#place your bets on how long before the fates fail any resolutions not to set everything on fire

[sanctummilitis]

His kindness was not ignored. His hand was not pushed away. Their invitation was not declined.

In its process of repair, Saber had left her phone in her room, permitting it safety from any further incident. Whilst awaiting the return of functionality, Shirou’s message was confined to purgatory. For now, there was one place to go to in effort to clear her head.

Savior’s Respite. Its beauty was once meditative, and perchance it had not yet relinquished that, in light of the past two months. All-year blossoms reminiscent of Avalon, of every colour under the sun clustered within their sanctuary, fluttered in the frigid breeze that swept through. Come the end of the trail, the black ocean beneath a starry expanse stretched beyond what could be perceived by the cavern’s limited scope. down upon her knees the king sat, dress blooming all around. Throughout the city behind, merriment would fill the air, laughter spilled from the elated to usher in the new year mere hours away.

High spirits soared out of reach and whispers into her ear taunted that it were not a concern for one of the past; unnecessary, forbidden. Reserved for the living, not those who squandered that of others. Morgan’s hand slithered about her throat; slender, icy fingers ghosted her skin as though they threatened to grab hold and squeeze. Red fury turned inward burned within her chest like wildfire — frustration for having given into bad habit and letting such emotions get the better of her. On a day meant for celebration no less. Shirou’s eyes, shimmering with heartache and disbelief, bore into her from behind; betrayal incarnate from a supposed protector chiselled into his face. For this weakness that shouldn’t be in one of hailed strength and hardened from battle. Ritsuka’s blood-slathered hair tie rested in the hands layered upon her lap; testament to failure, of the hefty price charged by the world — and yet, she faced that unforgiving landscape with resolution ablaze. For proving her sister correct. Retreating to this location, it served no purpose but adhere to the older’s judgement — that rather than face those owed explanation, Arthur had withdrawn and hidden away.

Rehearsed justification were to avoid interference with the festive atmosphere, to seek peace where mayhap thoughts could straighten themselves out — if just to some extent. Beneath that tale, the reasoning was a mere half-truth — its twin one unwilling to confess to. To blanket herself in the lack of direct confirmation of her trepidation, for now, for as long as they were not undeniably demonstrated. That it would validate the voices within her head who make endless acclamation that it were the case and time would show as such. She watched the horizon separating sea and sky — it was a simple and aimless gaze that never strayed, vacant of emotion fit for a subject of hypnotic trance. So disorganized and troubled were her thoughts that catatonic she remained throughout the night. Through the echoing thuds of fireworks and the rising of the sun, its venture through the sky and descent back into rest. Black and midnight, rose and lilac, turquoise and white, gold and amber, then once more darkness claimed it all.

So lost in her own head that the first day of the year passed without acknowledgement, and the second dawn saw she’d still remained. For 39 hours, the King of Knights had been no more than a statue undisturbed and unresponsive to the world that lie beyond that featureless distance.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

What We Want and What We Can Have

Part Two- My Love, Don’t Fade Away

WHOOPS IT’S A PART TWO THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR (part one lives hither)!

Warnings: cannon-typical violence, angst, unresolved tension encroaching resolution, more of Ron and his big beautiful brain, Ron has like three feelings and you take up two of them, non-edited nonsense bc feelings don’t wait for approval

I listened to Reminder by Mumford and Sons as well as I Don’t Feel It Anymore by William Fitzsimmons. Let me know if any of you crazy kids are interested in my BoB heavy-feels writing playlist bc ya know i’ve got one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The grey smoke from the burning church stung your eyes, and as you feel your tears trickle down your cheeks you wonder if they are soot-stained as well. 

 Around you, you can hear the screams of bombs whistling through the air- the harmonizing shrieks of the wounded and dying ringing in your ears as you watch Gene running towards the smoldering building, but you can’t seem to do anything other than watch. You know you need to do something, anything to help the medic save the handful of people bursting through the smoke like ashen fireworks.  

Yet all you seem capable of doing is dumbly stare at the ruins of the makeshift hospital you’d just watched explode. 

 The makeshift hospital you had been tasked to watch over.

For weeks, you’d been monitoring intel reports for any sign that the Luftwaffe had been intending to bomb the town of Bastogne. Weeks of pouring over intercepted and forwarded information and maps and citizen chatter that you’d been so sure indicated that the town was safe from harm, that the air attacks would be solely focused on the woods. 

Yet here you were, standing in the heart of a bomb-pocked town with ice in your veins and a terrible hollow in your heart.

 You’d failed. You couldn’t have been more spectacularly wrong.

 The irony of your mistake ending in fire was not lost on you, and as your eyes danced up with the flames and plumes of smoke you were filled with the same helpless feeling that had found you after learning of the fate of your mother, sister, and brother-in-law all those months ago. Only this time, you had no one to blame but yourself.

 You had done this. You’d missed something and now all of those wounded soldiers and brave nurses and innocent people were dead and trapped.

 When Gene grabs your shoulders you nearly jump out of your skin, blinking for the first time in what felt like hours and forcing yourself to focus on the drawn face of your friend. Something in his eyes gives you the impression that he’s been trying to get your attention for a long time.

 “Y/N!” he shouts, using his grip on you to pull you back towards the jeep. “We have to go, we’ve gotta go back—”

 “I-I should stay,” you stammer, limbs feeling like lead as you stumble along stiffly. “I don’t think…”

 Gene, ignoring your quiet mumbling, all but shoves you into the car and takes your previous seat as driver.

 Eyes having drifted back to the smoldering church, you try again to get your fumbling mouth to work enough to speak.

 “Gene, I think—”

 “You’re not staying here, Y/N.”

The way he says it leaves no room for argument.

“Bet you don’t even realize that your face is bleeding like a stuck pig….”

 When you raise your hand to touch your cheek you feel that he’s right, you are bleeding- most likely from the initial blast of debris that had hit you when the bomb hit.

As Gene whips the jeep around to take off down the road, you feel the cool wind sting at your eyes, the air so drastically different from the smoke you’d just been breathing that it makes you lightheaded.

 “I killed them,” you murmur, despite the fact that you know Gene can’t hear you. “I killed them.”

 Gene is crying when you look over at him but you can’t find it in you to offer him any comfort. What would the point be? What could you possibly say when everything you’d just witnessed was a direct consequence of something you’d missed?

 Ron was wrong, you think to yourself as you look back to the rapidly approaching forest. It is better to feel nothing. I want to feel nothing.

 Almost as if all you had to do was think about it- a strange calm settles bitterly in your chest, joining the hollow that had been deepening each day since you’d seen Blithe get shot through the throat.

 Just as you’d wished, you slipped into the numbness of nothing.

 ~

 Ron was worried about you.

 No, he was more than worried. He was concerned...deeply concerned.

He had been for a while now- ever since you’d come back from a scouting mission with Blithe’s blood on your hands and a grim look of defeat marring your pretty face. He’d tried to talk to you about it, going as far as to pull you aside and wash the blood from your hands in hopes of getting you to open up privately- ignoring the confused looks of your superiors and his colleagues as he did so.

You had been, were worth any rumors that could come from his intentionally infrequent sign of humanity.

 But you’d given him nothing more than a weak smile and whisper of thanks before slipping away to find Nixon. It was like that moment in the attic had never happened.

 Seeing you come back from the town of Bastogne had shocked him, too. Not as much in terms of the blood pouring from the cut on your cheek, but in the absolutely dead look in your eyes he’d found when he had begun questioning you as to what had happened.

 “I was wrong,” you’d said emotionlessly, barely flinching when Spina had brought an alcohol-drenched rag to your wound. “I missed something, and now the town is gone.”

 Before he could even begin to think of a reply, Spina had asked him to help get you to CP so the other officers could figure out the next course of action. And once he had, you’d had no more to say.

 That night, Ron had poured over the information you’d been given concerning Bastogne, glaring at Nixon until the other man had relented and reluctantly given him the small wooden box you kept your reports in. You hadn’t ‘missed’ anything- there had been nothing to indicate any sort of attack to the town for you to miss. You had done nothing wrong.

 Not that he’d be able to convince you of that. Ron knew you well enough by now to know that your stubbornness could rival his own if you indulge yourself in it enough. He’d learned that long ago in Georgia upon meeting you, that you had not gotten here by accident or through any sort of familial connection- but rather by sheer determination and steadfastness and unapologetic bullheadedness, not to mention a natural gift for finding patterns in behaviors and translating them into strategy.

Watching you work, then and now, had been nothing short of marvelous. 

 But this wasn’t you. This heartbroken husk of you that he had been seeing now made his already frozen body feel even colder.

 Ron needed you back.

 Unbeknownst to you (and initially to him as well), you’d become the reason he fought. At first, it had been a more practical explanation: you worked tirelessly to secure the information needed to build strategies and he felt the need to reward that hard work with his own successful execution of the plans you’d made. Then, upon completing the task, you would come in and use any of the information you found to build the next strategy. It had been transactional, an exchange of services that helped the both of you work towards the mutual goal of winning the war.

It was simple.

 There was no real event to precede his shift in perspective. One day you’d been Y/N and the next you were Y/N. He’d nearly said as much in the attic, when your eyes had burned him alive with their curious sincerity and your heart had called to him so sweetly he’d nearly kissed you. 

 Seeing you now, blinking slowly in the warm candlelight while the voices of the choir wrapped around everyone like a thick blanket, Ron wondered if he should’ve kissed you.

He wonders if, by doing so, he could’ve somehow stopped you from getting to this point.

 You hadn’t been at the frontlines earlier that day for the siege of Foy, yet you looked just as drained as every other man in the company who had. Even with his heavy jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers still trembled as you picked at the dirt beneath your nails, making him wonder if you were shaking from something else other than the cold.

 You startle slightly as he reaches over and places his hand over yours, head quickly turning to look at him and the tiniest dust of pink coloring your cheeks when you realized how close your face was to his. Almost as if you’d forgotten that he was sitting beside you in the pew, that only an hour ago he’d forced you to accept his coat while he scribbled out the names of the men now under his command onto some paper he’d asked one of the sisters for earlier. He hadn’t bothered writing your name- you were not like all of the others, you weren’t something to oversee and keep in order.

And as far as Ron was concerned, you’d been connected to him since D-Day. 

 He didn’t need a note to remember that.

 A shy, small smile turns your lips up at the corners- the action not seeming to quite reach your eyes but Ron felt the sincerity in it all the same. Flickering your gaze back down to his hand resting over yours, he watches as you hook your thumb over his small finger, pleased at the warmth he feels as you momentarily play with the silver ring he always wore there.  Watching your profile, he only takes his hand away when you return your attention to the young girls in front of the altar, allowing his gaze to linger on you for a few moments before turning back to his list.

 Feeling another set of eyes on him, he looks up and catches Lipton looking over his shoulder at the exchange. The other man quickly turns back upon being caught, and Ron studies the back of the other man’s head for a few moments before making up his mind.

 “Y/N,” Ron says quietly, tilting his head towards the door of the church once your eyes find his again, standing and rolling his sore shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll drop you off at your billet on my way to Battalion.”

 The offer seemed to surprise Lipton, but you take a deep breath and nod shortly.

 “Alright,” you say softly, “let me go return Luz’s lighter and I’ll meet you at the door?”

As he nods, you stand up carefully and side-step in front of Ron out of the pew, meeting Lipton’s smile with a weak one of your own as you give the man’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

 “Night, Car.”

 Lipton pats her hand affectionately and then you’re striding over to the pews where Luz, Liebgott, Randleman, and Heffron have set up camp.

Ron watches you go as he loads his gear back on, once again feeling Lipton staring at him. There’s a familiarity in the way Lipton is looking at him- it’s a look everyone seems to send his way, ever since Donald Malarkey started the rumor on D-Day.

 “You wanna ask me, don’t you?” Ron asks, watching the other man fidget.

 “Ask you what, sir?”

 “You wanna know if they’re true or not,” he clarifies, sizing the other man up. “The stories about me?”

 Lip said nothing, and when Ron looked over his shoulder at the man he saw that Lip was looking away. The man amused him, to say the least. The man’s bravery was starting to show in ways that filled Ron with every confidence in him- glad to have a Lieutenant with a backbone in his newly appointed Company.

 “Ever notice with stories like that, everyone says they hear it from someone who was there, and then when you ask that person they say they heard it from someone who was there?” Ron steps from the pew to stand before Lipton. 

“There’s nothing to ‘em, really. I bet if you went back 2000 years you’d hear a couple Centurions standing around yacking about how Tertius lopped off the heads of some Carthaginian prisoners.”

 Lipton seemed to consider that for a moment before replying. 

“Well, maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Tertius deny it.”

 Slinging his gun over his shoulder, Ron lets a smirk show on his face and squares his shoulders. “Well, maybe that’s because Tertius knew there was some value in the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion.” 

 When Ron looks over to where you are, he is glad to see that some of the tension in your posture has lessened. He can hear you mumble something that amuses Luz and Bull to no end, unable to help but feel a tinge of sadness at the fact that you’ve still got that hollow look in your eyes.

 “If I may speak freely, Sir?” Lipton says, breaking Ron from his trance and allowing him to look back to the other man. When he nods, the new Lieutenant dips his head indicatively in your direction.

“I’m worried about her….a lot of us are, Sir.”

 Ron keeps his expression neutral, nodding at the comment.

“Is there a question in there, Lipton?”

 A grimace crosses Lip’s face as he seems to ponder his words carefully. 

“No, Sir. It’s more of an observation, if anything.”

 “Go ahead.”

 “I know that, technically, Captain Nixon is meant to be her immediate supervisor,” Lipton says with a bit more confidence. “But I worry that he’s been, er….neglecting some of his responsibilities in favor of more cathartic activities….”

He cuts himself off, looking from side to side quickly before lowering his voice.

“Captain Nixon has been passing the brunt of the analysis work to Captain Y/L/N, if not ignoring it entirely. And, as great an officer as Y/N is, Sir—”

 “I understand, Lieutenant,” Ron interrupts Lipton just shy of insubordination, giving the confused man a nod before realizing that he’s unintentionally called the other man by his new title. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You were right to do so.”

 After informing Lipton of his promotion, Ron quickly turns on his heel and makes eye contact with you once more. As you fall in to step with him through the doorway of the church, Ron processes the new information he’s been given.

 While he’d never really liked Lewis Nixon, this revelation has only solidified his stance on the man. It was one thing to drink on the job and still be productive- whatever arrangement this was was unacceptable. 

 Your hand is soft in his as he takes it, the fumble in your stride telling him that you hadn’t been expecting him to do so. But you still don’t let go, you still follow him past Battalion and you offer no resistance when he guides you inside of the small cottage you’d been assigned to.

 When Ron gently takes your face in his hands, your eyes flicker down to his mouth before he even begins to speak.

 “Do you remember what you asked me in the attic, a few months ago? About what I cared about?”

 You nod slowly, and as your gaze meets his he could swear that you’re about to burn him to ask once more. You seem to lean into his touch, and while there is still caution in your eyes he thinks he may also see a flicker of intrigue in your irises as well.

 “Things you can’t have. Things you shouldn’t care about.”

 You say it as if you didn’t need to think about it very hard to remember- something that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

 “You, you know that I was talking about you.”

��Then, you do something that Ron will never forget.

 You smile.

And this time, it reaches your eyes.

~ ~ ~ (*looks over at all the homework/chores I’ve neglected in favor of writing this* WHOOPS

BUT FOR REAL HERE WE BE AGAIN. HOPE I DIDN’T DEPRESS Y’ALL TOO MUCH BC I KEEP DOING THAT WITHOUT INTENDING TO OK LOVE YOU BYE )

taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @ricksmorty​ @liebgotttme​

[kdelarenta]

3:00 am

pairing: sebastian wynric x f!speaker

rating: umm kind of angst kind of ?? idk

notes: had to delete the previous version because tumblr is acting up, sebastian belongs to @speakergame

tagged: @pearlsandsteel , @aplethoraoffictionalboys

She should be sleeping,she knows this.This isn't the first shitty motel she's had to stay in and not the first time a lovely neighbour decided to have some 'fun' (very loud fun) at three in the morning.

Good for them - at least they're getting some.

She just wishes it wasn't at three in the fucking morning,she hasn't been sleeping well as it is and she has to drive tomorrow. Sebastian did offer to take over though - of course he did. She can't explain it really,she still wants to drive. Josephine wasn't  a person who could give someone else the wheel or a person who could just sit in the back seat (and relax). If she wasn't on a mission, she was training. If she wasn't driving,she was navigating. If she had free time,she was watching Emily - making sure she's okay. She doesn't think she can stop. Still it doesn't matter,she doesn't think.(about any of it really,she jumps and kicks and runs and saves and punches and then punches some more when she can't. can't save - can't save everyone).

Yeah...she's not going to sleep any time soon. Kicking the sheets off does nothing to keep off the heat that's been suffocating her since she layed down.

Getting a drink from that wending machine she saw in the hallway doesn't seem like a bad idea at all.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror she can see that she looks like hell,it's like the constant unease she's been feeling had managed to bleed out all over her face. She was wearing her pajamas- black shorts and an oversized grey t-shirt with a questionable quote ( god she would never ever buy it on her own but Em saw it and thought it looked cute and gave her that goofy smile and of course she had to buy it). Smiling despite herself she decides to go out anyway. It's three in the morning,no one's going to see her .

The hallway is quiet besides the constant moans and groans and shouts of someone's name - Paul. Well damn Paul. She's fully grinning now,she can't even bring herself to be mad. Taking a few turns she makes her way to the wending machine. Choosing from all the drinks is easy once she spots her favorite,she puts in the money,selects the drink and waits. The drink starts to move and then stops midway. Sighing,she presses the number again but the can is still stuck. She presses again - nothing.

,,Oh come on" she groans to no one in particular and smacks the machine. Nothing - the can just stays the same,mocking her.

Yeah,fuck this.

She's already halfway through the debate of whether she should continue kicking the machine or just going back to bed when she notices she's not alone. Sebastian is standing by the wall behind her. She doesn't know how long he'd been standing there but the small amused smile on his face gives away that he definitely saw everything. Great.

,,What?"

The accusatory tone and the wild hand gestures sure aren't helping her look any less embarrassed.

,,I want a Cola"

The tone of her voice brings out a low chuckle that warms her from the inside out. Just her luck that he's the one who's awake right now. It's not the first time that fate,karma or whoever has tried to shove promises of love and happiness in her face. Putting them just at the right place at the right time,taunting her with the things she wants but can't afford to have. This time feels different though,like they're more tightly intertwined instead of loosely vowen together. It'd be cruel really, if she wasn't enjoying it so much.

He makes his way over to her,stopping in front of the machine to examine it closely. That smile is still there as he pulls out a few bills and puts them in the machine. She watches him put in the same numbers and low and behold,both cans of soda fall down without a hitch. She's way more impressed than she should be but she does a good job of hiding it behind a carefully neutraled face and a small 'thank you'. He looks pleased with himself as she slowly sips the soda - the cool drink does nothing for her because now she's warm for a completely different reason. Neither of them talk as the moment continues interrupted only by the noise that starts up again and can somehow still be heard from over there.

,,Something keeping you up?"

His mocking tone is rewarded by a sharp glare that only seems to amuse him more.

,,Ha ha,very funny" her words are dry but she's still smiling. Their amused glance soon turns into one of their staring contests. Neither of them wants to back down and she wants to think that's it's just because they're both incredibly stubborn and not because they want to keep looking at each other's eyes. The thought brings a different sort of unease - every glance,every comeback,every accidental touch feels wrong,like she should know better (and she should). That's why she looks away first,like she always does.

,,So did you just want to play comedian or is there a reason why you're awake?"

Changing the subject - always a safe bet. The words are a little harsher than she intends them to be but he doesn't seem bothered. She's convinced he simply doesn't care because the possibility that he might actually be onto what she's doing makes the unease spread all the way from her stomach to her throat.

,,I was reading the case files again" There's a pause, she sees him tense for a moment. ,,This one feels..."

,, - tricky."

,, - different."

They turn to look at each other, settling in the feeling of quiet understanding. He gives a small nod.

So it's not just her.

She knows it's risky business . She remembers the early years - the first cases. The high of returning someone safely home , the hope of helping people live another day,the pride of being useful,of making a change. From that high - there's only one way down.

She remembers Em crying,lifeless bodies and the smell of blood under the shower. Waiting for Emily to fall asleep so she can cry too - figure out how she's going to look herself in the mirror tomorrow. It takes years.It takes practice. The words are clear and strict and second nature.

,, We can't save everyone."

,, I know."

She has to stop herself from asking how he knows - it's not her place. It's better like that anyway,she lets Em be positive and fly for a bit but she's right there to ground her again before she falls. Lost in thought she almost misses the way he's been analyzing her. His eyes skim over her face,briefly stopping at her eyes until they stop to her shirt. She expects him to smile or make a comment. Nothing.

,,Let me drive tomorrow."

She almost doesn't let him finish,the words leaving her mind before she registers them.

,,No need,I'll drive."

,,You're exhausted Josephine."

The strict look he gives her makes her want to roll her eyes. She wants to shout in frustration. It's fine. Why are you like this?

,,I'll manage."

This seems to set him off judging by the scowl quickly forming on this face. They're going to start shouting soon aren't they?

,,Why are you always like this? Just let me do this for you."

The words make her inhale sharply. The need to backtrack is almost suffocating, to just run to her room and leave him here or to just shout whatever to make him let it go.But she can already feel the agitation melting from her face. She can't yell, she can't argue, it's three in the morning and she's tired.

She takes a deep breath,wondering how people do this. How it comes so easy,spilling your soul all over the floor and watching it stain shoes. His shoes are clean - they should remain so. She can't see her face but whatever expression she has makes his soften almost too quickly in return. Maybe he's tired too ( tired of her).

,,Um.." is all that escapes her, an unintelligent sound amongst the thousand words that want to claw their way out.

,, I'm not ungrateful."

She hopes she sounds convincing but all she can focus on is the desperation that seeps out. Out of guilt or out of the inability to explain.

,, I know." he breathes out. And she knows he means it,his eyes are too honest and too soft when they find hers. It really is unfair, all of it.

,, I don't have the luxury of trusting people." The words stick like honey as she drags them out. She should probably say more,she should say more - because it's Sebastian and he's here and he understands.

,, Then trust me"

He sounds so resolute,so honest that she can't look him in the eye,she wouldn't dare. Her ears are pulsing,she's going to explode so instead she focuses on his hands. They're warm - she knows this. She wants to make a home there. She wants to put down roots,stay locked in them forever and surrender to the blazing warmth of a thousand suns. She can see it so clearly - the late night conversations,coffee dates,game nights with Emily, warm embraces and soft kisses.

This isn't the first daydream showed down her throat and it won't be the last. After the case he's going to leave. He'll get payed, he'll leave and she'll never see him again and that will be the end of it.

He won't be there when she eventually fails, she won't get the chance to fail him and she's glad.

She shakes her head and heads back to her room.

She's glad.

[onefenix]

14 Long Fic Recs

I've been mostly a fandom lurker for the past five months (since the Game of Thrones Series Finale). Since then I've been reading some of the best fanfiction I've ever read. I've been a part of some very small fandoms before and can say the J/B fandom is lucky to have many very talented writers. I wanted to make a list of my favorite stories so far for J/B Week, but life... so here it is now. I’ll try to be brief (I anticipate I am going to fail at this) and not spoil the stories.

These are all stories with more than 14k words (up to 190k). The division between short and long fics is a bit arbitrary but necessary due to the length of this list. I am sure there are better ways to classify these stories that I may get around to later on.

Sorry in advance for the overuse of words such as beautiful, perfect and spectacular, the Jaime/Brienne fandom writers are that good. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

I’ve tagged the authors whose handles on Tumblr I know. If you wish to have your tag removed or added (I’d love to follow you!), let me know.

You can find a short fic rec list here.

Diplomacy by Gwen77 

As I'm sure you’ll be able to tell by the end of this list, arranged marriage stories are some of my favorites. If I remember correctly, this was the first J/B story I read and I have revisited it quite a few times since. This story has Jaime and Brienne dealing first-hand with Cersei and jealous Brienne, in addition to being wonderfully written. In fact, everything written by Gwen77 is a piece of art.

In This Light by SigilBroken @chickren

Look. I can't even... This story has everything you could ever ask for. This is one of my favorite pieces of writing ever. This is THE Game of Thrones Endgame for me. The scale and description of the long night surpass that of the show by a very wide margin. The storytelling is spectacular with subtle details buried in each chapter that make a re-read 100% enjoyable. The story is completely faithful to Jaime and Brienne as characters and the depth of their bond is exquisitely explored. It also works wonderfully as an ensemble story with memorable moments for Cersei, Myrcella, Tommen, Stannis, Shireen, Sansa... 

Honor Thy Regard by SigilBroken @chickren

This is another wonderful Post ADWD story by the wonderful SigilBroken. This is (I believe) a more intimate story (if that makes any sense) than In This Light. The dialogue in this is fantastic, there are many, many scenes that simply stay with you, the melancholic tone throughout the story is enrapturing and the ending never fails to make me cry and (mini-spoiler!) smile. The magnitude of the connection the author manages to forge between Jaime and Brienne and the way it's conveyed is unparalleled by any other story.

The Seven Bind Their Fate by RoseHeart

This is another epic story. This is a canon divergent story in which Jaime meets Brienne in Renly's camp. It's really amazing how much with that apparently ‘little’ change from canon, RoseHeart manages to create such an original and well-paced story. Jaime being there for the bet, the meele and Renly's death is extremely entertaining to read. And gods! the Red Wedding re-imagined in this verse is FANTASTIC.

Beauty and the Beast by SigilBroken @chickren

Another story by SigilBroken so you know it is GOOD. This is very different from the author’s other two stories. Maybe it’s the fact that this story is a Modern AU or the fact that everything that happens in this story feels so relatable, but the exploration of Jaime and Brienne in this story, their fears and ambitions feel very authentic. Also, I love angry, intense and protective-of-Brienne!Jaime (be it of others or of her own feelings of insecurity) and Beauty and the Beast has one of my favorite scenes depicting this. Seriously, if you do not have a reaction similar to that of Ellaria Sand when you read this story, you are way more immune to Jaime than I am. 

The Gentlest Schism by SandwichesYumYum

This story is not concluded and the last update is from 2014, but listen: YOU HAVE TO READ IT. If you think you know what UST is, wait till you read this story (and it’s definitely not in the way you expect). This story reads like an ode to Jamie and specially Brienne as individuals but also to the pure, caring connection between them. SandwichesYumYum’s Jamie and Brienne know each other to their very cores, have carried each other through their very worst and are also capable of laughing with each other. The world-building in this story is fantastic and the original characters are the best I’ve read in fanfiction. The place where the author left the story is not a cliff-hanger but instead a satisfying point in our favorite characters' lives.

Where I follow, you'll go by Lady_in_Red @ladyinredfics

Am I recommending another Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience story? Apparently yes. This story has some great Aunt Genna and Tywin appearances and, like everything written by Lady_in_Red, has amazing pacing and is beautifully written. The push and pull between Brienne and Jaime, the slow build of intimacy and trust in their feelings... it’s all perfect. You should actually go ahead and browse through all of Lady_in_Red’s fics. They have one the most extensive and varied collection of stories I’ve seen and they are all truly amazing. 

Bargains by Gwen77

This is an arranged marriage story in a Regency-era Westeros. It’s one of those stories where you want to scream at your screen ‘Just kiss already!!’. It takes them both a while to realize their feelings for each other and even longer to acknowledge them out loud. Jaime is still infatuated with Cersei for a good part of this story, so if that’s not your cup of tea... 

Pretty by astolat @astolat

Everything by astolat in the Game of Thrones works is FAN-TAS-TIC and all ten stories are very worth reading but this one is my favorite. This is a canon divergent story starting in Season 4. It has wonderful appearances by Tywin, Olenna, Tommen, and Sansa. Jamie and Brienne in King’s Landing is something I always enjoy. Protective Jamie, Badass Brienne, and Crazy Cersei. It’s quite perfect.

Madonna of the Balcony by QuizzicalQuinnia @quizzicalquinnia

This is fic reads like poetry. It’s really hard to describe how lyrical and evocative the writing in this piece is. In this story, Jaime is a sculptor and Brienne becomes his muse. I love that this is a sort of reverse story in which Jaime is immediately infatuated by Brienne and we get to see his journey from longing for Brienne the muse to loving Brienne the woman. Also, Jaime’s beautiful, beautiful descriptions of art make me crave a visit to the Louvre or the Rodin Museum.

A Dance with Ice and Fire by ShirleyAnn66

This is a canon continuation and it is EPIC. If you’re looking for an ending for Game of Thrones as a series with satisfying resolutions for most characters and storylines, centered around Jamie, Brienne, their individual growths and their connection to each other: THIS IS IT. This story has one of my favorite takes on Jaime ever. Other characters like Tyrion and especially Cersei are beautifully interpreted. Also, the intimate interactions between Jaime and Brienne felt really true to their characters. If you’re still not convinced: you’ll get to read (at least) four different Jaime/Brienne weddings.

Battle is the Great Redeemer by Lady_in_Red @ladyinredfics

It looks like Lady_in_Red is an MVP on both this list and the short fic rec list. This is a show fix-it and it does Jaime so, so much justice. It’s incredibly well-plotted and keeps you biting your nails from beginning to end. There is not one dull moment in this story. It has some fantastic Jaime/Arya interactions. Bran and The Hound also have some stellar moments in this. I think this story ties pretty much every loose end in the show (and as we know there are quite a few).

Everyone Has Secrets by ellaria @khaleesiofwine

This story is based on The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The story revisits many of canon events in a modern setting where Jaime is a disgraced journalist and Brienne is a motorcycle-riding computer hacker. They join forces to investigate the disappearance of Sansa Stark. The Red Wedding, Ramsay's sadism and the trafficking of women are all very jarring to explore in this modern setting and the author handled it perfectly. This version of Brienne owns my heart. She is exquisitely crafted, from her backstory to her use of her helmet and motorcycle as armor, to her determination to use her "powers" to fix the world and bring Sansa home.

Weekend at Casterly by green_light

Weekend at Castely is a very recent discovery. It is a true romantic masterpiece set in a near-Regency era. Here we have a combination of possessive!Jaime and feels-unworthy-of-Brienne!Jaime that is one for the ages. This story is perfectly crafted. The dialog is quick and funny and the characterizations are masterful. The confrontation of feelings between Jaime and Brienne is some Pride&Prejudice level drama. Also, it has a beautiful, beautiful resolution between Jaime and Tyrion.

[ask-youngadultscriddler]

You Are Yourself

((Mod speaking here. This work is tied directly to the end of Jonathan’s answer from the end of ask number three. If you have not read that ask, go back and read that first before you proceed with this piece, or else you will be lost.

That being said, this is the first piece of fanfiction the mod has posted in over 5 years. So, please bear with me on this. Hopefully it turns out to be something to your liking.

Lastly, this writing deals largely in part with my headcanon of Edward being trans, as in this au he is trans, and it is one of the central conflicts of his character. If you have a problem with this headcanon or with me for writing such a thing, I would prefer if you left me, the mod, this blog, and this work alone. This headcanon is something that is important to a good many people, including myself, and I do not wish to see those who do not like it to ruin it for those who do.

So, without futhur ado, I wish you happy reading, and hopefully you don’t cry too hard from this.))

“Edward,” Jonathan called, walking down the hallway towards his partners room, scanning the walls as he did so. They were covered in rows of painted numbers, most in green, but some in purple as well, since the empty cans of green paint were evidence enough that he had run out of it midway through his “episode.’ He sighed. It had been a long time since Edward had had an episode that was this bad and that required this much paint to calm him down. Jonathan had really though that they were past this point.

Apparently, he we mistaken.

He came upon the door to Edward’s bedroom, which was slightly cracked open, and entirely covered in green paint. Seems he’d started here and then moved to the walls when he had no more room to paint the door.

Raising his hand, he rapped the door slightly, being sure to respect Edward’s privacy, which he knew the man valued greatly. He heard shuffling from inside the room, but then it stopped abruptly, and silence filled the air again.

Jonathan sighed yet again. Edward never was one who liked to make anyth­­ing easy for him. But, such was the nature of their relationship, and he knew that much by now that it didn’t bother him like it would have in the past.

“Edward,” he called yet again, this time softer. “I’m coming in, unless you’d like for me to leave you alone. If you do then simply say so.”

After a few moments of silence, Jonathan pushed the door open the rest of the way, only to see Edward staring up at him from the bed where he was sitting, knees drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on them.

This was going to be one of those times then, one that required a bit more emotional effort on Jonathan’s end.

Jonathan walked from the door over to the bed, and when Edward didn’t make any objection to his presence, sat down next to the smaller man. Edward didn’t move, instead opting to stay in the position that he was in, clearly bothered by something. He did however shift closer to Jonathan, until he was close enough to lean his head on the taller man’s shoulder. Jonathan took this as his cue to move in and close the space between them, Edward visibly relaxing ever so slightly when he did.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the air quiet around them. It had been a bit since Edward had reacted this badly to something, and Jonathan intended to find out what had caused him such distress that it had gotten this bad. He had to approach the subject lightly however, lest he risk upsetting his partner yet again.

Looking down at Edward, Jonathan took his free hand and placed it behind the ginger’s head, threading his hair through his fingers ever so lightly. It was something he’d learned long ago that Edward responded positively to in these kinds of situations. As if on cue, Jonathan saw the smaller man’s shoulders drop, and he relaxed more. Good. That would make it easier to talk to him.

“You know, we can’t work past this unless we talk about what happened. I know you most likely don’t want to do that, but it has to happen for me to help you.”

It was Edward that sighed this time when Jonathan said that. He was right, as always. There would be no resolution, and no feeling better if Edward was being honest, if he refused to talk about it. He shifted a bit so that he was more comfortable, leaning into Jonathan more than he already had been. The man was perpetually cold as always, but his sweater was warm, and Edward drew comfort from that.

“I thought I saw him, Jon,” he said finally, not daring to look up at his partner’s face when he spoke. He knew the kind of expression that awaited him, and he didn’t particularly want to see it. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a surprised “Him??” come from Jonathan. Edward closed his eyes, trying not to freak out again. He wasn’t here, he couldn’t hurt him. Jonathan was here, Jonathan would protect him, he’d said so on multiple occasions. All Edward had to do was say the word and he’d be gone.

“You don’t seriously mean Him as in your father, do you,” Jonathan said, breaking him from his thoughts.

“…yes.”

It was at that one word that Jonathan went a bit stiff, and Edward knew what he was thinking immediately. As much as Edward hated his father, he was willing to bet that Jonathan may have just hated him more. It would please him quiet a bit to be rid of the man entirely if only for Edward’s sake, but he wouldn’t let that happen.

Not yet, at least. The timing wasn’t right.

“Am I to assume this was the only cause for all that paint on the wall, or was there another reason as well?”

Jonathan knew him so well sometimes it hurt. No one else ever cared to get to know Edward so well, and yet here was a man who, at the start, was merely his professor who he asked to come to coffee with him outside of class, and here they were now, three years later, Edward no longer his student, and both of them living together. As the saying goes, fate seems to work in mysterious ways. Had Edward not decided to give college a chance out of his pure intent on learning that which he did not know, he may not have ever met the man before him, the psychology professor, obsessed with fear and how it affected people, who wanted nothing more than to make Edward comfortable by killing the main source of his fears.

It was touching, in a way. It was also incredibly sad, to Edward at least, the lengths Jonathan would go to for him of all people. He still couldn’t fully wrap his mind around that fact.

“The image of him brings up terrible memories every time Jonathan. These ones just happened to be particularly strong I guess…”.

“…This wouldn’t have anything to do with your identity, would it now Edward?”

Shit.

Jonathan really did know him better than he gave him credit for somedays. Of course he couldn’t hide something like that from him. He knew too well by now what set off his dysphoria, and tried his best to avoid those things. Edward’s father happened to be a major cause of those feelings, and since Jonathan wasn’t stupid, of course he was able to put two and two together. He saw right through Edward, and he wasn’t sure why, but that stung a little, to know that someone knew his mind almost as well as he did.

He hadn’t even realized at this point that he’s started crying, he’d been too lost in his own head.

But Jonathan had, and his response to that was to pull Edward into a tight hug.

He knew that during times of distress, Edward responded best to comforting physical contact. He was a very tactile person in general, so this made perfect sense to Jonathan. However, it was something he had had to get used to, as he had grown up in an environment that was fairly contact free. It was something that was still sort of foreign to him, but he had come to understand over time what he needed to do in order to comfort Edward, and when he was crying, tighter embraces were always the best answer.

Edward responded by hugging Jonathan back, trying more or less to steady himself. God he’d been so stupid. By now this was something that shouldn’t have bothered him so much, yet no matter how hard he tried to work past it, it still did, every time without fail. His identity was something that had weighed down on him for so many years, even after he left his father behind, and even after he’d gotten surgery. He felt by now that he should have been more comfortable with himself, and there were days that he defiantly was. But, then there were days like today, where he wanted nothing more than to claw at his skin till he bled in total frustration at having to deal with any of this shit at all. Everything he had gone through in order to feel more comfortable with himself after years of trying to repress all those feelings was for him, to make him feel better, and yet somehow it always came back to his father and those around him and how they viewed him, and not how he viewed himself.

And then, there was Jonathan. Jonathan who, after finding out accidentally one day before Edward had been ready to tell him, didn’t respond in hatred and disgust like Edward had expected. Jonathan who, when Edward had ultimately ended up sobbing on the floor in their bathroom because he expected Jonathan to storm out and leave after he had basically found out Edward had been lying the whole time, did the exact opposite and sat down beside him to hug him until he stopped crying enough to properly explain himself. Jonathan who, despite not knowing much about what being transgender meant at all, still took it in stride, and took it upon himself to research and learn more about the whole thing for himself, and ultimately so that he could help Edward to feel more comfortable as himself.

Because to Jonathan, he had always just been Edward. He never once questioned who he was before he had chosen the name Edward, never once used his identity as a way to insult or degrade him, none of it. There were times he didn’t quiet understand how Edward felt because of all this, but even during those times, after Edward would calm down, he would ask as gently as he could about it in order to learn more.

Jonathan had never once acted like how Edward had expected him to, and for that he was enternally greatful , though he was often too prideful to admit this out loud. But he communicated this to Jonathan in other ways, his own ways, and made sure that he knew that he truly did appreciate all his efforts.

“You know, no matter how badly this makes you feel every time that it happens, I will always be here for you. You do know that right?”

It was then that Edward finally looked up at Jonathan, tear stains now dried on his cheeks, and an expression of mixed concern and sadness on Jonathan’s face.

“Edward, I know that his opinion of you does not help the situation at all, and I understand that anything related to him brings up those feelings associated with him every time. But trust me when I say that his opinion, no matter how utterly shitty or fucked up that it may be, is ultimately irrelevant, to say the least.”

Edward just looked up at him, trying to gauge what Jonathan was thinking. The man was hard to read in the best of times, and he was certainly hard to read now. One thing was painfully evident however, and that was just how much hatred he held for Edward’s father was showing in his expression.

“His opinion of you is irrelevant,” he stated yet again, “because he is not here. And his opinion never mattered in the first place, but again, I know how hard it is to believe that when you suffered his torment every day in the past.”

“Edward, you are yourself in every sense of the word. You always have been, and you always will be. You’ve known who you were from the start, and you saw to it that you made yourself look the way that you always felt. You took the steps to make yourself feel comfortable in your own skin, and no one can take that part of your journey away from you. Not him, not me, not anyone. For that reason alone, you should be proud of yourself.”

Edward didn’t know what to say, truly. Every time this happened, Jonathan was always there for him, without fail. He would drop everything to comfort him when he needed it, and it never ceased to amaze him just how much Jonathan truly cared about him, even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it sometimes.

“I know for a fact that I’m proud of you for everything you’ve done.”

Edward looked up again, this time a small, soft smile gracing Jonathan’s aged face. For a man only in his early thirties, he looked like he should be forty, and yet somehow this just made him even more alluring to Edward somehow. He hugged the taller man again, burying his face in the fabric of his sweater.

“..Thank you, Jonathan.”

Jonathan sighed again, but this time out of contentment. It was a rare sound to hear Edward thank him for anything, the man just wasn’t one for voicing his appreciation much, so when it was said, Jonathan knew he really meant it.

They sat there like that for a few minutes, the air no longer filled with anxiety, but an air of content that had replaced those earlier feelings. It was a nice change.

Jonathan eventually let go of Edward, opting to stand up and get off the bed, stretching as he did so. His joints ached and popped in protest, and every time it happened Edward could swear that one of Jonathan’s bones must have broken. But by now, those sounds were common for the taller man. He was used to them.

“Does hot chocolate sound good to you? I could personally go for some coffee for myself.”

Edward smiled softly, nodding at Jonathan. The man walked towards the bedroom door, signaling that he would return soon with the aforementioned drinks in hand. He really did know Edward well, didn’t he?

[azoriumarchives]

apotheosis.

         “There's no need to worry.”

   Like a knife through butter, his voice drives out the nothingness that once filled Makoto's vision. Though for a moment, he has trouble registering what's going on. Is he dead? Was the voice his guide to Heaven? It would make sense, shockingly. Nyx's unstoppable advance was still fresh in his mind despite his disorientation. He remembers it all—her power, his helplessness... But to be killed just like that despite everything he and the others had gone through? It kind of stings. ( And that's putting it lightly. )

   He can leave all his worries in the past, though. If this really is the afterlife, then suffering should be a thing of the past. With that mindset, he exhales, slowly taking in the appearance of the paradise many have fantasized about. The light is certainly radiant. Almost blinding, even. But it manages to illuminate the velvet that surrounds him rather well. It’s peaceful looking. Maybe this really is paradise.

   …Wait. Velvet?

         “���Ow!” If that voice didn’t snap him out of his thoughts, the sudden thump against his head certainly did. It felt like a book. In fact, it was a book. And its owner seemed rather pleased with herself. Oh, yes. Elizabeth’s smirk barely hid her mischievous intent.

   Golden eyes hovered over him with a look that complimented her playful air, “You seemed like you were daydreaming. I thought I would wake you up.”

         “Yeah… Thanks for that.” Sarcasm at its finest. Makoto’s specialty.

   Even Igor couldn’t help but chuckle at the spectacle.

         “There’s no need to worry.” When Makoto looks his way, the tall man continues. “This isn’t the afterlife, you know… You’re still alive.”

         “I got that part.” He shoots a perturbed glance over at the attendant staring at him innocently. Normally, he’d be inclined to believe that they were both dead too. But the pain inflicted upon him a moment ago is an unmistakable sign that they’re alive. He’s alive. “But why am I… you know, here? Just a minute ago, I was—”

         “Ah, yes. Quite the ruckus is going on outside, isn’t it?” The understatement of the year. Even Igor knows that. “You’ve done well to hold on this long.”

         “But, I—”

   The second he rises from his seat, he trips on his words. How could he not? The memories of his defeat just won’t go away. Now he’s left wondering if there’s even a way to stop the Fall. And whether there is or not, is he even strong enough to carry it out? That uncertainty gives way to doubt. And doubt brings forth dejection. His face is a clear sign of just how hopeless the battle now seems.

         “…I tried.” And failed. That’s what’s constantly going through his mind now. “I’m just not strong enough… Not against—”

         “Do you remember what I told you?” interjects Igor, now standing up to meet Makoto’s doubtful gaze and inching closer to the defeated boy. “How the strength of your Social Links will determine your potential?”

   The distance between them is practically nonexistent now. Even Makoto can’t help but look on in surprise. Was he always this tall? Though he has to admit, the unusually steadfast look Igor has does help in reassuring him a little. Enough so that he can look him in the eye without hesitation.

         “Listen.” A hushed tone; most likely spoken due to how close they are to one another. “Can you hear the many voices? Each one’s power is limited… But they all reach out to you… Can you feel them?”

         “Voices…?” Makoto’s tone matches the man in front of him. Although his uncertainty is dwindled, his response assures that it’s still present. “I don’t think so…”

   Placing a hand on his shoulder, Igor nods as if to guide the lost boy. “Close your eyes and listen carefully. Their voices may be faint, but certainly you hear them…”

   Nodding obediently, Makoto shuts his eyes. But the pitch black void he expected is instead a boundless white light. ( It’s bright enough to make him wonder if he even closed his eyes to begin with. ) From out of the light, figures appear. And from those figures, voices call toward him in unison. He knows these people—yes, of course. Classmates, friends, associates… All the people that have stuck by him throughout the year—from the boisterous Maiko to the reluctant Tanaka of all people—reach out to him, just as Igor said they would. Their conjoined words don’t confuse him in the least, either. Somehow—someway, he’s able to understand them. Their words, their thoughts, their emotions, all of them.

         “I’ll always have your back, Makoto.” Kenji. There’s no mistaking his voice. Bubbly as always. “All I can do right now is pray… But, whatever it is, man… I know you can do it.”

         “I know you’re facing a difficult task… But, I truly believe that you can overcome any obstacle.” Hidetoshi always did think highly of him.

         “Something frightful’s going on… but we won’t give up.” That’s Bunkichi for you. Age has done nothing to dull the man’s confidence.

         “That’s right, dear…” And Mitsuko’s gentle voice compliments his outgoing nature so well. It always has. “Makoto-chan wouldn’t want us to lose hope…”

         “Something crazy’s going on here, but I know you’re out there doing all you can, Makoto! So I won’t lose my cool, either. You taught me that.” Kazushi. Always so carefree.

         “Because you gave me hope… I’ll be alright.” Her voice may be timid, but there’s no mistaking Chihiro’s resolve. “So please, hang in there…!”

         “Oh God, this can’t be happening!” It’s a distorted voice. Almost unrecognizable at first. But the manner in which they speak makes their identity clear to him. No one is as hysterical as Maya. “I wish I could talk to him, and calm myself down… I don’t even know what he looks like, but I hope he’s okay… He has to be. I can feel it.”

         “Makoto-kun, I know you’re trying to stay focused… You were there when I needed you. I hope I can do the same.” He can still picture Keisuke beaming at him. That smile was always so reassuring.

         “Hey, Makoto-kun… Can you believe what’s going on? I know you must be doing everything you can, so I will too!” Nonchalant and unflinching. Not many things managed to get under Yuko’s skin.

         “Everyone else is scared, but not me… You showed me how to be tough! I won’t give up!” She may be a child, but Maiko means every word she says. He knows it.

         “Makoto-sama… ‘how are you doing? I ‘ope you are okay… I am ‘ere for you… like you were zere for me!” Bebe’s selflessness is evident in his words.

         “What on earth made me think of you at a time like this…?” Yep. Even now, Tanaka sounds so reluctant. But it’s charming, in a way. Certainly empowering. “Well, I suppose you did teach me a thing or two about loyalty…”

         “You must be fightin’ the good fight right about now…” Mutatsu. Gruff, crotchety, and well-meaning. As if he’d expect anything less from the old coot. “Well, you taught me that runnin’ away never solves nothin’. So I’m here for ya’, kid.”

         “I’ll take on any challenge that comes my way, without complaining about it… You taught me that, Makoto. I bet you’re fighting right now too, huh…?” There’s a competitive tone in Mamoru’s voice. Concealed behind his concern, but it’s there. And it serves as a means of motivation.

         “You saved me, Makoto. I was so blind before…” Nozomi sounds as thankful now as he did when he made his resolution. “I’m sure you’ve got things under control, right? You always do.”

         “I know—”

   That voice—the last one he expected to hear—startles him enough that he almost opens his eyes. But his tone is so gentle… As if all the anguish he once bore was never there to begin with. It isn’t the first time he sounds at peace, but Akinari’s words still impact him greatly.

         “I know I’m not the only one who’s suffered… You’ve endured a lot, too… But you can’t just give up… You taught me that.”

         “Can you hear them?” Igor’s voice echoes through the light, setting itself apart from the others. “These are the voices of hope that wish to help you… Separately, they are weak. But together, they will bring about a great change in you. Now is the time to draw on the true strength of the bonds you have forged!”

   As if they can hear Igor’s excited voice, everyone before Makoto nods collectively. And in an instant, they vanish. The surrounding light becomes brighter as a result, shining brilliantly without even the slightest sign of ceasing. If it wasn’t blinding before, it is now. So much so that Makoto opens his eyes at last.

   Only to be greeted by that same light, cloaking a mysterious card in its radiance, now placed firmly in his hands.

         “What—?”

   Both Makoto and Igor’s faces are similar; painted with surprise upon seeing the card that floats above the boy’s hands. But while Makoto is stunned to the point of silence, Igor is absolutely enthused.

         “I never dreamed of seeing that card with my own eyes… This is indeed a surprise!”

         “What is it?” Makoto never takes his eyes off of it, even as he’s questioning the man.

         “Behold!” Igor throws his hands in the air. Since when did he have a flair for the dramatic? “The last power you and I shall unveil… It is the power to bring about a new beginning, or the ultimate end. It may be possible now, with this newfound power… You may be able to defeat the one who cannot be defeated!”

         “—Seriously!?” With widened eyes, Makoto’s gaze becomes much more intense. His astonishment is impossible to conceal now. “What kind of power is this…?”

         “What you have in your hands is the power of the Universe…”

         “The… Universe?”

   Igor nods, “Nothing is outside the realm of possibility for you now.”

   With a snap of his fingers, the card fades. And with it, so do Makoto’s doubts. He can’t explain how, but the fear and uncertainty that gripped him just a few moments ago are gone. Even his face is completely relaxed now.

         “We will soon reach your destination.” Elizabeth chimes in after being silent for so long with eyes fixated on the wall behind Igor. Makoto had almost forgotten that this place was an elevator.

   Chuckling, Igor continues, clearly amused at the sudden turn of events. “It seems that, in addition to Death, fate has also dealt you the wild card. You must accept your destiny.” Makoto nods and he sits, placing both hands under his chin like normal. “Our contract has been fulfilled… I have completed my role as well. You were truly a remarkable guest… Makoto Yuki.”

   Suddenly, the sound of metal scraping against metal reaches a crescendo. As does the ticking of the clock that looms above all three of them. If he hadn’t remembered that the Velvet Room took on the appearance of an elevator, Makoto definitely would have done so at this point. As Elizabeth said, his destination is finally within reach. It’s no secret that he had no idea what it was when they first mentioned it to him. But now?

   Now he understands.

   His eyes are fixed forward when the elevator finally stops. He doesn’t even flinch when light peeks through the opening doors. A confrontation with the divine and the end of a long-fought conflict—all that and more await him out there now, and he welcomes them without hesitation.

   And so, Makoto takes that first step out of the Velvet Room. Toward the Fall. Toward Nyx.

   Toward Destiny.