#it's the bittersweet feeling. the warmth of humanity and the knowledge of the dark sides of it

[neon-angels-system]

you ever consume media which has that specific feel to it of like. the world is flawed. the characters are People. they do questionable and unhealthy things, but they are people, and they are good. it’s about how they are disheveled with ugly appearances and horrible habits. it’s about how they speak rudely but familiarly. it’s about them welcoming a newcomer, and supporting each other, and how they are people who care for one another. man.

[pensivetense]

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

As Sweet As It Is Bitter (Jumin Han)

I personally feel that this part of Jumin’s story doesn’t get talked about enough. So I wanted to give my interpretation of it.

Warnings / Notes:

Spoilers for the Secret Endings

Alcohol abuse, grief, general sad times. Big ol’ bag of angst here.

Brief mentions of violence/injury.

This isn’t intended to be Jumin x V, but if that’s how you wanna read it then go for it. It’s down to your interpretation/what floats your boat.

Playlist:

Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi

Say Something - A Great Big World

Saturn - Sleeping at Last

Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel

Artwork also helped inspire me when writing this, especially art by the absolutely incredible @sikuzxxx​ . They are ridiculously talented and I encourage you to check out their art if you haven’t already. Here are the pieces that inspired me most: 1 / 2 / 3 / 

It was straightforward, really.

Unlock door. Enter. Shut door. Hang up coat. Take off shoes.

It was routine, the same as it was yesterday and the same as it will be tomorrow. Yet, it couldn’t feel more wrong. Something as simple as unlocking a door became foreign to him when a steady hand was replaced with clumsy fingers, and a quiet mind became swarmed with static.

Jumin loosened his tie and undid the top button of his black shirt. He stepped into the centre of his penthouse, a bouquet of chrysanthemums under one arm and his head reeling. He stood motionless, staring out into the city through the large glass panels. He couldn’t understand.

He couldn’t understand how it was that, despite everything they had, this was the way it ended. After every family dinner, every walk home from school together, every bottle of wine shared, this was the way God had planned their friendship to come to a close. Before, he would have guessed that it would end in a hospital, with silver hair and cracked skin, fond memories and shared joy in abundance; but instead it ended with bullets and screams and whatever it is that nightmares are born of. It was no place for the end.

Jumin surveyed the room, a dark and hollow space only visible by the illumination of nearby buildings. He was completely and utterly alone.

Therefore, for the first time in his twenty-seven years of life, Jumin Han let himself break.

He took out a bottle of red wine, pouring himself a generous glass. And then another, and then another, until he gave up on the glass all together, instead opting for strangling the neck of the bottle as he emptied it of its poison. With every drop that passed his lips, the scene that played in his head grew more vivid as reality began to blur.

The scene started with him sprinting through the building, guards on either side of him as they rounded the corner, stopping in their tracks when they spotted the intimidating doors that lay ahead. He had made one step towards them when he heard the gunshot, and then did not hesitate to charge towards the doors, bursting through.

He can see his body now, limp and resting in a pool of rich red. He could literally see the life flowing out of V with every passing second as he merely looked on, utterly helpless. He couldn’t help, he was too late.

He didn’t say goodbye.

With a frustrated grunt Jumin stumbled towards the bedroom but stopped himself halfway, his eyes landing on the bunch of flowers that he had brought back from the venue, already starting the wither and the petals starting to fall. That was the first crack.

It started with a single drop gliding down his cheek, that rested on the tip of his chin before falling onto his dark tie. He impatiently wiped his face, standing tall and looking straight ahead, but it all in vain. Without warning nor control, every tear that had remained unshed had surfaced and poured.

He should just go to bed. Leave this day behind him. He had his closure now, it was time to move on and to be the man he was before all this chaos. To be Jumin Han again.

Then why did he remain where he stood?

Jumin dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets hard enough to see stars as his knees buckled beneath him, his frame crumbling to the floor. He was renowned for his stoicism, practicality, and his unwavering ability to keep whatever pain that threatened to bite to only get as far as barking at his door. But tonight, he let himself entertain the torturous idea of the hypothetical, the ‘could have’s and the ‘should have’s that may have saved the life of the only man, the only human being who he wanted to be by his side until his last breath. The one who stayed with no conditions attached, who loved Jumin truly and effortlessly. A companionship, a bond like no other; Jumin and Jihyun. The rich kids. As similar as night and day, but just as perfectly matched. Friends, brothers.

What if he had tried calling him an extra time? What if he had gotten into his car and hunted him down himself? What if he called the helicopter five minutes earlier? Was that all it took? Could he have done it?

But he still couldn’t understand. His door had always been open, his light always left on, waiting for V to come to him. To ask for his help, to tell him where he’s been hiding away, and why he thought that the darkness was more forgiving when walked through alone.

He wanted to scream, not realising that he already was until his voice broke and died out.

He just simply couldn’t understand how V didn’t realise his own worth. How he didn’t know the extent to which the world needed his kindness, his warmth. How he could let his life be thrown away like that, a life as rare and giving as his was.

Maybe it wasn’t that Jumin couldn’t understand, perhaps he just wouldn’t. If this was the bliss of ignorance, then what kind of hellish agony did knowledge feel like?

Jumin’s hands trembled as he grasped the empty wine bottle so fiercely that his knuckles turned white, contrasting the red of his blood-shot eyes. His impulses took over as he launched the bottle at the wall, droplets of red wine scattering across the cream walls as shards of glass showered around him.

He rested his forehead against the icy floor and slammed his fist against it, hardly registering the sharp pain of glass piercing his flesh. He intertwined his fingers whilst he desperately prayed. Not to God, but to whom he had lost.

Please, V, not yet. Don’t let go yet. Tell me it’s not true.

We were going to grow old together. You were going to be my best man, and I yours. What about all the laughs, smiles, memories, that now we’ll never have? We were meant to have longer than this. I’m begging you, Jihyun. You always believed in magic, please believe in it one last time. Come back.

For the love of God, don’t leave me here alone.

Minutes, maybe hours past in that position, until his tears ran dry and his voice grew rough. Jumin tried to move, but the dizzying effect of sitting up meant it took him a moment to become steady before he dragged himself to the wall. He rested his back against it, elbows on his bent knees and his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Grief was a funny little thing. It gnawed at you from the inside, feeding on everything that had any flavour of regret or devastation. But, in a twisted sort of way, it was such a beautiful thing to love so deeply that the wound was just as deeply felt. Unfortunately, the love Jumin felt during his grief also ate away at him, since it was left abandoned with no place to go when the one person it would run to was gone.

Perhaps God saw how tired and wounded his friend was and showed mercy on him by letting him rest, by bringing him home. In that case, was Jumin not home? Did Jihyun not have a home on earth at all? What a tragic life, if the only home you have to go back to at the end of the day is Heaven. But at least Jihyun had peace now, even if that was something that Jumin couldn’t provide.

Jumin used these ideas in an attempt to convince himself that grief was bittersweet. He only wished that the taste which lingered on his tongue was as sweet as it was bitter.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he did recall the flashing images of Jihyun’s lifeless and icy body as it laid frozen before everything went black, and he slowly began to slip into the realm of a dream.

A warm light pierced through the darkness, revealing a tall figure as they made their way towards Jumin, and his eyes pricked when he identified the burst of mint-coloured hair.

Jihyun embraced Jumin and his tears resurfaced, streaming down his face before floating away into the oblivion. Jihyun pulled back, looking into the eyes of his oldest friend, his voice soft as he spoke.

“You’re okay, Jumin. You’re not as alone as you’ve tricked yourself into believing you are, alright? I’m never too far away, but you’ve also got to take a look around you. Stop being afraid now. Stop letting your emotions run just below the surface. If you open up your heart, you aren’t going to bleed out; you’re going to set yourself free.”

Jumin’s lips curled into a faint smile, “Always so cheesy.”

“That’s me,” Jihyun chuckled. “Be brave. For me.”

“If it’s for you, I’d do anything.”

“Then live. Please, for Christ’s sake, Jumin. Just live.”

“…Alright. But,“ he had to ask, he had to know, “Jihyun, what could I have done-“

But Jihyun faded away before Jumin had a chance to finish, before he had time to ask what could have saved him, and to say everything that he didn’t get to say the day he left. To say thank you for everything he taught him, to ask where it went wrong; to say goodbye. But he disappeared, just like he did before. Without warning, without explanation. As if he was never there at all.

The light of the morning sun blinded Jumin when he pried his eyes open the next day, a pounding in his head and every movement sending a wave of nausea through him. He found himself lying in fragments of glass, the ringing in his ear returning as he sat up straight. He checked the time.

8:17am. He would usually be at work by this time-

His thought was interrupted by an incoming call, every ring feeling like a strike against the head. Jumin squinted as he read the contact name before answering.

“Assistant Kang.”

“Mr. Han, is everything alright? You are scheduled to have a meeting in less than an hour, would you like me to cancel it?”

“No need, just push it forward by an hour. I’ll be there soon,” Jumin croaked, his voice coarse and weak.

“…Mr. Han, if I dare to make a suggestion, I think you should rest today. You must have had a rough-“

“Jaehee.”

The woman on the other side was caught off-guard, which was evident by the pause before her response, “Y-yes?”

“Move the meeting,” he attempted to say sternly, but it came out with a tinge of desperation, “Please.”

“…Okay, sir. I will see you soon.”

“Yes, see you soon.”

Jumin hung up, prying himself off the floor when his gaze once again fell on the bunch of white flowers, some now stained with red wine. He reached for the only pristine one, extracting the flower and moving towards his desk, taking out two pieces of parchment paper and the heaviest hardback he could find on the bookshelf. With careful hands, he placed the flower in the middle of the sheets of paper, before slipping them between the pages of the book. Lastly, he rested a paper weight on top and stepped back. Jumin never used to be overly sentimental, but he had experienced a lot of firsts recently, so what was one more?

He showered, he ate, he dressed himself. He fed Elizabeth the Third and brushed his teeth. There was a knock at the door as he was fixing his tie in the mirror, and he told them to enter as he smoothed down his jacket.

“The car is ready when you are, sir,” said Driver Kim.

“Thank you. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he heard the door click shut, Jumin peered out the windows, looking out into the sky where the clouds gathered and the sun shone. He smiled. An unconvincing one, but a smile nonetheless.

It was a pleasure, old friend. Rest well now. I will see you again, but not soon. I have some things to do before I join you.

One day he would be able to start afresh. One day he could fulfil Jihyun’s wish. To seek help, to open up his heart, to set himself free of his threads. To live.

But today was not that day. Today he had to be the Jumin Han that everyone knew. Executive Director, heir of C&R International. Leader of the RFA.

It was routine, the same as yesterday and the same as it will be tomorrow.

Put on shoes. Shrug on coat. Open door. Exit. Lock door.

And yet, it couldn’t feel more wrong.

He let his mind wander on the drive to the office as he watched out the car window, letting the sun’s rays caress his face. It was a comfort, a gentle and constant reminder that his friend was, indeed, never too far away.

I miss you, and I won’t forget you, but I’ll let you go now. In time, I’ll do what you’ve asked of me. Be patient, have faith.

I will live. For you.

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“triad”

Chapter 24: the joy of life

This is it... the final chapter of Lisa’s story. Enjoy.

A03 LINK

...

…

…

I don’t remember who I was.

I was always a paradox… and now I’m crushed by my own existence.

I don’t remember my life.

For all I know, all there ever was is darkness. Warm darkness just like this.

I wish I got to look at him. One last time. But I don't deserve even that comfort.

The last flames of her life dwindle down into mere sparks. A broken woman... no, not a woman. A thing. An unearthly creature. Inhuman.

…

…

Did I die before I hit the ground?

Is death just that cruel?

…

Or…

…

The last etches of sensation reach out and touch something. A face? A hand? No... 

Fur…

Something shifts.

It's... warm.

The pain fades more quickly than expected.

…

Wait-

NO-

Please, don’t look, don’t LOOK-

…

A mere touch of a forehead against another, and the world bursts back into life. Color, love, the blazing sunset, the night to follow, and then a new day, a new future for a kingdom.

I am not dead yet… once again, I stand on the edge of the castle, the last dying rays of a bleeding sun sprayed out across the horizon. The wind whips around my body, and for a moment, I can’t do anything but stare at the sky.

This feeling…

Tears prick at my eyes.

This is…

I finally turn around, in this last stolen moment, and meet a familiar pair of eyes.

The Dyad.

Despite what I've done... despite who I've become, his eyes don't leave mine. He lets his mind merge with mine, one last time, letting me remember that long forgotten feeling.

I open my mouth, a breathless sound, a name, escaping.

“J… Julius…”

It’s him. He stands there, alive, strong, sturdy… Julius Novachrono is alive.

The wind floats around him, as elegantly as ever. Even here, within our minds, he looks a little roughed up from the fight with Patri. His eyes are as kind as I remember, holding the entire world’s worth of love and understanding. His noble face, his broad shoulders, his regal stance…

It’s all here. He’s all here. He’s alive.

I saved him… my last act…

I know it isn’t a dream, despite the disbelief I’m tempted to feel. I feel his soul merged with mine, a blissful sensation that I never dared to dream I would live through ever again. After so many months of pain...

But… then panic sets in.

Oh… oh god… no…

My knees wobble, then finally give out. I collapse to my knees, curling up as distress takes hold again.

He’s… he’s inside my head… he’s seen everything-

“I… I-”

Shame, fear, guilt, all of it bubbles up at once. I start to cry, on the verge of hyperventilating.

My worst nightmare… he’s going to hate me, he hates me, he hates me-

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I’m sorry-”

Please… don’t hate… me…

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… please…”

It takes me a moment to realize that those words don’t come from my lips. They come from the man who just walked forward, fell to his knees, and wrapped me in a hug so tight that it knocked what’s left of my air out of my chest.

Julius’s hands come up to cup my face as he looks me in the eyes, and I’m shocked to see tears pouring out of them.

“Please… forgive me! This is all my fault-” His eyes crinkle at the edges in a way that breaks my heart, pure sadness on his face. “All this happened… all that pressure on you- I had no idea you would die too… oh god-” His fingers caress my face so gently, I feel like I might melt right then and there, but they’re shaking, badly. “I was ready to die… how could I do something so selfish…”

My eyes widen.

Selfish? 

NO… Julius-

“I- I’m the one who’s selfish-” I finally manage to say, my voice dangerously weak. “I couldn’t be strong like you… I wanted to be as selfless and brave as you, but in the end I ruined everything- and escaped back here-” I feel a sob become lodged in my throat, and I reach up to hold the hands around my face, steadying them. “I’m the worst… I- I gave up on an entire world. I’m a coward… don’t you hate me?”

For a moment, his sadness fades, disbelief on his face. But then… he smiles at me.

How could someone like him smile at something like me?

“Darling… I could never hate you. You know that, right?”

I let out a shaky breath.

And… I nod.

Yes… of course…

To be a Dyad… is to love someone so much that you love yourself.

Warmth radiates from his lips, his eyes relaxing as if a great pain was lifted.

“You saved everyone… I truly believe that.”

Julius’s fingers entwine with mine, as naturally as the first time he held my hand. I lean in, closing my eyes, and our lips finally meet in a blissful encounter that, if just for a moment, erases everything bad that ever happened to me.

Julius…

...Lisa

I love you. 

…

…

…

“So… Simulcia was a Devil…”

The sun is still setting, hours later. We both lay there on the stone, within a time capsule that extends my life just a few moments longer. My arm wraps around his middle, pulling my body against his side, my face buried in the fur of his coat. I don’t answer right away, opting to just inhale again and again, taking comfort in his scent.

“Yeah… and what does that make me?” I let out a sigh, cracking open an eye to look up at his pensive face again. Julius is lost in thought as he absorbs everything. 

Finally, he shrugs a little.

“Human.”

I let out a soft laugh through my nose, causing Julius to look down at me. “What?”

I shake my head. “No… I just don’t believe that anymore.” 

“Why not?”

“... after everything… I can’t be. I did something so selfish… I gave up on my own, as well as everyone else’s, humanity. How can I be human after that?”

There’s a long moment of silence. I look back over the city, and Julius’s answer vibrates through his chest when he finally speaks again.

“On the contrary… isn’t being selfish the most human thing you can do?”

… perhaps he’s right…

“... because you were selfish… I’m standing here alive today. With knowledge that will preserve this world in the future.”

I’m still a little doubtful. “Wouldn’t that make me selfless then?”

Julius chuckles. “You can be both selfish and selfless in the same act, you know.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Sex.”

I look up at him with an embarrassed frown, which causes his chuckle to morph into a hearty laugh. And I can’t help it, I laugh along with him.

I laugh until I cry.

“Hey… come here.”

Julius sits up, and pulls me into his lap. I curl up there, letting sob after sob wrack my body once again. They almost hurt, their bittersweet taste seeping through my body as the inevitable reality starts to set in.

Somehow… he holds it together, his hand stroking my hair as gentle as can be. I know this must be hurting him as much as it is hurting me… all of my pain and isolation is shared between us now, he knows all of my sins and all of my suffering. And yet, Julius holds it together, as strong and sure as he’s always been. 

After a long time, my breathing strengthens as well. Silence settles between us once again.

“... what happens now?”

His voice is soft, but tinged with fear. Because he knows as well as I do the answer to that question.

“... now… you go on living,” I finally say. I sit up a little, not leaving his arms. “You live a long, happy life… with me.”

Me?

But… is it really me that you’ll be with for the rest of your life?

Yes… she is me. But another me in another time.

“No… I mean… what happens to you?”

“... I’ll die.”

“... right…”

“I’m not supposed to be alive right now, after all.” Slowly, I sit up more, and his arms loosen. “My purpose has been fulfilled… I restored order to the universe. I carried out Simulcia’s will, and restored our Dyad. And in doing so, I created a world with two versions of me. It’s only fair that I die now. But…”

I turn to look up at his face again, and it takes everything in me to hold out when I see the tears that are growing there again. Julius looks back at me in disbelief, because this might be the most unfair situation that could have happened.

All that pain I endured… all that suffering… all just to die for a universe I sacrificed everything to create. Is this the happy ending I wanted?

I don’t think I will ever know the truth, but I don’t need to.

“... I have no regrets.”

Julius doesn’t move, his eyes still following me as I finally rise to my feet. My body feels… light. As if I could just float away in the wind. I look back down at him, then hold out my hand.

“I think, in the end… it was all worth it. I lived a life that I can be proud of. The fact I’m standing here with you proves that. I was able to pass on the knowledge you need to protect this world, and in the process I learned what I truly am.”

I feel tears welling up in my throat, but I smile through them, refusing to yield in these last few moments.

“I… I’m human.”

Yes… I am.

Before you loved me, Julius, before Adeline loved me, before I held Joy in my arms…

I was human. I always have been. 

Julius’s hand slips into mine, and I pull him to his feet. I don’t let go as he comes level with me again, and we stare at each other in silence.

Neither of us wants to let go.

Two Wizard Kings stand at the end of the world and the beginning of another. 

“...I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Julius’s voice is quiet, the pain in his eyes clear as he refuses to look away. The sunset brightens as the sun sinks lower and lower, but he doesn’t so much as squint his eyes. 

“It’s alright, Julius. This is my fate.”

I gulp, my heart pounding a little. There’s one more thing I want to ask.

“...Juliu-”

“I’ll find her.” Julius gives me a nod. “Adeline… I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

A relieved smile grows on my lips.

“... thank you.”

“Of course.”

He raises my hand to his lips, not breaking eye contact, and presses a lingering kiss there.

“You… you were the most magnificent person I’ve ever met.”

I nod a little, my heart swelling with love one last time.

Tears flow freely down Julius’s cheeks, and he squeezes my hand.

“I’ll never forget this moment.”

“Good…”

In the end, I’m the one who slips my hand away. I take a step back, refusing to look away, drinking up those moments.

“... take care of this world. And take care of her. She’s pregnant, and is going to be more confused about who she is than ever before.”

I… I’m so tired.

The light grows brighter as I take another step back. Julius looks like he’s resisting the urge to grab me and hold me until the end, but he stays put.

I think… I’ll go to sleep.

“I love you, Julius… thank you. For everything.”

It’s becoming harder to keep my eyes open.

“Take care of this world… please…”

I turn away, tearing my gaze from him. I walk away, into the light, and leave this life behind.

…

…

…

I don’t remember closing my eyes. Death isn’t cold… it’s warm. Like a long nap, the kind that feels like you’ve travelled to another world.

A nice… long nap…

Someone’s holding me close. I feel their tears against my face.

…

…

You…

“Thank you… thank you…”

There’s a smile on her face as she cries, rocking me slowly.

“I love you… I love you.”

I reach up to touch my own face.

Yes… Lisa…

To be a Dyad… is to love someone else… until you love yourself completely.

… I love you, too.

All my hopes… all my dreams…

I leave it all to you.

…

…

…

…

Julius opens his eyes just in time so see my mark sink into my skin, disappearing forever. Slowly, he sits up, my body limp and lifeless in his arms. 

A few meters away, Yami stands, frozen in shock at what he just witnessed.

None of this makes sense… not one lick of it… As soon as I got here, I saw Julius’s spell, and then he’s holding her body… He gulped, his hand shaking on his katana, a bitter taste welling up in his throat. She was supposed to be on the Royal Knights mission… but now she’s here… and… dead-

Dead…

Julius’s hand is trembling violently as he reaches up to stroke my cold cheek, his vision warped by hot tears.

No… No… please… oh god no-

He knows this isn’t the end for us. Because I’m still alive in this world. But it still hurts, to hold me in his arms, to shake me, again and again, not quite believing what he learned in the last few moments.

She’s dead… she’s dead…

Finally, the man collapses, his grip on my body tightening as a horrible, emotionless sound leaves his lips, not quite a sob, not a scream… just… a sound. 

Yami can’t move.

No… no way…

Then, something happens. Yami’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens one moment too late.

“JULIUS! LICHT, HE’S-”

Julius looks up just in time to get punched squarely in the face by Patri. The elf is wounded, but still alive, my final spell having missed his vital organs. 

“Not yet… I haven’t lost yet!”

Julius is knocked back, letting go of me for a moment. Patri takes the chance, lunging forward. His hand dashes under Julius’s robe, into his pockets. An expression of glee immediately crosses his face. “Yes… YES!”

He jumps back, pulling the two magic stones from Julius’s pocket. “I got them! I might be drained of my power, but so are you!” Patri laughs and points at Julius’s shocked face. “Just you wait… you have no idea what’s coming!”

However… The shock fades from Julius’s eyes quickly.

“... I know.”

Patri doesn’t get a chance to be confused, because Yami finally makes his mood.

“DIMENSION SLASH!”

“AH! Lord Licht!”

Valtos pokes his head out of his portal, grabbing Patri by the color. He drags his friend inside, and the two of them disappear before Yami’s spell hits them.”

Yami runs up next to Julius, cursing. “Damn it! I let him get away-”

“It’s okay, Yami.”

He looks down to see Julius wiping away his tears before reaching out. Carefully, he gathers my body up in his arms, then rises to his feet. He sniffs once before looking at Yami.

“Let me borrow your broom… things are about to become complicated.” He ignored the confusion in Yami’s eyes. “I don’t have enough power to fight tonight… but I need to step back for a little while.”

Yami frowned, not answering. He just motioned vaguely at the broom he left on the ground a few meters away. Julius gave him a nod before starting to walk by.

“...Julius, wait.”

Yami turned around to see Julius pause, but not look at him. He just stood there, the dead body of his love in his arms, and an uncarriable burden upon his shoulders.

“... what’s going on?”

Slowly, Julius let out a long, tired sigh.

“... this isn’t her… not really.” His voice was low. “You can’t tell anyone, Yami… but this is a version of her from the future.”

Yami’s mouth almost flopped open.

“... because of her… I have a future. Everyone has a future.”

Julius finally started to walk again.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this information… but I will protect this world. We almost lost everything.”

Without another word, Julius left Yami behind, carrying his burden on his shoulders.

But… he wouldn’t be alone for long.

…

…

“A...ACHOO-”

Julius sneezed loudly, jolting him from his sleep. Blinking, he regained his vision just as a moth took off from where it was sitting on his nose. “Oh… hello there-”

His gaze followed the insect as it flew up higher and out of sight, wobbling slightly in the breeze. It must have been keeping me company while I slept…

For some reason… The sight was deeply sad for him. And a moment later, he remembered why.

After escaping on a broom, Julius made it to his mountain cabin, one of his favorite vacation spots. Just as he touched down, blinding columns of light burst up from almost every corner of the Kingdom. Julius could do nothing but watch, knowing exactly what was happening.

But in the end, he knew how the night would turn out.

And now it was over.

Julius lowered his gaze back to the forest. Tall trees rose up all around him, cloaking the ground in shadow from the early morning light. A shovel was propped up against one of the trunks, and next to that tree…

A small, unmarked grave. A grave that no one would ever know about, or see.

Julius felt tears prick at the edges of his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away before rising to his feet.

No… I can’t cry. Right now, I have to be strong… not just for myself, not just for the Kingdom… but for the person who needs me the most right now.

The sun was reaching its peak by the time he made it back to the capital. It was just as Julius had seen before; everything was in ruins, yet everyone was here, working together to rebuild it all. He landed near the steps, drawing gasps from all around.

“The Wizard King!!”

“He’s here!”

“We heard that you defended us bravely!”

“LORD JULIUS!”

There were cheers among the crowd, but Julius just waved briefly before returning to his objective. Where- where is she-

“Hey.”

He turned around at the sound of that gruff voice to see Yami standing a few meters away. Without another word, Yami pointed in a direction, out of the way of the area where Julius landed. Julius gave him a nod before rushing off.

His heart was pounding.

The soul-wrenching pain he felt earlier… he hoped that the worst didn’t come to pass.

But… she’s still alive… she’s here, she’s-

Julius turned a corner, and froze.

It didn’t take long for me to notice him standing there.

“Oh- JULIUS!”

A wide grin takes over my face as I spot him, relief filling my heart. I turn to wave at him, roughed up but all in one piece. I’m still wearing my Royal Knights robe, completely unaware of the truth… for now.

“Thank goodness! Yami told us you were laying low, after that fight with Patri- Are you okay? I heard it was rough!” I bounce anxiously on the balls of my feet, still giddy with excitement that Julius is here now. This was a long, horrible night, and all I want to do is bury myself into his arms and forget about it for a while. “You have no idea what I’ve been through- I got possessed by an elf! But only partly… I ended up taking back control! But when I was out, I had a long dream… I don’t remember it, but it was scary- God, I’m glad it’s over now! And I’m glad-”

I’m cut off as Julius suddenly lunges at me. His arms wrap around my body, squeezing me, and the impact nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.

I stagger back, but quickly regain my balance.

“Oof! Julius- I’m injured, you know…”

My voice trails off as I feel him tremble, his hand clenching and balling up the shoulder of my robe.

“...Julius?”

I suck in a breath, not sure of what’s going on. 

“... is everything okay?”

After a long moment of silence, he pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes. But his lips smile, a relieved, tired smile. The smile of someone who watched their entire world end, only to be reborn again in a beautiful dawn.

That’s right… that long night is over.

Finally, Julius nods, leaning forward and placing a tender kiss on my forehead, on the Mark that has defined both of us in ways we never could have imagined.

“Yes… I think… for the first time in a long time…

Everything is right in the world.”

The End

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.

.

.

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NOTE:

So... it's over.

I know this fic wasn't the most pleasant, but I felt like I needed to tell this story. A story with equal parts hope and despair, about a human who was forced to go beyond the limits of what is natural in order to atone for her "sin." But in the end, her only sin was being human... and she took comfort in that sin. 

Thank you guys for reading, this will be the last longer fic I write about Lisa. I may write some smaller pieces about her, as the manga progresses and I develop her story in the new universe she managed to create. Never before have I made a character work so hard for a happy ending! But after everything, she did get her happy ending... in some weird, fucked up way.

I hope you enjoyed, I love you all <3

 - Beth

[ichaisme]

Love, Loss, Hope, Repeat

The hardest part about losing a loved one is trying to rework your life without their presence. Bendy from @a-rae-of-sunshine‘s HEA AU makes that adjustment while also welcoming Henrietta into it. 

Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a worthy closure of the final chapter of your life.

The decision to record at the funeral caused a lot of ruckus, and though many debates led up to it, the reasoning was rather simple. While it was only a friends and family affair, it seemed at least half the town considered themselves friends. In their years after the horrors of the studio, their little family accumulated quite the menagerie. What a rare gift, to gather people from all walks of life under a banner of friendship, and their little family seemed to have it in spades. 

The video served as a testament to the sheer number of people who loved him.

Even if it sat on a shelf to never be seen again, its very existence provided a physical dose of proof, a human library of all the ways he touched the lives of everyone around him.

Bendy never thought he’d look at the video.

Something had set him off tonight. He didn’t remember the details, but it likely had to do with Henrietta. 

As soon as he got to hold her in his arms, he loved their newly adopted daughter with all his heart. Yet on multiple occasions now, the feeling of familiarity would strike him like a bolt of lightning, and it would begin. The ache in his stomach would grow, his ink would drip in an instability that he hadn’t felt in a long time; a reminder, a desperate reach for a comfort he couldn’t get again. He would remember what that ache meant. He felt the loss more strongly than ever then.

Things couldn’t continue like this. He wanted to think of his dad and smile, think of being a dad and want to do just as good as he did. Yet the loss rang in his head like a clock striking the hour, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. He hoped seeing the video would give him back control. A reminder of finality. A request to push on.

He held the tape in trembling hands, stood like a statue in front of the television. Frozen. 

Close your eyes, and listen. What do you hear?

A survival strategy from the studio, passed on by Allison as calming advice. The little devil gripped the tape harder, far too tense. What did he hear? Ink. He always heard ink. Dripping, flowing, rushing, life giving and life taking ink-

But.

Also breathing. Gentle and calm, he could hear James, asleep on the couch. He didn’t need to turn around to picture his face, perfect and sweet, hair mussed up from lying down, the only constant the bit of hair that always stuck up. Slowly, he began to calm down. He released his vice-like grip on the tape, gently sitting down as he finally, finally pushed it into the VCR. If he needed to stop, James would be there for him. But he owed it to his little family to try first.

While the voices were clear on the tape, they didn’t register in his head as much more than a nagging static, murmured conversations just out of reach as people filed in for the funeral. Despite the somber occasion friends and family alike tried to keep their spirits up. They’d had to pick and choose well in advance who would speak. So many people had stories about Henry they’d be happy to share. Little by little, the mood seemed to lift, from the emotional sinkhole it began as, to something almost… hopeful. 

Some stories were sad, of course, tinged with all the bittersweet notes of the knowledge that there’d never be a follow-up story. Others were quite funny, regaling antics long forgotten or never shared, even if he didn’t have the strength to laugh at them then or now. Allison spoke for Bendy, reading off what he’d written down. The mood in the room was a muddled, heavy mix of emotions. Sadness and mourning mixed with occasional bits of joy in the strangest cycle he had ever experienced. 

Love, loss, hope, repeat.

He’d forgotten how much they’d all done for him.

Bendy glanced back at the couch, rubbing at the inky tears sliding down his face. James still lay on his back, fast asleep with their little baby in his arms. While the sounds of the television wouldn’t disturb Henrietta, they certainly would his husband. He needed the sleep. The little demon scooted closer and turned the volume lower. The video continued, cutting from the funeral service to the first time he’d visited his grave, after the headstone had been placed. 

At the grave he’d left the single best memento he could think of, lovingly crafted to stand the test of time and elements: a framed drawing for Henry. One of his first to feature them as a family, all stick figures and ink splotches and only just enough to differentiate who was who. With this simple gift resting against the simple headstone, a clear message emerged: Here lies Henry Stein. As an artist, as a father, and as a friend to all who needed it, he was beloved. 

The tape ended here. He stared at the screen a while longer, as muted video turned to muted static, until finally he turned the tv off. The room plunged into a familiar darkness, and the weight of the world pressed against his shoulders. How heavy a burden it was, an existence without him in it. Even in his bean form (an in-joke in his family about his different sizes), he knew he could weather the onslaught of feelings, though. Shakily but carefully he pushed back to his feet, swiping once more at his tears. Even now, the little smile on his face was genuine. He carefully climbed onto the couch, curling up in James’ arms, a single gloved hand on Henrietta’s side. His world filled and brightened, quiet breathing forming the unspoken lullaby to which he would slip into sleep.

While the world still turned without Henry on this Earth, his legacy continued in his friends, his family, and the lessons he imparted therein. They shared his stories and his spirit, all the little things that made him who he was. And that passed on; as Bendy watched their little baby sleep, he knew his father would never truly be gone. He had his memories… and he had that tape. He hoped he could be half the father to her his was to him. As pie-cut eyes slowly drifted closed, nuzzling just a bit closer to his husband, he imagined the warmth of Henry’s smile and the confidence he instilled, and knew it would be okay.

[popsicletheduck]

secrets written in our blood

A Sanders Sides Fantasy AU

chapter three: to catch the unsaid In which a prince, a bard, and a healer live, lie, and leave.

pairings: none chapter warnings: implied/referenced character death, blood mention words: 3092 check reblogs for link to AO3

When Patton woke up, he was cold. Not like what was around him was cold, but that he was cold inside himself. Like there was snowmelt settled around where his stomach and heart and lungs were. It wasn't an entirely pleasant sensation, but it was better than the constant aching burn and warring chill from before. Curling into himself, he groped blindly for some source of warmth. A moment later, he felt rough wool brush against his hand and the weight of a blanket spread on top of him. "Lie still," a stern voice said. "Your body requires rest after the trauma it underwent." Patton complied, mostly, but he did crack an eye and crane his neck to try and see where he was and who was speaking. The room was dark, with just a faint line of sunlight peeking through a set of heavy wooden shutters. The dark expanse of a sod roof stretched overhead, stone walls around. A few rough pieces of furniture were arranged around the single room: a long table, two chairs, a single cupboard, and the thin bed Patton was lying on. A long rack of drying herbs hung from the ceiling, the air suffused with their medicinal smell. A spare set of dark clothes on a peg near the bed, a few pots and dishes stacked on the mantle, barrels of provisions and neat stacks of wood in the corner. There was only one other person in the room, an older man sitting in one of the chairs near the embers in the fireplace. He was handsome in a severe sort of way, all sharp angles and corners. His hair had one likely been dark but was now speckled salt and pepper and carefully brushed back, save for a single strand that curled near one temple. A small pair of glasses was perched on his nose and a book sat open in his lap, but he wasn't reading. His rather intense gaze was fixed on Patton. "I told you to lie still," he said.

"I am, I just needed to see." He’d been pretty sure he hadn’t been dead, but it hadn’t hurt to check. If this was the afterlife, it wasn’t anything like what the tapestries and stained glass showed, so probably not, Patton thought with a scrunch of his nose. "You are in my home,” the man said, as if he could read Patton’s thoughts. “Your companion brought you here after your unfortunate run in with bandits." Patton let his head fall back against the pillow. "Is he okay?" "My assistant saw to him, I am certain he is fine." A strange little laugh escaped him. "You know, I didn't even get his name. He saved my life, and I don't even know his name." The healer shifted in his chair. "Any necessary gratitude can wait. You need more rest." "I can't even thank you?" With an abrupt snap he closed the book and stood, turning away to tuck it away deep inside one of the cupboards. "I simply did my duty as a- as a healer. No thanks are required." "I didn't know magic was part of the bag of tricks of ordinary healers these days." Patton saw the man stiffen, his shoulders tensing and the line of his back straightening ramrod straight. He didn’t turn around as he spoke, the words flat and lacking any sort of emotion. "Magic is illegal.” “I know, but-” “Do I appear to be of the criminal sort?” “Well not really, but-” “Then I would advise you to refrain from such accusations. Your wound appeared far more severe than it was. Please do not insult my skill by insisting on a supernatural explanation.” Patton let his head fall back against the pillow. “I didn’t get your name either,” he said softly. A long moment passed, heavy with a tension that Patton was far too familiar with. Uncertainty weighed like empty pockets and empty fists. “Logan,” the healer said finally. “And you are?” “Patton.” “You need to sleep, Patton.” “I know.” Already his eyes were beginning to grow heavy. Like magic. When he slept, it was deep and dreamless. But when he woke again, this time to an empty room, something lingered around the edges of his consciousness. An itch in the back of his brain, an awareness he didn’t have words for, a shadow where there hadn’t been any light before. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but was strange, and as Patton fiddled with the edge of the blanket, he wondered about laws and magic and empty buildings with barricaded windows.

Logan missed writing. Parchment was far too expensive all the way out here, and his homemade ink was poor quality. No longer did he have the luxury of writing to sort the thoughts in his head or recording any passing fancy. But he could not entirely leave his past behind, even if he was now forced to hide from it. So by the light of a single candle, he carefully opened to a half filled page in one of the three precious books he still owned: a gelaerath lachnun, roughly translated as a guide of healing. It had been luck he had been carrying it with him that day, the accumulated knowledge of several lifetimes, but as Logan recorded in precise shorthand his recent procedure and effects, he once again could find only the most bittersweet gratitude that the book remained in his possession. It was no longer meant to be his. “Who are you writing to?” Patton asked. Logan glanced up sharply. He’d believed his unexpected guest to still be sleeping since his home had been quiet, and Logan was quickly learning that the bard was only quiet when he was sleeping or eating. Indeed, his speech was slurred in the way that suggested he’d just woken, eyes blinking blearily. “Myself. Or,” he added, a touch bitter, “possibly no one.” “Why do you write to no one?” Logan set his quill aside, making sure the ink wouldn’t drip onto the table. The question had been an honest one, if a bit sleep touched, and honest questions deserved careful answers. “The preservation of knowledge for future generations is vital, even if no one reads it,” he said. “The act of recording is the important thing, connecting us to a chain that stretches back to the earliest humans exchanging information by oral tradition.” Patton was quiet after that, probably fallen back asleep, and Logan picked up his quill again. Patient appears to have suffered no ill effects, but continual monitoring will- “Have you always been this lonely?” This time Logan didn’t stop writing. “I am not lonely. My work requires solitude for a clear mind. Interruptions are a detriment. It is… better this way.” “Wouldn’t it be even more better if you could actually talk to people instead of writing to no one?” The memory of watching Jeul in the laboratory, deep in examination of a cadaver, the spark of investigation clinging to their fingers and fascination in their eye. “No. It’s better this way.” The best lies always contained a piece of the truth.

It was three days before Roman was allowed back on his feet again, under watch by a surprisingly stubborn Florrie and her equally watchful aunt, Imayn. Not that he was unoccupied during that time. Imayn was caretaker to all eight of her late sister’s children, and there was always something around the house that needed mending or fixing or scrubbing, and every hand was needed. But after a particularly disastrous attempt at sewing, Imayn had simply looked at him and shook her head. After that, Roman was put in charge of keeping an eye on the three youngest: Emelyne, who was five, Col, who was three, and Tom, who was two. Sitting in the sun in front of their small house, Roman taught them games he’d once played with his brother and told them stories his mother had once told him and smiled even when he felt like crying. The fourth morning, Roman woke in the dark hours before dawn, nightmares clinging to his skin like saltwater. But for the first time in fourteen years, it hadn’t been his brother’s dead face staring up at him with reproach. It’d been Patton’s. He’d asked, of course, when Florrie had tried to pull him away, tried to protest. But the girl had just set her shoulders and answered bluntly, “He’s gonna die. But my ma died two years back and he, Master Logan, don’t want me to see it again. So I’m looking after you and you’ll not complain.” And his heart had ached at losses new and old and he’d let himself be led away. Roman told himself he’d already known the outcome. He told himself he’d done everything he possibly could’ve. But in the predawn chill, the burn of his failure scalded. He couldn’t save anyone. And he was supposed to be king? Sick of the constant pricking of tears behind his eyes, Roman shoved himself up from the pallet in the corner. For a moment he thought his leg would give out again, but he steadied himself against the wall and the weakness passed. The hour was earlier enough that even his minders were still asleep, and he was tired of waiting. He’d say his goodbyes and he’d put this town behind him and he’d be the best godsdamn king Cerenth had ever seen, Merina fucking bless him. Stormheart nickered at him as he saddled her, stopping occasionally to lean against her to take the weight off his bad leg. “Shush,” he whispered, “Imayn will have my head if she knows I’m up. But we can’t stay here forever, can we?” The horse didn’t answer him, of course. But she didn’t make any more noise as he led her around the back of the village, cutting through gardens and struggling up the side of the hill when necessary. Roman didn’t exactly feel like announcing his departure. But there was one place he had to stop first.

In the gathering dawn, the symbol for a healer, one of the deity Gati’s ravens, painted in white on Logan's door seemed to nearly glow against the dark. Roman didn’t hesitate, knocking as loudly as he dared. He knew he would be waking the healer, but he didn’t care. He had to know what had happened to the body. A moment where he stood alone in the silence of the world, the only breathing thing in the stillness. And then the sound of movement from inside, footsteps on packed earth, and the door opened. Roman felt all the air leave his body at once. “Oh, hi!” Patton whisper shouted. “I’m so glad you came by, I didn’t get a chance to thank you before and I was worried you might’ve left town already.” Roman replied dumbstruck, “You’re alive.” He smiled, as genuine as when he had been bleeding out in the middle of the road. “I sure am! Thanks to you, and to Logan.” As if on cue the healer stepped up behind Patton, straightening his glasses. His prim mannerisms reminded Roman of stuffy, overly pompous nobles from his childhood, made even more ridiculous by his uncombed hair and nightshirt tucked into a pair of breeches. “May I enquire as to the nature of this visit? It is still quite early.” “Why didn’t you tell me Patton was alive?” He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, the flaring of a temper that had on more than one occasion led to a brawl in the inn yard. His heart clenched and his hands along with it. The bard’s eyes flicked quickly between him and Logan. “Why don’t we all step inside,” he suggested, “to have this conversation?” Logan nodded sharply. “A good idea. Close the door behind you.” Roman complied, even as every fiber of his being rebelled against being told what to do by some village nobody. But the pleading look Patton shot him had him biting the inside of his cheek and not quite slamming the door. Logan gestured for the two of them to take the room’s two chairs. Patton plopped into one, while Roman stubbornly remained standing, though his injury throbbed. Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, loosely steepling his fingers in front of him. “My apologies for not informing you on Patton’s condition,” he said, infuriatingly cool and composed, “I had deduced that the two of you had merely happened upon each other on the road and as such you had little to no concern for his well being.” “He nearly died in my arms! I would’ve at least like to know that he wasn’t dead!” Roman was trying to keep himself from shouting, but it was only halfway successful. He wanted to hit something, to shatter Logan’s stupid little glasses right off his face. A soft touch against his arm, like cool rainwater fizzling against hot embers. Patton looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve found you. That was an awful way to repay what you did for me.” “I don’t blame you,” Roman said, at the same time Logan remarked, “It would’ve been inadvisable for you to leave bed.” An unreadable glance passed between them, an acknowledgement neither wanted to acknowledge. Roman turned back to Patton instead, asking,“You really are okay?” The little bard put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest. “Fit as a fiddle and ready for the road!” he declared. It was Roman’s turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You nearly died not even four days ago and you’re ready to go back to traveling alone, where you’ll be just as enticing a target for more bandits?” Patton had deflated as he spoke, and now glanced up sheepishly, scuffing a foot against the floor. “Well, since you’re here now, I was sorta hoping I could travel with you?” The feeling that fluttered through Roman’s chest was unfamiliar, a sensation he didn’t have words for, but decidedly not unpleasant. “Of course! That is, if you are good to travel.” Logan exhaled a long sigh through his nose. “More time to rest would be optimal, but if you are determined to set out today, you should take it slow and rest as often as you need. Do not push yourself.” “Thanks, Logan,” Patton smiled. “You know, you should come with us.” The abrupt change startled a “What?” from Roman. Logan appeared similarly puzzled, his brow creasing as he stared at Patton as if he could discern an answer by sight alone if he looked long enough. “I don’t even know where you’re going,” he said slowly. “I have a life here. I can’t just leave.” “You just seemed so lonely, and I thought that maybe…” Patton trailed off, as though a thought was finally occuring to him. Turning to Roman, he asked “Where are we going?” Oh. Oh. Why had he never thought of an answer to that? True, he hadn’t expected to have any companions on this journey, but someone had been bound to ask eventually. He should’ve prepared for this. “I have family in the Greyspines, and I just got word that my uncle died because there’s some monster out there hunting them so I’m going to help.” Not the worst lie he’d ever told. Probably not the best, either. Patton’s eyes were wide with sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry, you were already dealing with all of that and then I dragged you into this.” “No, no,” Roman hurried to reassure him, “I couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” His eyes flickered to Logan, and suddenly he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The man’s gaze was distinctly calculating. Logan knew, Roman felt with sick certainty, that he was lying. He waited for an accusation, for a demand for the truth that Roman decidedly couldn’t give. His hand tensed, straying towards where his father’s sword hung at his waist. He watched Logan’s gaze follow the movement, a shift in the healer’s expression that for the life of him he couldn’t read. “I’ll go with you,” Logan said suddenly, breaking one of the longest moments of Roman’s life. “You will?” Patton gasped with delight, hands flying to the sides of his face. “Yes,” Logan replied, absently straightening one of his sleeves. “Florrie is well trained enough in herbcraft to serve the needs of the village, and if the beast in the Greyspines is killing people, there will likely be those injured who need a skilled healer.” Roman wanted nothing more in that moment than to grab the older man by the shoulders, shake him, and demand to know what was going on. He had been so certain Logan had seen through his lie, but if so, why double down on it? They were both near strangers to each other. What did Logan gain in helping him save face? “I do insist, however,” Logan continued, and here it was, some sort of deal, a price for keeping his mouth shut, “since we will be traveling together, that you tell us your name, since you have neglected to do so before.” “Oh. It’s Rey.” Logan nodded, apparently satisfied. Patton smiled at him again. Could it all actually be that simple?

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lore, He will slay you with his tongue, oh lei, oh lai, oh.” Patton’s clear voice rang out in the sunshine as he strolled and strummed his lute, somehow keeping perfect time even if he wasn’t quite watching where he was going. Logan walked just behind, seemingly lost in his thoughts, but every now and then he would reach out to nudge Patton away from a particularly large stone in the path. From atop Stormheart’s back, Roman could see the miles ahead of them, winding off into the horizon. But now the long stretch didn’t hold the menace it once did, the wind battered landscape no longer quite so dreary, and he found himself smiling. In the light of day with friendly faces at his side, it was easy to believe that everything would work out just fine. “There will come a ruler whose brow is laid with thorns, Smeared with blood like holy oil, oh lei, oh lai, oh lore, Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lore, Smeared with blood like holy oil, oh lei, oh lai, oh lore. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lore, He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh.”

[baby-babeyy]

Unapologetic Brandrick Fluff

Purely brandrick fluff based on a great idea from @this-is-not-what-i-expect

Pod likes to draw Bran. Bran thinks he’s cute.

Read it on AO3

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

It’s been a long time since Podrick had been able to draw. He’d spent years away from the relative comfort of Kings Landing, travelling and fighting for what felt like an eternity. His whole life had revolved around being a squire, training, learning to become a knight, it was almost difficult to remember a time when he held anything other than a sword.

Now, the wars have all been won and he’s back in Kings Landing. Ser Podrick Payne of the Kingsguard. Brienne told him it had a nice ring to it. He agreed.

Serving King Bran is the highest honour he could imagine. He hadn’t thought of joining the goldcloaks, not until that day in the dragon pit when Bran was chosen as their next king. Podrick had no real love for Robert Baratheon, certainly not enough to devote his life to protecting him, and he’d have sooner taken the black and lived his days freezing up on the wall than have to take orders from the monster that was King Joffrey.

But he’d met Bran up North in Winterfell, and instantly knew he was nothing like most Westerosi men. The level of calm he exuded was almost frightening at first but after talking to him more he saw the warmth and gentleness underneath the intense stare. He enjoyed spending his time with Bran, he was more interesting to Podrick than so many of the others. He had no interest in arbitrary politics or worrying about the inevitable. He’d find Bran sat in the godswood, or by the fire inside, or the courtyard watching everyone prepare for battle, and he’d sit by his side and ask what he could see. Bran always humoured him with stories about pirates from Pentos, or dornishmen battling on the southern beaches. Realistically Pod knows it was all to humour him, to take his mind off of the fight that was steadily approaching, but he didn’t mind. He likes to think it comforted Bran as well, giving him something to focus on that wasn’t the burden of being the three eyed raven -and what a burden it was.

It was the night before the Battle of Winterfell that Pod had asked him what it actually meant to be the three eyed raven. The explanation he got was tricky to follow and didn’t make much sense, but Bran’s words stuck with him.

“It’s like I’m swimming in the sea, but instead of water, I’m hit by wave after wave of memories. Everything that ever happened to anyone washing over me constantly. At first it was like a storm, never letting up, no direction to it - I was bombarded with boundless knowledge.” An almost pained look took over his face then.

“When I’m so surrounded by everyone else’s memories, it’s hard to remember who I am, where I’ve been, what I’ve done. I’m getting better at controlling it now, like the water’s stilling, and I can finally choose where to look.” He’d said, voice hardly more than a whisper.

“I’m starting to remember myself. You know I wasn’t always this boring, Podrick.”

There’d been a twinkle in his eye then, though it quickly disappeared back to the usual blank stare; he imagined that was a glimpse of the Bran Stark that had lived in the halls of Winterfell in years gone by. His fingers had itched for paper, some way to capture the flash in those eyes that was so rare to see, but instead they found a dragonglass blade and spent the following hours confronting the dead.

—————————————————-

The first time he drew Bran was the day after he had been crowned. ‘Bran the Broken’ Tyrion had called him, though Pod disputed that somewhat. Bran hadn’t ever seemed broken to him, even more so now with his newly made crown on his head. Bran was anything but broken - he looked whole. He recognised a look in the young King’s eyes that he’d seen that night in Winterfell, like he’d finally come back to himself. Once he’d taken the King to his chambers and helped him to bed, he couldn’t resist immortalising that look with a sketch of Bran, crown on his head, eyes sparkling with the promise of just leadership. That drawing holds a special place in Pod’s heart, as it sparks a habit he’s soon unable to break.

——————————————————-

He draws Bran again a few weeks later. They’d been walking through the gardens and Bran had asked him to stop next to a bush of bright blue flowers; Pod recognised them as winter roses. Bran didn’t have to say anything to let Podrick know he’s thinking of home. Winterfell in the snow. His sisters, the Queen in the North and the explorer. His brother, now one of the Free Folk. It’s unlikely he’ll see them again anytime soon. Bran turned and looked at Pod then, silhouetted by the winter roses, a bittersweet smile on his face. That image is one Pod couldn’t help but put to memory, and when he returned to his room later that day he didn’t even remove his armour before he’s sketching away. This drawing has a special place in his collection as it’s the first he added colour to, the frosty blue making a perfect contrast with the King’s ivory skin and dark hair.

——————————————————-

When Bran’s hair starts to grow, Podrick nearly uses up all the paper in the capital.

——————————————————

Podrick’s favourite drawing of Bran is probably the most intimate. It’d been a long day, meeting with the small council, seeing Lords and Ladies from all over the Six Kingdoms, a trip down the the harbour with Ser Davos to deal with some sort of ship emergency Pod doesn’t quite pay attention to. By the time he’s escorting Bran back to his chambers, he’s almost asleep in his chair. Pod helps him change, and Bran’s barely conscious enough to lift his own arms, his eyes dropping every few seconds. He lifts the king into his bed, covering him with the soft blankets, then turns to go. Before he can however, Bran, eyes still closed, reached out for his arm and pulls him towards him.

“Podrick?” He whispers, voice croaky from tiredness.

“Yes Bran?”

“Stay? Until I fall asleep?” Bran opens his eyes then, silently pleading. Podrick’s helpless to resist that look.

“Of course Your Grace.” He says, climbing onto the bed next to Bran.

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that, Pod.” Bran groans, taking hold of Pod’s arm and pulling to close to himself as he settles down into the bed, already drifting off to sleep.

He lies with his head on the pillow for what could be minutes, could be hours, Pod doesn’t know, just watching Bran fall into a deep sleep. His hair, now brushing his shoulders, is fanned around him against the pillow like a dark halo. His eyelashes look criminally long where they brush against his ever pale cheeks. Pod catalogues every detail of the King’s beautiful face, and when he finally slips out of the room back to his own, he replicates it all perfectly. It’s vulnerable and intimate and Bran, their godly, omniscient King, looks so shockingly human.

Pod thinks he might be just a little bit in love.

——————————————————-

In hindsight, it was silly of him to think he could have any secrets from Bran. He’s so different now from when they first met that Pod sometimes forgets he’s still the three eyed raven, now he’s just Bran Stark as well. Bran can see everything so Pod’s not sure why he’s so shocked when Bran turns to him one day as they’re sat reading together in the King’s chamber and says, “So when are you going to show me your drawings of me?”

Pod chokes on air, and feels himself flush bright red. He panics, worrying that Bran will be angry with him, that he’ll be sent away from the kingsguard and have to flee to Essos for harassing the King of the Six Kingdoms, and jumps up to apologise.

“Your Grace, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I won’t do it ever again, if you want someone else as your guard I completely understand, I’ll ask Brienne to post me elsewhere in the city-“

Bran watches him ramble nervously for a moment, an amused smile inching across his face, before he stops Pod with a raised hand.

“Firstly Pod, you haven’t called me ‘Your Grace’ in months, please don’t start doing it again.”

Pod nods furiously, stood before Bran with his eyes downcast, like a child being chastised.

“Secondly, I never said I was offended. As a matter of fact, I’m flattered.” At that Pod raises his eyes to shyly look at Bran.

“F-flattered?” He stammers.

“Of course Pod,” Bran replies, smiling kindly. “I only want to know, why do you like drawing me so much?”

Pod blushes with embarrassment once more, but he can’t lie to Bran.

“You’re beautiful, Bran.” Pod says quietly, looking into his King’s eyes.

Brans cheeks flush lightly at that, and he fights off a small smile, before steeling himself.

“Come here Pod.” He says flatly, but he can’t help a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Pod hurries closer to Bran, kneeling down in front of his chair, looking up at Bran expectantly.

Bran doesn’t say anything, he just slides a hand around the back of Pod’s neck, pulling him so they’re face to face, only a hairsbreadth apart. For a moment they stay there, looking into each other eyes, before Bran moves his hand up into Pod’s hair and joins their lips together.

Podrick melts into the kiss, moving one hand to grip Bran’s free one, and his other to cup his cheek gently. The kiss is soft and sweet and so Bran and Podrick. When they break apart, they press their foreheads together, giggling gingerly.

“So does this mean you’ll pose for me next time I want to draw you?”

——————————————————-

They keep it between themselves for a long time. Podrick shows Bran all of the drawings he’s done of him; Bran blushes and pretends he isn’t melting at how sweet Podrick is.

Now that Bran knows, Pod starts carrying his drawing things with him when they go out, and his collection grows exponentially. He’s forever stopping Bran, telling him not to move as he starts sketching. Bran, in appropriate fashion, pretends to be endlessly frustrated by Pod’s insistence.

They also grow closer and closer as time goes by, spending almost every moment of the day together. More often than not Bran will ask Podrick to stay with him when he goes to bed, and who is Pod to say no to his King? Endless nights are spend cuddled together, arms around each other, heads burrowed in shoulders, and gentle kisses exchanged until sleep takes them both.

No one suspects a thing, or so they’d choose to believe, until it comes time for Bran to have a portrait painted of him. Tyrion finds supposedly the best artist in the capital, but when the painting’s unveiled to the small council, there’s something off with it.

They stand around staring at it, Tyrion humming thoughtfully.

“I just don’t think it… captures you, Your Grace.” He says, after a time.

Davos scoffs, “It looks nothin’ like him!”

Bran knows they’re right. The artistry is beautiful, there’s no denying it, but it’s not quite the amazing depiction of him they’d all hoped for.

“Well, nothin’ to be done about it now,” Bronn interjects, “She was the best artist in the six bloody kingdoms, no ones gonna do a better job.”

The council hum their agreement, but still eye the painting with slight distaste. Bran turns to Podrick, who smiles gently at him as if to cheer him up. That gives Bran an idea.

“I know someone who could,” he announces, “Paint a better portrait, that is.”, he clarifies when he’s met with confused glances. “Our very own Ser Podrick. He’s captured my face brilliantly countless times, I don’t see why he shouldn’t again.”

Tyrion sends Pod off to collect a sample of his drawings, and when he returns, he takes a seat next to Bran, who takes his hand discreetly, squeezing it reassuringly while they’re all stood around admiring Pod’s work, Brienne and Davos occasionally casting knowing looks their way.

“Well,” Tyrion says after a while, “Looks like we’ve found someone to paint our King’s new portrait.” He shoots Pod a proud smile, before bowing to Bran and leaving the room.

Everyone begins to file out, Bronn unsuccessfully attempting to sneak out a handful of Pod’s drawings to sell in the city. Brienne gives Pod a squeeze on the shoulder as she leaves, wearing a small grin on her face.

When they’re finally left alone, Pod pulls Bran close to him, hugging him tight.

“Thank you, I hope I don’t disappoint you.” He says softly in Bran’s ear.

Bran pulls back, holding Podrick by the shoulder to look him in the eye.

“You could never disappoint me Podrick.” He says earnestly. He pulls Pod in for a quick kiss, which turns into another, and another, until their lips have been locked together for a fair few minutes. Studying Bran’s features, the ones he knows so well now and has recreated on paper countless times - the curve of his nose, the shape of his eyes, the v of his Cupid’s bow- he can’t hold himself back.

“I love you Bran,” he says, “I really do.”

Bran’s eyes soften, and he pecks Podrick on the forehead sweetly.

“I love you too, Podrick. More than you can know.”

———————————————————

If Brienne, Davos, and Tyrion are all watching through the door they never mention it. Nor do they mention the tears they all have to mop up before they head off to complete their duties.

[myxcenterxstage]

“ Marry me. “ (from Goodsir ofc!!)

Traik: There is Wonder Here. A KimbleSir Fanfic.

by myxcenterxstage (and some contributions from brassandblue!)

Prologue: [link]

~*~

‘Sleep, I’ll carry you. You can carry me later,’ Harry had insisted.

‘But how can I possibly carry you…?’

Comforted in his arms, Priscilla mumbled in groggy exhaustion as she clung to Harry for dear life. Her tired eyes looked up at Goodsir a moment, before closing once more. As he walked on, the freezing winter air burned through the shield of layers of fabric wear to their cold forms. Her face buried into the crevice of his neck and shoulder in search for any trace of warmth against the Arctic tundra.

The Arctic was merciless since their narrow escape from Hickey’s Rescue Camp. They had hoped at some point to reunite with Crozier’s group. And feared each night to fall prey to the Tuunbaq. But their trail had been one of solitude. They were the only man and woman in all directions the eye could see to the horizon. It almost felt as though they were the only two people on the planet at times.

At least, of all persons, Priscilla was so grateful to be with her last living closest friend. Dr. Harry Goodsir.

[more under the cut!]

The pair had formed a special bond since the halcyon days in Baffin Bay. Staying up til well past the first watch, discussing every topic under the sun on the natural studies and arctic marine life. (As well as zoological, anatomical, and pathological observations.) He was the first to be bold enough to ask her for a dance at the expedition’s first Winter celebration. And they had always found a sure solace of comfort in each other’s company in the consecutive days of grief that occurred all too often on this voyage. Goodsir was fiercely protective of her at the Mutineer camp. And that continued through these many miles distance.

In the quiet hours, they had bared their souls to one another. That raw, exposed, and open truth that was all that was left of their humanity. Speaking of childhood. Their hopes and their dreams. Priscilla even confessed her scandal and its consequences that awaited her back home in London. To her surprise, without any further explanation, Goodsir expressed that she was innocent on her part, furthermore to him it sounded like none of it was her fault entirely. And in fact, he assured her it was impossible for him to think any less of her.

Come morning, Goodsir would remark, “There is wonder here. This place is beautiful to me, even now.” To which Priscilla nodded in silent awe, much to her surprise how optimistic he could still remain.

Tragic how the effects of their turmoil would inevitably catch up with them.

It had taken its toll on Priscilla first, being the more frail bodied. However, perhaps it wasn’t only the lead, the malnutrition, the Arctic conditions killing her. That lingering darkness that crawled in the back of her mind. The agonizing burden of grief that weighed her down with every waking moment. That, when paired with all pains of imminent death, it had finally succeeded in robbing her of her smile. And it was next targeting her very will to live. Cooing that there was a home waiting for her in name only.

And even when the willpower to live felt crippled against the reality of their condition, one look to Harry and his stubborn determination to clinging to whatever hope to survive they had left was enough to tell her she had to press on in spite of it all. His arms that carried her felt more like home. And so did the sound of his voice.

In her half-slumber, she let out a soft grunt at the familiar sound. Were those… birds?

Priscilla found herself jostled awake when they suddenly fell.

“Harry!” she shrieked in panic, seeing his face to the ground. “Are you all right?!”

Fearing the worst, she helped him sit up, brushing the dirt off his face with her hands. “What’s wrong, Harry? Why are you crying?”

His words finally made everything clear what had happened. She stared at him in disbelief, then at her hands - that was dirt on her fingertips - greenery! The breeze carried the salty air of the ocean. Was it all a dream? A hallucination?

For the first time in weeks - Priscilla smiled.

Finally, a broad genuine smile. A tear streamed down her cheek, and then another, and another. Until she shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around Goodsir’s neck into the tightest embrace. She let out a choked exhale, a release of relief as she broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

They made it, they finally made it.

“I can’t believe it, we’ve done it!” She could barely speak. The scurvy made all movement unbearable, but it was hardly noticeable compared to the abounding joy they shared.

“We’ve done it, at last…!”

~*~

Priscilla would never forget that feeling of exhilaration and overwhelming joy in restored hope when they had finally reached the sea. When Goodsir showed her how the lichens were edible. Her exclamation of cheer to the first fish he managed to catch. His wide and almost childish grin across his face to his triumph, followed by moments of their pensive observation as to the exact type of fish, even if it was for a few fleeting seconds - the naturalists that they were, of course - before consuming it. A feast, they’d always remember, followed by their long overdue rest.

They were later reunited with the other remaining members of the expedition and they aided them to some modicum of better health.

And eventually, a whaling ship finally spotted them and brought them all to safer harbors.

So here they were now. Having crossed the Atlantic ocean, almost home. England’s shores would be on the horizon at any moment. And then…

And then what? Was that it?

The chapter of the Franklin Expedition would be concluded? They had found the Northwest Passage in the end… but at what cost? Too many were lost. Too many tears were shed…

Apparently, the extraneous journey had come to an end. They would all return to their respective homes, return to their lives. She would face her scandal equipped with the knowledge she learned to survive against the worst of the Arctic itself.

But that wasn’t the worst of what was to come. To Priscilla’s chagrin, that would also mean having to say goodbye. How she didn’t want to… these men were no longer ordinary men when they first voyaged in 1845, but were now extended family.

And there was one, in particular, she would have the most difficulty parting with…

“—Doctor Goodsir!” Priscilla chirped as Harry arrived. Inexplicably she had found herself in an inescapable daze all afternoon, but the sight of him instantly brought out her smile as he joined her side.

He had been so doting to her to ensure her recovery from the lead poisoning and scurvy would be a sure one and was persistently very protective of her. She always had a sense of transparent ease around him, a certain sanctuary in each other’s company. His same tenderness with which he carried her across those last miles…

Their conversation had begun as the usual - Goodsir’s concern for her health. She inquiring of his own. And it soon progressed to how glad they were to finally return home. Priscilla expressed how bittersweet it all felt - after so long to return to some semblance of ‘normalcy’ and having to reluctantly say a final goodbye to everyone once they reach the docks.

“Promise that you’ll always write to me, Harry?” she asked poignantly.

It was then that their conversation had taken an entirely unexpectedly different turn.

‘Marry Me?’

Priscilla’s blue eyes widened. Had he just — Her face glowed a hot red blush. — Proposed to her? She was momentarily rendered speechless, studying his face as to what could have prompted this.

“That is, I, I—“ Catching himself, Goodsir stammered to find his tongue again, realizing his sudden outburst to declare so great a question. “Miss Kimbleton.” He swallowed. “— I find myself greatly fancying and admiring you.” His gaze never left hers. “As we walked these hundreds of miles together, I would be happy to walk beside you for the rest of my life.”

“Harry…!” Tongue-tied herself in a flustered state, Priscilla searched for his hand to hold - only to realize to her surprise that their fingers were already subconsciously intertwined.

This was followed by a flurry of Goodsir profusely apologizing, his internal thoughts in upheaval at what he has done. “I had no intentions to put you in the position to answer that kind of question —“ The doctor confessed his worry that they would never see each other again, and that after all they had been through - how he didn’t want to lose her. Someone who he so cherished. “But if you have no inclination to accept, I should still wish to remain friends, Miss Kimbleton.”

“No, no! On the contrary!—“ Her heart began to race. With her mouth slightly ajar as she listened to him. “Dearest Harry…” She bashfully looked down and looked back up at him with a warm, bright smile and adoring expression. “It’s something I’ve secretly wished for you to ask me for so long. Yes! My answer is yes!” she repeated, chuckling. “I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else but you.”

Harry’s face luminated, holding her hands tighter, “I want to take you with me to Edinburgh. To meet my family.” he chuckling with her “— I want to travel the world with you! To see all the world’s beauty… together.”

“I would be honored, Doctor! Your heart is so brave, and mind so brilliant, and character so giving. You see the best in people, and I always felt…” She blinked back tears, “Those hundreds of miles on foot we’ve crossed together… you’ve seen me in my darkest hours. You both accepted and supported me - and were the first to express my innocence to a past that’s only haunted me. And when I thought I couldn’t walk another step…” Her gaze lowered, the experience would follow her like a shadow, it seemed.

Smiling tenderly, Harry cupped the side of her face to lift it “I’d gladly carry you for miles all over again to ensure you’re safe.”

Priscilla stared at him a long while, taken aback with the same look of gratitude when in that Arctic tundra after she confessed her scandal and he expressed how nothing she could have done, past or present, guilty or innocent, would diminish his respect for her. “What have I done to deserve someone as goodhearted as you?”

“I could very well ask you the same.” Goodsir stroked her golden hair with his other hand before resting it to cup her face with both hands. “I love you, Priscilla.”

Priscilla’s eyes sparkled, “Oh Harry, and how I love you.”

After a long exchanged look of adoration, they kissed.

“You were right all along.” Priscilla whispered, gazing up into Goodsir’s eyes, “There is wonder here.”

[roanoaks]

BRUCE THE SUN

Bruce was the sun. He was warm and a light that gave life to everything important and bright. He was everything and nothing, for he was what most took for granted, and were most grateful for when they realized what he could do. He was the sun as a destructive force to, for he had the power to destroy planets, but he had the control not to. Even if he did, he was the light that would bring them back. He was not a beast, but he was a sun. PETER THE STAR SPIDER

Peter was a star, planets could revolve around him, people see him everyday, and they would never know how bright he was. One had to look closely to see just how bright he might be, and one had to be close to him to know how truly warm he could be. Even when glancing from far away, his light never dimmed. He was a star, but he was also a spider, for he could be quiet. He could be quiet, and he was able to spin webs. Peter was aware of the bright light he emitted, and he knew how to spin it.

WADE THE ERUPTING MOUNTAIN

Wade was a mountain, not only a mountain but he was an erupting one. One never knew when he would blow, but when he did it was hellfire and chaos. But he could control it, for he was a mountain, and mountains could never moved. He was all in glory and he was bright but he burned, and only others who burned could ever touch him. TCHALLA WAS THE SKY CAT

T’challa was a cat. Graceful and proud, he cared for what he cared for in ways people would not understand. He had claws and a bite he rarely used, and the ability to land on all fours no matter how far the fall. He was discreet. Not unlike a spider, but where a spider chose to be small enough to go unnoticed, or bright enough to scare, T’challa simply belonged anywhere. To tell him otherwise was a challenge he could accept. He was the sky in that sense as well, an embodiment of protection from outer harms but also the indifference to leave people lightless and in the night should he choose.

TONY THE CoMET

Tony was a comet, a bright, burning streak in the air. Though one rarely saw it’s true brilliance, it lived on in memory for years. And it always came back, for it would not leave those it truly cared for. He was colorful, a beautiful that made all that saw realized he was brilliant, more than that, he could leave his mark.

STEVE WAS THE WINTER SOLDIER

Steve was the winter soldier, all though Bucky bore the title. Steve was a soldier, carved and born of ice. He lived for the war and though he longed for the warmth of a normal life, he could never touch it. He would melt. But even ice has a warmth no one can recreate, and even ice can burn.

BUCKY WAS THE FALL LEAF

Bucky was the fall leaf, originally part of a tree. Green and strong it obeyed the tree’s commands to keep it alive. But it fell, and though the tree lived on it caused the death of Bucky. But it still held beauty and allowed the wind to push it where it needed to go. Despite not knowing where he was, he still held strong to a resolve that made it impossible for him to crumble. Even if his colors changed and he know longer felt part of a tree; His life moved and lived on.

CLINT WAS THE STORM CLOUD

Clint was the storm cloud. He was dark and fierce, unleashing pointed rage. He was stubborn, determined, but he also followed the wind where it took him. His bouts of temper were often short-lived, eased by the arrival of his lighter other side: Phil. PHIL WAS THE CALM CLOUD

Phil was the calm to Clint’s storm. He was lighthearted, his pale greys soothing to those around him. He cast a cool shadow, providing shelter from the sun’s burning rays, a layer of protection between others and the world’s harshness. WANDA AND PIETRO WERE SUNSET/SUNRISE

Pietro is the sunrise. He approaches quicker than you’d like, bringing with him joyful tunes and daytime energy. He banishes the darkness, encouraging you to rise and fight and play. He’s pale blue and bright yellow, a blur that stirs you and leaves you grinning.

Wanda is the sunset. She’s calmer than her elder, fraternal twin, and casts darkness across the land. But it’s a fiery darkness, born of vivid hues that flare with one last bit of life before the stars come out to shine. As much as she is a death, she is also a rebirth into a different type of life.

VISION WAS THE TREE

Vision was the tree. He was strong and sturdy, and had wisdom. But he was still growing, sill learning. He was naïve but he was also old, old with the power he came with. He was a guardian of knowledge even he didn’t know, and belonged in a forest surrounded by the plants and life of a world he helped create. His roots stretched deep and into the earth, which helped give him the knowledge essential to live.

FURY WAS THE DORMANT? GUARD? MOUNTAIN

Fury was the mountain. He was a steadfast presence, just always there. He was strong and silent and unmovable, standing firm in what he believed in. He was a massive obstacle between enemies and what/who he deigned to protect, and could rain hell down upon those enemies, be it with icy coldness, raging lava, or stony determination.

NAT WAS THE WATER SPIDER

Nat was the water spider, she was calm and still. Even see through if she si chose, but her wrath was to be feared. She could create waves and and drown you in seconds. But she was also a spider, quiet and stalking. She could build webs from anything and create ripples with simple words. Her touch could be blessing or death, but her bite was poisonous and it would be truly only luck if you survived it.

THOR WAS THE OCEAN

Thor was the ocean. He roared, striking out with all his strength should he need to. He could wipe you out with hardly a thought, and was a force to be reckoned with. But he was also gentle, nurturing the lives he saved and the kingdom he ruled. LOKI IS A FUCKING ANGEL TBH NATURES?

Loki was an angel of nature, though he would thoroughly disagree with being called an angel.

Thor might’ve agreed with his denial, but he knew of the young boy hidden within the trickster shell, the broken little child that had only ever wanted his family’s approval. Loki was unarguably nature, however, at least it was what he believed. He was unyielding, resisting anyone’s attempts to control him. He was even similar in the aspect that he could destroy anything, so long as he was left unattended. He was sharp and brutal alone, but when with the right person, he had a streak of something softer. Not many have seen it, but those who did were undeniably more inclined to believe him an angel. Valkyrie, for one, saw it in the way he protected their people, standing between them and his sister’s army almost without hesitation. Bruce, another such person, could see it in Loki’s eyes when he spoke of or saw things he cared for. Thor, of course, was privy to a far more hidden side of him, that youthful brightness that sometimes came out when the brothers were alone, a part of him somehow unscathed by all the bitter years since those innocent days. Peter saw it in the protection Loki had begrudgingly given him in the longest of battles, all because he was “Too young and only a child”. Wanda heard it more than saw it when they had a moment to banter about their annoying but beloved big brothers. Tony understood it whenever he witnessed those moments with Loki where he prattled on about awful fathers and how much greater was simply for the sake of getting rid of the self-loathing he carried, he understood it because he also did it. Natasha intimately understood it as well, recognizing the particular flavor of negative memories swimming through his eyes when he glanced at the Avengers he had once attacked, in the way he echoed her own words back at her: “I have red in my ledger, and I’d like to wipe it out.”. Clint saw it as well, though he would rather disagree, because Loki had been in his head, in his mind, and he could feel the good coated in a coping mechanism of bad, for he truly had wanted good for Midgard, in a twisted way coaxed into him through whatever had happened to him in the void. And that, Bucky understood; he didn’t know the details, but he saw that familiar look in Loki’s eyes when he saw Thanos, the expression of someone whose mind had been twisted by unspeakable horrors. Steve could even admit it, when he had watched Loki save kids that no one noticed, or when he offered advice when he thought no one would notice. Even Fury, ever the pessimist about human (or Asgardian) nature, saw the ex-conqueror’s similarities to the other man he had taken under his wing, one Tony Stark, whose heroism, although hidden beneath sarcasm and ego, was undeniable to anyone with one good eye. Even Vision, naïve as he was, could understand it once he had seen Loki risk his life for Clint, someone who would have undeniably killed him the first chance he got. Phil’s belief in the prince was bittersweet, because in Loki he saw a reverse Ward, a transformation that still pained him, but this time it should go better for everyone involved. Even Thanos, the one who had ruined and hurt and tortured Loki and thought so little of him, could see it in how very strong and calm Loki remained through it all - and how the facade had only cracked once he’d given Loki to his mind. And, if Loki was being honest with himself, maybe he could see a teeny tiny bit of angel in himself, at least compared to such an evil being as Thanos, but it was mostly because he could see the others believing in him, and maybe it was finally time to fulfill Thor’s perpetual ember of hope that Loki wasn’t really evil at heart. Besides, if Loki was being honest with himself, (Something he rarely is), he was beautiful, and Angels were beautiful, weren’t they? Maybe he didn’t have a glowing halo and majestic white wings, but there was a certain appeal to the golden helmet and vivid green magic paired with the darkness he had accepted was part of him.

Hey this is a drabble me and @howlingdawn did, it’s also on her ff.net account and my ao3 account!

[recentanimenews]

Staff Picks: Our Favorite Manga of 2016

We're back with more Staff Picks, in which we showcase our favorite anime, manga and games from last year. In this installment, Ink and Evan celebrate a year of manga, ranging from dark fantasy to psychosexual drama to absurd slapstick. It's a diverse mix, but it just scratches the surface of all the great manga that came out in 2016. Enjoy!

Ink

I don’t read much manga, but when I do, the titles that Vertical publishes usually cater to my jam: short-run, mature stories that deal with awkward subjects or subjects awkwardly.

#3: To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts

To be honest, this was the only other manga I read this year. I like a lot about it; the art can be gorgeous, the main character’s gonna grow up to be a bad-ass (she’s already got a good head start by toting around an elephant gun), and the allegorical story is well told. But the very first chapter, specifically the bashful eagerness with which the main character follows her father’s killer into a life of adventure (I’m making it sound silly on purpose), made me discount the title’s seriousness. If the protagonist is going to immediately betray her want for revenge just because her target’s cute, that errs on the side of comedy, and that is definitely not this manga. To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts shows humans turning on those who’ve been helpful — a theme common in fairytales — with a twist that those who have been helpful are now actually harmful … usually. It’s a title that deals with how humanity identifies and deals with varying degrees thereof, and it would be so much better had the creator (also responsible for Dusk Maiden of Amnesia) taken the time to better legitimize the main character’s decision to travel with her father’s killer.

#2: A Girl on the Shore

I’ve been in love with Inio Asano’s storytelling ever since Evan’s review made me read Solanin. To say I enjoyed A Girl on the Shore is as awkward a statement as flipping through the book while on public transit. The manga examines, with great explicitness, two teenagers exploring their sexuality while in a secret friends-with-benefits relationship they maintain because they don’t have anyone else. It’s commentary on the sexual obsession of adolescence as well as how fantasies hurt and bonds grow based around physical intimacy during that time (and in general). This is a grounding look at the awkwardness implicit in initial intimacy, especially at the time where honesty is honestly a tricky definition — an unknown even to the bearer of their individual truth. That is to say, when each of the parties involved do not quite know the entirety of their inner workings. Without celebrating or deriding, this manga spotlights a situation that may be more indicative of a larger problem facing society: fascination vs. realism, how that makes us interact with others, and the warmth and hurt doing so creates (intentionally and unintentionally).

#1: Mysterious Girlfriend X (omnibus vol 1-4)

If ever there was a manga ode to falling in love with falling in love, this is it … no matter how disgusting the premise. You’ve by chance heard me speak about this anime before, write about it before, or praise the manga finale before, but all of that was before it was made physically available (in omnibus format) by Vertical, Inc. While the manga has a lot of needless repetition that focuses on catering to fetishes via a turn-on-of-the-week format, other chapters that were also not covered by the anime (which number many) offer up some very tender and unmissable moments … not to mention the actual conclusion. The will-they-won’t-they tension is real in this rom-com manga that combines magic realism and the outright surreal, but most endearing is how its very imperfect characters clumsily learn about, hurt, and care for each other throughout their days in and out of school. The journey taught here is one of listening and understanding through trial and much error. It’s a mature story, or rather a story of maturation, competently cloaked in a seemingly immature gimmick.

Evan Minto

#3: The Gods Lie.

A surprise favorite of mine, The Gods Lie is a real-life drama one-shot that follows three children living alone in a Japanese city. It's the first seinen manga to my knowledge from shojo author Kaori Ozaki, and her years of drawing shojo clearly come through in the airy artwork and expressive closeup shots (though the character designs have a cute, animation-friendly charm that looks more shonen than shojo). The Gods Lie is the kind of story that sneaks up on you. While its emotional center is a budding relationship between soccer-loving student Natsuru and a sullen girl in his class named Rio, the little things bothering Natsuru — his mom's busy schedule; his sick, elderly soccer coach — start to form subtle parallels to Rio's own precarious home life. These elementary schoolers' surrogate family shines a light not just on the grave impacts of parental neglect but also the remarkable ability of children to adapt to harsh circumstances. The Gods Lie is an eloquent, honest, and satisfyingly concise story that has a surprising amount to say in a small number of pages.

#2: And Yet the Town Moves

Ten years after And Yet the Town Moves (Soredemo Machi wa Mawatteiru) began publication in Young King OURS, the series concluded in October 2016. Masakazu Ishiguro's sitcom seems like typical otaku-pandering garbage: goofy high school girl/wannabe detective Hotori and her friend Toshiko work at a maid café and interact with the local townspeople. But Ishiguro avoids the cutesy fanservice that often makes such "slice of life" series so dull and instead portrays a web of authentic and often hilariously antagonistic relationships. In some ways And Yet the Town Moves replicates the charm of Azumanga Daioh, complete with occasional diversions into supernatural phenomena. The characters provide rich avenues for comedy rather than cuteness: a cranky old lady who turns her curry shop into a maid café to attract more customers, a buck-toothed high-school girl with a ping-pong obsession, and a straight-laced math teacher determined to avoid fraternizing with his female students. The episodic stories are deliberately published out of chronological order, and considering Ishiguro's remarkable ability to keep churning out new characters and incredibly funny stories to weave around them, it feels as if And Yet the Town Moves could keep going forever. In the final chapter, Ishiguro, never one for sentimentality, caps off a meandering decade of hilarity with just another cheeky gag, which somehow makes saying goodbye all the more bittersweet.

#1: One-Punch Man

I only ever watched four or so episodes of the One-Punch Man anime, but manga's so much easier to read quickly, so I blew through the first eight volumes of the series this year. It's not just Yusuke Murata's crisp, angular artwork or his elaborate, explosive action scenes that make One-Punch Man work, it's also original author One's maniacal, childish sense of humor. This, combined with a semi-serious shonen action storyline (backed by Murata's artwork), creates hilarious cognitive dissonance as villains and rival heroes alike break themselves against salaryman-turned-strongest-man-on-earth Saitama. Characters sometimes appear for mere pages to introduce themselves and their ridiculous names (Jet Nice Guy, Surprise-Attack Plum, Funeral Suspenders) before being cut in half or squashed by a monster ... or punched once by Saitama. There's a certain unspoken tragedy to it all; One and Murata come up with so many wildly creative character concepts only to throw them all away for a one-off gag. One-Punch Man feels like sitting down with a kid and watching them come up with a story by smashing action figures together, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

That's it for our manga Staff Picks. What are some of your favorite manga of 2016?

Check out our video game picks here, and look out for our upcoming anime Staff Picks post in the coming days!

Staff Picks: Our Favorite Manga of 2016 originally appeared on Ani-Gamers on January 18, 2017 at 7:05 PM.

By: Ink