in a steady pace, moving seamlessly and caring no emotion whatsoever in her features.

“So,” Dean began, once he realized that he couldn’t take the silence no more. “Since when do angels need guns to fight off some ghosts?” He looked over at her, realizing that she had progressed in the chore much quicker than he had. “Matter of fact, can’t you just snap your fingers and make them go back to rest?”

“If I could, I wouldn’t be stuck down here, stuffing cartridges with a condiment.” Eva didn’t make eye contact, focusing on the rough white substance that she handled, lips pursed together lightly while she felt it getting more and more under her fingernails.

“Are you always this delightful or today you’re in a special mood just for me?” Dean snapped back, finishing up and beginning to assemble his gun.

The woman let out a breath, closing her eyelids for a couple of seconds, seeming to be gathering her patience before she looked up at him with a much softer semblance.

“If they were normal ghosts, I could deal with them much faster, except they were risen to fulfill a specific purpose, in a specific way that renders my powers obsolete towards them.” Her tone wasn’t nice per say, but it was definitely more polite than what the men had grew accustomed to up to that point, and Dean found himself without knowing what to say next, before she finished off. “Happy?” The last word had such a subtle, corky mischievousness to it that made the blonde want to laugh, and he looked over at Sam for acknowledgment, receiving it right away as the younger brother was already smiling.

“Peachy.” Dean responded, deciding to give up on taunting the angel for now.

“Alright.” Bobby said, gathering up his things while the others did the same. “Cover each other. And aim careful. Me and Eva are going to need some backup to find everything we need for the spell. You boys don't run out of ammo until we’re done, or they'll shred you. Ready?”

“Not really.” Sam replied, little humor in his voice as him and Dean marched towards the door and got ready to open it. “Are you sure you know how to use that?” He asked Eva, who was holding on to her gun in a nonchalant manner.

“I saw humans discovering gunpowder, I think I can handle this.” The brunette gave the tall man a quick grin, not changing her posture in the way the held the weapon.

“Ok, then.” Dean let out, kind of enjoying the frown that was forming in his brother’s face the more he noticed the girl’s sarcastic and brass demeanor, right before he opened the door and they went on to fight some ghosts.

As it turns out, Eva’s deep knowledge of the human race’s history wasn’t enough to translate the theory of fire gun’s usage into practice. From the minute they left the panic room, all the enraged ghosts from the Winchesters' past attacked them with a vengeance, and the angel proved herself to be a terrible shot when dealing with them, not being able to once aim her weapon correctly. To the point of when the ghost of FBI Special Agent, Victor Henriksen, came upon them in Bobby’s kitchen, trying to stop them from gathering all the ingredients needed for the spell that would set the risen Witnesses back to rest, the woman almost got Dean while attempting to shoot at the flitting spectrum. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick and he was capable to dodge the projectile before getting hit, while Sam aimed straight into Henriksen’s chest, making him vanish into nothing.

“Ow!” Dean exclaimed when he jumped out of the bullets reach, noticing the small tear they created in his brown leather jacket, right at the arm. “Easy there, Tiger, don’t help us too much.” His hazel eyes glowed in a light, electric green, showing anger as he looked down at the small brunette, and he extended his hand out to grab the gun out of her fingers in a harsh movement, a disapproval in the way he stared, but she only shrugged.

“Ok, let’s just… Try not to die before the world ends.” Bobby said, irony in his voice as he rolled his eyes and kept moving fast, collecting everything that could be used in the spell provided by the angel.

As it were, the incantation worked, but nothing could be done about the seal that had already been broken. Eva left them as soon as the spirits disappeared, with only the sound of wings flapping to announce her exit. And the three man wondered, without actually saying it out loud, if they could trust the yet mysterious being, and if they could, who had been the one to purposefully break that seal and send those furious ghosts towards them?

The last answer came to Dean, later that day, when the sun was already out and they all slept. In his dreams, Castiel came to him, giving encrypted answers to all his questions, expect one.

“Who did the spell? Who rose the witnesses?”

“Lilith.” The blue-eyed angel responded, hard, firm features that seemed to be sculpted in marble, making Dean ask himself if that was a perpetual quality in all ‘Lord’s soldiers’. “Those seals are being broken by Lilith.”

“And what about your little friend, your work college? Showing up here out of nowhere and helping us out. What? You guys felt sorry for us all of the sudden?” Dean inquired, not understanding the puzzled look that Castiel gave back to him. “Eva? Sam’s guardian angel?”

There was a strong recollection that passed through the man’s face after Dean uttered his final words, and the hunter was about to probe more for information, but Castiel quickly moved his hand up to touch the human in the forehead, waking him up from his dream and ending their conversation.

The very first thing that the blonde saw once he opened his eyes was the dusty ceiling of Bobby’s old house, when he woke up in the sofa of the living room. Letting out a shaky breath, Dean closed his eyelids once again, relaxing back into the uncomfortable cushions, mind racing through the events that were dominating his and his brother’s lives. But the moment didn’t last long, as the full voice of the impertinent lady that kept reappearing in his thoughts made itself present in reality.

He moved way too quickly to look up from his laid down position, vision still blurred from sleep as the image of the curly head of the short, dark-skinned angel started to form clearly and he saw her there, leaned against a wall in Bobby’s kitchen with a bottle of water between her thin, long fingers, head pointing almost completely up as she managed to look at Sam, with who she was talking to. The scene seemed so surreal, so out of place to Dean that he had to blink a couple of times, rubbing the tiredness out himself as he got up from the sofa and slowly made his way to the kitchen’s entry, eyebrows frowned when he noticed the way Sam smiled a cheeky smile after being told something by the girl.

“Hem.” He oldest sibling cleared his throat, calling out their attention.

“Dean, look! Eva’s back.” Sam gave out a tight laugh when he realized Dean’s presence.

“Yeah, I see that.” The man stared at her up and down, intrigued by the fact that, differently from Castiel, Eva had changed her clothes from the last day.

“Good morning, Princess Di.” Her makeup clean face turned to him with a sarcastic smirk, dimples showing in her cheeks now that he saw her clearly in the light of day.

Dean laughed shortly after hearing the nickname, the provocative tone in her voice not lost on him.

“So, are you going to give us another mission, Charlie, or you just couldn’t stay away?” Dean leaned against the entrance, mimicking hers stance, his muscles rippling from under his thin sleep shirt and there was a challenge in the way they stared with one of their brows raised, without batting an eye.

“What, and miss your midwestern charm, Kansas boy?” Eva nipped back, her grin widening into a smile as they sized each other up.

Sam laughed openly then, finding the clear tension between his brother and the angel genuinely funny, especially in the way that the woman seemed to consistently come up with better comebacks at every turn.

“Can I speak to you for a second?” Dean asked her, a sudden seriousness taking over him, surprising both Eva and Sam. “Privately?”

“Oh,” She gathered herself quickly, putting her mischievousness facade back on, a smile so big adorning her face that they could see her straight white teeth then, as if she knew what he would want to talk to her about. “Sure, lead the way.” Her medium sized, unpolished, yet feminine nails tapped a couple of times on the lid of the water bottle she held, her thin writs catching Dean’s attention for a second too long, as he thought about how fragile she looked on the outside, at least until she opened her mouth.

The hunter gestured with his head towards one of the corridors that lead to the living room of the house, where they could be alone without anyone being able to hear them. Eva nodded, making a beeline towards the indicated place, and Dean shared a look with the taller man, noticing that he was puzzled by his older brother’s request, but nothing else was said, and Dean followed her to the corridor.

“Whats up?” She fixed her hair out of her eyebrows, trying to keep the curls of her bangs from her forehead, fingers going nail first into the roots and shaking the threads upwards, creating more volume to the mane that framed her face.

“You knew it had been Lilith this whole time, didn’t you?” Dean went straight to the point, crossing his arms upon his chest, shoulders seeming to expand with the motion.

“Yes, but I thought it would be wise to refrain that information from your brother.” Eva didn’t seemed to be faced whatsoever with his question, beginning to play with the plastic bottle in her hands, the sound of the water stirring side to side in the container attesting to that.

“Excuse me?” Dean wasn’t ready for her unbothered veneer, and his hands that held onto his on arms tightened visibly, knuckles withing with the pressure.

“Listen, during the time that you’ve spent away,” Her voice dropped in volume then, her soft spoken tone sounding so melodic and calming that it was almost capable of camouflaging it’s true purpose. “Sam has been venturing into some very dangerous activities. You know, with a demon.”

“Ruby?” Dean took the hint soon enough.

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded her head, lips pursed in irritation with the mention of the name.

“Look, whatever he has been up to with…”

“Some Basic Instinct type shit, Dean.” Eva interrupted him, voice low but harsh all of the sudden.

“Wait, you mean…” The man was clearly confused, trying to place the pieces of the conversation back together as they went, the idea that he was going to the one using an accusing tone in the exchange long forgotten.

“I don’t care what he’s intentions have been to engage in any of this.” Eva stopped him mid sentence once more, dropping her arms to her sides and walking a step closer to Dean, brown meeting hazel in an intense way, but she kept on, practically whispering but knowing she was being heard clearly. “All I know is that he believes he’s doing the right thing because of Lilith, because of this obsession with killing her he has gotten himself into. But let me tell you, ain’t nothing good about what he’s doing, and since I can’t be one to put the fear of God into him due to fucking free will, you’re going to fix it. Alright?”

Dean didn’t said anything back, didn’t seemed to be able to. His irises scanned her entire face, finally finding some real emotion coming out of her, but it was anger. And the man swallowed whatever he could possibly say to her then, because the realization finally dawned on him with it’s true force now.

They’re weren’t dealing with the same beasts no more, there was no diary that could break down the strengths and weaknesses of these beings. They were all-powerful and all-knowing, and they could see right through his and Sam’s armatures, to the point of seeing everything they ever did or ever thought. And know, one of them was specifically telling him that his brother’s choices might lead him to a terrible ending.

So Dean simply stared at her, not knowing what to say next, so she did.

“Good talk.” Eva’s serious features contoured into a joyless side grin, and she tapped him in the shoulder twice before walking down the hallway back to the kitchen, hands working on unscrewing the lid of her water bottle before taking a long sip, and Dean’s mouth fell agape when he realized how Sam’s eyes lighted up when he saw her get back.

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