#i admire his loyalty and commitment to doing a job well no matter how small and how much he looks out for others

[tiny-tokunaga]

HAPPY 51st BIRTHDAY, TAKUYA!!!! Here's a handful of my favorite pictures of him doing what he does best: being a massive dork and yet somehow incredibly cool.

[piningforstan]

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None, just angst

A/N: Don’t ask me why I put characters I love so much through so much heartache. There might be something wrong with me

“You dated him, didn’t you?”

“Hm?” You pretended not to be paying attention, wiping down the bar. No matter how many times you cleaned it, it stayed perpetually grimy to the touch. You doing the rag over your shoulder. “Who?”

“Weird guy. Lives in the woods.”

“Pines,” the other guy at the bar supplied. The foam of the cheap beer left a rim around his mouth. The former nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” you said casually, though it was anything but. Dated as in committed every dip and plane of his body to memory, told him about your childhood, envisioned a life unfolding before you with this man you considered your best friend. Until his lies ripped it away.

The two men continued their conversation then as if they only needed you to confirm something they already knew.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t partially want the job at Skull Fracture because you knew it was a notorious house of gossip and rumors, a way to check on Stan without actually having to speak to him. You picked up bits and pieces of what he was up to, how he was, all without actually inserting yourself.

In a small town like Gravity Falls there wasn’t much to talk about, and Stan posed a compelling story every time. You supposed it was a good thing that they never tired of him, speculating about his life and his job and everything else. You were of minor interest, too, since everyone knew you had lived and worked with him. But you never revealed much. It disgusted you, this unwavering loyalty to Stan. What did you owe him?

It became well known, anyway, that you refused to offer much in terms of fodder for gossip. You were intriguing in a vague, less interesting sense, a lens through which they hoped to grasp a better understanding of Stan.

The roar of the bar usually muted those thoughts of him. Music blared at all times of the day, men smoked and fought and cursed, greasy-smelling food wafted from the kitchen, and you facilitated all of it with a plastered smile. You needed money after leaving Stan. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities, and unless you wanted to be stuck in the lumber business you had no other option than barkeep.

Your name floated over the din of drunk bikers, your manager appearing out of the back. “There’s a call. For you.”

You wiped your hands on your thighs and followed him to the phone. “Hello?”

“Doll, you gotta help me out.”

Stan’s voice, deep and rasping, struck you like a slap. Your stomach dropped. It took you a few moments to eke out a response. “Stan?”

“They, uh, got me down at the station. Some bogus arrest.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Stan, you got arrested?”

“Just say you’ll come down, eh?”

“Why are you calling me? I’m at work.”

A pause on his end, the sound of a door being slammed shut. “I ain’t got no one else.”

You inhaled sharply and exhaled out your mouth, fingers digging into the phone. You could examine your decision making abilities later. “Fine. Fine, Stan. How much is bail?”

“S’not much.”

It s’was much, you came to find out, nearly all of your savings. But for some godawful reason, you still loved Stan, and you knew since his voice rang out on the line that you would do anything he asked. You loathed yourself for this, loathed him for putting you in this position.

Stan was grinning sheepishly and rubbing his wrists as he walked out of the station. Everything you had to say, all of the reprimands and lectures, vanished upon seeing him.

“You cut your hair,” you blurted stupidly.

Gone was the mullet, the unruly curls. You quickly admired the shape of his jaw leading into his neck, his slightly too big ears that endeared you to him even more. He looked younger this way.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “Yeah. If bad haircuts were a crime, I would’ve been arrested a lot sooner.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that you had loved his mullet, but promptly closed it again. It hurt to look at him, properly, since that night in the basement; the ache you carried in your heart increased tenfold now, throbbing so painfully that you thought you might now understand how people could die from broken hearts. You tore your gaze from him. Suddenly the bushes outside the station held your rapt attention.

“Listen, uh, thanks. For bailing me out. How much do I owe ya?”

“Stan, you’ve forgotten I’ve balanced your books. You couldn’t pay me back even if you wanted.”

“That’s not true,” Stan protested, “the Shack’s been breakin’ even most days. She’s doin’ alright. Not the same without you, though.”

He rushed this last part, an afterthought that he wanted to retract but had already brought to life.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you said. Perhaps if you pretended you didn’t hear him entirely, it wouldn’t take roost in your mind.

“I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya —”

“I have to get back to work, Stan,” you said, sharper than you meant to. You couldn’t think with the amount of hurt being in his company afforded you. “Do you need a ride?”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The drive back transpired in silence. Your headlights sliced through the darkened woods like two sabers, finally falling onto the Mystery Shack as you pulled into the gravel lot. You still considered it more home than your place now, a room you rented from one of the locals. You didn’t realize just how much you missed it.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Have a good night, Stan.”

“You should come in. Please. I won’t keep ya long.”

Your resolve, well, dissolved. Not that it was heavily fortified to begin with. You found yourself crossing the lot to the porch and in through the front door, the process a lot like slipping into a familiar piece of clothing. It smelled distinctly Stan-ish, you noticed, though not unkindly. He had kept the place neat since you left. The reminder of that afternoon, dragging your meager belongings out, glared in your memory. Stan watching out the window as you drove away.

“Jus’ one cup. I swear.” He placed a mug of coffee in front of you. Your mug. The one you forgot.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You were grateful for the excuse to do something with your hands, even though the coffee tasted like mornings with your feet in his lap and his lips on your shoulder.

“I hear yer workin’ at the bar now.”

You smiled grimly. “Regrettably.”

“Ya know you always have a job here,” Stan said.

“What’re you doing?” You set down the mug on the table. The anger boiled in you, words escaping like trapped steam with no where else to go. “You can’t just act like nothing happened. Like this is normal.”

“I jus’ wanted to talk,” Stan told you. His throat bobbed uncertainly. “To apologize.”

You stayed quiet.

When he realized you wouldn’t be responding, he forged ahead. “I should’ve been honest with you. From the beginning. But ya don’t understand where I was when I met you — I finally reconnected with my brother after ten years and then I lost him. Again. Because I fucked up.”

His hands formed into fists. Stan took a breath, seemingly to steady himself. “I was lost. I was angry. It was easier to lie. And what was I s’ppose to do? Spill the whole truth? When I first met you, you were a stranger. I had no idea that you would stick around w’me as long as you did.”

“That’s…fair.” Stan looked relieved at this, though it wasn’t long lasting. “But why not tell me the truth when I asked?”

“I didn’t know how. Every time I tried, I…I couldn’t. Would you have had a different reaction, though? I knew you would leave.”

“At least I would’ve heard it from you straight, Stan. I had to find out while you were asleep that you were keeping these huge secrets from me.”

“I know. I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to end the way they did.”

You bit down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. “Neither did I.”

“We could try it again, ya know.”

The way he looked at you was so earnest, so genuine, that you had to close your eyes to ward off the image of him as a skinned-knee child, the one who solved problems with his fists and resided just below the surface of this man now.

“Stan —”

“Please?”

You swallowed, your throat thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“The truth is out now. You know everything.”

“But I will never be able to ignore the feeling that you’re hiding something from me,” you said. “So much is still unclear to me.”

“Ask me anythin’. I’ll tell ya.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes as you said, “Stop building the portal or whatever you’re doing. Focus on the people — here — in your life.”

Focus on me, you inwardly pleaded.

Stan’s jaw feathered. “I can’t stop working to get him back.”

The swift finality of his words washed over you, a decisive blow to the traitorous hope you still clung to. Coffee not even halfway drank, you stood and rounded the table. Stan’s cheeks were wet with tears as you put your hands to them, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Stanley.”

The bar shined. It was never dirty for long, you ensured that when you bought it, ensured that you wiped away every mess. You could even see the door opening in the reflection of the bar, two small bodies stepping through. You looked up.

It wasn’t rare for new faces to visit. It was summer, the height of tourism season, and your bar was preferable to Skull Fracture. Gentle music drifted from the speakers. Bar wasn’t even the right word — you served small meals and drinks of all kinds, not just alcohol. You smiled at the two children as they approached. “Thirsty?”

“Yes!” The girl, buried in a sweater despite the heat, smiled brightly at you. Her braces winked in the low lighting.

“And,” the boy said, her brother, glancing at her purposefully, “we need to ask some questions.”

You nodded. “Ask away. Lemonade okay?”

The juxtaposition of the two, the girl, looking around eagerly, and the boy, doing his best to present himself as mature and composed, brought a smile to your face. He laid a notebook on the bar counter, brows furrowed.

“Where were you the night of June twenty-first?”

“Hm. At home, I suppose.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

You peered at him. Amusement ignited inside you, a flicker of affection. You loved kids, always have. “I live alone, so, no.”

“Did you see anything…peculiar that night?”

“Not that I can recall.” You set down two glasses of lemonade in front of them. “Why?”

“There was a reported sighting of an unidentifiable object in the sky,” the boy said. “We were just gathering information about it.”

The girl wiggled her fingers, whispering conspiratorially, “Aaaaaliens.”

“We don’t know that,” the boy countered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Strange things always happen in this town,” you said.

“You see them too?”

You smiled softly at the two of them. “I do.”

“I’m Dipper. This is my sister, Mabel,” the boy introduced, jerking a thumb at her. “Would you mind telling me stories about what you’ve seen?”

You entertained their questions, recalling the unexplainable things you’d seen over the last thirty years. You refilled their drinks twice. They listened intently to your stories, interrupting only to clarify something specific.

There was something familiar in their shape of their mouths, the keen way that they interacted with their world. Had they been in town before? You knew some families returned to Gravity Falls every summer to enjoy the wilderness and disconnect.

“What did it look like?” Dipper asked, leaning forward in interest.

You had been telling them about the time you swear you saw glowing lights in the trees, floating blue spheres leading you away from the path. “Well, they —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dipper said. “I should be putting this in the journal.”

“Dipper,” Mabel warned him.

Dipper ignored her. “Would you mind following us home? I’d love to write everything down and-and draw a picture, if you don’t mind.”

His cheeks flushed at this.

You gazed around the empty bar, then shrugged. What point was there to owning your own business if you couldn’t close down when you wanted?

“Sure, give me one moment.”

The twins appealed to you. And you were curious to find out more about them. Not to mention, it had been a long time since someone wanted to talk to you. Really talk. You weren’t lonely, per se, but you sometimes missed the comfort of another person. As you closed the cash register and locked up, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you had wanted kids, long ago, but the years slipped away and now the dream was gone.

You liked these kids. Even though you’d only known them for an afternoon, you’d taken a shine to them — smart and witty, perceptive, the right amount of childish enthusiasm. You told them to put their bikes in the trunk of your car and followed their direction back home.

“You live…here?” Your stomach dropped as the Mystery Shack emerged from the dense forest, the S lying precariously on the roof.

“Kinda,” Mabel said, “we’re staying with our Grunkle Stan for the summer.”

Dipper, insisting that he got the front seat, turned to you. “Do you know him?”

“Kinda,” you muttered. “If it’s all the same to you, I might just stay in the car.”

The twins exchanged a look. A pointed, knowing look, like they suspected their uncle had done something to lose your favor. They weren’t wrong, exactly. Dipper and Mabel ran inside with the promise to return shortly. All you could do was stare at the Shack numbly, imagine the man within and the memories you held with him. You should’ve known that he would make an appearance, stomp out onto the porch after his niece and nephew to investigate.

Stan’s expression crumbled.

You couldn’t hear, but he uttered something to them. They gesticulated frantically back. Your heart had leapt into your throat by the time the three of them walked back to the car, Stan lingering a few steps behind.

“Grunkle Stan says we shouldn’t bother you,” Mabel said, pouting.

You finally forced your gaze to him. Stan had aged well, you reluctantly noticed, still unbearably handsome. The same broad shoulders. The features that you knew so well, lined with the years you spent apart.

“They aren’t bothering me,” you choked out.

“You shouldn’t fill their heads w’stories,” Stan replied, refusing to meet your eyes.

“They aren’t stories,” you and Dipper both protested at the same time. You shared a secretive smile with him.

“Jus’ tell the nice person sorry and let them get on with her day.”

Mabel tugged on his suit jacket. “They told us that you knew each other.”

“We-We did,” Stan said.

You supplied, “A long time ago.”

“Then come inside and catch up!” Mabel beamed at the idea. “You gave us lemonade so it’s only fair. I can make you Mabel-cakes!”

“If it’s fine with your uncle.”

Stan studied you closely. You could only imagine what he saw, your greying hair and swollen knuckles. “Uh, yeah…’course.”

You were both pleased and devastated to see how the inside of the Shack had changed. Judging by the “exhibits” and amount of items in the gift shop, business was prosperous. A redheaded girl at the register waved at you as you passed. Dipper disappeared upstairs to fetch his journal, and Mabel busied herself preparing the pancake mix, leaving you alone with Stan.

“It’s, uh, been awhile,” Stan said, effectively breaking the silence.

You feigned an interest in the water stains on the ceilings. “It has.”

The last time you were together had been almost— what, two years ago? You had knocked. Stan had answered. He touched you with expert precision, years of exploring one another resulting in experiences both familiar and new, somehow each brief encounter over the years never dulling your attraction. You weren’t proud, necessarily, of your weakness in the form of Stan Pines. You had almost overcome it until today; you should’ve known that the twins were Pines.

“How’s the bar?” Stan asked.

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry if they were botherin’ ya. Kids.”

“They weren’t,” you said, and you meant it. “They seem really great. They’re your niece and nephew?”

“Great niece and nephew. My brother’s grandkids.” When you arched a brow in confusion, Stan grimaced. “Other brother.”

“Oh.” You hugged your arms around yourself. Should you ask him how his search was? You wanted to care, but found it hard when it only brought back painful memories. Clearly it hadn’t been well, not if his brother was still absent.

You bit your lip. “Do they know?”

“No, they don’t.” Stan’s face shuttered closed.

Indignation swelled inside you, pressed against your rib cage. “You haven’t told them?”

“Everyone thinks that —” he lowered his voice, “—that Stanley Pines is dead. Including their parents and my brother.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“What I do with my life isn’t your problem,” Stan snapped. “You made that clear.”

“They’re good kids, Stan.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Don’t push them away, too,” you told him softly. “I-I need to go. Can you tell them I’m sorry? Say that I had to go back to work or something.”

Stan’s words chased you out the door: “Whose the liar now?”

Tags:

@gimmemorecherries @tellybearryyyy

[yuraimi-lee-bunny]

GRAY’S CHARACTER ANALYSIS PART III. AMNESIA AND IT’S FUTURE CONSEQUENCES

Hello! Once again: sorry for the lateness 8'D. My work, some illustrations and personal matters have slowed me down again. The good thing is that there is nothing that can be intervened and this week I will be able to go faster with the writing of my analysis. Thank you very much for the continued support you have given to the previous two parts, and I hope you like this one too!

PS: My analysis will continue as normal, I will not mention anything about the recent interview with the show runner of the series. Perhaps that will be done at the end of the analysis or a separate post, by the time Gray's analysis is complete. Besides that I have already been giving my views on what Duane said about Gray. For the moment I just want my analysis to be about everything that I captured and analyzed before the interview.

Here we go!

Goodbye (for now) to Gray/Crackle, and let's say hi to Graham!

As we know, Crackle had all his VILE-related memories erased, and he’s now a happy civilian at his previous job as an electrician at the Sydney Opera House. On a mission to Australia, Carmen finds him but he doesn't recognize her.

Carmen doesn’t understand how it happened and why VILE did it, but for his sake, she prefers to get away from her, because she doesn’t want to complicate the new beginning that Gray/Graham has now in her life.

To be honest, I don't have much to analyze in depth about Gray in these chapters where he has amnesia, even so, there are several points to highlight about him that speak more about his personality in this episode:

1.- When he taking out Carmen with her phrase "No wristband, no backstage access", I think I can safely say that he’s committed to his job, whatever it is. (as an electrician and also a VILE agent)

2.- He has great self-confidence and temperance for having invited Carmen for a coffee, a girl he barely knew but who shows that he has a slight attraction for her.

3.- Well, let's say that this confirms that he likes to be somewhat "naughty" and daring with his actions.

4.- I may be exaggerating here, but I think that with the previous points that I have said, this can also count: It seems that Gray is a punctual person. He arrived before Carmen. (He’s very punctual or he was very excited about the "date")

Ep.6 S1 served as a small introduction by Gray, or rather now Graham, of how now he has amnesia, he doesn't remember anything about VILE, or Carmen, a whole year "disappeared", as well as the decision of Carmen about being away from Gray so as not to complicate his life. Leaving a slight reminder of "you'll still see him again" for us.

Which did happen, in Ep.7 of S2. In addition to the fact that again there are some data that show about his personality, this time the episode left some clues that it was happening to him and the future that would hold him in the following seasons.

1.- It seems that he was serious that this place is his favorite coffee shop, and it seems that he likes coffee.

2.- That tranquility is to be admired. The girl he invited for coffee who looked like she had dumped him, and there wasn’t a hint of anger/resentment/indignation in him. Again, like when they first met: as if nothing had happened. I love that about him. And he continues to correct Carmen about his name. He is Graham, not Gray (not Crackle). It seems somehow that he cares about being told by his respective name, as if the subject of his "identity" is important to him. We will move on to that later.

3.- Can we look this screenshot for a moment, please? Leaving aside the “Red Crackle” feeling that can emerge at this time for many (myself included), I want to talk about the fact that there continues that communication with only the look that they have always had.

The first two chapters of the series showed you several scenes of how Carmen and Gray just by looking at each other communicated what they thought, they knew they wanted to say to each other. I mention this because to me, these glances between them were purposely done with the following objective: Yes, Gray will have had his VILE memories suppressed, but body memory is another matter, the subconscious is something that NOBODY can handle or manipulate. Gray's body responded to Carmen's glances subconsciously, the body responded because of body memory, because it already has that mechanism in the presence of Carmen.

4.- There is a theory/belief that a few weeks ago they shared which if I can believe it 50/50 because it sounds valid. In summary. Since Gray is an orphan, Carmen knew that by mentioning that she runs an international charity for abandoned children, he would not refuse. Because she knows he's an orphan, and it seems that somehow, Gray has had a mark on it. She left you the link.

5.- Again, maybe I'm exaggerating, b Gray/Graham seems to have very good manners.

6.- He likes Rock. (And before I thought it was a slight preview of Carmen's next cappers, but it was only an idea *sobbing*)

7.- 

This scene causes me a little laugh because of a personal event and because it shows an interesting side of Gray/Graham: 

- Personal event: Several friends and I were watching the episodes of the second season on the day of its premiere, when arriving at this scene, a friend said "Well of course, he will have amnesia but he isn’t stupid" I laughed uncontrollably, and in part, he had a bit of reason.

- This scene in addition to putting tension at the moment because Graham did something that wasn't in Carmen's plans, it shows how Gray/Graham is someone who needs answers/explanations when he something doesn't understand, or when he thinks they lied to him and he just goes to look for them. Because if he were too passive or behaved, he would have stayed to follow orders. Another thing he could do is just make judgments from his perspective, regardless of reality. But no, he stood up, and he couldn't wait another second for the answers. The truth is something that matters to him. And I think he's also somewhat rebellious. He makes sense because throughout the series it's noticed as if he wants/needs something, certainly does what he needs to do. I consider him too independent and confident that he can achieve it.

8.- His peculiar expression of surprise: Crikey.

9.- Another reminder that  his subconscious and unconscious have memories of what he lived in VILE.

10.- Beautiful Red Crackle scenes that in addition to adding feeling, actually matter a lot for Gray / Crackle's empathy in the future, but that will be for part 4 of the analysis.

11.- 

…Seriously Gray? EXCUSE ME Graham. SERIOUSLY? You fell, you could have hit severely or even broken something, Carmen cares about you, and instead of saying "I'm fine" do you say "It's Graham"?! ... Seriously he cares a lot about the name and identity.

As you can see, in this episode there was more about Gray and his personality, but it also hinted that there are still vestiges of memories in the back of his mind of that year in VILE and of having been Crackle. It's very curious about how Graham trusts Carmen so much, I think I know the reasons behind it, the first is because he has an attraction towards Carmen, but the most important are two: the first is because he already knows more about her, because Carmen had the confidence to ask him for help in one of his missions and to tell him in some way what she does. The second reason, again: his subconscious. As I mentioned in the previous analysis parts, Gray appreciated Carmen very much, and although before he could mistake it as "loyalty" and see her as her family, he still appreciated her very much. Her subconscious, her body, her instinct is still there, so I don't hesitate to defend her when she was in trouble with Neel. (His desire to help Carmen was greater than the "great memory and liking" he previously had for Crackle Rod.)

And well, now, let's move on to two last things before ending this episode:

1.- ACME is targeting Gray. Once again, we were told that it would not be the last time we would see him. More events awaited him.

2.-

This phrase left me so thoughtful when I watched it. It left me thinking TOO MUCH.

It left me pondering that phrase so much because I didn't understand why that mattered so much to him. We talked about how Gray/Crackle came into VILE, he agreed to be a villain, he basically agreed to be "bad guy" And now that he has amnesia, he cared about being on the right side. Which I didn't understand because Crackle's memory had been "erased". He had only "eliminated" him the whole year that he lived in VILE, just that. Doing that doesn't change his morale, because Gray had already arrived at the "Vocational School" with his morale of wanting to steal, he was already ambitious before joined to VILE. Which had me very intrigued, believing that something had happened to Graham, in that period of his "normal life" that had made him reconsider his morals and that now he wanted to do something good. I expected everything, whatever, except the change in morals. And so, wild first 5 minutes from S4 comes...

... are you telling me that EVERYTHING Gray thought, did and said in his state of amnesia... WERE LIES!?

I really couldn't believe it and that puts an absolutely huge twist on Gray's arc. Although my boyfriend and I are with a certain difference in perspective to what Maelstrom said:

When he mentioned “suppress the criminal impulse” to me he meant that VILE changed his morale, that they basically took away that “evil impulse” so that he wouldn’t be caught again by the law should it happen at some point. Ensuring that with memory removed and morale changed, VILE was safe.

My boyfriend on the other hand, interpreted it that they only took away the "desire to steal", nothing more. His morals, his beliefs, everything about him remains the same, except wanting to steal or do something criminal. Believing that in reality, Gray is a good person, since before entering VILE.

The perspective of my boyfriend is interesting to me and that is why I want to share it, to know what you think, and also mentioned it because this perspective will be taken up again in part 4 of the analysis.

And here concludes the third part! I hope you liked it. Parts 4 and 5 will be a bit long because it’s the most dense and symbolic part of Gray to analyze, but at the same time, they will come out on time faster, it may be that in the following week both parts are ready and published.  Regards!

Part. I Introdution

Part. II Empathy vs Ambition 

Part. III Amnesia and it’s Future Consequences (HERE)

Part. III.5 Graham Calloway: The Walking Enigma

Part. IV Integrity At a high (and unfair) price

Part. V The final decision and a new beginning

Plus 1. Gray and his strange habit of explaining things

Plus 2. Crossover: Sabrina And Gray: New Beginning

Plus 3. Crossover: Hawk/Eli and Crackle/Gray: Redemption

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 25: 2x24 The Ultimate Computer

Belated notes on my watch of The Ultimate Computer yesterday.

Kirk’s definitely in Captain Mode today. You can tell when he’s on edge and suspicious and serious.

Yet another old Kirk friend. Does he know everyone in Starfleet?

War games lol. But it’s “not the military.”

Spock is super into this computer.

A-7 Computer Expert Certification.

The crew’s not needed? Wow, okay, this is going to end badly.

“This gadget.” How do you really feel, Kirk?

And there’s Spock literally making faces behind the Commodore’s back. He is soooo that type. He’s like “Jim, are you hearing this? Can you believe this guy?”

I’m insulted on Kirk’s behalf right now. Replacing people with machines so blithely is offensive.

Of course Bones doesn’t like it.

Oh yeah triumvirate walking scene. I love them. it takes so little for me to think ‘what badasses.’ S2 is really stepping up this dynamic in particular.

And Spock is comfortable enough around Bones to be sassy around him

Oh no, the computer is already glitching, and there is no backup and no plan B.... Bones is completely right in his assessment. This is essentially a Titanic situation: way too much hubris involved. Nothing can go wrong so nothing will go wrong so we’ve planned for nothing going wrong!

McCoy has BFF Clearance. He can go wherever he wants.

“It’s the M-5? What happened to Ms 1-4?” Channel #5.

Ahhhh little gratuitous touch to Spock’s arm. They’re In Love.

“There are certain things men must do to remain men.”

“The right computer finally came along.” Damn Bones.

Jim’s suspicions about the computer coming right after that line make it look like he’s jealous that Spock likes it so much.

He’s getting a “red alert right here.” Computers don’t have that kind of intuition.

Jim’s so thoughtful and self-aware. He really cares both about his instincts and about interrogating those instincts for bias and unreasonableness. This is giving me real S1 vibes: the quiet, intelligent, idealized hero Captain at the fore.

This whole scene is perfect, eminently quotable, and sounds exactly like something that could have been written about automation in 2021. You’re okay with it when it’s happening to someone else but then the computer comes for YOUR job....

Uh-h, M-5 is turning off all the lights...

Space merchant marines... good to know.

HOW are the Captain and CMO “non-essential personnel”? The first sign that M-5 is illogical. They should bring some doctor on the landing party mission given that uh humans are going on it and might get injured.

Anyway I can’t wait for Kirk to destroy this bitch and save the day.

Lol it turned off the lights on Bones in sickbay.

Damn, now it’s trying to take Uhura’s job too!

Chekov is so bored.

Spock wants to serve under one man and one man ONLY. Loyalty to one man... sounds like a wedding vow... and Kirk looks so soft...

So, if Spock has to describe to McCoy what that (unnecessary bitchy and catty) “Captain Dunsel” remark means, by saying that it’s a phrase that “midshipmen use at Starfleet Academy,” is this to imply Bones didn’t go to Starfleet Academy?

He’s never felt so at odds with the ship.... a lover’s quarrel...she’s cheating on him with another man...

Jim Kirk, certified Poetry Nerd. He’s such a romantic.

So glad Bones got him a drink so he can return to the bridge and a possible emergency with just a little bit of a buzz going.

Spock in the chair...

Huh, an automated ship with no crew. Interesting concept.

Oh no M-5! She’s got control of the ship and she won’t let go!

Kirk’s face when Enterprise attacks.. the betrayal... his beautiful lady used for mindless destruction.

“Only a robot” ship--! Bones is insulted.

Kirk orders the computer turned off but we’re only halfway through the ep so...

....And the computer is sentient now.

That was the shortest Captain’s Log ever. “The computer has taken over the ship the end.”

Scotty’s like, “...Well what if we just unplug it?”

Okay so now they only have 19 crew.

Spock and Bones are on point today. “Don’t say it’s fascinating.” / “I won’t. But it is... interesting.” This bitch knows exactly what he’s doing.

The computer isn’t a child, guys!

We need powerful computers “so men don’t have to die in space”--like uh that man your computer literally just killed?

I don’t get Daystrom’s logic at all. He talks as if people, like, needed to do work in space, to survive or something. We don’t need to. We want to! We want to go out and meet cool aliens! This guy is no fun.

What is the thing “greater” than fact finding in space that the robots are going to free us to do? Like what is more impressive than SPACE? I don’t even get that.

Time to mix up fake sci fi world-building references with real references! The Nobel and Zee-Magnee Prizes. Sitar of Vulcan.

A theory emerges... the computer acts illogically...Daystrom won’t let Spock near it... I know this isn’t where this is going, but it kind of sounds like they’re implying it’s a scam, lol. He sold an idea he didn’t have so it’s like.. not a real computer.

Spock’s little protege, Chekov.

“We have been pursuing a wild goose.” Aw, bb’s trying so hard to be colloquial. (Also he 100% learned that phrase from McCoy in The Gamesters of Triskellion and now he’s trying it out on Kirk...when McCoy isn’t around.)

“Not to offend you by using the h-word, but... could it be... human?”

Kirk’s really mad at Daystrom now.

The Commodore really set up that dramatic turn to camera there.

Poor Kirk. His ship is being used for evil.

“They can’t destroy the ship, what would happen to the computer?!” Yes, the computer. And the other 19 people and himself but mostly the computer. Daystrom really has lost it.

I love the actor who plays him, though.

“You are great. I am great.” Nothing weird happening here.

Spirk attack! (Spork it out.)

Spock’s way too sure Commodore Wesley is about to die. “He was decent, it’s a shame the ship I’m on is gonna kill him.”

And now another round of Kirk versus the computer and Kirk’s logic wins.

M-5 should argue that it did not commit murder, it committed homicide in self-defense. But then Daystrom didn’t program it with a lawyer’s brain.

It’s uh just gonna leave? Not turn the lights back on?

Kirk is so smart! I know I say this all the time, but it’s true! He knew what to do to save the ship because he knew Bob Wesley. He had formed connections, he had experience and knowledge that doesn’t come from logic. He is not replaceable!

McCoy’s like “Spock, fight me. Debate me Spock. Fight me. I’ll be fun.”

Spock HAS answered the computers versus humans question--he likes humans. He wants to be surrounded by humans.

That was really good! One of the better S2 episodes. Great Kirk, great triumvirate--as a trio and all three sides of the triangle--great sci fi concept, great guest star, great social commentary--still 100% relevant today.

i definitely have to think more about the ‘human computer’ concept. I liked that they specifically went out of their way to explain why the computer was human, how that was part of its design, and then tied that into its creator, his background, his belief system, and his insecurities. I feel like most ‘sentient computer’ or ‘advanced AI’ narratives just assume a computer that’s powerful enough will eventually be alive, which is not something I believe. The scariness of advanced AI to me is the incredible power it has to act quickly, but in a complete black-box way: you can’t literally see the logic string of its thought processes, and nor can you figure them out easily or completely using the creators’ intentions or logic because the machine has ‘learned’ since its inception, and its learning processes are not human. There is a real alienness to them that I find scary. And I do think this ep captured that nuance in M-5: it has the speed and abilities of a super computer, the “human” qualities of its creator for well-explained reasons, and the unpredictability of a mechanism that is NEITHER human nor human-controlled tool. And of course the ep’s ultimate thesis--that humans cannot be completely automated or replaced, and that we should not want to automate or replace humans--is comforting and of a morality I can and want to agree with.

This was also one of those eps that made me curious about the differences in AOS and TOS Kirk--in other words, an ep that relied on his history with Starfleet and his experience, on the reality that he’s a 34 year old man with 15+years of experience in the Fleet. Time, experience, connections, these aren’t things you can replace no matter how smart you are, and I feel like it would have been interesting to see AOS!Kirk deal with some situation that is trickier for him because he’s a Captain with a startlingly small amount of institutional experience. It’s not just about being young or generally inexperienced, in other words--it’s about NOT knowing every Captain, Admiral, and Commodore in the service, it’s about NOT having friends across the galaxy because he just hasn’t had time to make them. Even in deep space, that matters. And I think it’s something that I appreciate more as an adult myself, with actual real world experience of the importance of connections and experience and time, especially in sort of insular or smaller work communities.

Anyway, next is Bread and Circuses! Another great ep for the triumvirate. I can’t believe we’re almost through S2!!

[bellakitse]

We begin on a Tuesday

When the 126 have a spot to fill in their crew, Judd recommends his buddy Carlos Reyes from the 121.

*

Firefighter Carlos AU!

30 days of Tarlos - Day 16 

Part 1 of a 3 part series 

TK meets Carlos Reyes on a Tuesday. He studies him quietly from across the table between them as his father interviews the good-looking firefighter for a recently open position in their team. He and his father have been in Austin for almost eight months now, and in that time, they have built a solid crew, but when Price requests a transfer because her wife got a promotion that requires relocation, they’re left with a spot to fill.

Judd is the one that comes to them with Carlos Reyes as a candidate; the man sings his praises; he tells them about Carlos’ record, his instincts as a firefighter, his empathy, and his loyalty. It’s obvious by the way Judd speaks about his friend that he respects him – given that it’s taken months for him to earn the same level of respect from him, TK is impressed before they even meet with Carlos.

“I have to say, Reyes,” Owen starts, he looks down at his notes like he’s studying them again. TK sucks in the corner of his bottom lip to keep from smirking. His father has read it more than once, and though this interview has been going on for almost thirty minutes now, he knows his father made up his mind less than ten minutes in.  “Judd was right; you really are impressive.”

Carlos doesn’t blush, but it’s a near thing as he gives them a small smile. “Judd is a good friend, sir, he might have embellished a bit,” he says humbly, and TK has to bite down on his lip to keep from letting out a ridiculous smitten sigh.  He can’t help it though; Carlos Reyes is a dream, he’s the walking definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Add to that his soft voice, and bashfulness and TK is already crushing hard.

“Captain Blake also raves about you,” his dad continues, and this time Carlos does blush.

“Michelle has known me since I was in high school, I had classes with her sister,” he explains with a shrug. “She’s my best friend.”

“So she embellished too?” Owen questions with a raised eyebrow and a grin.

“Probably,” Carlos chuckles softly before turning serious. “I’m good at my job, sir. I work hard, and I make a commitment every time I put on the uniform to be the best I can be for the people we’re here to help, but most importantly, for my team. If I’m not, one of them can get hurt, and I’m not about to let that happen.”

TK looks over at his dad catching the glint in his eye; it’s one he’s familiar with, an understanding of that instinct to protect, to save, he’s seen it in the eyes of every one of his crew members at some point.

“You’ve been with the 121 for two years now, Carlos,” his father comments curiously. “That’s a long time to bond with a crew, and by what you just said, it’s obvious you’re loyal. Why consider coming here to us?”

Carlos makes a complicated face before letting out a sigh. “You’ve had run-ins with my former Captain, Billy Tyson,” he says matter of fact. Now it’s TK who makes a face at the reminder of the man that tried to take his father’s job.

He turns a little red when Carlos’ eyes stray to him; the way the corners of his mouth lift lets him know he caught his reaction.

“I hear he’s getting better,” his dad answers much more politely than TK could ever be.

“So I hear,” Carlos says with a tight smile. “But given that you know him and what he pulled here by trying to take your firehouse, you know Tyson is a bigot,” Carlos continues, not holding back. “His temporary replacement is cut from the same cloth.”

Owen sighs with a deep frown on his face. “Disappointing but not surprising, unfortunately.”

“I agree,” Carlos answers, his eyes drifting back to him for a moment before looking back at his dad. “It’s not a great place to be an ‘other’ as you can imagine, and that’s what I am because I’m gay.”

TK sees how the words cause his dad to sit up straighter, that protective streak of his radiating off him.

He feels a kinship instantly to Carlos; he remembers his first firehouse before ending up in his dad’s. It’s never easy being considered different, and he sympathizes with Carlos and what he might have to put up with on a daily basis to do his job.

“Now I’m not saying that Tyson or anyone else at the 121 discriminated against me because of my sexual orientation,” Carlos says quickly. “If that had been the case, I would have had them before a review faster than they could blink.”

“That’s right,” Owen says instantly, and with force, it makes Carlos smile, more freely and comfortable than before.

“Right,” he repeats, still smiling for a moment before it’s wiped away from his expression. “But even though they never discriminated against me, there has always been a wall between my team and me that I can’t seem to overcome.”

Carlos looks down at his hands, and TK can’t help but ache for him. His team is his family; he can’t imagine what it must feel like not to have that with the people that your life depends on.

“That’s why Judd recommended me for your team,” Carlos explains, giving them a half-smile. “He’s my friend, and he wants me to be in a place where I will be accepted. He talks about you, Captain, with so much respect and admiration.”

Carlos’ gaze finds him again, soft brown eyes that are warm and lovely, and TK just wants to get lost in them.

“He talks about the team,” Carlos says softly, his stare staying on him now, and TK has to remind himself to breathe. He’s been around good looking men before, but he’s never had an immediate reaction to a man the way he’s having one now with Carlos. It’s more than just Carlos’ pretty face; there is something in those brown eyes of his that TK is instantly connected too. “You’re his family; he and Michelle want me to have the same; that’s why they asked you to interview me.”

Owen makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, his face is neutral, but TK knows his father well, and knows he’s affected by Carlos’ words. “Carlos, would you mind stepping out of the office for a moment?”

“Of course,” Carlos says as he quickly gets up from his seat and heads for the door, at the last moment, he turns back to them. “Whatever you decide, sir, I appreciate that I was even considered. And given everything Judd has been through, I’m grateful you’ve made him feel welcomed,” he tells them with a nod before he walks out, closing the door behind him.

The office is quiet for a moment after Carlos leaves, TK studies his dad, waiting for him to speak.

“What do you think?” he asks finally, and TK can’t help but chuckle.

“Why are you even asking me that, when you’ve already adopted him in your head, dad?” he questions, raising an eyebrow when Owen tries to protest.

“Okay, fine,” Owen huffs begrudgingly. “Maybe I’m considering adopting him.”

“I know,” he says, laughing again at his father. “You’re awesome that way.”

Owen grins at him. “Did you like him?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, knowing it’s entirely true. It’s not just that he’s attracted to Carlos, though he is, ridiculously so for someone he’s known for less than an hour and who spent most of that time talking to his dad and not him. He likes Carlos as a person; what little he knows of him just makes him want to know more; he wants to know everything. “I really liked him.”

The words aren’t completely out of his mouth, but he knows he’s said too much from the way his dad’s expression changes in a second, it goes from considering to amused in the blink of an eye.

“Oh TK,” he says, chuckling in a way that has him blushing at how knowing he sounds. “That fast, kid? Really?”

TK blushes harder, scowling when it just makes his dad chuckle some more. “Shut up, dad,” he says, standing up.

“Well then, on top of feeling like Carlos would be a good fit here,” his dad starts, zero remorse for his amusement at his expense. “It will be fun to see you deal with a crush; it’s been a while.”

TK ignores the ribbing for now and focuses on the rest of his dad’s comment. “So, you’re hiring him?”

Owen rolls his eyes at him. “Even if I didn’t like him, on qualifications alone, I would be nuts not too. He was being too humble; he’s damn good at his job. Plus, I do like him, and I don’t like the idea of him spending one more second in the 121 where he’s obviously not comfortable. This is a no brainer.”

TK smiles, his heart full of love for his father and his kindness. “Good, I’m glad.”

“I bet you are,” Owen snorts, and TK loses his smile to glare at him. “Go, let him know he’s ours now.”

TK rolls his eyes, but even now, he can’t hide that he’s pleased by his father’s decision.

“And TK?” he calls out, stopping him just as he reaches for the door. “Keep it professional while on the clock.”

He doesn’t say anything as he leaves, arguing with his father would be pointless. His dad has always been able to read him clear as day, and he knows when he’s interested in someone.

He finds Carlos downstairs sitting down on the edge of the ladder truck; he stays quiet as he takes a seat next to him.

“So,” he says, looking over at Carlos, swallowing hard when he turns his head to look at him. Up close, those brown eyes are stunning with their specks of gold.

“So,” he says back with a soft look on his face. “What’s the verdict?”

“Oh please,” he says sarcastically with a grin. “You won him over about five seconds after you sat down. You’re officially his new favorite.”

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head, the smile on his face is like sunshine.

“Come on,” he says, patting Carlos’ shoulder before standing up. “I’ll introduce you to the crew, and let's see if you can charm the pants off them too.”

Carlos gets up, bringing his body close to his as he goes to his full height, this close TK is even more struck by his beauty.

“Charm their pants off, huh?” Carlos grins, it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, and TK is sure his heart is going to burst out of his chest from beating so hard. It beats with the knowledge that this is the beginning of something. “Yours too?”

TK licks his lips, his stomach clenching as Carlos’ eyes drop to his mouth, his eyes darkening when he looks up at him again. He smiles, the anticipation of what’s to come coursing through him. “If you play your cards right.”

[javierpenaspinkshirt]

By Force

Mando x Y/N

A/N: based on this amazing idea by @mandowhorian. I hope I’ve done your idea justice! Please forgive any ugly errors, it's very late and I am but a mere mortal incapable of spelling.

Warnings: violence (nothing graphic), descriptions of death, little bit of soft. Nasty formatting.

Words: 4.9k.

By Force

‘What have you got?’ The words were low and gravelly through the modulator.

Karga knew him well enough to know that that was the extent of the conversation he was going to get from his best hunter. Rather than bother trying to force a friendly chat between acquaintances he took the bounty pucks from his pocket and laid them out on the table.

‘I’ve got… a nobleman’s son, bail jumper, bail jumper, escaped convict…’ Karga held each one up to The Mandalorian as he named them but he raised and eyebrow and smirked slightly as the helmet stayed dead still in front of him.

‘What? None of these good enough for you, Mando?’ He laughed.

Mando hated how Karga would toy with him before giving him the bounty he actually wanted, but he needed the work and the guild was the only place he could get it. He tolerated Karga’s antics.

Karga stoped laughing and retrieved another puck from his pocket. He placed it carefully on the table right in front of Mando.

‘Now this one, this one is fun. She’s had several failed attempts on her already. And she…’ Karga looked around him before leaning in close across the table and whispering slightly, ‘she’s ex-Rebellion’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime, the New Republic has no problem with Rebels’ Mando was matter of fact in his response, turning his helmet to look away from the guild-man who was trying to enthuse him.

‘No questions asked, Mando, you know the rules’ Karga sat back against the seat of the cantina booth, ‘we don’t ask, we just take the puck’.

Mando knew the rules. He knew it was much better not to ask. The less information he knew about his bounties the better. He had a reputation as a fearsome hunter, skilled and efficient he could track quarries across the galaxy. And he did. If he pulled your number, you weren’t getting away. But below the Beskar he wasn’t some terrible monster. He was a man loyal to his creed, loyal to the Tribe, and dedicated to his work. But he wasn’t heartless. The less he knew the better he slept.

He sighed and scooped the puck up off the table, snatched the tracking fob from Karga’s outstretched hand and got up to leave, grabbing his Amban Pulse Rifle and securing it to his armour.

‘See you soon, Mando’ Karga crooned giving him a mock wave.

Mando didn’t bother to acknowledge him and strode out of the cantina on to the dusty streets of Nevarro. The sunshine glinted off his armour, as old an worn as it was. It had served him well on many an adventure and it would continue to do so until the time came for him to be able to earn new armour. But Beskar was not easy to come by, so for now he would continue to rely on the worn, battle scarred armour that was his second skin.

He made his way to the Razor Crest, hating the way eyes always seemed to trail him. Usually harmless and often just curious they would follow him as he moved, staring at the weaponry and the Beskar. He was grateful that his tall stature and powerful presence mostly kept punters from actually approaching him.

Finally he breeched the safety of the Crest and got off the ground as quickly as he could. His fortress of solitude sped away from Nevarro as fast as he could dare and finally he felt his muscles relax.

Sat in the pilot’s seat, Mando took a moment to properly examine the puck. The bounty was ex-Rebellion. Named Y/N and aged 35 she had evaded capture several times already. An ex-Rebel wasn’t his usual bounty and if she had already had several attempts on her she wasn’t going to come easy. Though he enjoyed a challenge he did wonder whether he should’ve settled for one of Karga’s numerous bail jumpers instead, just to take the easy route for once. But the covert was relying on his income and his loyalty to the Tribe outweighed his dislike of difficult jobs.

Y/N was suspected to be on some outer rim skughole called Tatooine that Mando had only heard mentioned when sat in bars frequented by guild members. It was a planet known to be used by smugglers and thieves. The ideal place to hide yourself away if you were looking to avoid capture.

Mando set course for the smuggler’s paradise and let the auto pilot take the reigns. He sat back in the seat and let his head tip back to rest. It would be several hours before he was anywhere near his destination. Enough time to remove his armour and get some rest.

Mando dragged his tired body to his quarters and began to strip the Beskar, carefully and slowly. He respectfully lined each piece up and inspected it for damage. The last piece was his helmet. He pressed the release and felt the cool air of the ship on his face as he shook back the sweat dampened hair from his face and ran a glove-free hand over the back of his neck. He stripped down further until he was wearing only a pair of undershorts and stretched. He felt every joint click and every sinew pull as he did. Sweet relief for a few brief hours.

He made his way to the ship’s small fresher where he showered and shaved the stubble that was growing itchy beneath the helmet. He cut a few loose ends from his hair that were untameable and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t hate what he saw but it wasn’t exactly his favourite view. Several cuts and scrapes adorned his face and scars covered a good portion of his shoulders and upper torso that he could see in the small mirror. His jaw line was sharp but to him it bore marks of fights and squabbles. His nose accentuated the beautiful symmetry of his face but to him it had been broken one too many times. His eyes were dark and enchanting but to him they looked like the muddy swamps of Mimban. He’d seen plenty worse than him in his time, but as he looked into his own exhausted eyes he was reminded how ever grateful he was for his creed. No living thing had seen him without his helmet since the day he had sworn it. Though he could occasionally find himself pining for the touch of another he had spent so long alone that those wants were infrequent and harmless.

He drudged back to his quarters and lay down on the make shift bed that hurt his back and offered about as much comfort as the cantina benches. It wasn’t much but it was safe. He would afford himself a little sleep.

*

After a few hours of much needed rest, the Beskar returned to its rightful place and the helmet once again obscured anything human about The Mandalorian from view. The location of his next bounty was well in view from the Crest’s cockpit and the tracking fob began to bleep in that familiar ominous tone.

There was a ship port in Mos Espa, one of the planet’s few port cities, and Mando decided that would be the safest place to leave his ship. He knew the planet was overrun with pirates and bandits and he didn’t want to run the risk of the Razor Crest being hijacked or stripped for parts while he was out working.

He docked in one of the empty bays and tossed a few credits to the Gamorrean manning the port and headed into the city.

It was hot and dusty and the suns were relentless already. It was early morning but the arid air was still dry enough to catch in Mando’s throat. The fob bleeped slowly, the bounty wasn’t likely to be in the city. But he knew that. No former-Rebel with a bounty on her head was going to hide out in a city. He was in for a long day.

Mando walked slowly through the tight streets and through the small market. Naturally, once again, all eyes were on him, an outsider – obviously there on guild business. The people of Tattooine were no stranger to bounty hunters or Mandalorians for that matter, but he still drew attention as a visitor to Mos Espa. He kept his eyes straight ahead, heading for the small cantina at the end of one of the narrow roads. It was a likely hang out spot for local bounty hunters and smugglers and he hoped that from there he might be able to procure some transport or at least a little more information about his former-Rebel quarry.

He entered the cantina, having to duck slightly to fit through the small door way. Automatically patrons turned to look at him but the band in the corner kept playing and no one seemed to pay him much mind as soon as it became apparent he wasn’t there to cause any trouble. He sidled up to the bar and rested his forearms on the sticky, unpolished surface waiting for the service droid to notice him.

‘Here on business, Mando?’ The voice came from behind him and Mando spun round quickly, braced for a fight. Instead he was met by a smile and two large hands reaching out to pat him on the arms.

‘We see plenty of your kind round here’ the smiling face and outstretched arms belonged to a tall, large man wearing a dirty apron and a pair of trousers all but dripping with grease obviously wiped on them by the hands now gently gripping Mando’s arms.

The man released him and motioned him to sit at the bar with him.

‘What can I do for you, traveler? Welcome to my humble cantina, can I get you a drink?’ The man kept smiling and clicked for the service droid to come over.

‘No thank you’ Mando replied as politely as he could, ‘I’m here for a job, I wont be staying’.

‘Figured as much’ the cantina owner shooed the droid away and pointed to the slowly blinking fob on Mando’s belt, ‘guild business?’.

Mando nodded but said nothing more, not wanting to give away his position.

The owner let out a bellowing laugh, it shocked Mando but the Beskar covered his reaction. No one in the cantina blinked an eye, this was obviously a regular occurrence.

‘Let me guess, you’re here for Y/N’ the owner offered, grinning at his own deductions.

‘Yes’ was the single word answer.

‘We have boys like you pass through nearly every week! But I admire the guild’s commitment to keep sending you guys after her’ the owner was pushing Mando to ask him questions, knowing he knew exactly what Mando needed.

Mando sighed and obliged, ‘tell me about her’.

The owner sat up on the bar stool and grabbed a drink from behind the bar.

‘She’s ex-Rebellion’ he began, settling in to tell a story Mando didn’t really want to hear, ‘she came here after the Battle of Yavin about 8 years ago. She’s been here since, legends say she’s waiting for someone’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime’ Mando offered.

The owner shook his head, ‘no its not, but the winds say there’s something about her that both sides of the fight want. They say she can move things with her mind and command the sands to do her bidding, they even say she can foresee things’ the owner nodded enthusiastically waiting for Mando’s equally as enthused response.

He didn’t get it.

‘Tell me where she is’.

The owner slumped back, visibly disappointed by Mando’s lack of curiosity but he continued on, ‘she lives out by the old rock formation north from here… you look like you’ve got a lot of heavy weaponry on you and that suit cant be fun to walk around in under two suns… if you go out back my boys will be happy to drive you’ something flashed in the owners eyes.

‘What’s in it for you?’ Mando’s voice was gruff and a little hushed.

A smile formed on the large man’s face, ‘maybe a few credits for the guys and if you do catch her’ he leaned in close to The Mandalorian, ‘and you survive her… you come back here and tell me if it’s true’ he tapped the side of his head and moved out of Mando’s space.

If he survived her? Who was Y/N? Exactly what was he walking in to?

Though he was about as far from trusting the man in front of him as he was from Nevarro, Mando agreed to pay his men for a ride to the rocky outcrop the bounty was supposed to live on.

The owner showed him out back where a group of four men were hanging around a beaten up old Landspeeder. Mando’s hackles raised, he felt uneasy and his instincts were usually right. He made sure the Pulse Rifle on his back was visible and hoped it served as a warning in case he was walking into an uncomfortable situation.

‘This is this week’s hunter looking for Y/N’ the cantina owner addressed the four men, ‘take him to the rock and he’ll pay you’.

He motioned for Mando to get into the speeder and went back indoors.

Mando stood still, no one spoke. He realised that he was in a small alley way, one end enclosed by walls of buildings, the other cut off by the four men who were now beginning to move towards him. None of them had blasters but all were wearing knuckle dusters.

This was a set up. He knew his instincts were correct.

‘Hand over the fob, Mando, and we’ll let you walk away alive’ one of the men called at him.

So that was it. They wanted to mug him for the fob in hope of getting to Y/N and collecting the reward.

‘I thought the other guy said you get hunters through here every week? If you know where she is why do you need me?’ Mando tried to reason, he didn’t need a fight.

‘What’s the use in a bounty without the puck for reward?’ The men laughed.

Mando flexed his fingers. He didn’t want a fight. But he guessed he was going to have to.

‘Come and get it’.

And with that the men lunged at him, all four of them in a frenzied and uncoordinated attack. Mando guessed they hadn’t been working together long.

One of them struck the Beskar with the knuckle dusters causing and almighty clang to echo out through the alley way. Mando all but brushed him off as the steel did it’s job and protected him from harm. The man shrieked in horror as his hand crumpled on impact and sunk to the floor.

Hand to hand combat wasn’t Mando’s forte, in fact he despised it. More often than not it ended up in another new scar and several days of nursing bruises. He didn’t have time for that right now.

Mando drew his blaster and shot the man that was furthest from him, hoping to draw the other’s attention away from him for a second. It worked and Mando stepped forward grabbing the two remaining men by the back of their heads while they were turned to look at the one with the blaster wound and slammed their heads together. Out cold they dropped like flies on to the desert dust.

The man who had first flown at him was on the floor cradling his probably broken hand against his chest. Mando grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall of the cantina.

‘Where is she’ he growled.

‘She’ll kill you, man you don’t understand’ the ‘wannabe’ assassin whined.

Mando slammed him against the wall again, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break anything.

The man whimpered in pain, ‘she kills them all, she killed the guys we replaced! The last lot robbed the bounty hunter and went out to get her and they never came back, just like the ones before them and the ones before them! They just lose their minds and jump!’

‘What does she do to them’ Mando tightened the grip on the quivering man’s shirt and he yelped.

‘They say she makes them kill themselves, they say she can control their minds and they throw themselves off the rock, they say she drives them crazy with her thoughts’.

Mando let the little man go and he sunk to his knees and groaned in pain. Surely the sound from his blaster had been heard from inside the cantina and surely someone had realised that the four men had not returned with the fob.

It was time to go.

‘Which way?’ Mando didn’t need to shout, the man was so afraid he simply pointed to the north with his unbroken hand and sobbed slightly.

Mando tossed him a credit then leapt into the Landspeeder and sped off as the suns rose higher into the sky.

*

It was no more than an hour before Mando saw the shimmering outline of the rock formation in the distance. It was a large red stone lump in the middle of otherwise empty desert. Not exactly conspicuous, but completely inaccessible by foot and he had no doubt that she would have seen him coming long before he could see the rock.

He kept the speed up, unsure of what he was speeding towards. If she was as powerful as the men at the cantina had said then he was in for a fight.

As he approached the rock he slowed the speeder to a near halt. He hopped out and used the slowly moving speeder as cover until he reached the rock and flattened himself against it.

He checked over the Pulse Rifle, making sure it was in perfect order before he advanced further.

He looked up. There was what looked like a cave several feet up the rock and to his right was a staircase carved into the deep red stone. There was no wind, only scorching heat. He was grateful for the shadow the rock was casting. There was total silence. The only sound was of his own gentle breathing and the hurried bleeping of the fob on his belt. She was here. And there was no question that she knew he was too.

He sighed and made his way to the staircase. He slowly ascended, keeping his ears open for any sound that might indicate her presence. He arrived at the top of the staircase onto a carved balcony before the mouth of the cave.

He stopped and stared as he was greeted by murals painted on the stone face with astonishing detail. They portrayed men, bounty hunters by the look of their dress, being thrown from the top of the rock. Mando gulped. He put his hand up to touch the painting. If this was drawn by Y/N then she certainly had a knack for gory detail. The tortured twists of the falling men’s faces were horrifying but beautiful, but it was the drawing of the small woman, dressed in white with her hands above her head and eyes closed that grabbed his attention. It looked as though she were commanding the men to leap to their deaths.

It felt like he knew her?

Mando’s hackles raised again. Perhaps some of what he had been told wasn’t completely fictitious? Or perhaps she was just a talented artist marketing herself as a fearsome sorcerer? Only one way to find out.

Mando slunk against the wall and moved slowly towards the mouth of the cave. He drew his blaster before peering round the corner to look into the mouth of the cave. His blaster dropped to his side and if his jaw could have swung open it would have done.

The whole cave was filled with paintings. Lit by naked flame the cave was deep and silent. But the walls were plastered with paintings. Hypnotised Mando moved further in and admired the paintings, the detail was mesmerising. They were all portraits of a man with mirror like precision. And then stopped dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold.

He stared at the paintings of the man adorning the walls. He saw the unkempt hair and the forehead covered in scars. He recognised the sharp jawline and the nose that had been broken one too any times. He saw the tired eyes and the day old stubble. It was as if he were looking into the mirror in the small fresher on the Razor Crest.

He reached out expecting the stunning realism to reach back at him but it didn’t. Instead his gloved hand brushed at the face he recognised as his own.

The cave was covered in murals of him. Stood in various poses, sometimes smiling, sometimes scowling, all of them dressed in simple white – no armour.

He was lost in awe and panic when a quiet voice pierced the sharp silence.

‘Why are you here?’

Mando snapped back to reality and redrew his blaster and pointed it towards the voice.

Out of the shadow stepped a woman, dressed in all white, hair hanging around her shoulders, bare feet making gentle ‘paps’ against the cool, dark stone.

The fob bleeped relentlessly. Her.

‘Come for the bounty?’ She smirked.

As she came out of the shadows and closer to him he could see she was wearing what looked like a blindfold. White silk was wrapped around her head covering only her eyes. It was as if she radiated power and the way she moved was as though her feet floated inches above the floor.

Mando recovered his composure and lowered his blaster.

‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ his voice held firm despite the fear and confusion burning within him.

‘Do you like the paintings’ Y/N gestured to the walls.

‘Who is he?’ Mando asked before he could even think.

‘I don’t know’ she smiled gently, ‘I cant see him’.

Mando stood up tall. He looked back at the walls as if his eyes had deceived him the first time. But no, he was sure. The man on the walls was him. A stunningly real version of him looking back at him from a thousand angles around the cave. But she didn’t know?

‘You.. can’t see?’ Mando hated himself the moment the words left his mouth. That was a question right up there with ‘why don’t you take your helmet off?’.

She smiled at him again, ‘I’m not wearing this for fun’ she touched at the wrap around her eyes, ‘I was born like this. I’ve had to rely on the Force to guide me my whole life’ her smile faded and it was as if the energy around her turned to sorrow.

Mando tensed. Who was she?

‘So the mural out front didn’t put you off’ she laughed and the light around her returned.

‘No’ he said matter of factly.

She cocked her head to the side, the smile still dancing on her lips.

‘You’re not like the others that come here. You’re not so frantic, less hurried. Who are you?’ She moved closer to him, now only a few feet separating them. ‘Do I know you?’.

Mando gulped.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated.

‘I’m here to take you back to the guild’ he was doing his best to keep his voice solid and monotoned.

But she picked up the slight wobble of his cadence and stepped closer still.

‘Who are you?’

‘Who is the man in the paintings?’ Mando’s voice almost cracked, the fear welling up in him. The words of the cantina man ringing in his ear ‘if you survive her’. He had thought it was superstitious nonsense, a story hyped up to keep hunters like him away from her. But as she stood before him, questioning him, his own silhouette adorning the walls of the cave, he felt a chill travel through his body despite the heat of the desert around him. And yet she felt familiar, almost safe?

Suddenly her posture softened. The smile returned and she shrugged.

‘Okay’ she said, ‘before I have to send you away like the rest of them I’ll tell you’.

She stood perfectly still as did he.

She breathed in, ‘he’s my soul mate’.

Mando’s brow furrowed and his lips moved as though he was going to say something, to protest maybe, but no sound came out.

‘I see him in my dreams, sometimes I see him in the day. I see him so often it’s as if I know him. But I can’t speak to him, so I paint him. He’s the only thing I can see’, she began to shuffle under foot, ‘it told me to come here to wait for him, of course it did, where else but the birth place of the Skywalkers. Who knew the Force had a sense of humour?’ she laughed.

He didn’t laugh back. The chill still running through his veins.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was soft and nervous.

She responded with a smile again, ‘I’m Y/N, and now it’s time for you to leave’.

She slowly reached out her hand and Mando went for his blaster and suddenly stopped. He couldn’t move. Panic rose in him and he tried to squirm but he was being held firm in an in invisible vice.

‘Thank you for coming, bounty hunter, but today is not your day’ there was menace in her voice and as she lifted her hand he began to move back, slowly towards the mouth of the cave.

He was held fast, as if he was one of his bounties frozen in Carbonite. The eyes of the paintings of him seemed to watch as he was slowly pushed towards the drop down onto the sand below.

‘Stop’ he shouted, the modulator covering some of the fear in the plea ‘I know him! The paintings! I know that man!’

He dropped suddenly to his knees, his lungs filling with the hot desert air in hurried gulps.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated, this time less calm.

Mando caught his breath and rose up on to one knee. She was standing still, her arm lowered. What the hell had she just done to him?

He stood up tall, his breathing erratic. He stepped back into the cave.

‘The man you’re painting, who did you say he was?’

‘My soul mate’ she was matter of fact about it, ‘I don’t know whether he knows but I know one day he’ll come to me, the Force tells me so, I feel it. That’s why I stay here, I’m waiting. It’s why I cant allow you to take me away’ she moved to raise her hand again and Mando put both of his out in protest.

‘Stop! I know him! I know the man you’re painting’ his pleas worked and she lowered her hand again.

His breathing hitched and his heart raced, ‘do you promise me you can’t see through that blindfold?’

‘What kind of question is that?’ Anger laced her response and he understood it more than she knew, but he had to be sure.

‘Promise me’ he commanded.

She nodded, her stature timid at the tone of his voice.

He didn’t know what he was doing, he just felt compelled to do it. He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t understand it himself, but he reached up and listened for the click and gentle hiss of the release of his helmet. He felt the warmth of the air on his face and brushed the sweat dampened hair from his forehead.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t say a word. She couldn’t see him.

He stepped forward and her fingers flexed.

‘I know the man in the paintings’ he stopped as he stood right up close to her, her heart leaping at the sound of his un-modulated voice.

Her breathing increased and her body tensed.

Mando reached down and took her hands. She flinched and pulled away but he caught her arms and held her gently, ‘trust me’.

She did. She couldn’t tell herself why but she trusted the bounty hunter.

He carefully lifted her hands to his face, ‘I know the man in the paintings’ he repeated softly.

She put her hands on his face, felt his hot skin and his sweat dampened hair. She felt the beautiful curve of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, every scar and bruise that told a story and she gasped.

‘I know him’ he repeated.

She smiled as she traced her fingers over his face, seeing him.

He felt her seeing him. He was used to stares from strangers, he hated the way they looked at him, but she was the only person he wished could see him. Finally someone he wanted to look upon him and she couldn’t. But she felt like home.

She kept smiling, touching the smooth skin, the chapped lips, the long eyelashes. She recognised it all. She could see him, his image as clear as her visions beneath her gentle hands. Her favourite view.

‘You’re him,’ her voice was shocked but her face gave away her joy.

‘You’re Din’.

[joonsrack]

+PAIRING: Min Yoongi x Jung Hoseok

+GENRE: Mafia au, light angst, little bit of fluff, Oneshot

+WORD COUNT: ~2.5k

+SUMMARY: 

“The bag comes off his head abruptly, the harsh lights startling him. He's disoriented for a few seconds, and when he finally finds his bearings again, he opens his eyes to a room full of strangers.”

+RATING: pg13 

+WARNINGS: SFW, cursing, mention of firearm, mention of kidnapping, temporary implied character death, this is not for recovering ex-smokers guys.

+A/N: Happy valentine’s day @yoongified 💖💖!! Nina, I’m so happy I got to be your secret admirer for Bouquet days project! I’m looking forward to getting to know you from now on, I have a feeling we’ll get along amazingly uwu 💖. I hope you enjoy this oneshot I wrote for you, I’ve always wanted to try my hand at Mafia aus, and you gave me the perfect opportunity to do just that!! Thank you to the amazing @kimlinebiased​ for betaing this on super short notice 🥰💖

From the start, something about this task rubbed him the wrong way.

Yoongi is far from dumb; in the current climate, he knows that being sent alone out of the Blood Hounds' territory is just asking for trouble. The tensions surrounding the unclaimed east of Seoul have been rapidly growing these last few weeks, the Young Guns being more and more bold with their intimidation techniques. So knowing all that, being sent alone on a task in the middle of the east territory is basically putting a target on his back and saying "kick me".

But Yoongi simply cannot bring himself to care; hasn't cared about anything in months. He goes through the motions, his body on autopilot, his steps dragging. He's never been the most enthusiastic person, but this is different.

He's numb. Living in a constant fog. Existing aimlessly.

He goes where he's sent, does what is asked of him, rinse and repeat. Everyday is the same, food has lost its taste and sleep has lost its calm.

Ever since he disappeared.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. He can’t be thinking of radiant smiles, soft touches and mischievous laughter. The pain is still too fresh, stinging. He takes a deep breath before giving one last look to his surroundings and stepping out of the car.

The closer he gets to the abandoned building, the more he senses that something is wrong. By the time he realizes he’s not alone, there’s already a gun being cocked against the back of his head, the cold barrel pressing into his skull. Months ago, no one would have been able to sneak up on him. But the fog is ever present, blinding, deafening.

The bag comes off his head abruptly, the harsh lights startling him. He's disoriented for a few seconds, and when he finally finds his bearings again, he opens his eyes to a room full of strangers. None of the people present look familiar to him, meaning these people are not from the Young Guns.

By the look of it, he's in a basement. The air carries the unmistakable scent of humidity and staleness, the quality of it tickling Yoongi's nose and sticking in the back of his throat. He can feel someone standing behind him, probably the person that pulled the bag off his head.

They're five in his immediate vision, standing relaxed in different corners of the small room, all observing him silently. They look around his age, dressed for the everyday life of Seoul street world. They're not laughing, or taunting him, or doing any kind of effort to look intimidating. They're just looking at him, expression neutral and calculating.

He's got his hands tied to the armrest of a chair, same for his legs. Surprisingly enough, except for the bag over his head and some push and pull during the "kidnapping" portion, he's been treated well. Which is probably the most worrisome part about this.

Rival gangs don't treat each other nicely, they don't make sure that the ropes aren't too tight. Unless they have some really, really fucked up intentions.

He feels pressure on his shoulders, startling him a fraction. He's hoping the person behind him didn't notice, but the chances are thin, what with their hands resting there. His shoulders get a few squeezes, something akin to a massage that leaves him more tense than before despite the expert hands. He hears a chuckle, voice light, mischievous; familiar.

Yoongi can feel his heart skip a beat at what is most definitely an auditory illusion. His head is messing with him, the pressure finally making him crack. He swallows down a wave of emotions, things he hasn't felt in so long. Now is not the time. Now he needs to focus, to find a way out of there.

The man shifts, shoes crunching on the cement floor. He walks around Yoongi, until his bottom half comes into Yoongi's field of vision.

He's not scared, even though he probably should be. The chance that they'll try to extract info out of him are high, and he won’t give it up. None of the good treatment he got so far will matter once they realize he won't speak. Unless there’s a miracle, he’s doomed.

He looks up.

There's this moment of incomprehension, of utter confusion. A violent denial.

What he's seeing right now, It just doesn’t make sense.

"One day these streets will be ours."

The words echo in the complete silence of his mind.

Yoongi stares wordlessly at the man, all train of thoughts having come to an abrupt stop at the familiar features. But that's impossible. He looked all over Seoul for him, went through every scenario possible, searched every street, questioned everyone that could be questioned.

Hoseok looks down at him, his own expression unreadable.

He raises his hand to Yoongi's face, using his thumb to delicately swipe away a tear that escaped his eyes.

When did he start crying?

Then, there's a soft grin playing at his long lost friend's mouth.

He's alive.

“I looked all over Seoul for you,” is the first thing Yoongi says, breaking the heavy silence. His voice is small, but it’s startling, reverberating against the gray walls.

“I know you did.”

No one says anything again, Yoongi busy tracing all the details of Hoseok's face, committing them to his memory just in case this is a dream. He’s trying to make sense of this, of the vision in front of him.

“Leave us.” Hoseok says, and the people standing in the back disappear in the blink of an eye, the sound of their steps following after them.

Yoongi waits until he can hear the door closing behind the last person before speaking up again.

“Did you betray the Blood Hounds?” He asks, voice devoid of anything. He has a feeling that even if Hoseok did, Yoongi wouldn’t mind.

Hoseok looks bitter for a fraction of second, before schooling his expression back into one of serenity. “They’re the one that betrayed me. Us.”

Yoongi frowns, more confused than ever before. 

“The boss sent you to die today, offered a few grand to whichever gang was willing to take you out. Just like he did with me.”

“...He what? That doesn’t make any sense… Why would he? We’ve been working under him for years.”

One of Hoseok’s eyebrows arch, finding amusement in Yoongi’s confusion.

“I guess he sensed I wasn’t planning on staying an underling forever. You and me, we were gaining the member’s respect and loyalty. He didn’t like that.”

Yoongi can understand the words but none of it makes sense.

“So he…”

“He tricked me into going alone on a task. Told me it was the utmost importance that I deal with this without anyone knowing, that he thought we had a mole amongst the Blood Hounds ranks. I believed him. I didn’t have any reason not to.”

Yoongi has been told the exact same words just yesterday, the boss looking him straight in the eyes as he was apparently sending him off to his death. 

“But I made it out, dumb luck really. The idiot that checked my pulse didn’t know where to put his fingers, couldn’t feel my pulse so he declared me dead. I really thought I would die then, as they left me to bleed to death in an abandoned building. But The Kids found me.”

“The Kids?”

“It’s what they used to call themselves. The one that helped me bring you here today.”

The one that was standing in the back, Yoongi thinks. They’re the ones that saved Hoseok. 

“What...what about today? How...” He asks hesitantly, slowly understanding the full picture.

“He tried to do the same thing, sent out an offer; a few grand to take you out. I thought with me gone you would be safe, until I was ready to come and get you at least. But then we got wind of the offer. We took the job, told him we had some personal matters to settle with you and he bought it. And here we are.”

Here they are.

Yoongi should probably feel something about all of this. About his boss’ betrayal. He’s been working for the man for most of his adult life and part of his teen one. But if he could put a price on Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s life after everything, for mere paranoia, then he’s not worth Yoongi losing sweat over him.

All he can think about right now, is the man standing in front of him. Safe and sound, breathing, living. Not a dream.

Yoongi forgets himself for a second, trying to reach for his friend, but the restraints keep him in place.

“Untie me.” He asks, voice desperate. Desperate to touch, to feel, to make sure this is real.

“Will you behave?” Hoseok asks, hint of mirth in his eyes.

He’s alive. He’s alive.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Noted.”

Hoseok seems to think it’s funny, but Yoongi is being honest. After months of nothing, of numbness, there’s a strum of energy coursing through him. He wants to do so many things at once; there’s a violent need to lash out, to scream his lungs out, to let Hoseok know how his absence messed him up. There’s a violence that’s been simmering for the last few months, waiting to explode, hidden in the ugliest part of Yoongi’s mind.

But theres also the need to grab his face and kiss him stupid, to bury himself in Hoseok’s arms, to melt there and never separate. Losing him was like losing a part of himself, never to be found. But Hoseok is alive, and Yoongi can feel whole again. 

They were never a thing, not officially. 

They didn’t need to make it an official thing. Touches had been lingering since as long as Yoongi could remember. Their eyes always finding their way to each other, no matter how crowded the room or how dangerous the situation.

But this building climax had been interrupted by Hoseok’s disappearance, leaving Yoongi with enough questions, confusion and regrets to last a lifetime. 

“Would a smoke help calm you down?”

Yoongi frowns down at his tied hands, then back up at Hoseok, making a silent point. Hoseok’s only answer is to smile down at him while reaching for his packet of cigarettes. He pulls one out and lights it up, maneuvering his Zippo with expert precision.

It’s the one Yoongi gave him all these years ago, the small rose engraving making it a one-of-a-kind. It had been a joke then, Hoseok telling him he was as beautiful and dangerous as a rose with thorns, in a moment of borderline cringey sentimentality. The next week Yoongi had thrown him a small box containing the present, before walking away like he hadn’t spent a small fortune on it. “I’ll always have you in my pocket” Hoseok had said, following in his wake, making Yoongi break out in a secret smile.

Hoseok snaps the lid closed, pocketing the lighter. He plops himself down in Yoongi's lap, twisting his body so they can be face to face. Every last functioning grey cells in his brain short circuit at the proximity, leaving Yoongi with his own version of a surprised expression; bare of any trace of emotion.

Face intimately close, Hoseok takes a drag, not breaking eye contact. The tip of the cigarette creates a soft hue on his face, the light reflecting in his eyes. He keeps the smoke in, thumbing at Yoongi’s pout and pressing his lips there, barely a touch.

He blows the smoke into Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi gets the message, letting the smoke mixed with Hoseok’s breath fill his lungs.

He keeps it in for a moment, eyes fluttering closed and enjoying the slightest graze of Hoseok’s lips on his own. When he feels like he can’t hold it in anymore, he lets the smoke escape his mouth, Hoseok barely moving away. It thins and disappears around them, giving this moment a sort of otherworldliness. There’s a buzzing sensation starting in his legs.

Hoseok repeats the same process, this time however he doesn't stop himself at only a soft touch. He initiates a kiss, first nothing more than a peck, then starting a slow pace until Yoongi whimpers; from then on it's not a matter of exchanging breath anymore. 

The kiss turns passionate, their breath accelerating. There’s a hand pulling at the short hair of his nape, another pressing delicately into his jaw. The cigarette is probably lying forgotten on the cement floor, somewhere. Yoongi is holding on to the arm rest, cursing Hoseok for not untying him.

They exchange the smoke back and forth without coming up for air, until it's a perfect mix of the two of them. They kiss until they can't anymore, dizziness hitting Yoongi and making him light headed. 

He breaks the kiss, panting, and Hoseok lays his forehead on Yoongi's.

"I’ll untie you now, but you need to behave. I trust you, but the others don’t know you yet. Ok?" He asks, barely over a whisper. Yoongi nods his head, bordering on desperate.

Hoseok jumps into action, reaching for a pocket knife and making quick work of Yoongi’s wrist and ankles. He only has a fraction of second to take a step back before Yoongi has him in a full body embrace. 

They don't topple over, but it's a close call.

He's holding on for dear life to Hoseok's torso, face tucked into his neck, breathing in his new yet familiar scent. He’s biting back on the sobs that want to escape him, everything finally hitting him. This is all real. Hoseok is alive, he’s here. He’s in his arms. They’re together.

Hoseok shushes him, arms anchoring Yoongi to him. 

“There’s nothing to worry about. I promised you these streets would be ours, I’m not backing down on that promise.” He mutters into Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi finds himself thrown back into his memories. 

Two forgotten boys sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned building, night view of the city spreading at their feet, hands anchored together. The plans they had, the dream they shared, the words Hoseok muttered then. The warmth they set off, that coursed through his not yet grown body, warding off the unforgiving fall wind.

“These streets will be ours one day.” Hoseok had whispered into the night.

“What do you mean?”

He had turned to face Yoongi then, eyes full of resolve. “I’ll give them to you.” 

Looking into Hoseok’s eyes, Yoongi knows he still means everything he said back then. He knows Hoseok will stop at nothing to hold onto that promise. And Yoongi will do anything to hold onto Hoseok. That’s just the way they are.

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

#12: Whimsy

- [whimsy]: noun; "capricious humor or disposition; extravagant, fanciful, or excessively playful expression;" "an odd or fanciful notion;" or "a product of playful or capricious fancy."

- References to the level 50-60 LTW and BSM job quests, the moogle beast tribe story line up to level 7 reputation and the side quests available after completion of the New Nest in the Firmament.

- shameless use of writing prompt to introduce a new OC complimentary to my WoL that will be featured in future pieces, Rayne "Echoes" Cowen.

[May or may not have gotten carried away with this one. Hope you enjoy! ^_^”]

AO3 ver.

-

“I beg your pardon?” Aymeric answered aghast.

Ser Handeloup enjoyed the expression the lord commander gave, for it certainly mirrored the one that he certainly had made when he made his own discovery.

“Indeed, Ser Aymeric,” the second commander responded. “To think, the vaunted Warrior of Light and savior of Ishgard had not only treated with the moogles and House Dzaemel to restore Bahrr Lehs to its former glory, but she single-handedly brought honor to House Jervaint by crafting the equipment she uses to this day. Not to mention that she had worked together with Mistress Elde of the Mercantile association in the Crozier to bring about the case of the leather armor-”

“That was Aria, as well?” the lord commander gaped, his eyes wide with surprise.

“An unexpected development, is it not?” Handeloup answered with a bellow of laughter.

Aymeric leaned back against his seat at the war table in the middle of the Congregation of Knights Most Holy. He had wondered how in Halone’s name the quality of equipment fashioned had increased exponentially, thus increasing the morale of the Temple Knights overall. Moreover, he expected the restoration of the Firmament to take a miserly length of time to complete - only to find that the ideal checkpoint drafted and proposed by Lord Francel had reached completion in the matter of a few moons. Then, there was the young miss from House Jervaint that Handeloup was speaking of, an unpolished gem with such prodigious skill that would have gone unnoticed had it not been for an unknown sponsor fashioning the tools she needed to attend their scouting event. 

“She seems to be quite a number of steps ahead of even you, my lord,” Aymeric heard Lucia tease at his opposite side.

“Indeed…”

The doors to the Congregation had opened and the three lifted their attentions upward to find a rather tall Hyuran male with hair like red wine and heterochromatic eyes the colors of night and day. When the man found that he was being stared at, he raised a brow in their direction and approached them.

“Greetings, Master Echoes,” Aymeric welcomed him with a kind smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The man known as ‘Echoes’ bowed politely in the lord commander’s direction.

“Greetings, Lord Aymeric. I have come to deliver something to Ser Handeloup on behalf of my lady.”

The company was quite aware of this man’s relationship to the Warrior of Light - rather, Rayne "Echoes" Cowen was an outcast found in the middle of nowhere, fighting to survive, when Aria had run into him. Treated him with the respect that any living individual deserves to be treated, as well as cure him of mortal wounds that would have otherwise ended his life.  Thus did the man pledge his loyalties to her, allowing only her the use of his true name, and was stationed in Ishgard at her behest, working on behalf of Aria’s birthright and to ensure that Aymeric was taking care of himself. Lucia was eternally grateful.

So, they watched the respected man as he procured a pouch from his pockets, placed it on the wooden war table and slid it towards the second commander. When it reached him, Handeloup retrieved it, mildly startled by its weight, before peering inside.

“Why, this is-!” the man exclaimed, then ogled the man.

Echoes inclined his head. “My lady wishes to invest in Lady Jervaint’s talents. As such, she requests that all of her arms and weaponry needs are to be billed to House Lukos. That is, until the day she completes her training and obtains knighthood. She hopes that the amount withheld in that coinpurse is enough for the course of a moon-”

“Never you mind a moon, Master Echoes, this is enough to last half a year!” Handeloup exclaimed, then shifted to present the pouch to the lord- and first commander.

Echoes raised a brow lazily. “Is that so? Then I have utmost faith that it will be used efficiently.”

Echoes bowed once more and turned to leave, but Aymeric rushed to his feet.

“Please, wait a moment, Master Echoes!”

Stopping in his tracks, Echoes turned back to the man.

“Simply ‘Echoes’ is fine, my lord. I could not possibly accept such honorable words from the one my lady finds favor in.”

Aymeric flinched, startled by the man’s fervent fealty to his beloved. “Th-then, Echoes, please tell me - do you happen to know if Aria is returned to the city?”

Echoes smiled. “Indeed, my lord. However, she urged me not to bring the matter up as she was sure you and yours would be rather occupied at this moment.”

“Do you know where she is at this moment?”

“Yes. She is currently entertaining the children within the Firmament. She will most likely remain there until the sun sets.”

Aymeric shifted his gaze towards Lucia and the woman sighed heavily.

“You do not have an appointment important enough that it cannot wait until the 'morrow,” she answered.

Aymeric’s eyes beamed. “Wonderful! Then, let us pay our dear warrior a visit, shall we?”

The lord commander turned towards Echoes expectantly and the man bowed once more.

“Very good, my lord. Now, if you would.”

The three commanders followed the man out of the Congregation and through the Brume. Eyes followed them, curious to why the renowned Ser Aymeric was strolling about and even Thomelin, the gatekeeper of the Firmament, was startled by the esteemed personage entering. The sight of Echoes did well to keep him from panicking, allowing a rather smooth entry.

Aymeric’s eyes widened. He had heard the New Nest had been completed, but he hadn’t imagined just how beautiful its designs were. As he followed Echoes, he couldn't help but gawk at every building, every staircase and railing that he could, committing it all to memory. Every now and then, he would spy the excited expressions of the inhabitants and the cheers that marked both happiness and hope. The fruit of all their labor - by the Fury, it was all falling to place.

“Here we are, Rolanberry Field,” Echoes announced.

Aymeric, Lucia and Handeloup admired the artistry of the estate. The walls were built on such evenly cut stone and the structure wastes no space on the plot it rested on. Even through the closed doors, the company could hear laughs of glee and delight emanating from it and it made their hearts feel so full.

“Ah, Master Echoes is back,” a voice called out.

The group turned and found a small Elezen girl carrying bolts of cloth in an assortment of colors, as well as find a wicker basket hanging from her arm besides. Upon further inspection, Aymeric and Lucia recognized the small girl to be Maelie, the child that had been tossed off the roof of the Vault during the dreadful day the Brothers of True Faith had held poor citizens hostage within its walls.

“Oh, and so is Ser Aymeric and Ser Lucia!” the girl exclaimed, becoming panicked and yet excitable.

Echoes didn’t hesitate to step towards the girl and stretch his arms out to gather half that the girl was carrying. Maelie smiled wide, grateful for the help.

“Do not be alarmed, Miss Maelie. They are also here to see the lady.”

“Oh!” Maelie turned towards the lord commander and quickly stepped towards him. “Then you’re just in time! Lady Aria is inside and teaching us arts and crafts!”

Aymeric’s smile grew all the fonder. “Is she now? Would you bring us to her? We do not wish to interrupt the class - we simply wish to welcome her home.”

“In that case, we should hurry! We ran out of materials, so Lady Aria had given us coin to purchase more. Everyone’s waiting!”

The girl bounced in her heel and rushed inside the building. Aymeric turned to Echoes and the Hyur male only gave a satisfied grin before he followed the small girl inside. The others mirrored his movements.

The moment the four entered, there was a sudden quiet that was quite opposite of what they had originally heard. That was, until they heard Maelie’s voice echoing against the walls and the subsequent bellows of gratitude from other children at the sight of her haul. There was the sound of rummaging, of children dividing the materials between themselves and when they had crossed the hall into the room they were residing in, they found children gathered before the Warrior of light, watching intently as the woman held an embroidery hoop in her hands, along with a needle and thread.

“Be careful as you stitch the patterns, everyone,” Aria reminded them. “It will not do for you to harm yourselves while practicing. If you are not confident, we have thimbles to protect your fingers.”

“Miss Aria, can you show me how to do this pattern again?” a small boy asked of her.

“Oh, Peyraquile, of course. You do it like this.”

The boy named Peyraquile, as well as two others - a girl wearing a blue winter coat and a boy wearing a grey urban coat - leaned in. Everyone, even children that hadn’t asked the question, watched as the woman weaved the needle in and out of the cloth that Peyraquile presented to her - slow enough for them to pay careful attention, but not as slow as to make them dreadfully bored. When she was finished, she turned back to the child.

“Does that help, my dear?” she asked.

Peyraquile nodded quickly and took the hoop back. “Yes, it does! Thank you, Miss Aria!”

The three children nodded and retreated back to their spot. In that time, three gentlemen wearing red anemos long sleeves and craftsman’s pants stepped to Aymeric’s side from the other direction as they peered into the room.

“My lady, we finished the outer frame of the structure as you have instructed. Do you have the time to inspect it before we move on to the next step?”

“Ah, Rasequin, of course-”

Aria stopped mid-sentence when she followed the direction of the voice and found not only the caretakers present, but the lord speaker of Ishgard in accompaniment of the first and second commander standing by. The sight gave her slight surprise before she sighed and stood to her feet.

“I will be with you a moment, Rasequin, Gontrandoix, Pehainel. In the meantime, please prepare the materials for the next step of construction. Rayne, do you mind watching after the children for a moment?” she asked.

Echoes nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

Aria shifted her head, motioning for the remaining three individuals to follow and she led them into the kitchen. She quickly prepared Ishgardian tea for them and set delicate teacups before them on the table.

“Please, help yourselves,” she urged.

They did just so as Aria sat at the table with them, watching the three fondly as she propped her head up with her arm, leaning against it ever so slightly.

“I assume you have no qualms with my investment in Lady Jervaint?” she questioned.

Handeloup bellowed in laughter. “Nay, my lady, none at all! Rather, we were rather bewildered on how you manage to continuously surprise us. The lord commander the most!”

Aria shifted her gaze to Aymeric and the man looked horrified hearing that his second commander sold him out almost immediately. Fighting back the burning behind his pink-dusted cheeks, he cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly at the warrior.

“Indeed. You have given so much to Ishgard already, Ia. Such things-”

Aria raised a hand to interrupt.

“Ishgard is also my home, Aym. I will have none of that. Not only is it the duty of a citizen in this beautiful nation to aid where needed, I wish to make use of my talents and knowledge as such. Plus, ‘tis not as if I am spoiling them, as you can see with the fine gentlemen you met earlier.”

“Are they perchance the caretakers of this place, my lady?” Lucia asked.

Aria nodded. “Indeed. They asked for my assistance in creating a playground of sorts for the children. I taught them how to perform basic woodwork and smithing techniques so that they could fare on their own. They only ask of me to check on their work because one cannot be too careful.”

“And the children?” Aymeric asked. “They requested they teach you embroidery?”

Aria chuckled softly at that, a playful and entertained smile stretched upon her lips. “Nay, my dear. They requested to be taught ways they can contribute to the Restoration effort. They came together beforehand and some of them decided that selling custom handkerchiefs as staples of Ishgardian artistry to be exported would be a good idea. Who am I to deny them such ambitions when they are so eager to learn?”

Handeloup hummed, markedly impressed as he leaned back on his seat and crossed his arms.

“What a splendid idea, my lady. And you say they came up with the idea of their own accord?”

Aria nodded. “Indeed.” Aria stood on her feet and offered a curt bow towards the three. “Now, pardon me for my rudeness, but I shall return soon. I mean to inspect the work the fine caretakers have done so they may continue on their project. Ah, but feel free to stay as long as you like. Rayne?”

At the call of his name, Echoes had stepped from around the corner and into the room to join them. He bowed respectively towards Aria before she departed to do as she said she would. It was then that Handeloup found courage to ask what they were all thinking.

“Speak true, Master Echoes, how is it that Lady Aria is so motivated to complete such large tasks?”

Aymeric leaned in where he sat, eager to learn the answer, as well. Echoes pondered over the question, cupping his chin thoughtfully as he had done so.

“Well, if it is my lady, I would assume she is viewing all of this as a game.”

Lucia raised a brow skeptically. “A game?”

Echoes nodded his head. “Yes, Ser Lucia. Recently, Lord Stryder had caught wind of dissenters looking to stain Lord Aymeric’s good name as lord speaker of Ishgard. When my lady heard of this, she was quite furious, you see. So, she challenged the noble houses that were against Lord Aymeric - that if certain requisites were not met within a given time, she will not interfere with any further attempt they would have if they were to put a motion forward to have him step down.”

Lucia jumped to her feet, almost slamming her fist to the table. “That is-!”

“Just as you feel, Ser Lucia,” Echoes answered with an incline of his head. “Unfortunately for them, they only see House Lukos as a middle-ranked noble house with nary a connection to the upper echelons because of their prolonged absence from the country. Moreover, my lady issued the challenge with Lord Stryder as the intermediary - therefore they are unawares that it was actually the Warrior of Light, with all the support of the four High Houses and the Mercantile association of the Jeweled Crozier, not to mention the entire realm besides, that they have challenged.  So, she has rather taken her time ensuring that the lords would, for lack of a better way of putting it, ‘stew in their mistakes’, as Ser Estinien would say.”

Aymeric, Lucia and Handeloup stared at the man as if he had grown a second before the lord commander pressed his hand against his face and released a helpless laugh.

“Boosting our economy, putting down opposition in a way that maintains their honor as a noble house, raising the status of her own and rebuilding the city-state to a level above its former glory … and she perceives it as a game.”

Echoes smiled pleasantly at the sight of the three’s exhaustion and Aymeric was then reminded of the character of the woman that he had fallen in love with. Benevolent as Halone herself and as punishing as the Fury when angered. As astute as the most knowledgeable of academics…

...and as whimsical as the very definition of the word can get.

[mtraki]

(Banged this one out quick!  It’s short and has been on my mind awhile!)

 Susan had accepted her back in a more permanent fashion under the women’s tent without comment, but Catherine knew she wasn’t holding her tongue out of tact.  Miss Grimshaw was clearly torn between her respect and loyalty for Dutch, and her genuine admiration and appreciation for the young lady who had-- apparently-- spurned him.

 Catherine was grateful, as she had no intentions of trying to explain herself.  She also had no intentions of staying under this damned canvas crammed between Tilly and Karen.  The girls were lovely, and she adored them, but Miss Schofield was determined to have her own space.

 Her first purchase for herself would be a tent.  Once she got some money…

 Already she was thinking up plans, remembering details she’d learned from her outings.  It would have been nice, though, to have some more recent information. There weren’t any jobs worth doing in Tumbleweed now, and she’d been nowhere else in almost two weeks.

 Mister Escuella had returned from the Blackwater area just an hour or so ago and was settling down in his usual place with his guitar and a bottle, carefully tuning the former and slowly nursing the latter.  He was much at his leisure, so Catherine presumed things had gone well.

 “Welcome back, Mister Escuella,” Was her warm greeting, noting too late the way tension climbed through his shoulders at her approach, “How did you find Blackwater?”

 When he didn’t reply, his dark eyes fixed on the tuning pegs, she waited.  Catherine could be patient, even though she recognized quickly that he was purposefully ignoring her.  To her memory, she’d done nothing to slight him-- after all, he was one of the men she got along best with, besides Lenny and Arthur.  All of the men had treated her respectfully, but few of them bothered to engage with her beyond courtesies or bare practicals. (The Callander brothers notwithstanding, as they had little enough decency between the two of them for   anybody, and indeed seemed to enjoy testing the sharpness of her tongue and wit until half the camp was howling with laughter at her biting remarks.)  Only a few-- Mister Bell, Mister Williamson, and the Reverend-- seemed to harbor true dislike for her.

 When the silence stretched too long, and Javier seemed stubbornly committed to pretending she wasn’t there at all, Catherine prompted in a soft voice, “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”

 “Yes.” It was a blunt reply with a flash of hard eyes.  Both were so uncharacteristic and antagonistic that the lady found herself honestly taken aback.  Like her, he usually resorted to sarcasm and witty retorts instead of open confrontation.

 “... Have I done something to offend you, my friend?” Was her query, slipping into Spanish in the hopes he would be more forthcoming in his birth tongue that nobody else would fully understand.

 Scowling, Javier turned his attention back to his guitar, “... You know what you’ve done.  I don’t make friends with traitors.”

 He said it in English.  He wasn’t talking to her, he was talking for the benefit of everyone who might hear except her.

 So this was about Dutch-- if not Dutch’s direct doing.  Javier’s loyalty to the man was unquestionable, but never before now did Catherine suspect it bordering on fanaticism.

 “...I wasn’t aware that making my own choices made me a traitor, Mister Escuella.” She replied gently, “I thought we stood for freedom-- for not being ruled by others.”

 “We don’t stand for trying to tear family apart, Miss Schofield,” Now he switched to Spanish, speaking fast and harsh, “Will you go away, already?  I don’t want to see you.”

 Too well-mannered to maliciously make a nuisance of herself--and likely too proud to try and convince him against this thinking, at the risk of it looking like regret or remorse, with her feelings of injury being what they were just now-- Catherine dipped a small curtsy and turned on her heel.

 “You shouldn’t be surprised,” A voice informed her condescendingly as she passed the boxes of liquor under canvas to protect them from the heat and light of the day, on her way to the chicken coop.  The nonsensical busyness of the birds always seemed to help her focus her thoughts. This time, however, it seemed her introspection would be interrupted, “It was only a matter of time before they saw you for what you are-- as slow and simple as most of them are.”

 “And what, pray tell, am I, Mister Bell?” The lady demanded, holding tightly to her composure, aware that he’d likely been watching her for awhile now and was looking to catch her in a moment of weakness to take advantage of.

 “A snake,” He hissed-- actually hissed the first syllable with an oily smile-- at her, moving to lean casually against the small structure, fiddling with his belt knife, picking absently at his fingernails, “Beautiful, and cunning, and poisonous.  Vain.  Sharp-eyed and fork-tongued.  Prone to biting the hand that feeds it.”

 Smiling, Catherine stepped near, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

 “I ain’t a snake--”

 “--No,” The smile slipped effortlessly into a grin, “you are correct.  You’re a rat, Micah Bell the Third.  Wretched, greedy, inducing disgust and hatred in everyone.  Thinking yourself very clever, but ultimately driven by your basest urges.  Cowardly, filthy, and back-biting.  You revel in the destruction you inevitably bring with you everywhere you go, even to those whom might foolishly call you their ally…”

 He forced a growling laugh, grinning back at her-- more a fierce baring of teeth than anything-- and his hand tightened around his knife handle at both her accusations and proximity.

 Tilting her head coquettishly to the side after coming to a halt before him, she finished, “And as everyone knows: snakes hunt and devour rats.  There are few things rats fear more...”

 “I’m not afraid of you, whore.” He spat, teeth still bared, hands still clenched.

 “Am I supposed to be offended that you lump me in with the other excellent women in this camp who refuse to give you any attentions, much less affections, Mister Bell?  You must be very lonely, indeed.  Shall I give you the touching you crave, again…?” Her voice turned sickly sweet, as did her smile.

 “You know,” He advanced a step, causing her to arch an eyebrow at his boldness, “you ain’t Dutch’s bed warmer no more, so what’s to stop me from--”

 “--This is what I meant,” Catherine interrupted with a laugh, “when I said that rats were both cowardly and thinking themselves very clever.  You think I am without protections, do you?  You suppose it would be easy, now, to strike at me?  Would you care to test your malformed theory…?”

 She watched his gaze flick over her shoulders, looking at the rest of the camp, before he sneered at her and pushed away from the coop, “...You’ll get what’s coming…”

 Smiling as he walked away, the lady replied, “So will you.  We shall see who gets what, Mister Bell.”

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Siblings

Chapter 16 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which there are MANY CONVERSATIONS, Rynne Hawke picks on her poor baby brother Carver, and Stroud’s mustache finally makes an appearance. 

Read here on AO3 (>8000 words) if you prefer.

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

“Carv, all I’m saying is that you could have said something before you went off to join the Templars. You had ample time before I went into the Deep Roads–”

“... and left me behind,” Carver muttered.

“To look after Mother!” Hawke said exasperatedly. “You and Gamlen! And you did a bang-up job, the two of you!” She widened her eyes. “How is Gamlen, by the way? Still drunk? Is cheap dwarven whisky still his favourite poison?”

Carver tutted loudly, and Hawke playfully rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Carver, why didn’t you—”

“I didn’t have a crush on Merrill!” Carver snapped. “Just leave me alone, all right?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Carver’s slowly reddening neck. “Denial,” he remarked. “Admirable, given the object of your affections, but patently untrue.”

Carver shot him a resentful look. “Why are you taking her side?”

“I am not taking her side,” Fenris said. “She was a deluded witch who couldn’t see the danger of her ways.”

“I certainly hope it’s Merrill you’re talking about and not me,” Hawke said archly. Then she tilted her head. “Wait. That was a bitchy thing to say.”

Fenris pinched her waist chidingly. “Carver realized his error,” he told her. “Courting Merrill would have been a grave mistake. Literally, in all likelihood.”

“Right,” Carver said. “What Fenris said.” But his neck was steadily growing redder.

Fenris frowned at him, then pursed his lips. “Really? You are still holding a torch for that—”

Carver scrubbed a gauntleted hand through his hair, and Hawke cackled. “I knew it! I knew it! Oh, but you and Merrill would have made such a cute couple…”

“Shut up!” Carver snapped.

“... and can you imagine the book Varric would have written about you two?” Hawke continued delightedly. “Swords and Staves! The cranky Templar and the sweet little blood mage! It would practically sell itself!”

Fenris sneered. “Absolutely not. Nothing could be farther from the romantic ideal.”

“Y-yes – exactly!” Carver stammered. Then he frowned at Fenris. “Wait, are you insulting me?”

Hawke slung an arm around Carver’s neck before Fenris could reply. “All right, fine, not Merrill then. What about that other Templar friend of yours? You know, the little blonde one who was so convinced that Meredith was in the right? She was cute. A complete sycophant, but cute. Did you ever–”

Carver sighed loudly. “Maker’s mercy, Rynne, I’m staying at Skyhold with the other Templars next time if you don’t piss off about this.”

Hawke snickered, and Fenris smirked as Carver tried in vain to wriggle out of her grasp. Carver’s petulance and Hawke’s over-exuberant teasing were exactly the same as they’d always been, and there was something strangely comforting about the sameness of their interactions.

And yet, nothing about the Hawke siblings’ lives was the same as it had been when Fenris had first met them ten years ago. They’d both changed in station and status and wealth, and they’d both lost so much: their entire families, save for each other and Gamlen. Sometimes Fenris wondered if Hawke and Carver continued to treat each other like foolish youth as a way to protect themselves from the undeniable difficulties that life had thrown their way.

Eventually they began gossiping about some old friends they used to know back in Lothering, so Fenris drifted back along the mud-ridden road to walk with Cassandra and Varric instead. They seemed to be discussing Varric’s writing process.

Cassandra was frowning at Varric. “You’re telling me Hard in Hightown is also based on people and events from your own life?” she asked. “Do writers ever invent anything completely new, or is every story a reflection of something that has already happened?”

Varric scoffed and looked up at Fenris. “Ouch. She really aims to wound, doesn’t she?”

“Do not take offense, Varric,” Cassandra said. “I’m just surprised.”

Varric turned his gaze back to Cassandra. “Seeker, every good story is based on at least a seed of truth,” he said. “It’s how you shape that little piece of truth that makes the story compelling.”

“Hmm,” she said. “And I suppose that is also what makes you such a compelling liar.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Varric gave Cassandra a reproving look, then shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know why I bother,” he muttered, and he sped up a bit to walk with Carver and Hawke instead.

Once he was out of earshot, Fenris glanced at Cassandra. “That was needlessly spiteful,” he said quietly. “His only lie was was disavow knowledge of our whereabouts. He gave you the truth about everything else.”

“That is no small matter,” Cassandra snapped. “Leliana and I thought it was all connected. The Hero of Ferelden vanishing, then the Champion as well? But no. It was just Varric who kept Hawke from us!”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You know Hawke now. You know she would never have agreed to become your Inquisitor,” he said. “And... if I am being truthful, had you tracked us down two years ago, I would sooner have killed you than allowed her to lead your cause.”

Cassandra recoiled from him. “How could you–”

“That was then,” he said firmly. “Things are… different now.” He sighed and absently rubbed his left palm. “Irrevocably different, in fact. For Hawke and I, and for you. And for Varric as well.” He gave her a frank look. “You should let him out of the doghouse. You think he is a liar, but he is extremely loyal.”

“To you and Hawke,” she retorted.

“Yes,” Fenris said. “But… his loyalty is more than that now.” He trailed off as he thought about the conversations he’d had with Varric: Varric’s surprising Andrastian faith, and his belief in Fenris as a symbol of hope for all the people who were so scared and unsure in this time of war.

“Varric is committed to the Inquisition,” Fenris told Cassandra. “Not just to Hawke and I.” In all honesty, the truth of this made Fenris feel a bit odd. Varric would always be his friend first and foremost. But to think that Varric also saw him as the Herald of Andraste, just like all the other believers in the Inquisition… It made Fenris feel a little bit sad for some strange reason. A little bit lonely, perhaps.

Cassandra didn’t reply, and they walked together in silence on the path to Crestwood Village for a time. Then Cassandra sighed. “This isn’t about Hawke, or even Varric. Not truly,” she said softly. “I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter.” She licked her lips. “I don’t deserve to be here.”

Fenris looked at her in confusion. “What?”

She looked sad now rather than angry. “If I’d just explained to Varric what was at stake,” she said. “Perhaps if I’d just made him understand… but I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I am such a fool.”

“Cassandra,” Fenris said quietly. “You are singularly the most deserving person to be here. The Inquisition would not exist without you. We wouldn’t be here doing this right now if not for you.”

“Is that a fact, or an accusation?” she said.

Fenris peered at her. The corners of her lips were quirked slightly in a tiny smile. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Fenris huffed in amusement. “Take your pick. Perhaps it is both.”

Her smile broadened slightly. Then she sighed again and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I want you to know I have no regrets,” she said. “You may not be the leader I expected us to have, but… in many ways, you are more than I expected. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.”

He shook his head and ignored her praise. “Untrue,” he said firmly. “You anticipated this years ago. You have been pushing to be ahead of it all this time. You are strong and determined, and your faith does you proud.” He shrugged. “We are fortunate to have you.”

She looked away from him and rubbed her nose, and Fenris turned his gaze to the road ahead as they walked. Then Cassandra took a deep breath. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

Fenris shook his head. “No titles, Cassandra. I mean it.”

She smiled at him, and they walked in a comfortable quiet for a while longer. Fenris idly watched as Varric said something to Carver that made Hawke burst out laughing. Carver elbowed Hawke, who shoved him playfully in the arm, and Carver’s strident tone drifted back to Fenris’s ears. “That was one time! And you set me up!”

He smirked, and Cassandra shook her head. “They are a strange pair,” she commented. “Anthony and I never fought that way.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Never?”

“Well.” Cassandra smiled slightly. “Perhaps once or twice, but mostly not. We were very close when we were growing up. I was… it was devastating when he died.”

Fenris nodded respectfully. Cassandra had mentioned that her brother had died when they were both very young, but she hadn’t told him further details.

She gave him a curious look. “Do you have any family back in the Imperium?”

Fenris hesitated, and Cassandra’s face melted into an expression of horror. “Oh. I am – my apologies, Fenris, I forgot. Varric did tell me about your – your memories, or that they were… er. I am very–”

Fenris waved her off. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “It is not your fault. It would be a simple question for anyone else.” He nibbled the inside of his cheek as he considered whether to tell Cassandra about his sister. Varric had purposely omitted any mention of Varania in his Tale of the Champion, and Fenris knew Varric would not have told Cassandra about her either, for which he was grateful. That element of Danarius’s arrival in Kirkwall remained a sore point for Fenris, and he was glad that there was at least one piece of information about his life that remained private.

Finally he decided not to say anything. Not yet, at least. “No,” he said. “I have no family that I know of, aside from Hawke. And the mabari, of course.” He glanced over his shoulder at Toby, who was trotting contentedly beside Cole and Solas.

Cassandra smiled and nodded a polite acknowledgement. Then Fenris glanced sideways at her. “Your brother,” he said carefully. “Do… do you wish to speak of what happened to him?”

Cassandra swallowed hard, then shook her head. “I… prefer not to speak of him right now,” she said softly. “Perhaps another time.” She shot him a quick smile. “But thank you for asking.”

Fenris nodded. “Of course.”

“Hey, Cass!” Hawke called.

Fenris and Cassandra looked up to find Hawke grinning while Carver scowled beside her. “What kind of metal makes for the sharpest blade edge?” Hawke asked. “Silverite or nevarrite?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows slightly. “Silverite, of course.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped, and Carver pointed victoriously at her. “I told you! See, you don’t know everything.”

She grinned and smacked his arm. “I never said I did! But damn, I could have sworn I was right about that one.”

“Technically, it depends on the purpose of the blade,” Cassandra continued. “Silverite forms a keener edge. But nevarrite holds its edge for longer.”

Hawke did a little hop. “So I was partly right, then! I think we should split that bet. You can give me five silver.”

Carver snorted. “That’s not how betting works.”

“It really isn’t,” Varric drawled.

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s not how the rules worked in our wicked grace games at Fenris’s mansion.”

Varric’s smirk widened, and Carver wrinkled his nose at Fenris. “You made special rules for her?” he complained. “Seriously?”

Cassandra shot Fenris a playfully reproving look. “Nepotism and gambling, Fenris? Truly?”

“I disavow any knowledge of gambling occurring in my erstwhile house,” Fenris said smoothly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have important… Inquisitor… business to attend to.” He slowed down slightly so the others all drifted ahead of him, to a general wave of chuckling.

Varric drew Cassandra into the conversation he was having with Carver and Hawke, and Fenris smiled slightly as he watched the four of them talking animatedly together. For some time he simply walked on his own and enjoyed the quiet susurrus of the conversations and the ever-present rain.

Eventually, however, his attention was drawn to Solas and Cole’s cryptic conversation. During their trek to Crestwood, Solas had spent most of his time in Cole’s company. This could simply be because Fenris had essentially ordered Cole to stay by Solas’s side. But it did not escape Fenris’s notice that Solas seemed more at ease with Cole, and was more talkative with Cole, than with any other member of the Inquisition.

“They can only return to the Maker if they become real,” Cole was saying. “Why can't they be forgiven as they are?”

“People say they lack the ability to learn or grow,” Solas replied. “But the more contact you have with this world, the more ability you gain.”

“Why would they want to prove the Maker wrong? He's already far away,” Cole said.

Fenris frowned. It always seemed as though he was understanding half of what they were saying, while completely missing the overarching point.

“It isn't about right and wrong. It's about attention, when you think you have been forgotten,” Solas said gently.

Cole nodded. “And rolling the ball so it goes in the hole.”

What? Fenris thought, with some annoyance. A moment later, Solas and Cole drew level with him, and Solas addressed him directly. “Is something wrong, Fenris?”

At Solas’s words, he realized he was frowning. “No,” he said.

Solas bowed his head slightly. “If you have any questions, you have but to ask.”

Fenris glanced suspiciously between Solas and Cole for a moment. “You prefer the company of… of spirits over people,” he said to Solas.

“People can be trying,” Solas said. “Mankind most of all.”

Without quite meaning to, Fenris huffed in amusement, and Solas smiled slightly. Then Fenris jerked his chin at Cole. “You don’t find him trying? The riddles and the… indirectness.”

Solas tilted his head thoughtfully. “It is a matter of familiarity, I suppose. The Fade is a place of constant flux, where thoughts and feelings and expectations are just as real as you and I. As a result, the denizens of the Fade tend to be less… blunt.”

Fenris gave Solas a shrewd look. “You make it sound as though you have spent more time in the Fade than in the real world.”

Solas looked away. “Sometimes it feels that way to me, as well,” he said softly.

Fenris studied his profile for a moment. Sera had once said that Solas’s head was ‘crammed up a thousand years ago’, and Fenris was inclined to agree. The elven mage claimed he was not Dalish, but there was something about his particular brand of overly-knowledgeable melancholy that reminded Fenris strongly of Merrill.

“For what purpose do you cling so fiercely to the ways of the ancient elves?” Fenris suddenly asked.

Solas looked at him with slightly raised eyebrows. “Do you find no value in recalling the past? In remembering the wonders of our history?”

“It is not my history. It is simply history,” Fenris said. “Besides, there is a difference between recalling and reliving. You seem strangely set on reliving what’s dead and gone.” He raised one eyebrow. “It strikes me that you and the Dalish have that in common.”

Solas pursed his lips and looked away from Fenris once more. “Would it surprise you that we do not?” he said. “The Dalish have no more interest in the accuracy of our heritage than you do. They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.” He gave Fenris a disapproving look. “I find myself surprised that you speak of the past this way. Are you not a man who is missing a significant portion of his own past? Would you not reclaim that past if you could? Regain the memories that you lost and feel their fullness once more?”

Fenris clenched his jaw. “Of course I would have my memory back, if I could,” he gritted. “But not at the expense of the life I have now.”

“Why?” Solas said.

Fenris scowled. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

Solas shook his head slightly. “I apologize. I was unclear.” He looked Fenris in the eye once more. “If you were given the chance to go back, to reclaim your memories and the life you lost, would you not do it?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “No. I would not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Solas asked.

Solas’s gaze was unnervingly intense, and Fenris drew back slightly. “There is no guarantee that that life would be better,” he said guardedly. “In fact, I’m certain it would not be.” He glanced at Hawke’s jauntily swaying hips as she strolled up ahead.

He returned his gaze to Solas’s face. “Life is not about going backwards. It’s about moving on,” he said firmly. It had taken Fenris far too many years to learn this truth – years of anger and hate, years he wasted fuming about his unknown past while Hawke had waited in the wings, wanting nothing more than to love him. At the end of the day, Fenris knew this to be true: had he not moved on, moved past the regrets of his forgotten past and the vitriolic hate that Danarius and Hadriana had planted in his soul, he and Hawke would not be walking this road together now.

Solas, however, was clearly unconvinced. “And yet you used Alexius’s time-travel medallion to return to this time, rather than accepting your fate in the future and moving forth,” he said.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the blandness of Solas’s tone. “This is my time,” he retorted. “That cursed, blighted future was not.”

Solas studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

Fenris eyed him with some annoyance, and they walked in silence for a time with Cole hovering vaguely between them. Then Solas looked at Fenris. “I… would walk alone for a time, if you don’t mind.”

Fenris shrugged, then watched as Solas pulled ahead and slightly to the left. Frankly, he was rather relieved to be divested of the elven mage’s company.

Then Cole finally spoke. "Old pain, shadows forgotten from dreams too real. This side is slow and heavy, but here is what can change."

Fenris scowled. “What are you talking about?”

Cole tilted his head. His eyes were on Solas’s hooded head. “His hurt is quiet. Softer, subtler, not silent but still.”

Fenris tutted. “He’s no different than anyone else,” he said quietly. “Everyone is damaged. Everyone has some sort of… scar. It is best to try and move past it. To make a life that is greater than the harms that were done in the past.” He jerked his chin at Solas. “He should try it sometime.”

Cole nodded. “I will try to help him,” he said.

Fenris shrugged again, and his eyes returned to Hawke. Her arm was cozily linked with Carver’s, and it seemed that Carver had stopped trying to shunt off her affections for now.

He smiled faintly. Then Cole spoke again. “Red hair like the blood that almost stained her hands. She lives in a place that’s not her home, toiling as a tailor like she told you before.”

Varania. Goosebumps rippled across Fenris’s arms. He shot Cole a sharp look. “How can you… she is nowhere near here,” he said roughly. At least, Fenris didn’t think she was. In truth, he had no idea where Varania was now. “How can you hear her thoughts?”

“Your hurt touches hers,” Cole explained. His blank blue eyes settled on Fenris’s face. “She is jealous still. But if you had been wiped away, if you were made not you, she would be not her. She would be a monster.”

Fenris frowned. “Jealous? Of what?”

“You were everything she wanted to be,” Cole said. “Mired in magic, loved, seen. You were free.”

Fenris shook his head slightly. “But that’s… She was free long before I ever was. She said so herself.” But even as he said it, he could start to see how that wasn’t entirely true. Imperial mages who wished that badly for power were beholden to their blasted mentors, bound by their own lust for power to do whatever abhorrent act was necessary. Including, it seemed, selling out one’s own family.

Suddenly Fenris wondered if Varania even was a mage. She’d shown no evidence of magic that day in the Hanged Man, and it was a well-known wish among the soporati to find themselves manifesting magic out of the blue. If Danarius had taken advantage of that wish in his sister…

Cole interrupted his thoughts, as he was wont to do. “You gave her a chance. You didn’t kill her.”

“That wasn’t my… Hawke and Varric stopped me,” he said distractedly. “I would have…” He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair.

“You would have been sad afterwards,” Cole said softly. “You gave her a chance to not be a monster.”

Fenris huffed. He was finding it oddly difficult to look at Cole. “I can only hope she’s not wasting it.”

Cole nodded, and Fenris walked beside him for a while longer in an increasingly awkward silence. Then he heard Varric’s shout. “Hey, guys, look alive. Undead up ahead.”

Fenris looked up. Sure enough, on the path ahead, a group of about five grisly-looking undead were attacking an elven woman and two Grey Wardens.

Fenris pulled his great-axe from his back and bolted toward the nearest undead archer. In the space of a minute, the undead were lying in grisly pieces on the ground, and one of the Wardens was helping the elven woman to her feet.

Fenris returned his weapon to his back as the second Warden nodded to him. “The Grey Wardens thank you for your aid, Inquisitor.” His eyes darted to Fenris’s left hand.

Fenris closed his fist and nodded politely, but he was on high alert. Leliana had warned that Grey Wardens had been sighted here, in this place where Stroud was hiding.

“What business do you have in Crestwood?” Fenris asked. Beside him, Hawke shifted her weight casually to one hip, but he could feel her wariness as clearly as the rain that was tapping on his hood.

“A Warden named Stroud is wanted for questioning,” the Warden said. “We heard he’d passed through here, but the villagers knew nothing. They have troubles enough.”

“We’ve heard,” Cassandra said. “We are on our way there now to offer aid.”

“Good,” the Warden said fervently. “I wish there was more we could do to help them, but our orders forbid it. Crestwood was only a detour.”

Varric raised his eyebrows in pretend surprise. “You’re hunting a rogue Warden? You guys can go rogue? I didn’t know that was possible.”

The Warden lifted his shoulders. “Warden-Commander Clarel ordered his capture. I can say no more than that.”

“I hope Ser Stroud comes with us peacefully,” the other Warden said. “I trained under him for a time. He’s a good man.”

Fenris nodded in farewell, and the Wardens gave a brisk salute before continuing on their way. Hawke folded her arms pensively as she watched them go. “They were acting pretty normally, right?” she said to Fenris and Varric. “No weirdness from them. Not like those Wardens in Corypheus’s prison.”

“They stay by oaths sworn in blood,” Cole said dreamily. “Not theirs, then their own. They’re true.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. “That’s good. I think. Well, they were still after Stroud, so we’d better hurry.”

They continued along the path to Crestwood Village at a faster clip. Soon they were at the threshold of the village, and not a moment too late: a fresh wave of undead fighters had just begun attacking the scared-looking sentries who were guarding the gate.

Fenris clenched his fists, and his tattoos lit his skin at the same moment as Hawke’s barrier settled over him. Thus protected, he phased toward the crowd of reanimated corpses and began hacking them apart, with Cassandra and Cole close behind.

Cole blinked swiftly in and out of sight as he darted around their enemies, and Fenris couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. The first time he’d seen Cole fighting, he’d been a little bit shocked; the vague and floaty spirit-boy became a fierce and focused fighter when his daggers came out. The blades flicked and sliced expertly across their enemies’ flesh, and Cole was distinctly difficult to track on the battlefield: one moment he would be targeting a foe to Fenris’s left, and in the space of a blink he was behind Fenris altogether and tripping a man before slitting his throat with a swift and vicious slash. Sometimes it would seem that Cole had left the fight altogether, then an enemy who had been fighting ferociously would suddenly topple to the ground, bled to death from a dozen tiny cuts to the thigh.

Needless to say, Cole’s fighting style was unnerving but undeniably effective. Within a few short minutes, Fenris, Cole and Cassandra felled the crowd of angry but slow-moving undead, with primarily defensive help from the mages and Varric.

The moment the last undead toppled to the ground, Cole sheathed his daggers. “You can’t hurt me,” he said to one bisected corpse, then carefully stepped over the body and drifted back toward Solas, who was following Hawke and Varric as they approached the sentries.

Cassandra frowned at Cole’s departing back, then looked at Fenris. “I have noticed that you and Cole move on the field of battle in a similar way,” she said.

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow as he wiped his battleaxe clean. “Is that a fact, or an accusation?”

She smiled, but her frown swiftly returned. “Truly, do you not think it odd?”

Fenris paused before replying. “I have wondered about it myself,” he admitted. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the way Cole phased from place to place in combat. Fenris assumed that Cole was somehow moving through the Fade, given that he was a spirit. But if that’s how Cole was doing it, and Fenris could move in a very similar way when his tattoos were active…

He’d always assumed his lyrium marks worked by accessing the Fade. But Fenris hadn’t really taken the time to think about how exactly his tattoos gained access to the Fade. Cole was a spirit; phasing through the Fade was probably a natural thing for him to do. But Fenris was a real being. Was his physical body moving through the Fade every time he flashed across a battlefield? Each time he dragged someone’s heart out of their ribs, was he dragging his fist through the Fade as well?

Fenris slid his greataxe onto his back and considered Cassandra’s question. Solas would probably be able to explain the phenomenon to him. But speaking to Solas was becoming increasingly tiring. Every conversation Fenris and Solas had somehow felt steeped in double meanings, and Fenris was rarely in the mood for such things, especially with everything else that weighed on his mind.

Perhaps he could ask Hawke to speak to Solas on his behalf. Solas’s circumferential speech seemed to amuse her more than anything else, and she would be able to parse out the relevant information for Fenris.

“Perhaps Solas can tell us more,” Cassandra said.

Fenris nodded. “My thoughts exactly,” he told her, and they walked over to join the others.

Hawke looked up at him as they approached the village gates. “The mayor is in his cabin,” she told him and Cassandra. “He should be able to tell us something about where that underwater rift is coming from.” She grimaced as they made their way into the village. “No one has left this village in weeks because of the undead. They’re probably all going a little stir-crazy.”

Cassandra frowned. “We should have the Inquisition bring supplies to these people once the undead are dealt with,” she said, and Cole nodded agreement.

“One of those sentries mentioned bandits,” Varric said. “Better stop them first.”

“We will speak to the mayor first,” Fenris decided. “Get a better sense of what is happening in this apparently cursed place.”

Twenty minutes later, after speaking to the mayor and the various denizens of the village, Fenris, Hawke, and their companions left the village, and Fenris folded his arms and looked at them all. “We have two tasks, then,” he said. “Clearing the bandits from Caer Bronach so we can drain the lake, and meeting Stroud.” He looked at Cassandra. “You, Solas and Cole can go to the keep. Oust the bandits and await us there.”

Cassandra nodded sharply. “Inquisit– Fenris. We will go right away.”

“I can go with them, too,” Carver said.

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to come with us?”

Carver tsked. “It’s not like that. You don’t need me to talk to Stroud. But I can definitely help to take out a bunch of bandits.”

Fenris shrugged. “Go on. We will see you soon.”

Carver nodded to Fenris and made a face at Hawke as she blew him a kiss. A minute later, Fenris, Varric and Hawke were trudging along a poorly-maintained path that wound its way up a wet and grassy hill, and Hawke sighed.

“He couldn’t get away from me fast enough, could he?” she said.

“To be fair, you spent most of the trip making fun of him,” Varric pointed out.

Hawke mock-pouted. “As though you haven’t been enjoying it.”

Varric smirked. “I never said I didn’t. It is pretty funny how his shoulders come up to his ears when he’s mad.”

Hawke snickered, but Fenris raised an eyebrow at her. “Carver’s choice was a good one. His skills are better used helping Cassandra and the others with the bandits.”

Hawke gasped in mock surprise. “Are you calling my baby brother thick?” Then she shrugged casually. “Ah, he has always been more brawn than brain, I suppose. He would have come with us if you’d asked him to, though.”

“And why would I do that?” Fenris said.

“So we could spend more time with him!” Hawke said. “I haven’t seen him for two years, and he’s already sick of me after five days?” She elbowed Fenris. “You spent two whole years alone with me, and you’re not sick of me.”

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, I am not your brother.”

Varric snorted. “Andraste’s ass, this just got weird.”

Fenris shot him a chiding smirk, then looked at Hawke once more. “You didn’t spend those two years interrogating me about my sex life or reminding me of embarrassing things I did when I was small. Or goading me into making foolish bets.”

She widened her eyes comically. “Well, I couldn’t very well interrogate you about your sex life. I am your sex life.”

Varric loudly cleared his throat, and Fenris rolled his eyes. “Hawke…”

She sighed. “Fine, fine. So what are you saying? I’m being mean to Carver?”

“Not mean, exactly.” Fenris shrugged and kicked a stray wet leaf off of his bare foot. “But you might try speaking to him in a different way. Or speaking to him instead of taunting him.” He shot her a knowing look. “A normal conversation, perhaps.”

Hawke recoiled slightly, then laughed. “What? No. That would be weird.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “It would weird to have a regular conversation with your brother?”

“Yes,” Hawke said slowly, as though he was being obtuse. “Carver and I don’t do normal conversations.”

“Well, perhaps now is the time, since he is with the Inquisition,” Fenris suggested. “Unless you would prefer that he continue choosing Cassandra’s company over ours.”

Hawke lifted her shoulders ruefully. “Well, Cassandra is a bona fide babe.”

Varric huffed. “She’s lacking your sense of humour, though.”

Hawke grinned at him. “Aw, Varric, you sweetheart. It’s nice to know someone would pick me for their team.” She slung her arm affectionately around Varric’s neck.

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “You might also consider that Carver’s choice to go with Cassandra instead is not about you.”

“What are you talking about?” Hawke said. She blinked comically at Fenris. “Everything is about me.”

Fenris refused to rise to her jokes. “It is not, though,” he said seriously. “You’re not at the center of things anymore, and I am immensely grateful for that. But…” He trailed off as he tried to find a way to explain his point without accidentally being unkind.

Varric came to his rescue. “You’re the hero of your story, Hawke,” he said. “Carver wants to be the hero in his story, but no one will see him as one because you’re there. He’s trying to be helpful and do his own thing, but he can’t really do that without being reminded of how popular you are.” He grimaced slightly and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Joining the Inquisition is probably like reliving the first few years that you guys were in Kirkwall.”

Hawke slumped slightly. “But how is that my fault?” she said plaintively. “I didn’t ask to be ‘the’ Hawke in Kirkwall. I didn’t ask to go head-to-head with the Arishok or to be Meredith and Orsino’s little errand girl. I didn’t ask to be the eldest child in the fucking family–”

Fenris took her hand. “We are not saying it’s your fault,” he said quietly. “But Carver won’t see himself as anything but your younger brother if that is all you see, as well.”

“That’s not all I see,” she protested, but she wouldn’t quite look Fenris or Varric in the eye. “Besides, you make it sound so easy to just start having a normal conversation with him.” She adopted a mocking high-pitched voice. “‘Oh, hello Carver, let’s exchange omelette recipes. How’s the family? Oh wait, that’s me.’” She let out a brittle laugh. “It’s not that easy, Fenris. Carver and I don’t have anything in common. I can strike up a nice chat with anyone except my own bloody brother.”

Varric sighed and gave Fenris an apologetic glance. “She’s got a point, elf. Breaking old habits with a sibling is… really damned tricky.”  

Fenris grunted. I wouldn’t know, he thought bitterly. But it would be petty to make such a snide remark. Instead, he said to Hawke, “You found a way with me. You and I had little in common when we met.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yes, well, I can’t exactly flirt like mad and offer myself on a silver platter to my baby brother, can I?”

Fenris wrinkled his nose, and Varric made a choking noise. “All right, this is getting weird again,” he drawled. “Good thing we’re almost at the rendezvous point.”

Hawke chuckled, and Varric smirked at her as he pulled Bianca from his back. Then he sped up a bit to scout the entrance of the smuggler’s cave where Stroud was hiding.

Fenris waited until Varric was out of earshot, then leaned in close to Hawke. “You did not win me over by flirting or offering me your body,” he said in a low voice. “If that is all it took, then Isabela would have succeeded.”

She looked up at him with a saucy smile. “Ooh. Is this where you give me a list of reasons that you love me? Too bad Cole isn’t here to help out. That was extremely entertaining.”

He pulled her to a stop and waited until her expression became serious. “You were genuine with me,” Fenris told her quietly. “You gave me more than jokes and flattery. You told me truths about yourself, Hawke. You allowed me to see more than just your smile.” He brushed a wet spike of her bangs away from her forehead. “You are more than the face you show the world. I am just as entertained by that foolish joking face as anyone else, but that is not why I love you.”

Her eyes were on her feet. She swallowed hard and smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said airily. “I’m at least eighty percent stupid jokes. The other twenty is bald-faced sexual innuendo.”

Fenris tilted her chin up, but she still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “That is not true, and you know it,” he said, very quietly. “You could try letting Carver know that, as well.”

She inhaled through her lips, then finally met his gaze. Her eyes were bright with tears, and the solemn warmth in her expression only reminded him of all the reasons that she held his heart.

A soft whistle pierced the constant patter of rain, and Fenris and Hawke looked toward the mouth of the cave. Varric had replaced Bianca on his back, and when Fenris met his eye, he waved for them to join him and ducked back into the shelter of the cave.

Fenris quickly kissed Hawke on the lips, then ushered her forward with a gentle hand on her back. “Come,” he said gently. “Stroud and his mustache will be waiting for us.”

She immediately seized the opening for humour, just as Fenris had known she would. “Well, I’ve been waiting to see his mustache too,” she drawled. “Remember the size of it, and the span?” She playfully fanned herself and shot Fenris a mischievous look. “Do you think all Grey Wardens have fantastic facial hair? Stroud’s mustache, Blackwall’s beard...Oh, no, those two Wardens we met on the way in were clean-shaven.” She tutted as they stepped into the cave. “A pity, that.”

“Don’t forget the female Wardens, Hawke,” Varric remarked as they drew near. “Probably not much facial hair among the ladies.”

Hawke scoffed. “Oh come now, Varric, have a little imagination. A bearded female Warden would be my ideal hero. I wonder if the Hero of Ferelden has a beard. Remind me to ask Leliana when we get back to Skyhold.” She slipped past him and knocked on the locked door that led into the smuggler’s den. “Oh, Stroud!” she sang out. “It’s us.”

A moment later, they heard the soft clink of a lock, and the door cracked open. Hawke shifted so the occupant of the room could see her face, and then the door opened all the way.

Stroud stood there with his sword drawn and his customary worried frown. “Hawke,” he said. He sheathed his sword and offered her a sweeping bow. “Fenris. It is good to see you both again, though I regret the unfortunate circumstances.” He offered his hand to Fenris to shake.

Fenris briefly shook his hand as Hawke gestured to Varric. “Stroud, this is Varric Tethras. Infamous author, even-more-infamous arbalist, and our closest friend.”

Stroud nodded politely to Varric. “Master Tethras. I have heard of you, though I’m afraid I’ve not had the time to read your books.”

Varric waved him off. “Ah, who can blame you, given… you know. Darkspawn.”

Stroud nodded again, and his expression grew more serious still as he turned to Hawke and Fenris. “I’m glad you are here,” he said. “The timing of all of this – Corypheus’s attack on Haven, and the disaster with Wardens… it is both serendipitous and ominously bad.” He looked at Hawke. “I was trying to find out more about the origins of red lyrium, as you well know. But I began hearing talk among the senior Wardens about Corypheus – vague whispers, you understand, but enough to make me concerned, given what you had done in his prison.”

Hawke shook her head. “That’s what we don’t understand. How the fuck did he survive? We killed him, Stroud. Fenris cleaved his head from his body, and he was missing two of his limbs before even that. There’s no way he was alive when we were done with him.”

Stroud nodded sadly. “An archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared Corypheus might possess the same power. I began to investigate, but it was difficult; any information about Corypheus is closely guarded by the senior officers, and my investigation uncovered only clues – no proof. I had not gotten far before every Warden in Orlais began to hear the calling.”

Fenris frowned. “The calling? What is that?”

“It tells the Warden that the Blight will soon claim him,” Stroud said somberly. He turned away and gazed at the table behind him, which was covered with maps and books. “It starts with dreams,” he said. “Then... whispers in your head.” He looked up at Fenris and Hawke once more. “The Warden says his farewells and goes to the deep roads to meet his death in combat.”

“Fuck,” Hawke breathed. Her eyes were wide. “You’re hearing it too, aren’t you?”

Stroud nodded once. “Sadly, yes. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire.” He bowed his head, then looked at them once more. “The creature that makes this music has never known the love of the Maker, but… at times, I almost understand it.”

She took a step toward him. “Stroud…”

He held up a reassuring hand. “I suspect that Corypheus is making all the Wardens hear the calling,” he said. “He is a magister as well as a darkspawn, and he speaks with the voice of the Blight. That lets him affect the minds of Wardens, since we are tied to the Blight ourselves.”

“Shit,” Varric said. He looked up at Fenris and Hawke. “That must be how he was making the Wardens in his prison go all weird, too.”

Fenris shook his head in disgust. “Mind control. It is abhorrent.”

“I quite agree,” Stroud said. “And if all the Wardens think they are dying…” He sighed. “If we should fall, who will stand against the next Blight? It is our greatest fear.”

Varric groaned and tugged one of his earrings. “And if they’re all scared, they’re going to something desperate. You know, as you do.”

“Precisely,” Stroud said. He paced slowly in front of them. “Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before all the Grey Wardens perish.”

Fenris looked up in alarm. “Blood magic? The Wardens are planning to use blood magic?”

“I’m afraid so,” Stroud said. “When I protested the plan as madness, my own comrades turned on me. I was forced to run, and that is when I returned your letter.” He bowed slightly to Hawke. “I apologize for my tardy replies.”

She waved him off. “It’s all right. I knew you couldn’t resist me forever.” She smiled, but her eyebrows were lifted with worry.

“Tell us about this Clarel,” Fenris commanded. “Has she always practiced blood magic in the Grey Wardens’ name?”

Hawke shifted closer and placed a soothing hand on his wrist, and Stroud shook his head. “Not that I have ever seen. She was a good Warden once; among those that King Cailan reached out to before the Blight. But when the false calling began, Clarel stopped listening to the rest of us. She said that only magic could solve this problem.”

Fenris turned away and dragged a hand through his hair, then scowled at Stroud. “She sounds like a Tevinter,” he said. He turned to Hawke and Varric. “Clearly she has allied with the Venatori.”

Hawke winced, then turned to Stroud. “Is it possible that Corypheus is controlling her? Maybe forcing her to do blood magic?”

“Do not try and make excuses for her,” Fenris snapped. “Falling to blood magic is a choice!”

Hawke held up her hands. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Stroud stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “It is hard to say,” he told them. “But I have heard the whispers of the calling myself, and it is only noise: no words, and certainly no commands.” He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Either way, the guilt is hers. Fenris is correct: she made this choice. She is Warden-Commander. She should bow to no one’s word but Weisshaupt’s.” He ushered them closer and pointed at the map on the table. “Grey Wardens have been travelling here, in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. We will find our answers there.”

Hawke frowned at the map. “All right. Looks like we’re going on another nice long trip.”

Varric huffed. “The Western Approach, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at Hawke. “Sandy. Dunes. Not great for walking. Maybe I’ll sit this one out.”

Hawke snorted and flicked his ear. “As if you could resist coming along. We all know you’re dying to document everything for the book you’re going to write about all this.”

Varric chuckled. Meanwhile, Fenris nodded to Stroud. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention,” he said. “We would appreciate your assistance when it is time to confront this Warden-Commander Clarel.”

Stroud bowed to him. “It is my unfortunate duty to assist in every way I can.” He straightened and looked between Fenris and Hawke. “I understand you are bound by many responsibilities. I will go to the Western Approach immediately and collect what information I can, and I will send it to your spymaster. Please meet me as soon as you can.”

Fenris nodded once more, then jerked his head for Hawke and Varric to follow him out of the cave. Once they were outside, Varric folded his arms and looked up at them both. “Okay, here we go…”

Fenris glared at Hawke. “You cannot think this Warden-Commander is truly being controlled by Corypheus.”

Hawke widened her eyes and lifted her shoulders. “It’s not that crazy an idea! Corypheus controlled the Wardens in his prison pretty directly. We should consider the possibility.”

“A possibility to claim Clarel is innocent, you mean?” Fenris sneered.

“If she is, it would be good for the Inquisition to have the Wardens on our side,” Hawke said.

“And if she is not?” Fenris demanded. “If she chose to ally with the Venatori of her own free will?”

She hesitated, and Fenris took a step closer to her. “A weak mage will take any excuse to build their power. Desperation is the first excuse they will grasp.”

Hawke wilted in exasperation. “Fenris, come on. Being scared that everyone you know is dying is a pretty good reason to be desperate.”

“No reason is good enough to resort to blood magic,” he spat.

“I resorted to blood magic when we were stuck in Corypheus’s prison!” Hawke exclaimed. “Have you forgotten that?”

“Hawke, you spilled a few drops of your own blood to open a lock. You didn’t make a pact with a demon or raise bodies from the dead,” Fenris retorted in equal exasperation. “Have you forgotten the horrendous abomination that Orsino became in his final moments of desperation?”

“We don’t even know what the Wardens are doing yet,” Hawke said. “You’re condemning their Commander without even knowing what they’ve done!”

“Hey, how about we take this argument with us and go meet the others?” Varric suggested brightly. “You guys can fight and walk at the same time.”

Hawke exhaled and smiled at Varric, but Fenris wasn’t finished. As they headed along the path to Caer Bronach, he glared at her. “When we go to the Western Approach, we will see what is happening,” he said. “If there is no direct mind-control involved, then—”

Hawke shot him an annoyed look. “Then what? Are you going to blame all the Wardens for their commander making a stupid choice?”

“Stroud stood up to her,” Fenris pointed out. “The other Wardens could as well.”

Hawke sighed and took his hand. “Everyone is not as strong as Stroud. Or as well-endowed with facial hair.”

Fenris ignored her attempt at humour. “And that remains the problem,” he said. “Mages who are not strong enough to resist the lure of power that they can’t control.” He pulled her closer. “Every mage is not like you.”

She scoffed and wrapped her arm around his waist. “I’m not that special, Fenris. You’d see that if you talked to more of our mages. You should come to the mage tower when we get home. We’ll make you special Inquisitor snacks and everything.”

He huffed skeptically and didn’t reply, and the three of them walked in silence for a time. Then, as they approached the Caer, he glanced at Hawke. “If you find some of those roasted nuts with the Rivaini spice, I will consider coming to the mage tower. I’ll consider it,” he said warningly as Hawke squeezed his waist. “I did not say for certain that I will come.”

She smiled up at him. “It’s an opening. I’ll take it.”

“Aw, a happy ending,” Varric drawled. “I could shed a tear.”

Hawke snickered and released Fenris to scuffle with Varric instead. Two of Leliana’s scouts were waiting at the gate to Caer Bronach, and they saluted Fenris as they drew close.

“Your Worship,” one scout said. “The Lady Seeker, Master Solas, and Ser Carver are waiting for you inside.”

“And that strange boy,” the second scout added.

The first scout looked at her in alarm. “What strange boy? What are you on about?”

Fenris waved his hand tiredly. “Thank you,” he said, and they passed through the gates to go meet the others.

They were clustered around a cookfire talking quietly amongst themselves, and Cassandra rose to her feet as they came near. “Fenris, Hawke. Varric.” She nodded to them, then pointed to a door to the left of the stairs they’d just ascended. “There is a passage that way that leads to the dam and its controls.”

Fenris glanced at the door and nodded. “Excellent. We will move on as soon as you’re all ready.” He glanced between her, Solas, Carver, and Cole. “Any injuries?”

“The usual bruises and scrapes, nothing big,” Carver said. He nodded his head to an elven scout who was standing nearby in discussion with her colleagues. “That’s the lead scout, Charter. She said one of Sister Leliana’s operatives is missing, a fellow named Butcher.” He raised his eyebrows at Fenris. “Should we look for him while we’re out?”

Fenris nodded. “A fine idea. We might as well.”

Carver straightened and gave him a sharp nod that was reminiscent of a salute. Then Solas rose to his feet as well. “I believe we have rested enough,” he said to Fenris. “We are ready to be on our way, if you are.”

Fenris glanced at Varric and Hawke. “Are you two in need of rest, or…?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Varric said, and Hawke nodded agreement. “The sight of Stroud’s beautiful hirsute face always rejuvenates me,” she said. “I’m bright and bushy-tailed and ready to go.”

Carver rolled his eyes, then jumped in surprise when Cole spoke up. “But you don’t have a tail,” the spirit-boy said.

Hawke laughed and slung her arm around Cole’s shoulders as they made their way toward the door to the dam. “It’s just a metaphor, Cole. But while we’re here, let me teach you a lesson in language. ‘Tail’ can mean an actual tail, or it can also mean something a bit more lewd–”

Varric snorted. “Come on, Hawke, you’re gonna corrupt the kid’s mind with dirty talk already?”

Hawke grinned at Varric, and Fenris rolled his eyes. “Consider it his initiation,” he drawled. “Once Hawke has draped the demon in innuendo, he will really be one of the group.”

Solas glanced at him, then looked away with a faint smile. Cassandra huffed. “A rather undignified initiation for the Inquisition, don’t you think?” she said archly.

“Is there some kind of initiation for the Inquisition?” Carver piped up. “I mean, I kind of just… showed up, and you said I could join. Is that what everyone does?”

Varric smirked up at him. “Were you hoping for a hazing ritual?”

Carver frowned. “No. It just seems a bit weird. The Inquisition is a big deal. I just thought there’d be more ceremony.”

Fenris grunted. “I have had enough ceremony, myself,” he muttered.

Hawke squeezed his hand, then drifted over to her brother’s side. “Well, if it’s hazing you want…”

Fenris glanced at her. She met his eye, then slipped her hand through the crook of Carver’s arm. “Too bad,” she said to Carver. “I’m just glad you’re here to help us out.”

Carver’s eyebrows leapt up on his forehead. “Oh. Um, thanks, Rynne. I mean – of course I came to help. It’s, um, a good cause.”

“Yes, it is,” Hawke said. She paused for a beat, and Fenris waited.

Then Hawke spoke again: “Following the most handsome elf in all of Thedas and staring at his ass all day is certainly my idea of a good cause.”

Varric snorted, and Cassandra and Carver groaned, and Fenris simply shook his head. She tried, he thought in amusement. One step at a time.

After all, one step at a time was all anyone could ask for.

[nicolabarth]

Fire and Lightning - Chapter 9

Pairing: Michean (main pairing), Samifer (pretty important for the plot, too)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Sovereign!Dean, Mage!Michael, Mage!Raphael, Necromancer!Lucifer, Knight!Sam, nonbinary!Raphael (they/their pronouns), Blood Magic, Graphic depiction of Violence, Curses, past Michifer, lots of brotherly feels

Summary: Dean is still not used to Sam’s new lover, the necromancer and blood mage Lucifer, when even more mages show up on the Winchester lands. Michael and Raphael claim they’re after Lucifer because of crimes he commited and they have to bring him back to their homeland so he can be brought to justice. But is Lucifer actually guilty? And then there’s the fact that having Lucifer taken from him will break Sam’s heart. Dean can’t allow that, even though the more he talks to Michael the more he starts to like the stubborn bastard. And Michael knows it’s his duty to capture and return his brother Lucifer home, but the more he talks to Dean the more he starts to doubt that everything he thought he knows is true.

Notes: This is a sequel to Blood and Bones, even though it can probably be read on its own. Thanks to @askatosch @coplins and @brieflymaximumprincess for beta reading and keeping me motivated while writing.

Read it on AO3

It didn’t take long until it started to rain. At first it was just a few drops here and there and Michael pressed on, but soon it was a steady downpour and Dean took a cloak from the small pack he’d brought. It soaked through fast, when the rain grew stronger.

Dean threw Raphael a suspicious glance and was met with a hint of a smile. Cunning bastard.

Michael cursed and stopped, gripping Lucifer’s arm hard and waiting for Dean and Raphael to catch up. The necromancer looked completely drenched by now since he didn’t have a cloak. Michael on the other hand had a hood pulled over his head. He pulled it back a little and stared up at Dean with a sullen face. “Is there a place where we can sit this out?”

Dean nodded. “There’s a hunting lodge nearby.” He’d have to thank Raphael properly later.

Dean was the last to step into the lodge, because he had to take care of his horse first, get it into the small stable, dry it off and leave it with food and water. When he finally entered, there was a fire going in the fireplace in the only room. Lucifer was sitting next to it and complaining loudly. “At least get them off long enough so I can get out of most of the wet clothes.” He thrust his shackled hands into Michael’s direction, who was surprisingly dry already again. “What are you afraid of, Michael? I need blood for my magic, and I don’t have any weapons on me!”

Michael didn’t look happy at all. “I remember that one time very well when you bit your tongue to spew a curse at Malachy.”

Lucifer shrugged. “Yes, well, point taken. He deserved that for being a dick to you.”

For a moment there was something like a sad smile on Michael’s face, then his features hardened again and he shook his head.

“I can rework the bindings so he can’t use his magic but has his hands free,” Raphael interrupted them, before Michael could say any more. Two sets of eyes, one dark brown, one icy blue looked pleadingly at Michael.

The oldest mage sighed. “Fine. Do it. Don’t take your eyes off him, though.”

When Dean stepped closer to the fire, Michael turned to him. Two steps, then Michael put a hand on Dean’s chest, steering him away from the fire to the other side of the room. “I said stay away from Lucifer, remember?”

Dean frowned at him. “So I’m not allowed to get dry.”

Another sigh, and then Michael lifted his hand, flames flickering along his fingers. “I can help with that.”

Hurriedly Dean took another step back, bumping into the cabin wall. “Woah! I said dry, not crispy!”

The hint of a smile pulled on the corners of Michael’s lips, while the flames died down to just the air above his hand shimmering with heat. Oh so that’s how he had gotten dry so fast. Slowly, he extended his hand, and Dean exhaled, forcing himself to relax. If Michael wanted to kill him, he could do so any minute anyway.

When Michael’s fingertips were a few inches from his face, Dean could feel the heat coming off of them. After the cold rain it felt like a blessing. Dean leaned into the touch that was almost a bit too hot, felt Michael’s finger ghost over his temple and up into his hair. Dean couldn’t help but make a small content sound, and if he was honest he didn’t even try to suppress it.

“Get rid of the cloak.” Michael’s voice was low and his face was close enough that Dean could feel his breath on his skin. He had both of his hands in Dean’s hair by now, and Dean’s heart was beating fast with happiness. He was allowed to be happy about this. The more Michael seeked him out, the easier it’d be to do what he came here for. Just offer him some wine later or maybe even still convince him to let his brother go.

So what if Dean enjoyed the touch way too much? If he couldn’t help himself and threw Michael a cocky grin while he opened the clasp of his cloak to let it slide from his shoulders. “Anything else?”

Michael’s fingers curled into a fist around the hair in the nape of Dean’s neck. The heat got almost painful there, and Dean tensed.

“I won’t change my mind, because you flirt with me,” Michael said.

“I know. If that would work, we wouldn’t be here at all and instead still back in the castle having way more fun than we’re having right now.” Dean shrugged. He also probably would have respected Michael a lot less. He actually understood the stubbornness and he would be damned, if he didn’t get why it was hard to trust Lucifer. Though by now the evidence in the necromancer’s favor should be pretty overwhelming.

“But if you’re honest to yourself, you’re already mostly convinced that Lucifer is innocent, are you?” Dean pulled a face. Lucifer and innocent in one sentence was hard to get out with a straight face. “Well, not in general, of course. You know what I mean.”

That made the corners of Michael’s mouth twitch again. He let go of Dean’s hair and fanned both hands out over Dean’s shoulders, heat seeping through the wet fabric of his overcoat and shirt.

“He could’ve won against you,” Dean added, voice maybe a bit husky for completely different reasons, “if he could’ve stood the thought of making Sam unhappy.”

“I think a court should decide about him being guilty or not.” The short spark of amusement hadn’t held for long. Instead Michael looked troubled, visibly torn now. Like it just needed a tiny bit more to finally push him to a change of mind.

“Michael, I’ve told you before –” Lucifer’s voice came from the other side of the room, but was suddenly muffled.

“Shh,” Raphael said, “Dean is doing a better job than you.”

Dean kept his eyes on Michael, though, whose hands slowly traveled down his chest. Damn, if the circumstances were just a bit different. “If you want a court, we have one here that’s probably less biased.”

“Do you happen to be the judge by chance?”

Dean shrugged and nodded.

Michael cocked his head to the side and regarded him with a curious look. “Doesn’t seem less biased to me.”

Dean clenched his teeth in frustration. But then it occurred to him that Michael had just admitted that his father was most likely biased, that dragging Lucifer home might kill him even if he was innocent. That was a start, wasn’t it? “Listen,” he tried again, “I have a brother back home who’ll stop at nothing to get his necromancer back, and he’ll probably get himself killed in the process. And if it comes to that, I won’t let him die alone. So if you keep hiding behind orders, you’re not only dragging your own brother to his death, but you can as well kill me now and then go back to the castle and end Sam next. And everybody who’s stupid enough to try and protect him. It’d only be a matter of time anyway.”

“I’m not hiding behind orders.” Michael avoided Dean’s eyes now, though, busying himself with opening the buttons of Dean’s overcoat. Oh, how much he wished for the circumstance to be different. “Get rid of the layers. I can get everything dry better, if there are no layers.”

With a sigh Dean helped with the buttons. Their fingers brushed on the last one, and suddenly Michael looked up again, his eyes full of sadness. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I admire your loyalty to your family, Dean. I wish things could be different.”

“They could be, if you weren’t so fucking –” Dean started.

“They could be, if you weren’t so fucking stubborn!” interrupted Lucifer’s voice from the direction of the fireplace.

For a moment, Michael just stopped. The only thing that moved was his head, as he looked from Dean to Lucifer and back. He pressed his lips together, obviously fighting with himself.

Abruptly, Michael turned. He stalked towards Lucifer and grabbed him by his collar. There were still shackles around Lucifer’s wrists, but no chain between them anymore, they just reflected the light of the fire in a weird way. The necromancer allowed himself to be pulled up by his brother, staring at him defiantly.

“Lucifer, swear that you love that man’s brother as much as he loves you.” Michael pointed at Dean.

“I’m as head over heels for him as you’re for Dean,” Lucifer gave back.

“Raphael?” Michael looked at his sibling.

The other mage gave a shrug. “He’s already convinced me. He’s telling the truth.”

Dean held his breath again, waiting for a decision, waiting for the stubbornness to finally break. Additionally Michael just hadn’t denied to be in love with Dean or at least something close to that. And that took Dean’s breath away in a completely different way.

“Fine.” Michael broke the spell by letting go of Lucifer, who fought for his balance for a moment. “In that case I’m taking suggestions how to resolve this.” With that he pulled up his left sleeve and revealed something that Dean couldn’t see from his position. Curious he stepped closer.

Lucifer cursed, while Raphael scowled. “You took a Shadow Oath?” Lucifer asked, shock in his voice.

Now Dean could see the mark on Michael’s arm, looking like it was branded there.

“It was the only way to get him to promise a trial for you,” Michael gave back heatedly. “He wanted to send us to just kill you at first. I pleaded with him for days! When he finally allowed it, I had to swear to bring you back to him no matter what you told me.”

Another curse from Lucifer.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Raphael asked.

“What difference would it have made? I made sure it wouldn’t harm you.”

Apparently, they weren’t going to provide answers by themselves soon, so Dean cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt the big revelation, but what’s a Shadow Oath?”

“Something Amara invented,” Lucifer said, face dark.

“It has devastating effects, if you don’t keep it,” Raphael added. “Not necessarily only on yourself.”

Tagging: @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell​​@humongouscandycoffee@schizonephilim @coffee-queen448@little-boyking @solo-skywlker@samwise-the-true-hero@talkmagically @whinywingedwinchester

[sheikah]

7.02 Thoughts

"Stormborn” exceeded my expectations in every way. There is so much I absolutely loved about this episode and I think that there was something incredibly moving in each storyline. I think my favorite thing about this episode is that it finally confirmed some things that I have been thinking and also arguing for quite some time! The rest is under the cut because those of you following me know brevity is not my strength haha.

Our first scene was intriguing to me from the very beginning. The sounds of the storm raging outside Dragonstone fit well with the episode title, “Stormborn.” I like that because it emphasizes how far Dany has come! She got that name from being born on Dragonstone during the worst storm in memory, and now she has returned to her birthplace at last.

It was interesting to me that she said it didn’t feel like home at all, that it wasn’t really her home. This lined up with aspects of Dany’s character I have been trying to show her detractors for a long time. Dany cares about taking the throne not because she is hungry for power but because she craves a home and a sense of belonging. 

I’ve been arguing for months that after the war, Dany might realize that the throne isn’t what she wants. That restoring her family’s good name and legacy and righting the wrongs of Westeros is enough for her. What she really wants is “the house with the red door,” a place where she can feel safe, secure, and rooted. And while she might have thought Dragonstone would be that place, it isn’t. I don’t think King’s Landing will be either. Because home to Dany will be family and security, something that has always eluded her and something that she will (I strongly believe) find in the long run with Jon. 

Anyway, moving on! Let’s talk more about the storm. I have seen anti Dany people arguing that the storm foreshadows a turbulent rule for her. I disagree. First and foremost I think the function of the storm is what I have just been talking about--a callback to Dany’s famous birth. She’s Stormborn and this is the birth and beginning of her conquest. But additionally the storm is meant to show the tension of her conversation with Varys. 

This is the one and only negative thing I have to say about the episode--this conflict was very poorly timed and strange to me. Varys has been working for Dany for months now, and while she was a Dothraki prisoner for most of that time, they spent an entire sea voyage together. Why is she choosing this moment to angrily confront him and doubt his loyalty and sincerity?

But we can’t judge Dany for not knowing what we, the audience know: that apparently Varys is a genuine and good man who truly does seek to serve the realm and the realm first. 

But aside from the timing I really enjoyed this exchange and think it was a necessary one. I am tired of seeing arguments that Dany is an evil, murderous tyrant when in reality she is a strong and righteous ruler. This scene confirmed that. When Varys told Dany bluntly that his loyalty only lasts as long as her goodness, she didn’t dismiss him from her service. She ASKED HIM TO CALL HER OUT WHEN SHE STEPS OUT OF LINE! You guys, this is huge! Dany is humble enough to admit that like any human, she can and will make mistakes, and she wants her advisers to be honest with her instead of tiptoeing around issues. Because she genuinely wants the same thing Varys wants--whatever is best for the people. 

Yes, she said she’d burn him if he betrayed her. Is that so bad? People who commit treason die in this society. That rule is by no means unique to Dany. 

So overall I really enjoyed this conversation and what it revealed to us about Dany as a queen in Westeros and Varys’s loyalty.  But my favorite part about the Dany scenes was actually Tyrion! Dany and Tyrion have become my favorite GoT brotp, sadly replacing Davos and Shireen (RIP sweet baby girl, you deserved better). Dany needs Tyrion. I am a crazy Dany fangirl but I’m humble enough to admit that. She’s still young and she needs him to talk her off the ledge when she gets a little too “fire and blood,” and I’m glad she has him. 

The scene in the meeting room when she defended him to Ellaria Sand was really rewarding and I loved how moved Tyrion was when she quoted him and said, “I am not here to be queen of the ashes.” He admires her so much and she is taking his teachings to heart. I love it. 

I also love Dany’s council!!! She has a council of mostly badass women including WOC, a bisexual pirate, and a grandma. Like everyone is represented hahaha it’s AMAZING. And even her men--all three of them have some sort of physical disability. It makes me happy to see so many different people represented in her inner circle. And the moment when she asked if they were with her and they all said yes was wonderful. I almost cried. 

When Dany hung back with Olenna I was surprised by the conversation. I am someone who read the plot leaks and they suggested that this conversation would feature Olenna trying to lure Dany off of the more peaceful and level-headed path Tyrion has set her on and instead try and make her go crazy and be more violent. To me the fact that the leaks interpreted it this way just shows how uncomfortable people still are with assertive women. Especially old, assertive women since Olenna was doing the talking. That talk was harmless and sweet and I loved how Olenna was taking Dany under her wing, telling her to be true to herself, and schooling her in how to play the Game. Because at the end of the day, what she said is true. It doesn’t matter if you’re loved. It didn’t matter that Margaery was. Toughness is just as important as love. 

Okay last part of Dany scenes. Melisandre meeting was really cool. The fact that “prince” is gender neutral is fantastic and huge, and I love that Missandei got to step in and say her piece. A friend pointed out (and it’s true) that this makes no sense because Dany is like a native speaker basically (I know she didn’t live in Valyria but she calls it her ‘mother tongue’) so she should have known this better than Missandei. Anyway, I like that now a theory I’ve been supporting for awhile is basically confirmed--Dany and Jon are both TPTWP. Or rather, Dany is Azor Ahai (having sacrifice Drogo and Rhaego to birth the dragons as Lightbringer) and Jon is TPTWP--and those two are not the same person. Melisandre told us they both have a part to play, and it would be fitting with the story so far for us to have multiple heroes of the Dawn, not just Jon. 

Which brings me to the most important moment of all: Dany already crushing on Jon Snow courtesy of the apparent new captain of this ship, Melisandre. Dany saying, “He sounds like quite a man,” is all of us. Let’s face it. I am so excited for them to meet. This is something I’ve wanted for YEARS. Y E A R S.

Oh and speaking of important meetings at Dragonstone, Grey Worm and Missandei were absolutely adorable. I loved it so much. Grey Worm’s declaration that he never feared anything until meeting her was so sweet and such a memorable line. And as far as GoT sex goes, I thought it was loving and tasteful and much better than what we had in earlier episodes between other characters. I am so happy for them :’)

So moving on to Jon. His scenes were great again this episode. We can now safely say that resurrected!Jon is a much more assertive man than he was before. This isn’t to say he was ever a coward. But I wouldn’t call Jon quiet anymore.

I am so happy that he has fond memories of Tyrion. Their friendship is one of my favorites and I love them both dearly so I am glad that he still trusts him, which we can see from his reaction to Tyrion’s summons. I also really liked that Davos basically told Jon that he has good reason to visit Dany. It’s good to hear one person in favor considering what happened next. 

I am annoyed but not surprised by the Northern lords being so opposed to Jon’s journey South. I really have to wonder what they think they could do against the WW on their own. I know that like Jon said, they haven’t seen the Army of the Dead for themselves. But the North’s forces are seriously depleted ever since the War of the Five Kings and the events thereafter. We know how small the Night’s Watch is, too. 

So they should know that they need all the help they can get, and they should be grateful that Jon is brave enough to ride South in a time of so much uncertainty and political turmoil. I didn’t like Sansa saying that Dany wants to take the Seven Kingdoms and the North is one as if that’s a problem. I don’t think she realized the irony of this statement. The North IS one. They only rebelled because of the Lannister/Stark conflict. Otherwise, the North would be just as much a part of the kingdoms as everyone else, and I don’t think that Northern independence needs to be a priority at a time like this. Northern independence wouldn’t matter if the person ruling the Seven Kingdoms was just, and I firmly believe that Dany will be. (But I also believe that if Sansa is still in charge when Dany comes to power, she will gladly GRANT Northern independence as she promised to do for the Iron Islands for Yara).

But I think overall Sansa has good decision-making and has grown a lot from her experiences. In other words, I think it’s a good idea Jon chose to place her in charge of Winterfell while he visits Dany. She will do a good job, though Littlefinger will do his best to make sure something goes wrong. That bitch. 

Speaking of, Jon choking him out will go down as one of my favorite moments in the history of this season haha it was AMAZING. And not to further reveal my weird Jon thirst but him being angry and rough is pretty much the hottest thing I’ve ever seen so. We are very lucky to have gotten this scene haha. 

Overall I’m happy that 1. Jon was able to sway the Northerners to a grudging agreement with his course of action and 2. He didn’t let them talk him out of going. Isolationism is a sure way to get them all killed. 3. Jon finally admitted what I’ve been saying all along. I have gotten into so many arguments where people claim that now that we know that Jon is a Targaryen, learning this will lead him to challenge Dany for the Iron Throne in season 8. We can now lay that argument to rest where it belongs. (Although while we’re on the subject, even if Jon didn’t confirm that he dislikes ruling, I’m pretty sure that won’t matter in the long run anyway since I am 99% sure he and Dany are getting married at some point).

Meanwhile, the most boring plot point to me was at King’s Landing this week. Cersei’s long speech of lies about Dany was a very “fake news” moment and I hated it. I do think it was interesting that Randyll Tarly, certified douche, tried to gain the moral high ground on Jaime about the Red Wedding. This is the man who threatened to murder his own son if he didn’t go to The Wall because he didn’t want him to be the heir to his house. I think it’s interesting that he and the Lannisters will have this alliance though. But as someone who has read the leaks I know how this all pans out so I won’t say more on the subject. 

Cersei and Qyburn with the dragon skulls PISSED ME OFF. This is such a messed up scene for so many reasons. First of all, that weapon is obviously scary considering what it might do to our dragon babies and I hate that. But the fact that they had a whole room of dragon skulls to test it on, and they chose to destroy the priceless relic that is the skull of the largest and most famous dragon in history, Balerion the Black Dread, is NOT OKAY. I was so angry and I think my friend drew an interesting parallel when he said it reminded him of Isis destroying priceless artifacts. Balerion is a huge part of Westerosi history as the dragon that Aegon used to conquer the Seven Kingdoms and unite them as one kingdom for the first time. He was so cool and Drogon is sort of like the next best thing, so I hate that possible foreshadowing that comes from destroying Balerion’s remains. 

After the Lannisters we got to see what Sam is up to and I have to say this week was much more intriguing than last. Sam has become a certified badass, from stealing Heartsbane, to basically having a woman live with him against the rules of not one but two patriarchal institutions, to PEELING A MAN WITH NO ANESTHETIC. This scene was so brutal and disgustingly gory. I was gagging. It was needed though because it showed us the depth of Jorah’s love for and devotion to Dany. That he would undergo this procedure for her instead of just putting himself out of his misery as--the arch maester not-so-subtly suggested he do--is admirable. Also, Sam’s face during the surgery was one of the funniest things I have ever seen and such great acting from John Bradley-West. INTENSITY! And of course, the cut from the close-up of Jorah’s pus-filled surgery to the creamy pot pie was nauseating and brilliant. Such great editing/directing. 

Speaking of pie, Arya reuniting with Hot Pie was absolutely adorable! I loved this scene so much. It was sweet when Hot Pie called her pretty because Arya is a girl who grew up being compared to Sansa and called ugly and “Arya Horseface” by pretty much everyone but her parents and Jon. So I like that he paid her this compliment :) It was a funny callback, too, when she said she’s made a pie or two herself--something Walder Frey was unlucky enough to sample :P

But the best part was the moment that Hot Pie told her that Jon and Sansa are still alive. Maisie Williams’ face in this scene was absolutely heartbreaking. Such real and believable shock. And about time, too! I think Arya needed some good news. We could see that she was broken and sad leading up to this scene. When she saw Hot Pie, who she hasn’t seen in years, she barely even reacted. She just said hi as if it was normal to run into him. So I think she needed a win, and finding out that her family, especially Jon, is still alive AND in Winterfell, was really satisfying to see. 

Of course the show gives and it takes, so right after this we got the wolf scene. I didn’t know what to make of it at first. But in retrospect I really like it. Seeing Nymeria of course was super emotional and I’ll freely admit I cried a lot when Arya asked her if she recognized her. I was just weepy thinking that finally my fave badass little murder weapon was getting her doggy back. It hurt bad when Nymeria turned from her and walked away. I was devastated. But then Arya brightened and her saying, “That’s not you,” is such a significant moment and I am so glad it was included for a few reasons. 

First one is the one D&D mentioned in the post-episode commentary. In season 1 Ned laid out this scenario for Arya of her growing up to marry well and be a proper lady and have babies. Arya said, “That’s not me.” So like Arya, Nymeria is too wild for this domestic life. This confirms something I’ve been speculating for a while--that whatever happens, the series probably won’t end with Arya happily settling down in Winterfell with her family. I think she’s going to be an adventurer for life. Like her wolf, she’s a leader, not a follower. 

But I also like this scene because I feel like it tells us that “that’s not you” also applies to the argument I keep seeing that Arya has become cold, heartless, or “too far gone” since her training as a Faceless Man. Some people were saying after she killed the Freys that she was dark!Arya now and possibly irredeemable. But I think the Lannister soldier/Ed Sheeran scene + this one showed us that Arya is still fully aware of and in control of her identity and that she’s just as much the Arya Stark we’ve always known and loved. 

This brings us to the Greyjoys and the Sand Snakes on their ship. At first this scene was frustrating to me. I’ve never liked Ellaria and her taunting Theon was really irking me. I think Theon has suffered more than enough and I really like him. I feel horrible for what he’s been through and just want him to be happy and well-adjusted. The punishment he’s received has far exceeded his crimes in my opinion. But I think this episode showed us that Theon will never really stop being Reek.

The romance that was about to start between Yara and Ellaria is cute I guess. I did laugh a lot when Ellaria started feeling Yara up and Yara just looked over at Theon and gave this massive shrug like, “I can’t help it that I’m irresistible, fam.”

But I’m glad it got interrupted because Yara can do better. I think she has more honor than someone like Ellaria.

But the Sand Snakes definitely got some karma for what they did to Myrcella and Trystane. WOW was the battle scene crazy. It was everything I wanted action-wise and the choice to do it at night with the flames just made it terrifying and so cool to watch.

Euron is every bit the deranged killer I was hoping to see and his ship, is SO BADASS OMG. I hated what he was doing but loved watching him do it?!????!

It does suck that two of the Sand Snakes are already dead because I was hoping their story would get better and now it can’t. But honestly they always bored me on screen so I guess at least that won’t happen anymore. Their plot was by far the worst adaptation the show has done yet. 

The fighting during the sea battle was brutal and jarring and the Theon scene was absolutely heart-wrenching. I cried again when Euron had Yara. Because 1. I love Yara more than I can even describe. She is my sexy, badass, patriarchy-smashing pirate goddess. But 2. It really hurt to see Theon so conflicted. I know he wanted to save her but he is clearly suffering from PTSD from his time with Ramsay. 

He was looking around at Euron’s men literally cutting parts off of and out of the defeated soldiers in what was grisly, screaming torture. He was triggered and reminded of being flayed by Ramsay, I’m sure. So I was surprised to see him jump ship (literally) but not angry with him. I totally understand why it happened. But it didn’t make it hurt any less to see that one, lone tear roll down Yara’s face as she realized he wasn’t going to help her, that she was doomed. And seeing Theon floating in the water churning in his own failure was awful.

Overall it was a horrible blow for the Greyjoys and for Dany’s forces in general and I am interested to see how she is going to try and manage damage control.

Lastly, the promo for next week!!!!!!!!!!

I can’t believe we are FINALLY getting Jon and Dany meeting after all this time. I just. I can’t believe it. And that one brief shot of Jon looking at her on the throne . . . You guys, he’s in awe. Seriously I couldn’t ask for more in terms of his very intrigued reaction when he laid eyes on her for the first time. 

Also, as I mentioned earlier, we have the most outspoken and self-assured Jon we’ve ever seen and a Dany who has finally reclaimed her birthplace. They are both at their prime and they get to meet each other that way and I CANNOT WAIT FOR IT. You could see how much Dany’s interest was piqued when Mel described Jon liberating the wildlings the way she liberated slaves, when Tyrion told her about Jon’s family being butchered by the Lannisters the way hers was by the Lannisters and Baratheons. 

The romance I have been waiting the better part of a decade for is about to happen and I am so blessed :’)

Anyway, as a whole I loved this episode so much, better than last week. And I think it’s only going to get better from here!

If you actually read all of this thanks haha sorry for the EXTRA! LONG! POST! What did you guys think of the episode? :)

[audi-10-blog]

Q&A

When i was a kid, I used to love collecting or recieving blank journal books as gifts- and also buying the cool pens to write in them. Anyone in Welly remember that Morning Glory on Manners Street? They had the coolest coloured pens and types of pens too!

Anyways, one of my favourite things to do was answer questions and also have my friends answer them in my journal. As I've gotten older i think asking yourself questions is such an important part of growth and reflection and it is really interesting to look back on your answers when you go back and read them years later.

I'm gonna get these from Pinterest and every now and then I'm gonna fill these out so I can look back and have a read one day :) rather than writing a daily entry or wtiting about events happening, i think this is an easier way to document my thoughts and moments in my life. let's start one now..

Sunday 5 July 2020

What would you say the best day of your life is so far?

I would say Saturday 17th January 2015...

Zac and I went on our first proper date for my birthday... I went to his house and we both got all dressed up and ready (i am so gutted we didnt take photos that night!!!). I wore a orange/melon coloured crop tank with a tank pencil skirt and tan stilettos. Zac actually spent the whole day shopping in town for a full outfit.. and bought some new shoes and a really nice light blue i love ugly button up shirt.

It was such a lovely night. We had dinner planned and then we were meeting with my friends afterwards to go out to town. This was really special cause it was going to be the first time he was going to meet everyone. He even made the sweet small gestures like opening doors for me.

We went to Matahorn for dinner which he paid for. Then we went to Flying Burito Brothers for a few Margaritas then met with everyone at Southern Cross :)

What was the worse day of your life and why?

Saturday 9th March 2010.. the day my aunty passed away. The day before was also really bad too cause I was really hoping for the best but absolutely preparing for the worse- i remember that day being really stressful. But Saturday, i had no feeling and jusy absolutely empty. It was so wierd and unfamiliar. I've felt heartbreak before and it was beyond that cause it was like i just died inside a bit.

If you could pick a meal for mum to someone to make you right now whay would it be?

I'm living with Zac' parents at the moment and also have not lived at my parents for awhile now so filo food is definitely something i would pick... i would pick Kare Kare

What do you admire the most about your dad?

I would say how when he is into something or involved he puts 100% effort into it. Whether it's coaching or reffing basketball. His career. Or collecting DVDs and magnets. Recently he's been dieting and also helping my mum cook (shes had some problems with her wrists) and doing hello fresh meals and is posting his meals on FB. Even though i do find him nerdly and OTT I admire how he doesnt go into anything with and drops it off halfway, he'll commit

What kind of music really moves you?

Honestly it really depends on the mood im in and i usually notice the music going deep into my sould when im on the bus or train LOL. This one is hard to answer but i like music that have unique beats and rhythms or memorable sounds e.g. Redbone - Childish Gambino or You and Me - Flume. But also music with powerful lyrics and stories.

What things does your sister do that frustrates you or encourages you?

Haha well this is awkward and im not sure if she'll ever read this. But something that frustrates me is around her loyalty. She will choose other people. For example, i had a falling out with a group of friends that she was also part of and i was bullied and phased out and she still remained friends with them and did not even stand up for me. I understood she disagreed on my part but to let people bully me and shut me out really broke me. She also met up with my ex best friends for dinner the other night... which i find wierd. I guess what really frustrating is that she'll probably understand or see how it affects me through my eyes. However, i guess it also taught me to just not give a shit over time and to just do what makes me happy. She gives me tough love and is one of those people that will be 100% honest and tell you things that you need to hear. It is quite sad though what has happened in the last couple of years.

What is something that your brother annoys or helps you?

Well i have two brothers. AJ is nowhere besr annoying as he was when we were kids lol he was a little shit but something that probably annoys me about him is probably the little time he makes to spend time with me- i always have to initiate catching up. However how he has helped me- little things but they matter. Like just being able to call/txt him to ask questions about tech stuff especially. One time i actually got scammed on my laptop and I called him straight away hahahaha fuck and he fixed it for me. He also has been there though when I've really needed him and been someone to cry to and hes been able to put me at ease.

Andrew-the baby. Well he was the cutest thing as a baby and toddler but between the ages of 7-11 i could not stand him.. i dont usually like those age groups in kids anyway. But i think something thay annoys me is his lack of awareness and being a bit more grown up.. i think about when I was his age (13) and i did way more things that him such as chores and goong going out etc. I do have to remember that it's not entirely his fault though..hes the baby and my parents wrapped him in cotton wool and are parents these days just not as loose with their children anymore?! On the flipside though- he makes me feel like i matter. Everytime he sees me, he hugs me and kisses me-even now as a 13 year old! He absolutely loves Zac aswell which is so sweet. He makes me feel so loved and wanted.

What is your dream job?

To be honest, I have a pretty cool job now as an Instructional Design Lead. If i really hated it I wouldnt be working-If i dont like something I always try to move on asap. But, if i could choose/create and money wasn't a factor it would be working with young kids and setting them up with basic life skills such as looking for a new job, preparing for job interviews, budgeting, learning about society and how to vote and also how to live a sustainable life and be waste/plastic free.

I'll leave it there for now. I'll be posting more Q&A as i go/remember lol

[relationshipadviser-blog]

Rocked by Brexit vote, Gibraltar lays plans for new kind of EU relationship

New Post has been published on https://relationshipqia.com/must-see/rocked-by-brexit-vote-gibraltar-lays-plans-for-new-kind-of-eu-relationship/

Rocked by Brexit vote, Gibraltar lays plans for new kind of EU relationship

But Spains readiness to play hardball on UK sovereignty means negotiating a prosperous future for the territorys businesses will not be a simple matter

According to more than one member of Gibraltars business community, it felt like someone had died. The day after Britains Brexit vote, this outpost of Albion on Spains southern tip was in shock.

The Rocks residents voted 96% to remain. Its flourishing economy, built around financial services, e-commerce and online gaming, is based on the single market and free movement: every day, nearly half its entire workforce 12,000 Spanish and other EU nationals commute across the border.

Worse, Madrid has made it clear that it views the UKs eventual departure from the European Union as its best chance in three centuries to reclaim sovereignty over a territory it has regretted ceding to Britain ever since 1713.

Alarmed by the governments apparent preference for a hard Brexit, prioritising immigration controls and judicial sovereignty over single market access, Gibraltars leaders and its businesses are scrambling to devise a Plan B.

I think a hard Brexit would be very, very challenging to the economic model that has been the source of our prosperity for 30 years, Gibraltars chief minister, Fabian Picardo, said in an interview.

So while Theresa May talks of a great repeal bill to end the authority of EU law in the UK, Picardo is working on what he terms a great continuation bill aiming to preserve as many of Gibraltars EU advantages as he can.

Gibraltars chief minister Fabian Picardo will be looking for a new relationship with the EU. Photograph: Sean Gallup/Getty Images

That will not, he concedes, be easy, and may even entail trying to negotiate a separate relationship with the EU. Our reality is different: we are part of the physical continent of Europe, the chief minister said. So yes, well be looking for a relationship with the EU that may differ from the UKs, perhaps an associate-style status. There are models: Andorra, Greenland, Liechtenstein. As part of the UKs exit, wed like an agreement to continue to give us single market access, and freedom of movement.

Drawn by the territorys position in the EU, a 10% corporate tax rate and ready access to regulators, nearly 500 financial services firms have set up shop in Gibraltar, including subsidiaries of major British insurers such as Hastings and Admiral. The territory has also carved itself a niche in the online gaming business: it hosts 35 big-name operators, employing more than 3,500 people. All that has helped the Rocks economy to near double-digit growth even during the euro crisis and boosted employment by more than 50% in a decade.

Sitting in the handsome government office building off Main Street, Picardo said the greatest single threat would be if Spain closed the border, as it did in 1969 during the Franco dictatorship, leaving residents effectively stranded unless they used boats or planes. (It was not fully reopened until 1985, when Spain wanted to join the EU.)

But this is not the only way in which Spain could make life difficult. Three years ago, during a particularly bitter row over territorial waters, Spanish authorities intensified border checks, creating traffic jams hours long at the crossing. Eventually the European commission had to step in.

What the UK calls uncontrolled immigration, Gibraltar calls the essential flow of workers, Picardo said. So what we are working on now is how we can ensure our job market stays as open as it is now, for people who have the right, as EU nationals, to work in Gibraltar.

Would Spain take that step? Picardo said he could not imagine that in the 21st century, a democratic Spanish government is seriously going to say, that if Gibraltar leaves the EU it will shut the gates. The foreign secretary, Boris Johnson, has insisted Britain will maintain an implacable, marmoreal and rock-like resistance to any change in Gibraltars sovereignty.

Spanish Foreign Minister Jose Garcia-Margallo ays Gibraltars access to the EU will come only via shared sovereignty. Photograph: Jon Nazca/Reuters

But Madrid may have other ideas. Johnsons equally bombastic counterpart, Jos Garca-Margallo, who earlier this month threatened to plant his flag on the enclave, has repeatedly said Gibraltars only post-Brexit access to the single market will come through shared sovereignty. Spain, he also likes to recall, can veto any trade deal between the UK and the EU. The prime minister, Mariano Rajoy, reportedly told May in Madrid last week that once the UK abandons free movement and the single market, Gibraltar will have to do so too unless it agrees to joint rule.

The nightmare, many here agree, would be if, some years down the line, Madrid were to force London to choose between Gibraltars sovereignty and for example enhanced access for UK firms to the EU single market.

Thats the $64,000 question, said Marcus Killick of leading Gibraltar law firm Isolas. If theres a deal thats pivotal to the City of London and requires Spanish support, how far will the UK government go to defend Gibraltar? How deep is that loyalty, really?

For the time being, such concerns seem some way off. Things are going to get tough, said Edward Macquisten of the Gibraltar chamber of commerce, in his office above the main Casemates Square. But look, this is a small, agile, adaptable jurisdiction: we can change direction fast. The people here are not unused to uncertainty weve been living with it for 300 years. If one market closes, well find others.

Killick, who has set up a Brexit support unit for his clients, was similarly optimistic: A shock followed by a reinvention can be a powerful thing. When the meteorite hit the earth, it was the dinosaurs that died out, not the mice.

So businesses based on the Rock are urgently exploring alternatives. The online gaming industry will not be hit: it has never benefited from a single market as the EU requires companies to negotiate national licences. Others, though, may now switch their focus back to the UK in effect reinventing themselves as entry points for European firms keen to access the post-Brexit UK market via Gibraltars attractive tax and regulatory regime and lower start-up costs. That will require new laws in Gibraltar and Britain, but looks as though it can be done.

A second option could be to move some operations to another EU state. Steve Quinn, who founded Quest, now Gibraltars largest insurance management firm, said his clients who operate mainly in the UK market will probably not be affected even by a hard Brexit, as long as bilateral trade is formalised. But those selling into the EU will be looking for solutions. Some are already talking to authorities in places like Malta, Dublin, Luxembourg, the Baltic states: places that are tax-benign and in the EU.

Nick Cowan, managing director of the fast-growing Gibraltar Stock Exchange, which has helped borrowers raise 400m of investment capital so far this year, said its business model had been built on passporting being able to sell, say, a UK carpet manufacturers bonds into every country across the EEA.

Brexit would force the GSX to reconfigure, Cowan said, possibly by opening a subsidiary in another EU state hes already sounded out Malta and almost certainly by passporting into the UK.

Post-Brexit, Cowan said, if youre a German corporate wanting to market to the UK, youll have to either seek approval from the FCA in London or come to us. As a jurisdiction, Gibraltar is likely to be faster, more user-friendly and more competitive on price. We sit down the corridor from the regulator. Issues can be resolved fast.

Many here believe there is broad support for Gibraltars cause in Brussels and other EU capitals and mounting frustration with Spain for seeking to profit from Brexit. Macquisten said: Gibraltar is almost a model of what the EU set out to achieve: cross-border cooperation, jobs for EU citizens, economic growth, full compliance Surely the EU wont want that to end, Gibraltar to be punished? Especially when we showed our commitment to the EU ideal so overwhelmingly last June?

But it may not be down to Gibraltar, or to London. Spain, Garca-Margallo reiterated last week, will never give up its claim to the Rock and free movement across the border would automatically end unless Gibraltarians accepted shared sovereignty.

The meaning of leaving: on life, visas and health

British expats in Benalmadena, Spain: no one yet knows yet quite how daily life there will be affected. Photograph: David Ramos/Getty Images

Brexit could affect the residence rights of the 1.2 million British citizens who live in other EU countries, as well as their ability to work visa-free and access free healthcare but no one yet knows how.

With article 50 yet to be triggered and the UK government refusing to reveal its hand, all that can be said with certainty is that issue will form a important part of the negotiations due to begin before April next year.

Lawyers say its unlikely anyone already living abroad will be kicked out, particularly if theyve lived there legally for five years (the point at which they can become long-term residents, a status granted to non-EU citizens, which British nationals will be). Whatever is agreed will mostly be reciprocal, so if Britain requires residence permits, proof of income and work visas for new EU migrants, this will almost certainly apply to British citizens moving to the EU.

Inheritance and tax laws may change, although existing property rights and UK pensions which are paid anywhere in the world are unlikely to be affected. But British workers may be hit by rules in more than half of EU states that say a non-EU citizen can be hired only if no EU candidate is found.

The Spanish government, for example, has already suggested that after Brexit, the UK will have to pay the healthcare costs of Brits living in Spain. For the time being, almost nothing is certain which explains the huge rise in Britons abroad seeking EU citizenship.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

[shielduniversityapps]

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/ Pseudonym: Hels The Great and Powerful Age: 25 -_- Timezone: Mast ( Az) Triggers: flashing gifs, sexual abuse Activity: CLEARLY i’ll be active. probably more so during the weeks/mornings/afternoons more so than weekends Cause i have a life and work??

IC INFORMATION:

Character you’re applying for: Emma Grace Frost Age: Twenty-six FaceClaim: Amber Heard Traits: Determined, passionate, manipulative, and cold Reformation Stance: Pro Is their Identity known?: Secerrrrtttt Class Standing (junior, senior, TA or professor, etc): Therapist/Counselor,  Education Grad ( Phd I guess??) Why do you want to play this character?:  She’s my bae. I relate to Emma in a way that I haven’t related to other characters. There’s something about the draw of a morally grey character that just has this appeal. Is she a hero? A villain? Does it vary on the day, yes it does. But that’s half the fun. She’s such a layered character that it’s hard not to fall in love with her drive, compassion, and wit. She’s a woman who after everything life has thrown at her still gets up the next day and does what she believes is right for her people and it’s admirable, to say the least.

Bio: ( it’s over 400 words sue me i tried)

Emma’s origin is not a happy one. With an abusive father and a negligent mother, the Frost family was only picture perfect in the media. After experiencing dizzy spells and fainting Emma discovered her telepathy at. 14. Upon a heated conversation with the head of a gifted institute, Winston discovered Emma’s secret. He sought to use her to his whims leveraging her illicit affair with her school teacher, Ian, as blackmail. After refusing to play his games, Emma was shipped off to a mental institution. After her release, Emma discovered that her brother has been committed after she’d voiced her concern for his health to her father. It was the first but not the last time her good intentions would backfire. Manipulated, Emma agreed to inherit her fortune at twenty-one silently fuming on the conditions.

At 18, Emma left home without a penny to her name.  On her own, Emma became involved with a fellow co-worker Troy. But their story met a bitter end when Troy’s money problems lead to his murder and Emma’s own kidnapping. Once again scared and starving Emma discovered the elusive Hellfire Club and found a job as a pole dancer to pay for attendance at ESU.  Here, she met her first fellow telepath, Astrid Bloom and rekindled her old flame with Ian. After and an altercation with Astrid in her senior year, Emma sought Ian’s comfort only to be turned away for being ‘one of them’. Determined to prove him wrong, Emma caught the attention of Sebastian Shaw, a Hellfire regular. At Shaw’s side, Emma used her inheritance to build her own empire in Frost Inc. It was her shrewd potential that earned her a place in the Hellfire’s secret society the Inner Circle as White Queen. Using her money and powers to further the whims  Inner Circle no matter the cost. With Shaw’s blessing, Emma opened a small private institution for the gifted. But that dream was quickly dashed when her eldest sister set fire to the school with both Emma and her students inside. As the sole survivor, Emma took her revenge into her own hand, murdering her sister in cold blood.

The months to follow were rough, and it was here that Emma’s loyalty The Hellfire club began to waver feeling that the death of those few students was punishment for her deplorable deeds. Enrolling in SU, three years ago, under the false pretense of hero, Emma joined the staff as an on-site therapist as well as an Education Graduate.

Writing Sample:  have fun reading thisXD

There are few moments in life that she could pinpoint as mistakes…No, not mistakes, that wasn’t the word she used. They were lessons to learn from and never repeat. Emma Frost didn’t make mistakes. Or so she liked to lead everyone into believing. She was human after all, and humans were flawed by nature.  But she wasn’t like others. She was a Frost and that meant being above average and thus learning to never learn the same lesson twice. The number of lessons she had learned boiled down to three. Three moments in her life, thus far, that had shaped her.

And this happened to be one, she could feel it bone deep.

Her stomach rolled as the wind swept her hair in front of her face. Blonde locks sticking to her lips and nose obscuring her vision before slender fingers pried it away. Neatly tucking it behind her ear, she surveyed the campus. Unusually baren. It was better that way. The longer she waited, the more anxious she grew. This was hardly like her. She didn’t get nervous, not like this. And yet the words of Astrid rolled around in her head. What if— No, that wasn’t where her thoughts need to be. Well-manicured nails dug little crescent into her palm as her fist tightened in her lap. Astrid wouldn’t win any longer. Emma was free. Free from manipulation and open to being herself. The real Emma. The Emma only few had seen, and even few cared to know.

Ian had been the exception, and that alone was the reason she sat on the bench. The hearing for his suspension from campus had been settled. And now, now they were free to finally be together. Hope — foolishly as she knew it was — bloomed in her chest. All those days of fighting, and clawing to keep one good thing in her life had paid off.   She had her cake and was about to eat it too. No one would tell her no. Not Astrid. Not Christie. And certainly not daddy dearest.

The cold crisp fall air tickled at her bare arms once more. She’d decided not too long ago that he deserved to know the real Emma. The Emma who was done pretending to be normal. Done being ashamed for who–what–she was. And she wanted Ian to share that with. No one had seen her the way he had. No one had believed in her as he had. Bubbles of nervousness grew in her stomach when she spotted the familiar body heading her way.

The genuine smile lit up her face as she moved toward him without hesitation. Arms thrown around his neck she embraced him. The heat from him wafting over her body. A welcome shield from the blustery day. A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest as strong arms pulled her tighter before relaxing. The tension of her shoulders, the nervousness vanished with just a touch. This, she decided was what happiness felt like.

She savored the feel of it in her mind. Locking up behind a door for safe keeping. Gently he guided them back to the bench, his expression clouded. Pale fingers laced with his and she gave a reassuring squeeze. A deep sigh left the man before he let his gaze move over the grounds.

They sat in silence for a moment before the illusion is shattered and he speaks. He explains what she already knows. The outburst of Christie in that office. The verdict they’d reached. Her mouth run dries but somehow the hope pushes her forward. It lingers there and she can feel it on her tongue.  So does the guilt. It eats away at her little by little. This wasn’t Christie’s faults. This wasn’t Ian’s fault. It was hers…more correctly Astrid’s. His words reach her ears finally, “It..it just doesn’t seem like her to do something like this.”

No, she supposed it’s not. Because Christie didn’t.  It wasn’t Christie who spoke during those tense hours spewing false accusations to exempt him from the assault charges. “She…She didn’t,“ the words leave her mouth before she can stop them.

The confusion rolls off of him in waves. She thinks for a second she only thought the words. But one look at him and she knows. She isn’t sure how to explain it any more than she’s sure about telling him. He deserved to know, right? But as the words spill past her lips, her gaze turned away from him, Emma can’t help but feel the regret settle like a second skin. Mindless she tucks the strands of blonde behind her ear, the truth burning as it bubbles from her. She can taste his disbelief, touch it as if were tangible. The cold seeps in further.

The thumping of her heart causes her to pause for a fraction of a second. “Because I’m a mutant, Ian.”

Time stands still and she watches his face remain still before contorting in disbelief. She isn’t sure if she should laugh or cry in that moment. Of course, he can’t understand what she’s telling him. The words haven’t clicked.

And she tells him everything. Tells him how she took control of Christie in that chair to ensure she didn’t tell the whole truth. She tells him of Astrid and how wrong she was. She lets it flow from her until there’s nothing left. Just an empty cold space, a vampiric avoid sucking her dry. She transforms from a confident woman too scared little girl once more. Vulnerability is written all over her face.

“Dear Lord—” his exclamation is like a knife. Slicing ribbons in her chest.  It’s not the reaction she wants to hear. “Just…Stay away–you just stay away from me you– you – mutie.” She feels the tears well in her eyes. Blurring her vision along the edges.  The words tumble along her mind’s edge, bringing bile burning up her throat.

  “Ian…Ian wait!”

But there’s no stopping him as he yanks from her grip. Cold biting air is like a slap in the face as he stares at her in disgust. His face contorts into a sneer as he accuses her of cheating and using her mutation to ruin the lives of those around her. The truth settles and sears it’s way in.

   What little remains of her heart crumbles into broken jagged pieces. Her chest tightens and she can feel the tears running down her cheeks.  For the first time in her life, Emma had let someone in. Had let herself get close. The thudding in her chest becomes a dull ache replaced by a fury. Astrid had been right all along. And given a few hours, Emma would come to the conclusion on her own. But there, sitting on the bench, tears leaking from her eyes she can’t feel anything but a numbing sensation.

“But…I love you.”

The plea is lost on the wind as he walked away. There is no turning back and no pretending it didn’t happen. There’s no trying to make it work. What’s done is done. Whatever was left of her heart after years of abuse is left lying on the floor bleeding.  Furiously she swipes at her cheeks in an attempt to hide the evidence. But there’s one thing for certain, and she feels it as the last of the tears fall from her chin. The monsters they so wanted to see in her kind were nothing compared to the monsters that resided within themselves. The whole lot of them.

There’s a definite way her chin jilts up and her shoulders fall back. The cold blue of her eyes settles like ice upon a frozen lake.  Monsters are not born, they’re created. If they wanted to see her as such, then by god she’d show them how right they were. It wasn’t a mistake, mistakes were for people who didn’t understand their purpose in life. No, it was a lesson that Emma didn’t need to learn again.  As she stood from that bench, a cool indifference masking her features, she made a vow. Never again would she fall in love,. Never again would she let herself fall to silly notions. Never again would let the world see what laid underneath. Never again would she allow the world to see her for anything than what she was. Cold. Hard. Diamond.

Extra Bits and Bobs: this is really anything you wish to add! A picture, a playlist, a moodboard, another blog you’ve had of the character, be creative!