#two people who have gone into so much despair they’re circling out the other end like ‘maybe this is secretly good’

[retrodynamics]

“I know things are bad but….”

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Blackened Bond (Ch 17)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood, Death, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Japanese Mythical Folklore, No Major Character Death, !Character Suicide!

Previous Chapter: Non-Standard

Next Chapter: 百鬼夜行 - Hyakki Yakou

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Kamo Noritoshi x Reader, Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast @nayydoesthings @a1hina

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, and specify if you're okay with NSFW posts or not, please mention it in the comments below ty ❤

Extra Notes: PLEASE CHECK THE TAGS!!! This is one very loaded Chapter. Some might get triggered over the graphic depictions of violence. This is close to a bit of gore.

Chapter 17: Inferno: Flames of Hell

You wake up in the infirmary. Hiroki had healed you beforehand. You abruptly sat up, looking around the room, before finding him, cleaning some medical tools. “Thanks Niichan.” He smiled as he came over to hug you and messed up your hair.

“It’s okay. I didn't think Satoru would push you this hard. He’s a good teacher for you, much as I hate to call him a good teacher. Did you consider going to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech instead? You could’ve gone ya know, we wouldn’t hold you back.”

You mulled it over. “I think I’m staying here. I’ve settled in and everyone around me is amazing. They’re like a second family to me.”

He smiled before looking a bit annoyed. “Yeah well, glad you like them at least. Someone’s been waiting all this time for you. Rude if I don’t let him see ya, right sis?”

Hiroki walked over to the door and opened it, revealing Noritoshi with one hand up as if to knock.

Your mouth opened and closed.

“Y/n.” He was still so determined. What makes him have so much faith in you? You looked back to Hiroki, but he only gave you his trademark "Get your shit together" look and waved you off.

You walked up to Noritoshi by the doorway, and he stood back to let you through. You both ended walking quietly side by side in the hallway.

Noritoshi smiled, you didn’t run away from him for once.

"Y/n, can we… talk if you're up for it?" He asked quietly, a small sad smile on his face.

You took a deep breath, turned to face him and were thrown into a vision.

◇◇◇

"They've found us, run for it, love." Hotaru dragged you away from the small inn you were both staying at.

You stumbled after him and ran off. A member of the Abe clan had seen the both of you in the midst of fighting curses at an abandoned shrine. They tried to chase the both of you down, but you both fought back and ran further away until they’ve lost sight of you.

But currently, you are facing a much larger problem. A shadow in the distance. Just the silhouette of the curse was enough to etch despair deep in your bones.

With four large arms, two faces and a gigantic body, Ryomen Sukuna could be identified easily. You grabbed onto Hotaru and tried to push you both forward with your technique.

"Uraume. After them. I've heard rumours about a fated pair. It seems as if they are the ones." Sukuna smirked.

"As you wish." Uraume quickly caught up to the both of you.

They quickly froze your escape path, sealing you both in a circle of ice. Hotaru held you as you activated Inferno to break the ice and continued running. You were both dangerously running low on cursed energy. Especially as Hotaru had just fought over a dozen of curses.

"Hooh?? The woman does have power. I want her." Sukuna's eyes lit up madly. He shot a flaming arrow, forcing you to push Hotaru behind you.

Sukuna focused and slashed both Hotaru from behind. Uraume shot shards of ice towards you, but Hotaru shifted your positions.

You watched in horror as your lover took the attack for you. He was bleeding profusely and even his technique couldn’t help him from anemia.

“No no no no no, stay with me.” You screamed at him.

“Misaki, my love, for you I’d burn down the world, travel across thousands of miles, and kill anyone who tried to hurt you. I love you and I’m sorry we can’t be together much longer.” He teared up while cupping the side of your cheek.

“No, don’t go.” You leaned down to press your lips against his, trying to give him a bit of air. But it wasn’t enough. His hand fell limp and he breathed his last. Kamo Hotaru died in your arms.

"Hotaru, no." You sobbed out painfully, hugging his cold body to your chest.

"The talk of the town huh? You must be the soulmate pair judging by the marks on your hands." Sukuna stepped up with Uraume right behind him.

He was a terrifying sight upclose.

You froze as he knelt down and lifted your chin, "What a beauty you are. I wouldn't mind playing with you for a while and having you all to myself, before eating you up." He licked his lips lavisciously.

"So young, and such soft skin." Sukuna's hand trailed down your cheek and squeezed along the curves of your trembling body.

You never felt more dirty in your life. A man other than your lover, touching you like this. "Be my toy, would you? Your lover is dead after all. Why not humor me?" Sukuna jeered. He didn’t care about your silent sobs, even relishing in how you looked right now.

Utterly destroyed. With a monster claiming he wants you for himself.

He grabbed your chin roughly and forced a kiss on your lips. You snapped out of your shock, feeling your anger overcome your fear.

‘I'd rather die than let him have me.'

And so, you pushed Sukuna and Uraume far away and built a solid air barrier around you and Hotaru.

You thrust a hand out and an oil lamp came flying your way. It broke in front of you. Inferno was activated to spread the flames quickly. 'We are meant to stay together, my love, even if it means death.' You quickly slit your throat with a harsh cut, not wanting to die a slow death in the flames.

You choked out blood as Sukuna came near. He shattered your barrier easily with Dismantle, reaching for you. You panicked. You weren't going to die in time.

And you did the craziest thing you could think of. Activating Niflheim simultaneously with Inferno. Freezing everything around you, except for the still burning flames consuming you and Hotaru.

It didn't help too much. Sukuna produced flames out of his hand, while Uraume easily manipulated the frost.

Lightning shot out of your hands dangerously in your confusion. You don't know what you just did. But it didn't matter. You were quickly losing consciousness.

Crimson splattered onto the ground and over Hotaru’s corpse. You burned past the limits of your cursed energy, releasing bolts of lightning.

Sukuna’s hand reached out and activated his reverse cursed technique on you. “Not so fast.” He looked angry.

He was able to seal the cut, but with the last of your energy, you used Inferno on your body, bursting into flame before Sukuna and Uraume.

They were forced to back away and stared as you and Hotaru both turned to ash, the heat an insane temperature they couldn’t approach.

Sukuna threw his head back and cackled, "The lengths people go to for love. What fools Jujutsu sorcerers are!"

◇◇◇

The vision ends. You and Noritoshi gasp harshly. The hallway is covered in ice.

You slowly realized you unconsciously activated Niflheim. You swiped your palm through the air. All the windows along the hallway simultaneously opened.

The vision was far too vivid.

You covered your throat with your hands as though to stop a wound from opening, remembering how the dagger dragged through your neck bones. The flames felt painful as they ate at your body without your cursed technique protecting you from them.

Noritoshi kneeled down and touched his gut. He felt the poison of Sukuna's slash and Uraume's ice eat his body. After his past soul had died. Hotaru's spirit watched the events transpire from above you. So he was able to see it from a 3rd person's point of view.

How Sukuna had wanted you. How you ended your life for him.

You staggered back from Noritoshi, face as white as a sheet, running for the bathroom with bile rising up your throat.

That vision was eerily reminiscent of how Sora-nee died in your arms. You were on the borderline of hyperventilating.

Noritoshi ran after you, “Wait!”. You stumbled into the girl’s bathroom, opened a cubicle door and vomited everything out into the toilet.

The sounds of retching were loud even from outside. Noritoshi halted in his tracks when he saw that you’ve gone into the ladies room.

Fuck manners. If it was to take care of you, he doesn’t care about being gentlemanly or if he was called a pervert. He rushed in, wrapped his arms around you, pulled back your hair and rubbed soothing circles on your stomach.

You were vomiting pretty hard, to the point where it hurt your abdomen. “My dear angel, shhhh it's okay, I'm here.” You continued heaving and reached back with one hand to push him away. But Noritoshi was incredibly stubborn, not letting go of you.

“Noritoshi I literally smell like shit, please leave.”

“Nope. I don't care. I will take care of you. As your soulmate I’m responsible for you.”

Your eye twitched at that.

Both of you were still trembling from the aftermath of the vision. How terrible and cursed it was, that past life.

You closed the lid, flushed the toilet, then lifted it again. You leaned over with heavy breaths, but it looks like you’re done puking. Noritoshi just sat behind you, his hands stroking your belly, keeping your body warm.

It was nice. But he’s not yours anymore. It was only then you felt something wet on your shoulder. Noritoshi was crying.

“It almost… felt like I just lost you… My darling...” loud hitches of breath echoed in the bathroom.

You froze, not knowing how to comfort him at a time like this. You patted his head, and he leaned into your hand.

Even as you close your eyes, the images keep racing through the back of your eyelids. Flames. Blood. Lightning. Hotaru.

“I need to wash up in the sink.”

Noritoshi gave a soft grunt in reply, arms tightening around your waist. You stood up and half dragged him out of the cubicle. He never lets go. His arm is still around your waist, making you half waddle around the bathroom with him like a penguin with its child.

You brush your teeth with the spare toothbrush Jujutsu High has for its guests and rinse your mouth with several cups of mouthwash, the strong scent of mint hanging in the air. You spat it all out, but you still felt nauseous.

You turned and wiped away his tears with your sleeve. He bent down and tucked you under his chin, breathing in your scent. You were both alive. It was fine.

You pulled back when the door slammed open. It was Momo and Mai.

“......”

“.....”

The four of you had a stare off before realizing Noritoshi wasn’t supposed to be in there.

“Kamo kun, you’re in the wrong bathroom. Have you dumbed down so much you’ve forgotten?” Momo asked with wide eyes.

Mai stared at you and noticed how sick you looked. You just shook your head at her and quickly walked out of the bathroom, shrugging Noritoshi’s hand off of you.

'To hell with all this.', you thought to yourself

◇◇◇

"Wait!"

Noritoshi caught up to you in the hallway, grabbed your hand and turned you around to face him. He stopped caring about where he was.

"I'm never giving up on you. I won't, because I love you and I know that now."

You sniffed hard, tears running down your cheeks. You've had enough of this confusion. If you're being truthful to yourself, you missed him.

You missed Noritoshi and his kind words. His touch and his kisses. His soft bits of encouragement and picnic dates.

You want him back. It was just as Hiroki had said, you were pushing Noritoshi away without giving him a chance to explain himself.

But the vision completely broke you. You pulled your hand away, "Don't touch me. Don't follow me. Don't come near me." You whispered.

Noritoshi swallowed hard. "Why won't you let me explain myself?" But you just shook your head.

"Maybe we weren't what we thought we were." You didn't mean it, but you still forced the words out painfully.

Noritoshi flinched, "Why would you say that? You believed in us. I still believe in us. In you."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, "That vision. Why did we have it? We could be dooming ourselves by staying together, Noritoshi, I can't do that to you. Maybe I am cursed to hurt the ones I love."

He scoffed. "Preposterous. They are our past lives, but they aren't us. We are different people with different choices. You’re not cursed Y/N, since when have you become so narrow minded?"

You stiffened. "Maybe I have always been so. I'm just tired of everything now. Plus I need to take down that damn curse, even if it kills me." You spun on your heel.

Something inside Noritoshi snapped. He now understands how it feels to be pushed away like an outsider. He grabbed your wrist, ignoring your angry whispers as he single-handedly dragged you back into his room.

This man was strong. Not even your hardest tugs threw him off balance. He slammed the door shut once you were both inside and you felt a bit shaken, not having any place to run.

"Why are you trying to do this all by yourself?! You may be a Special Grade Sorcerer, but that doesn't mean you're invincible! A war is not won by one person. Can't you trust me?" He hissed.

"Trust you? Trust you?! How about me? Big words from someone who didn't even want to let me meet or know the people he holds dear to him."

This was the most idiotic argument you had in your life. You didn't even mean half the words that you were saying. Just wanting to win a pointless argument you wished never existed in the first place.

"I thought you agreed to speak to me if that was still bothering you. You said we would work things out together." Noritoshi shook your shoulders.

You held your tongue not knowing what else to say. Noritoshi was still so sweet after all this mess. Pulling you into a warm embrace, patting your head as he cries into your shoulder.

"Will you stay with me at least? During the war.”

"Of course." You didn't even think as you agreed. Even Noritoshi looked surprised at your lack of reluctance. "I won't lose you."

You both stood awkwardly there, not knowing what to do. Noritoshi didn't want you to leave yet, wanting to bask a bit more in your presence. His mark cooled down as his hand slipped into yours.

But you stepped and turned away from him, ignoring how his fingers desperately clung onto the hem of your shirt. "I'll go then… Don’t want to intrude... "

"Would you like to stay for dinner and talk?" He called out hopefully.

"Thank you for the offer, but I'll be with Hiro-nii in my room." You purse your lips.

"I love you." He said once more. There was no room for hesitation in his voice.

You paused, temples throbbing heavily from the onset of a headache. Too many thoughts raced through your head and not all of them were good.

"I don't know what you heard the other day, but I will never take in any concubines. You're my one and only, Angel."

You only half believed him right now, his words going in one ear and leaving through the other. ‘People can lie. He is capable of lying.’ your shitty brain just makes every situation sound worse each time. This type of negative line of thinking was so unhealthy.

He must have understood your thoughts.

"My love please," he's begging you now. You turn to him, face full of confusion and hurt. You opened your mouth, and thought better.

This wasn't the best time to run your thoughts.

"I’m sorry for being in a really bad headspace right now. Are you willing to wait for me?" This time it was you who asked him this. Noritoshi studied your face before nodding. “That’s okay. As you have with me, I will do the same with you.”

You sucked a deep breath, eyes watering. “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared, we are just kids. We aren’t supposed to bear the weight of saving a nation this early on.”

“I don’t want to lose anyone anymore.”

“You won’t. We won’t.”

“I’m sorry for being such a pain. I know we need to talk about all of this, eventually.” You couldn’t help the whimpers that came out of your mouth.

“I love every bit of you. Even if you're like this… No... Because I understand how you feel. You have a right to be angry, because I held back a lot of things from you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you or love you.” He carefully put out a palm facing up, allowing you to make a choice. You slowly put your hand over his.

“For real?” you whispered so quietly, he had to strain his ears to hear you.

“For real. Since when have I lied to you?”

‘Not once.’ you numbly thought.

Who knew a man could be so delicate. He held your hand lightly, not daring to squeeze it. Just a sign of openness and faith. He lowered his head towards you, eyes hooded.

You shivered as his lips brushed against the back of your hand. Soft, warm and plush. Like the first time he kissed you on the cheek. Shaky yet loving.

"Get some rest then, good night." You left the room.

He wondered if you still loved him now. Gone were the nights you soundly slept in his arms. He could barely pull himself together as he readied himself for dinner and bed.

Back in your room, you sobbed into your pillow. It hurts so much, because your faith in Noritoshi isn’t what it used to be. You wish for yourself to trust him like you did before. It’s frustrating.

There are times you wish you never heard that conversation. But that means staying ignorant to his familial affairs which won't do you any good in the long run.

Love is painful. Love feels like you've filled your lungs with water and you can't breathe. Sometimes it's like that icy inhale of the cold morning air on the winter solstice.

But it also keeps you going. The warmth of being in Noritoshi's arms earlier was more than enough to convince you to stay.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[tennessoui]

oh my god literally every single prompt on that list is gold and i'd love to see your obikin take for all of them. hmmm... if i had to choose i guess first 13. co-stars au?? thank you lots of love !!!

ah bless!! thank you so much!! i'm slowly working my way through most of the prompts on that list so you might see many many more before I'm done with my ask box. I think after two more, I'll put em on ao3 to keep em more organized too. this has been soooo fun!!

13. Co-Stars AU(/7. Fake Relationship AU)(2.5 k)

“No.”

“Ani, darling, you can’t say no.”

“Don’t call me that. And secondly, I can. I just did. This is my personal life, the company has no control over that.”

“While you’re filming its movie and it’s giving you money, you’ll actually find that it does, Anakin.”

Anakin sits down heavily on the bench outside his trailer, leaning forward until he can put his head in his hands. He wants to run his fingers through the mess on his head, but they’re in between takes right now and the make-up department will definitely kill him if they have to fix him up again.

“Asajj, please. You know how hard it was to get to come out as bisexual. If the first person I date after that is a woman, no one will remember! It’ll just be completely erased, and I’ll be Anakin Skywalker, Playboy Actor again.”

“But you do like women,” Asajj points out. “So either way, you’d be confirming your sexuality.”

Anakin sighs and leans his head back against the metal of the trailer. “And it would be different if I was actually in love with Padme, but she’s just my co-star and--”

“Anakin, she’s your co-star. You’re in a blockbuster movie where you dramatically save her life and then kiss her as the credits roll. This is just business. You like her. You’re friends. Think of it less like dating, and more like going to grab lunch together. And coffee. Maybe a fancy dinner. Several times a week.”

“For how long?” Anakin asks, resigned and despairing and hating the fact that he ever got into acting.

Asajj sounds relieved. “Just until the movie’s out and sales are doing well.”

That could be months. That would be months. “And I have to?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Anakin doesn’t say it’s fine. It doesn’t feel like it is fine.

“They’re not looking for anything to be confirmed. If asked about your relationship with Padme, tell them you think she’s a great woman and you’re enjoying spending time with her. No comment on any sort of serious relationship.”

“Because a break-up afterwards might hurt the chances for a sequel?” Anakin asks drily.

“Exactly! We’ll get you a head for the business yet, Anakin. Okay, I have to go, but I’ll send you the information now, just so you know what you’ll be expected to do. We’re thinking a dinner tomorrow to start things off strong, and then slow afterwards!”

She hangs up before he can say anything else and he slumps back boneless against the metal trailer. God.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Padme. Ventress is right. They were friends before this project and Anakin knows they’ll be friends after as well. They genuinely get along, and it’s probably one of the reasons Anakin was cast in such a big name production: the chemistry between them when they’re acting is undeniable. She’s one of his favorite people in the entire industry.

“Anakin?” One of his other favorite people in the entire industry asks hesitantly from in front of him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he says.

“May I sit?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Like he’d ever turn Obi-Wan Kenobi away.

“Are you wearing your costume?” he asks, without opening his eyes. Obi-Wan’s playing the villain of the movie, and Anakin has a hard time focusing on anything else when Obi-Wan’s around him wearing that skin-tight white turtleneck and cape combination, with his hair slicked back and fake glasses perched on his nose.

Obi-Wan sounds amused. “No, I’m finished for the day. Heading home now. You don’t have to see how silly I look today.”

Anakin smiles slightly, despite everything. In one of his better acting moments, he’d told Obi-Wan that his costume was distracting because it looked so funny on him. Really, it was just hot.

(Of course, Obi-Wan had taken his criticism seriously and gone to the director and the costume department. They had decided that it would make Obi-Wan’s character more threatening if he pushed up his sleeves in almost every scene to reveal heavily tattooed forearms. Anakin had hated himself and his big stupid mouth for days afterwards.)

“Is...there anything I can do to help, Anakin? I hate to see you like this,” Obi-Wan places a hand gently on Anakin’s knee, and Anakin has to fight a shiver at the touch.

They’d met at the script-reading for the movie, a handful of months ago. Anakin had set two clocks in his head the moment their hands grasped each other and Obi-Wan smiled charmingly up at him. “So you’re the one to kill me?” He’d winked. “Tall order.”

One clock signified the weeks it would take for him to fall in love with the older man. The starting number was pitifully small, but Anakin had been watching Obi-Wan’s movies and interviews for years before meeting him. He’d known something about the man, which of course had paled in comparison to knowing the man himself. They’d spent two weeks choreographing the steps of the final fight scene, just the two of them in a repurposed ballet studio.

Looking back, Anakin isn’t sure how he’d survived. And he had never wanted it to end.

Which is the other clock, still ticking down in his head. The moment filming ends, and they go their separate ways. They’ll probably keep in touch, but Anakin won’t see him constantly, won’t be able to lean into the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder, his knee, sometimes even on his cheek when he leans down in between takes to tell him how good of a job he’s done.

“Anakin?”

“Sorry,” Anakin snaps to the present. “Sorry. I was in my head. I. I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, tensing his hand as if he’s planning to remove it, which Anakin wouldn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“My agent says that the executives want me to date Padme. To drum up hype for the movie. Because I guess people will think it must be good if the co-stars start fucking each other?” He runs a hand across his face. “Um. Sorry, excuse my language.”

“Anakin, I’m forty-one, I think I’ve heard someone say fuck before,” Obi-Wan sounds amused again.

“Yeah, I just. Don’t want to? I guess maybe--I mean you probably didn’t see, but I came out as bisexual a year ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since, and I just know the way the rags will write about me and Padme if we’re seen together. And it’ll be like I just. Never came out.”

Obi-Wan makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t interrupt. It’s one of the reasons Anakin loves talking to him.

“And my agent just sent me this contract, or I don’t know, list of things I have to do because there’s no way for me to get out of this and it just makes me feel trapped. But they don’t even want me to confirm if we're dating or not dating, they just want to create rumors about it, but it’s my life. I want to do what I want to do with my life, date who I want to date.”

“Do you...have anyone you want to date?” Obi-Wan asks, hand stilling from where he’s been casually rubbing circles on Anakin’s knee.

“No,” Anakin says too quickly and then grimaces. Does he really get paid for acting? He’s always so terrible at lying.

Obi-Wan hums. “I could...take a look at whatever papers your agent sent you?” He suggests. “I’m obviously not really an expert, but I have been in the business a fair bit longer than you.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin responds by rote, but hesitates, curious despite himself. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’ve nothing planned tonight except to have a glass of wine and pet my cat, Anakin. It would be a pleasure to help you any way I could.”

“Okay,” Anakin says, reaching out to lay his hand gently on top of Obi-Wan’s. He’s never done that before, never responded so openly to Obi-Wan’s touches. It’s an amazing thrill.

Obi-Wan flips his hand around until they’re holding hands, basically. In the middle of a public area. God, Anakin’s letting his crush get the best of him when Obi-Wan isn’t even gay. “Thank you,” he says, standing up and pulling away from the older man. It’s the right thing to do. The last thing he wants is for Obi-Wan to think he’s...predatory.

A harried looking crew member spots him as he stands and gestures to him to get back to the set. He smiles ruefully at Obi-Wan who gives him an unreadable expression but also a soft goodbye.

Later, in between takes, he forwards Obi-Wan the emails Asajj sent him, both the papers and the message at the top that says “dress nice for tomorrow at Delfino’s!” followed by a little smiley face he can’t believe she’d ever mean.

He knows nothing’s going to come of it, but. But he has to try.

----

Padme’s dressed to the nines in front of him. He’d compliment her outfit, but he’s already complimented her hair and her make-up, and he thinks she’ll scream if he continues to act as stilted as he’s being now.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly after the waiter leaves with their drink orders. “I know I’m being--awkward. I just.”

They’re seated in the middle of the restaurant, and Anakin knows there’s two paps already outside, taking pictures through the windows. The rest will have arrived by the time they pay the bill and leave. It’s a circus and he’s the main event.

“I understand,” Padme responds, the angel that she is. “I don’t particularly want to be doing this either.”

Anakin presses his hand to his chest, jokingly wounded. “What are you trying to say, Padme, my beloved, my dearest?”

She laughs and he does too, but in the back of his head he can hear the sound of a camera’s shutter clicking. Everything feels fake, and he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

A hand lands on his shoulder with startling familiarity and for a second he thinks it’s a very brave member of the wait-staff, before Obi-Wan Kenobi is swinging into his field of vision, pulling up a chair from god knows where and sitting right in between Anakin and Padme, never once removing his hand from Anakin’s jacket.

“Sir--” someone says in distress, “This is a two-person table.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and looks down at the table. “Well it certainly can fit three, so I would go as far as to say that tonight it can be a three-person table. Anakin, what did you order to drink?”

“The house white,” Padme supplies when Anakin makes no move to respond, instead choosing to gape at Obi-Wan like a fish out of water.

“Excellent choice, darling,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing at his upper arm absent-mindedly. “I’ve never been here, tell me. Do you serve a good seafood dish?”

The waiter stammers. “We have an acclaimed oyster platter, sir--”

“Oysters?” Obi-Wan smiles at the man, all teeth. “The aphrodisiac? What are you trying to get these kids in the mood for?”

Anakin blushes. “Obi-Wan!” He hisses, aghast. Obi-Wan’s eyes cut to him for a second before he smirks back at the waiter.

“I’ll take the oysters for the main course,” he says dismissively.

Somehow it’s that sentence that tips Anakin off, more than anything else he’s done tonight. Obi-Wan spends hours talking to the people that run the crafts table. He would never be so cold or rude naturally. He’s...playing a character, one that Anakin recognizes as being the villain from their movie (although without all the blood and murder).

Anakin only recedes into personas when he’s nervous about something. Can the same be said for Obi-Wan?

Padme, at least, looks amused. “Hello, Obi-Wan,” she says. “I see you’ve decided to crash our very romantic date.”

“Well that’s interesting, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan replies, turning to face her but keeping his hand on Anakin, although it slides down to rest on the crook of his arm. “I had Anakin send me the paperwork, mild curiosity, you know how it is, and I realized the strangest thing while I was reading over it.”

“Oh?” Padme asks.

“It never states which co-star Anakin should be seen with, just that he must be seen with a leading actor. And I don’t want to focus on the numbers here, of course, but in the rough-cut of the movie, I have thirty-four minutes of screentime. And you, my dear, have thirty-two and fifteen seconds.”

“Tragic,” Padme says, taking a sip of her water. "You may be considered more of a leading actor than I am."

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan gives her a friendly smile. Anakin is still stuck on the fact that Obi-Wan is here, that he read the paperwork, that he’s arguing semantics for the purpose of--of--

“And I suppose you’re here to offer yourself as a replacement?” Padme asks, leaning her head on her hand as she watches the two of them.

“Only if Anakin wouldn’t mind,” Obi-Wan says, turning to face him.

Anakin isn’t sure what he’s thinking right now. “But you’re not interested in men.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“But...you’re not interested in me.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“You are?”

“Excuse me,” Padme says. “I’m going to go to the restroom.”

“We’ll wait to order until you come back,” Obi-Wan reassures her, without taking his eyes off of Anakin.

Anakin bites his lip and hesitantly brings his hand up to sit palm up on the table. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to intertwine their fingers again, like they had been just yesterday.

“I’m a very private person, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly, all traces of any sort of persona dropped from his voice. “I’ve never come out, never wanted to. But I was so proud that you had when you did. And I--well. I suppose. You already get to fake-kiss Padme on screen, I thought that perhaps you’d like to try to fake-kiss someone else for a change.”

Anakin ducks his head and gathers his courage. He can’t not ask. A fake relationship with Padme would be awful, but one with Obi-Wan? That would be torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. He’s still reeling from the information that apparently Obi-Wan does like men and apparently he likes Anakin enough to come out for him.

But does he like Anakin enough to touch him and mean it? He has to know. He looks up at Obi-Wan’s earnest face from beneath his eyelashes. “What if I want to real-kiss you?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a smile breaks out across his face. “Then you don’t even need to have to ask, darling. Kiss me all you want, if you’re okay with a clingy old man in your bed.”

“Not that old,” Anakin argues, smiling so hard he’s afraid his face will crack in two. “But I don’t want to kiss you tonight.”

Obi-Wan turns solemn, although his grip on Anakin remains tight. “We can go as slow as you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, you can have me later,” Anakin says, waving his free hand in the air. “I just don’t want our first kiss to be for the cameras.”

Obi-Wan catches Anakin’s palm and brings it up to kiss lightly. “You’re right, Anakin. That should just be for you and me.”

The rough brush of his lips over his skin causes Anakin to shiver. He’s never felt so on edge, as if his body is a live-wire. “Good thing you ordered the oysters,” he mumbles, blushing bright red as Obi-Wan laughs loud enough to fill the whole restaurant with its sound.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Five Words

I’m back again ... this time with a requested ‘Leonard Betts’ follow-up ...

this tried to kill me a little bit ... not lying ...

@laurenclare88 @today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

No surprise to either Mulder or Scully, he was awake when she called, “hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, me, you okay?” Twisting his head back to see the clock behind him, “it’s almost midnight.”

“Feel like getting some hot chocolate? Coffee? Platter of waffles the size of your head?”

He heard something in her voice, and not sure if she’d been crying or sound asleep until five seconds before she called, he sat up, “well, Waffles and Stuff is open and in the middle so we can meet there, if you’d like, or if we hit Rolls and Holes, I’ll come pick you up.”

It was actually called Benny’s Café but they specialized in homemade cinnamon rolls and peanut butter donut holes, hence Mulder’s highly inappropriate, yet completely fitting, nickname.

She didn’t laugh like she normally did, juvenile as the nickname was, and he headed towards his shoes, wondering what could have happened since he left her yawning, at her front door, two hours ago, “Waffles and Stuff is fine. See you in ten.”

She must already be in the car because it took ten minutes to get there. Hurrying now, he tossed on a sweatshirt, then his jacket, heading out the door a minute later, turning left for the stairs instead of right to the elevator because hoofing it would be faster. The car ride there was quiet, traffic light, pavement dry.

Waffles and Stuff was empty this time of night, and as he parked, he spotted her already in their booth in the corner, having graduated from the counter a year or so back. Waving to both the cook and lone waitress, Max and Catherine as they had learned some time ago, he slid into the bench across from his partner, “fancy meeting you here.”

She didn’t feel like banter tonight, heavy burden weighing but not forming concrete thoughts able to be spoken out loud just yet. Instead, “you want to split the waffles or fly solo?”

“Scully.”

Hands on the table, she raised one in his direction, fingers waving absently, wrist bobbing in a ‘give me some time’ gesture, “I think I’d like to split a set of Belgian with extra butter and get bacon and sausage on the side. How’s that sound?”

Now she was just freaking him out. Stopping her flopping hand, “Scully? What happened? Is it your mom? Bill? Talk to me, please?”

She jerked her hand away from him, nearly taking out her water glass in the process, “just … they’re fine … I just …” frustration made her words stutter, nostrils flare, jaw tighten for a moment, “I haven’t …”

Not pushing in the moment, he leaned forward, holding his pointer finger up to stop Catherine’s approach, “do you want to eat here or get it to go? We can share in the car if you want.”

Eyes shutting, she took a deep breath, palms flat on Formica. Exhaling slowly, she found her center for a brief second, “just some hot chocolate for now.”

Mulder called the order to Catherine, adding a ‘thanks’ before returning to Scully, speaking slowly again, “are you okay?”

Her head shook a ‘no’, eyes glued to the table, fingers white. Mulder’s stomach tightened but venturing a guess that she’d had a nightmare about Betts and couldn’t form the words yet, he nodded, trying again to touch her, tracing his fingers over the cold knuckles on the back of her hand, “you’re fine here, okay? We can stay as long as you like.”

Caught between crying and screaming, she let him run his fingers over her for another moment before sliding back, hands dropping to lap as eyes bounced from his chin, then to his chest before landing on his still extended hand, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She knew damn well she didn’t wake him up, but both realized she needed to steer them back to middle ground, neutral conversation, “you didn’t. I was watching ‘Golden Girls’.”

Not knowing this particular vice, she met his green eyes, almost smiling, “who’s your favorite?”

“Um, Sophia. What kind of asinine question is that?”

Hot chocolate arrived amidst the debate of Sophia vs. Rose and ordering their smorgasbord, things stayed light through another side of bacon and a second helping of hot chocolate. Stuffed by 1:15am, Mulder saw her drifting away again, heaviness settling where frivolity had been moments earlier. Tapping her ankle with his shoe lightly, she didn’t startle but refocused on him, “that better be you.”

Continuing, “it is.”

“Good. Otherwise, we’ll never be able to come here again.”

Catherine somehow managed to clean their table without disturbance, in, out, feeling the odd pall over them. Neither so much as glanced her way.

Subtly lifting his leg, he set his foot on the booth beside her, preventing any escape from his next questions, “what happened? Did you have a nightmare about Betts? Did you see something? Hear something?” He felt microscopic pressure against his ankle as her thigh muscles tensed to move but he held steady, not letting her leave. Voice dropping to a whisper, he leaned forward, “you’re starting to freak me out.”

Her face crumbled for a moment, then snapped back to normal 1 am, shifting gears a third time when her eyebrows crashed together, lip curling, chin wobbling in an instant, then back to normal. The gambit of emotions that crossed her face in under four seconds was heart-wrenching and Mulder followed along, panic about to overrun control.

Moving his foot, he shifted in beside her, arm around her shoulder, fear growing exponentially, his voice wobbling quietly in her ear, “what happened?”

“Betts told me I had something he needed.”

With the speed of a fucking bullet, realization froze his heart, and his other arm completed the circle around her, pulling her into his shoulder, burying his face in her hair, “Betts in a psychopathic fucker.” She couldn’t quite find words to tell him about the bloody nose that had sent her spiraling so she tried to move closer instead, wishing for a way to crawl into his lap without rebuke or reprisal. Ice still coursing through his veins, he choose denial mode as opposed to depths of despair, comfort instead of chaos, “he’s certifiable, Scully, why would you give him a second thought? A first thought, even?”

When she didn’t respond, he let go of her, standing, tossing money on the table and taking her hand, “come on.”

When he pulled away from her, she nearly sobbed, missing him in that second more than she’d missed him in … well … possibly ever. Seeing his extended hand started the roller coaster all over again and shifting, she followed in silence, little hand wrapped in big, not waving goodnight to their hosts, not seeing anything but his jacket inches from her nose.

Her nose.

And the slightest headache thrumming behind it.

She stumbled over the curb, running into his back, catching herself before hitting the ground. Her control was gone, her walls blown to hell, her mind focused on five words, four years, three drops of blood, two people, one soul and the suddenly ticking timebomb of a six-letter word.

She couldn’t say it.

Mulder had her face in his hands, trying to comprehend the unimaginable, eyes darting between hers, betraying any kind of cool exterior both knew he didn’t have, “you’re fine, Scully. You are going to be fine. Betts is … was … and ever shall be … nothing to us. He wanted to get under your skin and he knew how and he did it and he’s burning in hell right now and you can’t listen to anything he said. Do you hear me?”

Held still by large palms and calloused fingers, she let the tears escape, her voice reaching his ears in a wet, spitty, stilted stutter, “you … you didn’t hear … how he said it … Mulder. He … he had sympathy in his words, the look …” eyes closed for a moment, swallowing hard, “he looked genuinely sorry.” Choking inhale in, one sob shook both to their core, “he wasn’t saying it to be cruel. He was saying it … to be kind … and he’s dead and he can’t … he could have …”

Shaking his head, he finally pulled her into a hug, most of her upper body disappearing into his embrace, “he couldn’t have done anything, Scully. He removed tumors because he needed them. Doctors do the same thing. He didn’t cure, Scully,” he kept saying her name, needing to hear it out loud, prove she was still standing in front of him, his denial in place but his fear still winning, “he removed. Doctors cure, he mangled, he cut, he … he couldn’t have helped you but Leonard Betts doesn’t matter anymore because your fine and he’s gone and he was just fucking with your head because he could. He would have said the same thing to me had I been in the ambulance with you. I know enough about these people to know it would have ended with that phrase regardless of who was in the truck.”

Neither was sure who he was trying harder to convince and neither dwelled on it.

Instead, she stayed up on the curb while Mulder was one notch below in the gutter, hug evened out, height difference conquered with concrete and asphalt. A cone of silence enveloped them, traffic noise, barking dogs, airplanes overhead, all fading away, until, Scully, mess of emotions somewhat in check, spoke quietly into his chest, “will you take me home?”

“Of course.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Leaving his car behind, he drove hers to her apartment, both climbing stairs and locking doors behind. Her microwave clock now read 2:09am as she held out her hand to take his coat, walls still down, mind and heart exhausted, “would you mind sleeping in with me tonight? I wouldn’t normally ask but …” sentence running off to nowhere, she waited, eyes pleading in that Scully way.

“You got any sweats for me?”

Once in bed, not as awkwardly as either expected, they remained a civil distance apart but facing each other, eyes tired, eyes burning, eyes not breaking contact for fear the other would disappear in the time of a blink. Mulder, desperate to reach out to her, kept his hands to himself, “you’re fine. You will always be fine. You’ll go to the doctor if you need to tomorrow and he’ll tell you there’s nothing to worry about and then we’ll go ride roller coaster somewhere or run through the fountains of DC naked in celebration that I was right and you were wrong.”

She had already planned the following morning in her head but staying silent about that, she instead flashed him a small smile, trying her best to make it look genuine, to force her eyes to sparkle in amusement just enough to allow him to fall asleep in peace, “naked, huh?”

He saw through her bullshit like she was a plate glass window, “not on the roller coasters.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not on the roller coasters.”

Trying to keep his voice steady, “you’re going to be fine.”

Finally reaching towards him, his hand met hers halfway, “I know.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Sleep eluded him, preferring to listen to her stuffy inhale than to drift into slumber but even the great Fox Mulder eventually had to give in to sleep, drifting off around 4:15. Scully, faking until 3:30, woke at 5:45, slipping out of bed, five-minute shower, out the door by 6:30, leaving her partner behind.

Three favors later, she was trying to hold herself together in the MRI tube, magnets banging, head aching, muscles tensing with each new sound. How could that machine capture anything when her mind was racing so fast the images should just be a blur of thoughts, smudged terror captured in black and white, brought to you by the marvels of science?

She wished he was there so she could hold his hand.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Mulder could fake a few things as well. He woke when she left the bed, stayed still, eyes shut, while he listened to her shower. He heard her come back in, sort through her closet, open dresser drawers, felt the air in the room change as she did, donning armor for her day ahead. She was at the foot of the bed so not in his possible waking view but to know she was comfortable enough to do her routine with him asleep five feet away made him quake inside. He held it together, even as she returned to the room, keys lightly clinking in hand, to give him a lingering kiss on the cheek, to brush his hair back as her thumb ran over his forehead.

He waited five minutes after he heard the front door lock before rolling over, stretching, missing her beating heart and radiating heat. Staring at the ceiling when done, he refused to ponder, instead, two grunts and a back crack later, he was up, standing, heading to the shower.

Problem was, the warm water, the smell of her soap, the view of damp towel on rack and dry one beside, just for him, caught him off-guard. Halfway through soaping up, he broke down, standing under the water, sobbing tears covered by loud water pinging off the walls. He gave himself what felt like five minutes before straightening back up, finishing his shampoo and wash, ending with a steamy-mirrored pep talk during which he convinced himself Scully would be just fine.

Making the bed, he headed out, calling a cab to get him to the diner, then driving himself home, waiting impatiently for a phone call he knew was inevitable. He could have heading to the basement, he could have taken a nap, he could have stared at the wall and had a panic attack the size of Montana but instead, he read his email, his phone never far from his hand.

&&&&&&&&&&

Scully saw the mass, a bright white spot of dread in her sinus cavity, doctor explaining, in the background, diagnosis and treatment options, but most of her attention was filled with it.

It.

IT.

That thing settled comfortably next to her brain.

IT.

Mesmerized, she nodded when they asked if she’d like to be alone for a minute; if she would like to call someone.

And then it was quiet, the snick of the shutting door the only noise in the room.

Leaving just her and the bright white mass on the light board.

“Mulder. Could you come down to the hospital, please?”

She could hear it in his voice as he said, “which area?”

“Oncology.”

The sound of a fight building. The sound of defiance taking root.

Or denial.

“I’m on my way.”

[itsclydebitches]

Thinking back to the earlier volumes, isn't it weird that Ozpin either 1) didn't notice Jaune faked his transcripts (imagine if he was a Salem agent) or 2) decided to just trust this kid with fake transcripts when he is so paranoid that not even his inner circle has his complete trust?

I've always worked under the assumption that he had to have known. Even just ignoring the unlikely event that Jaune managed to secure transcripts that were that persuasive and Ozpin never followed up with/realized that Jaune didn't attend a previous school as he claimed (the huntsmen world seems to be a small one, increasing the likelihood of Ozpin hearing about potential new students, and Jaune couldn't have passed the test Blake, Ren, and Nora did for those students with unconventional educations prior to Beacon), he also just acts like he knows and is keeping it quiet. Ozpin is not at all surprised by Jaune's lack of knowledge regarding landing strategies, or his genuine fear about the initiation. Some like Ruby may be nervous about teams, but no one else is scared because to a Beacon level huntsmen there's nothing to be scared of - this stuff is easy-peasy. A guy asks for a parachute to safely land? That would have immediately tipped Ozpin off if he didn't already know. Plus, the person in these scenes who does pick up on these discrepancies, Glynda, is the one Ozpin ignores. "Oh, you think Mr. Arc isn't ready for Beacon? Haha, no reason to address that little observation..."

He had to have known, so the real question is why he'd allow this. You're right that it was a security risk, but it appears far riskier in a post-Fall story. Yes, of course Ozpin always knew about the threat Salem posed even if the audience did not, but the Fall wasn't just a shock to us and the other characters. I think people forget that it was absolutely a shock to Ozpin too. As far as he was aware, things were going swimmingly. It's that wonderful time of peace! Yeah, he starts hearing reports of enemy movements around the same time that Jaune was allowed in (meaning that any worry wouldn't have started until he'd already taken a risk on Jaune), but no one could have predicted that within a few months the entire school would be overrun with grimm. Meanwhile, telling people about Salem has been a known risk for at least several lifetimes. Letting Jaune into the school without credentials is only perceived as such a big risk after we've watched Cinder pull that exact stunt: sneaking into Beacon as a student and helping to destroy it from within. But, given the knowledge everyone had in Volumes 1-3, it doesn't surprise me that Ozpin would see one action as a STAGGERINGLY bigger risk than the other. He doesn't tell his inner circle about Salem because every time he tells people about Salem they drop the fight, betray him to her, or fall into such despair that they're functionally no longer allies - as the group beautifully demonstrated when the secrets came to light. Jaune is just... taking a chance on a kid with potential. One is a proven risk within a war that impacts all of Remnant; the other is only at that same level of risk if Ozpin were truly paranoid and spiraling when it came to imagining the worst possible scenario for every situation. What if this bumbling kid is secretly an intelligent spy sent to undermine my school from within, despite every possible proof to the contrary?

But it's details like this that make me roll my eyes so hard at the "Ozpin doesn't trust anyone" rhetoric of both the show and the fandom. Not trusting everyone with everything - because different people are more likely to be trustworthy or not; different pieces of information have the ability to do more damage than others - is not the same thing as not trusting, period. Ozpin, like Ironwood, has never been paranoid. Everything he fears is true, proven again and again across multiple lifetimes. It's not paranoia when people are literally betraying you left and right. Yet despite this, Ozpin extends a shocking amount of trust. It's as you say, he does let this unknown kid try his hand at being a huntsmen. He lets a former White Fang member into Jaune's class, allowing her to hide her status as a faunus the whole while, outright telling her that she can keep her secrets until she's ready to share them. He previously allowed two bandits into his school - who later revealed they'd come with the explicit purpose of learning how to murder huntsmen!! - and despite being betrayed by one he still keeps her brother as his second in command. He trusted his inner circle with everything but the secret that has screwed him over time and time again. He trusted a bunch of nobody students when they randomly showed up at his safehouse, demanding to be a part of this battle. He trusted them again despite the horrific way they put his trauma on full display. And then hit him. Screamed at him. Ignored him for months on end. He trusts them so much that when four of them came back with Emerald he didn't even question it. This 14yo boy I'm inhabiting wants to risk everything by "trusting love" in the woman who, just a few hours ago, was trying to help Cinder murder our Maiden? Lol yeah sure, why not.

Ozpin extends an extraordinary amount of trust given his circumstances. That's canon to my mind. What's ridiculous is that the comparatively few times he's held back have been blown into this inaccurate image of him being paranoid, or so manipulative that he refuses to allow anyone else agency through information. But Ozpin trusting others 99% of the time is the part of the story that has always made sense. Trusting others with caution during such a dangerous war is not - and should not - be criticized for this extent, especially when the other option presented is pure foolishness. Which, frankly, is where I think Oscar is at, surviving his blind faith in someone like Hazel purely because the plot bends to accommodate that. It also remains a strange theme in the face of Ruby's current characterization. Ozpin, according to the show, is flawed because he didn't trust love... yet this is the same volume when Ruby tells all of Remnant that Ironwood can't be trusted. No explanation, no attempt to reach out, just a black and white dismissal that he is an enemy now, full stop. And we can't even contextualize that with, "Well, Ironwood is too far gone to ever trust again. There are some cases where love just isn't enough" when we redeemed both Emerald and Hazel within episodes of each other. The PTSD riddled former-ally doing horrific things in the name of saving at least some of his kingdom is too far gone, but the guy who murdered the majority of Mistral's huntsmen, works directly for Salem, and has spent his two major appearances trying to kill/torture a kid is not? Yeeeaahh. That's really absurd to my mind. At the end of the day, RWBY's themes of trust are just fundamentally flawed. There is no solid foundation to work from and no continuity across the series, let alone across different characters. Ozpin trusted Jaune, but is said to be too untrusting because the show is basing "trust" on whichever characters it likes most in a given moment. It is, again, why we get a "Ruby will save the day because she's so trusting. More trusting than Ozpin ever was" while she is, in that exact moment, keeping these secrets from Ironwood. Or themes of Ruby uniting the world... while she explicitly says, "But not that guy." Any compelling story about trust we might have gotten died the day the group stole everything from Ozpin, punished him for things outside of his control, cut him out of their lives until the plot forced them to work together again, and the story never once went, "Hmm. Maybe our supposedly trusting, forgiving heroes shouldn't have done all that."

[little-murmaider]

@cthene @squeeto and @failedintsave have written three distinct flavors of Skwistok Apocalypse Fic and they all live in my head rent free so I felt like doing a lil end-of-the-world scene. (If a modified version of this pops up in the Stay Alive sequel that doesn’t exist shh shh shh shut up ❤️) 

The bunker didn’t offer much in the way of creature comforts. A holdover from the Cold War, it was 1500 square feet of steel buried beneath four stories of cement. There were suggestions it had been built for a group, but there was only one bed—a twin cot that only Pickles could fit on comfortably, though Toki made due if he tucked in his knees. The bar and the armory were fully stocked. A connection to the outside world was available via a 360-degree live feed of the surface, visible from a claustrophobic surveillance room. It wasn’t impenetrable, but it was a lucky find. And until they received marching orders from Offdensen, it was home. The only spray of color amongst the sterility was a faded, amateur mural canvasing the entirety of the southwest wall. A panorama of the snowy, mountainous Montana landscape. The proportions are all out of wack: Distant trees and prominent foreground boulders seem to have the same weight and dimension. Toki sits on the floor opposite it, eyes fixed on the blobby bug-eyed buffalo grazing the sorta serene-ish tableau. He thinks of the person who painted this. How they were probably really proud of it. How making it probably brought them some form of peace. How they were long dead. The despair makes him nauseous.  Skwisgaar is curled in the space between Toki’s legs, head resting on his chest, arms wound lightly around his waist. They all agreed to take turns “keeping watch” in the surveillance room.  But everyone was on-edge, everyone was scared, everyone was a little too focused on their own anxiety to notice how deftly Skwisgaar switched shifts. His impulse to assuage the others often tipped into the unhealthy territory but in the last few weeks it had made a full tilt into self-destruction. He’d been holed up in that room, delirious with sleep deprivation, for almost two days days before Toki caught on. He was only convinced to leave when Toki started crying. (He’s not proud of that tactic, but hey, it’s the end of the world. Lots of people are doing lots of things they’re not proud of.) As he idly plays with the ends of Skwisgaar’s hair, Toki hears the echo of footfalls drawing near. They’re so swift, so light, Toki knows exactly who it is well before the worn sneakers appear in his periphery. “Hey,” Pickles says. “Heys,” Toki answers. A half-empty handle of vodka dangles from Pickles’s fingers. He tips his chin at Skwisgaar’s sleeping form. “Why doncha take th’bed?” “Nathan’s using its.” Pickles nods and takes a long pull from his drink. A beat passes.  “…That buffahlo is pretty fucked up, huh?” “I can’ts stops looking at its.” “I’ve never SEEN a buffahlo in real life but I’m,” he pauses, squinting to calculate, “73 percent sure they don’ look like that.” “Onlys 73 per-cents?”  Pickles shrugs. “I mean, hey, maybe buffahlos look exactly like that, I dunno whut I dunno.” Toki’s silent laughter shakes him. But then a muffled moan vibrates against his collarbone. “Toki?” He murmurs, sluggishly starting to rise. He code-switches on instinct. To answer in English, with an audience, is too raw. “Jeg er her.” He cups the base of Skwisgaar’s skull and guides him back to his chest. “Gå tilbake til sengs.” Skwisgaar’s hold tightens. “Lämna mig inte.” “Aldri, elskede.”  He settles against him and sighs. “Tack, älskling.”  Skwisgaar’s weight sinks into him, and after a few moments his muscles relax as his breathing falls into a slow, even rhythm. Again, it is quiet. “Whut does it mean?” Oh right Pickles is here. “Whats?” “Th’ e word and th’ a word you guys use fer each other.” Toki freezes. “At least I think they start wit’ an e and an a, I can’t be bothered t’ look up th’ spellin’ in that elven language  a’yours.” He smiles crookedly but his eyes glass over. “That and we’re 40 feet underground and th’ internet doesn’t exist anymore.” “You’ve heards us says dat?” “Dood ya do it all’a time. I may naht know what yer sayin’ but I’m pretty good at pickin’ up patterns.”  He taps out an invisible rim shot, hissing the cymbal crash as he winks. Toki briefly considers lying. But he knows it’s a waste—Pickles is primed to hacksaw through all his bullshit. “It don’ts...translates, exactly, into English.” He waits a moment to see if Pickles accepts this as an adequate explanation. He doesn’t. Toki continues shakily: “Wells, it does but nots, um, de emotion…” He scrunches his nose and starts over. “Yous don’ts use it for everybodies, yous supposed to saves it for somebody who’s really…” Sighing, he thumbs Skwisgaar’s shoulderblade like it’s a lucky talisman. “I don’ts know whens we starts doesing it.” “A while ago, dood.” Oh.

“Oh. Um. Wells.” Heat rises to his cheeks. “Elskede in Norweigian means,” he winces, “beloved, and älskling ams kinds of de ex-quibbi-kent in Swedish buts it means, uh.” He tucks his chin to his chest and shields his eyes in embarrassment. “It means darling buts you don’ts use its de way you does ins English, it’s, um...” His thumb and middle and index finger squeeze into his eye sockets so hard stars flash across his vision.  “...It’s somet’ings you use for de poirson what ams most specials to yous, likes de poirson you mights maybe marry one days wowee saysing all dis outs loud makes me feel real stupids cans I please stops?” “Okey okey.” When Toki opens his eyes he sees Pickles waving his hands like he’s trying to break up a bad smell. “Asked an’ answered.” The tips of Toki’s ears burn, a shameful sludge spreading thickly behind his sternum. He tips his head back, skull thunking dully against the wall. “Don’ts tell de guys abouts dis, Skwisgaar will nevers forgive mes.” “Nah, dood, don’ worry, this stays in th’ vault.” The drone of the overhead fluorescent lights and the muted thrum of generators thrums like locusts. Skwisgaar inhales deeply, exhales sharply, and nestles closer. Toki’s gaze darts about the terrible mural, searching for something to latch to, but his focus swings as if by gravitational pull back to Pickles’s face. When he at last resolves to glance up at him, he’s braced for ridicule. But when he does, his tension deflates. Pickles doesn’t look like he’s about to make fun of him. Pickles looks like...Toki doesn’t know what Pickles looks like. “Whats dat face?” Pickles’s smile widens, head cocking to the side. “Stops dat! What’s dat face!” “What face! There’s no face! I don’ even have a face!” He bites his lower lip, muffling a chuckle. “Awright bud, I’m naht gunna lie, me and these other dooshbeegs have had our suspicions about the, errrr aaaah...” He cinches one eye shut. “...Nature of yer relationship. But none’a us suspected you guys were, y’know…” He rolls the wrist holding the vodka, liquid splashing to the floor. Toki stares at him questioningly. “...Fully in it.” Toki blinks. “In whats?” Pickles pinches his lips and squints as if to say, come on dude, but doesn’t press further. “Welp.” He kicks backwards to push himself off the wall and stand upright. “It’s almost sunrise. Or sunset, I dunno, this steel box has really fucked up my internal clahck. But I’m gonna watch th’ sun do somethin’ wit’ Murderface until my shift on watch.” He pivots to face the long corridor leading to the surveillance room. I’ll see ya around.” He pauses. He points a finger in the air, draws a small circle, and glances over his shoulder with a small smile. “Abviously.”  He’s gone as quickly as he arrived. Toki’s attention returns to the mural. The staticky grasslands. The angular mountains. The flat plane of the lake. Toki’s not an art guy but he knows this is bad. Still, it moves him. He doesn’t understand why. Maybe he doesn’t have to. He and Skwisgaar have always talked around it. They’ve always had an understanding, leaving little secrets and codes for the other to crack. They did, mostly. It’s the same, mostly. But it’s the end of the world and Toki needs to say it out loud. He buries his face in that soft golden crown and whispers, “I loves you.” “I loves you, too,” is the sleepy reply.  He was wrong. It’s different. It’s better.  “Is likes Pickle says.” He pushes himself up to press his lips to Toki’s neck. “We’s fully ins it.”

[nonbinarylowkey]

Hello miss/sir, I loved your recent Loki head cannon and I was probably wondering while on a mission with the “Past” Loki and you know they got into a fight where he yelled, “it's your fault” this ”future” S/o got some nightmarish flashback about “future” Loki getting killed by Thanos and her PTSD starts kicking in and tries to blame herself for not helping the “future” Loki. Thank you!

They're both soaked.

There's sludge in Loki's hair and a sneer on his lips. He shucks off the bulky, water logged TVA uniform jacket, tossing it into the river they just pulled themselves from. 

Loki's partner isn't in a much better state. Most of the sludge that had covered her washed off in the water as she fought (and occasionally failed) to keep her head above water. But her attention shifts between Loki and the shattered device she pulled from her pocket when they made it onto dry land. Loki doesn't seem to have noticed it yet; there's no time to dwell on her own discomfort when she needs to use what scent time she's been given to find a way to gently break the news to him.

"Hey, Loki?"

He looks at her. The movement of her hand brings his gaze downward where she's covered the wreckage of the only thing that could get them back to base.

"What is it?"

"This planet seems pretty nice, don't you think? Why don't we stay here for a while; take a break?"

"This planet is a backwater wasteland. What reason could you possibly have for wanting to remain here?" He sniffed, all of his derision and judgment clear from that one forceful inhale.

Well, ah… mostly I want to stay because, well, we have to?" Her voice went high at the end of her explanation, making it sound more like a question than a statement. She moved her hand from the pieces of the device so that Loki could see what had happened. 

Silence settled between them. She held her breath. Loki stood statuesque.

One moment.

Two.

Three.

Fou--

Loki grabbed her one-handed by the throat, squeezed hard enough that her breath was restricted, even if it wasn't cut off completely. A knife materialized in his other hand.

"We are stuck her until that wretched organization of busybodies deigns to notice our absence and given their utter disconnect from the flow of time, how long do you suppose that will be, hm?" He drops her, uncaring of the way she crumples to the dirt. "This is your fault. You will be the one to fix this mess."

***

It's funny, really, how life has a way of going from bad to worse without any consideration for how the people living it feel. 

As it turns out, backwater wasteland planets have very few lodgings for travellers. And what lodgings they do have, tend to have very few rooms. In fact, they only have one room, apparently. 

Naturally, that room only has one bed.

"I can take the couch to make up for not being more careful with the transporter thingy," she says; an olive branch, if a somewhat flimsy one.

"Yes, you can take it," he says.

They say nothing more to each other for the rest of the night.

***

She's been here before.

Not physically, no, but she has dreamed of this place many times before. How long has it been since the last time? A year? Longer? 

The ship stinks of blood and death; of sick and shit and piss from bodies of dead Asgardians who could no longer control what came out of them during their final despairing moments.

She kneels in a pool of Asgardian blood. A spotlight shines down on her and in the dream this seems utterly natural. Everyone else is dead. Where else does a light need to shine? She is the only thing left for the killers to see.

Another spotlight illuminates a circle of space directly in front of her. She looks up.

The giant is there. He is cradling something- no, someone in his arms. 

"You understand what it is like to have a demanding love," the giant says. The words are gentle. She can almost believe he cares. "People like us, who love like us, will do whatever is necessary for the ones we love."

He deposits the body at her knees. Still gentle, always gentle. The giant backs away. His spotlight fades. The area surrounding her spotlight has gone completely black again. She is alone.

She knows who lies in front of her before she looks. She has been here before, after all. She has experienced this all before.

Still, when she finally forces herself to look on Loki's gray, lifeless face, she screams. She screams until her throat is raw; until she is coughing so hard from the force of it that she's certain blood must be coming up. She screams until her voice gives out. 

Tears and snot drip from her face onto his. 

A hand rests on her shoulder. Someone is standing behind her.

"This is your fault, you know."

Loki kisses the top of her head. His dead body grins up at her. The Loki at her back wraps his arms around her shoulders.

"You left. You knew the threat and you still left me to die at the hands of my abuser."

"I know," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" He laughs. A knife materializes in his hand. He gives it to her. "You're sorry. I know you are, my love. That is why I have one request."

No. No. No no no no nononononono.

She squeezes the hilt of the knife. Her arms shakes from the effort of keeping it in place. She knows what his request is. Knows, too, that it's nothing more than a torture her own mind has come up with.

The Loki at her knees opens his eyes. The Loki behind her maneuvers her hand so that she is holding the tip of the blade to his heart.

"I want to know that you understand your role in all this," the Loki behind her says.

"You are going to kill me," the Loki in front of her says.

"This is your fault," they both say. "You must know this is your fault."

She sobs, shaking her head wildly. "No, no, no, please no. Please, Loki. I can't."

"You already did!" The one behind her says.

She tries to pull her hand away, to drop the knife. The Loki in front of her won't let her go. He's got a grasp on her hand, keeping her grasp on the knife. He raises their hands. 

"Say my name," the Loki behind her whispers. "Scream my name as you slip the blade between my ribs. Your final act of love; to kill me when no one else has."

And when the Loki in front of her brings her hand down and the blade is buried beneath his skin, she does.

***

She screams his name over and over and ov--

Her head collides with Loki's chin when she jolts awake.

She throws herself into his arms. One shaky breath is all the warning there is before a sob bursts from her. Her tears come fast, soaking the shirt Loki had worn to sleep. Logically, she knows that she has no business clinging to this Loki. This is not the Loki she dreamed of, not her dead husband, not even a version of Loki that particularly likes her. But he still smells and feels like the Loki she knew and loved and so she clings with all her might.

And though this Loki is none of those things, he does not push her away. She wonders if he looked into her dreams. If he saw her dream of his death at the hands of Thanos; of his corpse forcing her to kill him all over again. She isn't sure she'd be upset with him if he had. 

"You were crying," he says, nose pressed to her hair. He rubs circles along her back. "You called my name."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. She isn't sure if she's apologizing for waking him or for killing him.

"I'm here."

It's exactly what she needs to hear.

Without another word, he lifts her off of the couch and brings her to the bed. He drops her in the center of it, settling down next to her with his arm around her waist. 

She'd be tempted to laugh at how similar this Loki is to the one she knew if the memory of his near constant desire for touch wasn't so painful now. She sighs, instead.

"Sleep," he commands.

So she does. This time, Thanos doesn't appear.

[hookedonapirate]

Miss Fix-It

Summary: Miracle worker. Relationship Guru. Savior.

These are just a few of her monikers, but most people have taken to call her Miss Fix-It. Helping broken-hearted women get back together with their former boyfriends is her specialty. How does she do it, you ask? Simple—she becomes his date from hell so he’ll realize what a catch he had before he let her go.

Emma Swan is an expert at fixing relationships, it’s just too bad she’ll never have one of her own.

Her particular set of talents is tested, however, when a cheating ex-girlfriend requests her services. Emma’s reluctant at first. It’s not an easy task to make someone seem like a catch when they’ve cheated, but the potential client is an emotional wreck desperate to get her former boyfriend back before he heads back to England. Besides, Emma Swan never backs down from a challenge. They don’t call her Miss Fix-It for nothing. She’ll find a way to make him wish he was back in his ex-girlfriend’s arms, no matter what it takes. If only she can squash the feelings she develops for him and stop breaking her rules.

My Best Friend’s Girl meets How to Lose a Guy in 10 days.

A/N: A big shout out to @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading and to @onceuponaprincessworld for letting me share my ideas with her! 

Wow, I hadn't realized how long it's been since I updated this story until I saw the date I last posted, which was May 2020!!! I'm so sorry it's been so long. A lot has happened since then and I know I've probably lost some readers, but for those of you who have stuck around, thank you so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy the chapter ♥️

This is now part of the Captain Swan Movie Marathon collection, as it is primarily based on the movie Mr. Fix-It. Thanks @csmm for putting this together!

Also available on: AO3 l FF.N

Catch up: Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Chapter 5

“Hold on, love.” Killian steps back as he eyes Granny’s diner like he’s staring his worst nightmare in the face. He glances at Emma as confusion furrows her brows. “This is where you’re taking me?”

She nods. “Yeah. They have the best strawberry cheesecake pancakes. Trust me—a sugar coma is way better than an alcohol coma.”

His expression clouds with hesitation as he shakes his head. “I can’t go in. Ruby works here.”

“Not tonight.”

Killian lifts a brow. “How do you know?”

Damn. 

Emma curses herself as she keeps a straight face. Killian’s not the one who told her he went to her apartment to drop off her things; David did. “Because in the several texts Mary Margaret sent me, she mentioned Ruby was helping her with the invitations. Ruby needed a distraction.”

“Oh.” The creases in his forehead deepen. “Then why does Mary Margaret need David’s help, too?”

“I don’t know,” Emma snaps, louder than intended. Good God, this guy asks a lot of questions. “Probably because when Mary Margaret freaks out,” her eyes widen and she makes hand gestures for emphasis, “she freaks out.”

Killian scratches his ear as he looks inside the diner. “Still, I’m sure everyone who works here has heard the news and I’m not sure I want to—”

Emma grabs his hand and pulls him inside, not willing to argue about it, mostly because she doesn’t have a back-up plan. She didn’t want to make it seem like she pre-orchestrated this whole thing. He relents reluctantly and lets her lead him to a booth. “I’m not taking no for an answer. If you’ve ever had their strawberry cheesecake pancakes, you would understand.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat. It’s good comfort food.”

They sit across from each other, and when Ashley tries to give them menus, Emma holds up her hand to reject them. “We already know what we want. I’ll have my usual hot cocoa and he’ll have an order of strawberry cheesecake pancakes with extra everything and chocolate milk.”

Killian doesn’t argue with her about it.

“Okay.” Ashley puts on a smile which fades when she looks at Killian, her eyes clouding with sympathy. “I heard what happened between you and Ruby. I’m so sorry.”

Killian pins Emma with an “I told you so” glare. She offers an apologetic smile in return. “Thanks, Ashley, but I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you don’t look—”

“It’s okay, Ash,” Emma interjects, waving off Ashley’s words with her hand. “He just needs to shove down his emotions with a heaping plate of sugar and shame, wash it down with chocolate milk, and then he’ll be perfect.”

Ashley glances between them suspiciously. “Wait, is this your way of getting back at Ruby?” she asks Killian as she points at Emma with the menus in her hand.

“No, I’m not getting back at Ruby,” he grumbles through gritted teeth. He looks at Emma. “She’s a friend.”

She’s not sure why, but her heart warms at the sentiment.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Emma asks defensively. “It is a small town, and well, we both know Ruby.”

“True, I’ve just never seen you together.”

Emma refrains from sighing in exasperation. Why is everyone a fucking detective all of a sudden?

Maybe Killian was right—they should’ve gone somewhere else.

“We just met tonight,” Killian says. “She works at the Rabbit Hole, now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Ashley says in surprise.

“Can we get that hot cocoa and those pancakes now?” Emma asks impatiently, growing frustrated and a little panicked. This is exactly why she always meets her targets outside of town where people don't know her and won't ask a bunch of prying questions.

“Of course. Coming right up,” she assures before walking away.

Ashley returns a moment later with their beverages. Killian just stares blankly at his chocolate milk as Emma dips her finger in the whipped cream from her hot cocoa and brings it to her mouth, sucking off the sugary substance. Expecting Killian to watch her, she’s kind of disappointed when he doesn’t. Licking the whipped cream off her finger is a foolproof tactic that always garner’s the guy’s attention no matter what. But apparently not with Killian. Instead, he leans his elbows on the table and looks around like he’s afraid Ruby will suddenly pop into the diner at any moment.

This is going to be harder than she originally speculated.

“Look, if it really bothers you to be here, we can go somewhere else,” she sighs in retreat.

“No, it’s fine,” he says gloomily. “It’s just…” His words trail off and the earlier despair she’d witnessed on his face reappears. “This is where Ruby and I met,” he explains with a sad smile. “I came here after moving into my new apartment all day and she was my waitress.” His eyes shine with unshed tears as he recalls the night he met her like it were yesterday. “I’d had the worst day; nothing went as it was supposed to. But when I sat down at this exact booth, Ruby came over to me with the brightest smile on her face and she instantly cheered me up.” A tear slips from Killian’s eyes—a tear she could tell he was trying to fight back. “And um, we just hit it off. Her shift was ending soon, so after she clocked out, she sat across from me and we talked for hours.”

More tears slide down his cheeks. “I’ll never forget that night, no matter how much I want to forget it. No matter how much the image of seeing her with…” He pauses, his hands fisting on the table, his teeth gritting, “with my best friend.” An unexpected sob escapes him as he drops his face in his hands, and Emma scans the diner, wondering if anyone heard, but only a few customers glance over and then return their attention to either their food or the person sitting in front of them. 

When Killian cries into his palms, Emma’s heart breaks for him. He really liked Ruby—or loved; she doesn’t really know—but she could sense how torn up he was over being cheated on by her. His cries become louder and his body jerks and trembles as inhuman sounds wretch from his throat. Emma’s heart is gripped with emotion; she can feel the sadness he’s expressing from across the table. She hates seeing him like this, and it has nothing to do with the show he’s displaying for the diner patrons. 

Responding on instinct, she jumps from her seat, hurries to his side of the booth, and sits next to him, rubbing his back in soothing circles. She looks around, giving the customers who are staring a slight, apologetic smile. Normally she would never dream of sitting on the same side of the table with someone while the seat across from them is empty, but this is one of those rare exceptions.

Killian takes her off guard when he thrusts his head against her chest and winds his arms around her, sobbing into her shirt. Emma’s eyes widen in shock as she brings both hands to his back, one giving him a gentle pat. Other than that, she has no idea what to do. What do you tell someone you just met that will make them feel better when they’re sobbing uncontrollably? She can’t tell him everything will be okay, can she? 

She peers down at him, wondering how things escalated so quickly. She’d brought him to this diner specifically so the memories of Ruby would unleash the emotions he hasn’t yet expressed, hoping he would open up to her. She expected a current and maybe a little mist, but she didn’t expect the fucking dams to break. 

Emma’s blouse and chest become damp from his tears as she cards a hand through his hair, feeling him tremble in her arms. She had unfastened the first few buttons a while ago, so her chest is soaked too, and his head is cradled just above her breasts.

Not that she’s complaining.

Emma gently turns her head to look for Ashley, not wanting her to freak out over seeing him break down like he is, and when she sees their server approaching, she whispers to Killian, “Ashley’s coming over here.”

He sniffles and lifts his head, wiping the tears from his face and whispering a thanks.

Emma picks up a wrapped silverware set and removes the napkin, offering it to Killian.

“Bloody hell, love. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles in apology as he wipes his tears with the napkin.

Ashley arrives at their table, dropping off the plate of pancakes. “Strawberry cheesecake pancakes with extra everything. Anything else I can get—” She pauses when she catches Killian’s face. “Are you okay?”

He nods and wipes under his eyes with the napkin. “Aye. I’m fine. Just got something in my eye is all.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, obviously not believing him. And judging by the stink-eye Ashley’s giving her, Emma can tell she doesn’t believe she and Killian are only friends.

“He’ll be fine once he eats his pancakes,” Emma assures her.

“All right, well, let me know if there’s anything else you need,” she says directly to Killian.

“Thanks, lass,” he murmurs, staring blankly at his plate. After Ashley leaves, Emma grabs a fork, scoops up a bit of pancake and brings it to his lips. “Here, try a bite.” She thinks he might refuse it, but instead, he reluctantly opens his mouth, allowing her to feed him.

Wow, this is the weirdest date she’s ever been on.

If you can even call it a date.

Surprisingly, he chews the food in his mouth and licks his lips.

Oh my.

Emma has to look away and clench her thighs, trying to rid the thoughts of other things he could be doing with that tongue. Specifically, things he could be doing to her.

“You were right, love. These pancakes are actually making me feel better.”

His statement throws her for a loop, and she whips her head toward him, lifting a brow. “Really?”

He offers a small smile. “A little.” He takes the fork from her and stabs at another piece. “But I’ll probably stop feeling better once it’s gone, so maybe you could ask Ashley to keep the pancakes coming?”

Emma manages a small laugh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ll end up feeling worse than you already do.”

He frowns. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Emma sighs into her hot cocoa and takes a sip.

Yep, she certainly has her work cut out for her.

Emma tries to change the subject by asking what his favorite bands are, but then he veers right back into the subject of Ruby when he recalls how he went to her place to return her things, which included her CDs. He mentions it because he also had his CDs at her place, but she refused to hand them over until he was willing to let her talk. But he didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to get his things and leave, but instead, he stayed and argued with her until they were both blue in the face.

Nevertheless, Emma gives him her undivided attention as he rambles on, so he feels comfortable enough to open up to her.

When he finishes the pancakes, he was right about feeling miserable again and tries to order more. Emma pays the bill before he can, and has to drag him out of the diner.

“Are you okay with driving home?” she asks when they return to the bar.

“Aye. Another benefit of having pancakes instead of rum is I can’t get drunk from pancakes.”

“Well, unless they were rum pancakes,” she points out.

His eyes light up with curiosity, and Emma gets the feeling she's created a monster. “Rum pancakes? Do they make those?”

She laughs. “Not sure, but I think the best thing to do now is sleep.”

He frowns. “I don’t know if I can. Every time I close my eyes, I picture her with him, and I can’t…” His voice cracks, and his eyes well with tears again.

Emma’s heart breaks. She knew he was torn up, but she really had no idea just how torn up he was. The old pancake trick didn’t work, all it did was make him want more pancakes, so she knows she’ll have to resort to drastic measures. Emma grabs his hand and hauls him down the sidewalk.

“Where are we going, love?” 

“You obviously need to release some major stress, and I know the perfect place where you can do that.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue—she doesn’t think he has enough energy to argue with her if he wanted to—and soon they’re standing in front of a building with a big sign above the door that reads, “Break Room Therapy” in bold blue letters and features an illustration of a pair of crossed sledgehammers.

Killian furrows his brows. “What is this place?”

Emma’s mouth falls open in shock. “I thought you lived in Storybrooke, and yet you’ve never been here?”

He shakes his head. “I see this place all the time but never knew what it really was. I always see women going in here, so I didn’t think it was a place for a lad like myself.”

Emma shakes her head. “This is a place we can go where no one will think we’re crazy if we break some shit, but it’s not just for women. We’re not the only ones who need to let off some steam sometimes.”

He cocks a brow. “Break some shit? What kind of shit?”

Emma smirks and opens the door for him, gesturing inside. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

He’s hesitant, but steps inside and she follows behind him. They approach the desk where her friend, Archie, is sitting, his face buried in a book. His office has the appearance of a typical break room, a collection of Star Wars Funko Pops on his desk, a water cooler and a life-sized statue of baby Yoda standing on a mini-fridge and holding a sign that reads, “Welcome to Break Room Therapy.”

“Appointments only,” Archie says as he lifts his eyes from his book to greet the incoming customers. His lips form a big smile when he sees Emma. “Oh, hi Emma. My apologies, I didn’t realize it was you,” he says, setting the book down and rising from his seat.

“Hey, Archie,” she greets with a smile.

“Back again so soon, I see?”

Emma nods. “Uh, yeah, but not for me. She grabs Killian’s arm who has his hands shoved in his pockets, still standing by the door with an awkward look on his face. “This is my friend, Killian. He needs to use one of your rooms.”

“Oh, right, of course.” He gestures toward the chairs in front of the desk. “Please have a seat.”

Killian still looks unsure, but complies anyway, slumping into a chair next to Emma as Archie reclaims his seat across from them.

“So what brings you in tonight?” he asks Killian.

“He got cheated on by his girlfriend,” Emma answers when she suspects Killian doesn’t want to.

His face clouds with sorrow as Archie’s saddens. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, this is the right place for you, then.”

Killian furrows his brows and looks around. “What exactly is this place?”

Archie exchanges a look with Emma before returning his attention to Killian. “This is a place where you can release some of that pent up anger you’re feeling right now.” Archie looks at Emma. “Will you be joining him?”

She nods. “Yes, please.”

He prints some papers and gives Killian and Emma both a copy, pointing out for Killian with a pen where to sign and date.

Killian scans over the forms, his forehead wrinkled in confusion as he reads a line out loud. “I hereby consent to medical treatment, which may be advisable in the event of an injury?” He looks up from the document, his face awash with confusion. “Why would I need medical treatment?”

Archie casually waves a hand. “Oh, don’t worry…as long as you follow the rules and wear the protective gear properly, you should be completely fine.”

The furrow in Killian’s brows deepens. “Why would I need protective gear?”

“To protect yourself so you don’t get broken shards in your eyes or skin, of course.”

Killian’s eyes flicker with panic. “Why would I have to worry about that?”

“Just sign it, Killian,” Emma huffs in irritation as she hands Archie her signed papers.

He puts up a hand of dismissal. “Now, now, Emma. Killian must consent to the terms voluntarily.”

“This is supposed to help me feel better?” Killian asks, still uncertain about this entire thing.

“Yes, just trust me. I come here all the time to release stress. It works like a charm. And it’s a lot of fun.”

Killian considers her words and scans over the documents once more before scribbling his signature. “Fine. I can’t possibly feel worse than I do already.” He hands Archie the signed papers.

“That’s the spirit,” Emma chants, clapping her hands.

“Excellent,” Archie says with a grin. “Let’s get you suited up.”

They rise, and Archie leads them to the equipment and protective gear. After some quick instructions, he asks them which weapons they prefer.

With each of them wearing a face shield, Killian holding a sledgehammer and Emma carrying a baseball bat, they head to one of the rooms.

“Have a smashing good time,” Archie quips and closes the door, standing outside the caged window to monitor and take pictures. The walls are made of OSB and the floor is marked up with black duct tape. There’s a round table in the center of the room with a flatscreen computer monitor situated upright.

“After you,” Emma says, gesturing toward the monitor.

Killian looks at her, still unsure. “I just smash it?”

She gives a nod. “You just smash it.”

Killian raises the hammer into the air with both hands, and with a shaky breath, he strikes the monitor with hesitant force, barely making a dent.

“Come on, Killian, you can do better than that. Just think about how angry Ruby made you when you saw her fucking your best friend. Just let yourself feel that rage and release it.” Before Emma’s done speaking, he smashes the computer again with a more powerful force than before.

“That’s it. Just let it out!” she encourages.

So he does. He turns the monitor over, so the screen is facing the ceiling, and strikes it with the sledgehammer, smashing the screen with a groan. He shatters the rest of the glass into a million pieces, much like Ruby did to his heart. But he doesn’t stop there; he strikes the computer over and over and over again until it’s nothing but a mangled and mutilated piece of scrap.

He has to pause to steady his breathing.

“Feel better?” she asks with a laugh.

“Actually, yes, that does feel quite good. What’s next?”

“Easy, tiger. It’s my turn.” Emma sets down the bat, grabs a plate from the crate of breakable items and tosses it across the room, the dish shattering into the wall with a satisfying smash. Killian follows suit and sets down the hammer to pick up a glass bottle, tossing it at the wall, watching as it disintegrates into a thousand tiny pieces.

A hint of a smile appears on his lips. “This is fun, love.”

“I told you.” She tosses another plate against the wall like a frisbee.

They each take turns, smashing items with a sledgehammer or bat, or throwing them against the wall, the room filled with sounds of heavy panting, grunts and glass breaking or plastic being obliterated. While Killian releases the whirlwind of emotions resulting from his breakup and takes out his rage for Ruby and Victor on electronic equipment, Emma takes hers out on multiple dishes for having to lie to Killian, and for feeling pressured by her best friend and Ruby to do this job in the first place. She’s spent a lot of time in this same room, but most of the time she acts out the rage she will always feel for the bastard she married and trusted before he broke her heart into a million pieces.

When they’ve gone through all the items in the crate, they both have to catch their breaths, adrenaline pumping through them, Emma’s heart pounding mercilessly in her chest. For acts that may seem so violent, smashing items with someone else feels very intimate and exhilarating for reasons she can’t really explain. They both expressed a side of each other they don’t normally show.

“Wow, that was…” he breathes, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“A good way to work off those pancakes while releasing some steam at the same time, huh?”

“Aye, it really was,” he chuckles.

They leave the room and remove their protective gear. 

“Thanks, Archie, that was a blast...or should I say, smash!” Emma quips.

“Aye, thank you,” Killian says to him appreciatively. “That actually helped a lot.”

Archie grins. “Good, I’m glad. Come back anytime.” He waves at them as they head out the door.

“Wow, that really was therapeutic,” Killian says as they reach her car, both of them facing each other. “Thank you for bringing me there. And for the pancakes.”

“Of course. What are friends for?” she adds with a wink.

“No, really, I mean it,” he says sincerely. “I felt like complete shit tonight and you managed to make me smile and laugh and feel like myself again.”

She waves off his words. “It was nothing. I’m just glad you feel better than you did.”

“I do, thanks to you.”

“Killian—” she attempts in a tone that is meant to tell him he really doesn’t have to thank her.

“Seriously, Emma, I could kiss you right now,” he chuckles. “I mean, I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

Emma gulps as she stares at his lips, wondering what they would feel like if he did kiss her. She immediately squashes the thought and lifts her eyes to gaze into those crystal blue orbs instead. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Killian steps into her space and raises a hand to her face. Her breath catches when his thumb caresses her cheek. She thinks he might actually kiss her. “Do you believe in fate?”

His question throws her for a loop and she opens her mouth, uttering a nonsensical sound as she tries to figure out how to respond to that. “Um, no, not really.”

“Well, I do. I believe we were destined to meet.”

Guilt flares inside Emma, her throat closing up. If only he knew this wasn’t destiny or fate or a fortunate stroke of serendipity. Well, meeting him at the elevator a couple of months ago was a sheer coincidence, but tonight was pre-orchestrated, and not by the universe; it was planned by her, and if he found out, she doubts he would want anything to do with her. It pains her to know he’ll hate her guts after this is all over. But she won’t blame him one bit. 

Before she gets the chance to respond, he leans in and kisses her cheek.

All the air leaves her lungs when his lips touch her skin, her brain becomes mush and she closes her eyes, trying not to dissolve into a puddle.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, his voice cracking, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“But if us meeting each other was actually part of some predetermined plan, then wouldn't we run into each other again without having to make plans?”

He chuckles. “Perhaps.” He becomes quiet as his eyes grow serious. “But maybe I'm not willing to take that chance.”

Her throat becomes dry as sandpaper. She was not expecting an answer like that. He's the one who brought up the possibility of fate being on their side, yet he's not willing to take the chance he's wrong. Even though he knows where she works and where her friends live. 

Now she knows why Ruby fell for him. Well, she kind of already figured it out, but now she knows it was more than just his charming good looks, his boyish grin or his penis size.

“Um, yeah. Okay,” she answers against her better judgment. This is all going faster than she’d expected. She meant to part ways without making plans, and instead run into him “accidentally” again, but now she’s finding it impossible to deny his request. Besides, if they did run into each other “accidentally” then, for him, it would only solidify his belief that fate brought them together, and she'd feel horrible about that. Even more horrible than she already feels. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

He offers a sly grin, his tongue flirting with his lips. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

She shakes her head and smiles. “Well played.” She reaches out her hand. “Let me see your phone.”

He takes it out and unlocks it before handing the device to her without hesitation.

She plugs in her phone number and sends herself a text so she’ll recognize the number when he calls. She hands it back to him. “There, now you have my phone number, and I have yours.”

“Thanks, love.” He tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

“Are you good to drive?”

He laughs. “Are you kidding? Smashing that computer sobered me up real quick. But I didn’t have a lot to drink to begin with, thanks to you,” he adds with a smirk.

She nods and feels her cheeks warm at the way he looks at her. “That’s true.”

He goes around her to open the driver’s door. God, this guy really knows how to make a woman feel special, even one he's not dating.

“This isn’t even a date and you’re still a gentleman,” she teases with a playful smirk.

“I’m always a gentleman,” he says with a cheeky grin. A grin so cheeky, her heart staggers. “Goodnight, Emma. Thanks again for tonight.”

“Night,” she murmurs, her heart clenching at the thought of leaving him. When he shuts the door, their eyes are still locked through the window, and the door that separates them doesn’t seem to help her at all, because her heart is pounding, and her breaths are shallow as his eyes pierce right through her.

He waves, and she waves back at him before starting her car. He finally turns and walks to his truck, his hands in his pockets as she watches him. Her heart squeezes in her chest when he increases the distance between them. She has to leave so he doesn’t think she’s just sitting there staring at him, which she definitely is.

She pulls away from the curb and drives away, hating herself for leaving him. But she has no idea why it hurts so much. She just met him a few hours ago. Well technically she met him a couple of months ago, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, this guy is already clawing his way inside her heart, trying to make a home there and making her second guess her decision to help Ruby out. Why is it the one time she finds a guy she actually likes, he has to be one of the guys she’s trying to get back together with his girlfriend?

If destiny actually does exist, then it must be mocking her. 

Or perhaps this job is destiny’s way of helping her protect her own heart. Because if she can’t have anything real with him, then she can’t actually get hurt.

Right?

@onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @artistic-writer @ilovemesomekillianjones @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling@ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @sophiaaz @becausetheyrehappythisway @thislassishooked @hookedmom @resident-of-storybrooke @kateroselin @chamomileandmint @kday426 @sals86 @lawgeeks @yasbio2015 @xsajx @delightfully-difficult-pirate @snowbellewells @wanderingjpg @squidvisious @tenaciouskittynight @biefaless @animatedshorts @lassluna @ejunkiet @melsbels @meat-pie-with-sauce @roseyflush @ivalane @tiganasummertree @nowforruin @qualitycoffeethings @nikkiemms @oncechicagolove @theonewiththeory @lostinwonderland314 @darkcolinodonorgasm @arshini01 @companion-mala @carpedzem @youareafeverdream @maguilar1028 @mayquita @courtorderedcake @shady-swan-jones @timeless-love-story @laschatzi @officerrogers @spartanguard @andiirivera @ouatpost @jarienn972 @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @distant-rose @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree

[yuzukult]

try again, || jaehyun & reader

title: try again, pairing: jaehyun x reader genre: idol!au, angst-y (i guess) words: 2.1k prompt: you should know that I’m always on your side, please remember my answer is you. note: inspired by the song try again by d.ear & jaehyun... i tried with this one, but it got hard to finish because i forgot where i was going with it.... i guess you can call this a drabble???????? also i have not revised this my 5th time yet. lol i will probably edit this as time goes on

Every long-term relationship goes through the “humps.” There’s three separate occasions: the three year hump, five year hump, then lastly the seven year hump. Many people tackle these hurdles, some fortunate enough to win and survive, but some wistfully slip. 

You and Jaehyun failed the three year hump.

The obstacle was inevitable and surviving these challenges with him as an idol, periodically on tour when part of these issues arise didn’t make it any easier. The three-year mark resulted in a mutually angry break-up, only lasting a few months before he came back to Seoul. Healed from the fall, you thought that you were strong enough to face him. It was a lie-- the moment that you saw his face, you fell in love all over again.

Getting back together was easy. The two of you even made a pact that this wouldn’t ever happen again, and preventing it would require more communication and effort. Jaehyun was your end-game, despite the struggles of dating a celebrity, and the feelings were reciprocated.

So when the fifth year was approaching, it was no surprise that you could even feel it in the air that something was different.

Coming home everyday wasn’t the same anymore. The house echoed with silence; his slippers by the door remained vacant incessantly, and his roar of laughter isn’t here to fill the rooms with warmth. Your phone doesn’t ring with a text from him asking if you had gotten home safely nowadays, and expectations for video calls have dropped to none.

Jaehyun doesn’t “come home” lately, or at least, your home, but when he does, it means arriving during the late hours of the night and leaving at the brink of dawn. The incandescent grin that stuck on his face that comes as a package with the dimples that indent his cheeks were absent from your life now. His scent hasn’t remained in the house for months, evidence to his missing presence.

Sleeping without him proved arduous. Your eyes begging for slumber but your mind wouldn’t rest with the negative thoughts that swarmed your head.

Then there was speculation amongst social media-- every possible platform, and your phone overflowed with text messages from those who were “close” to you were all of him with new arm candy, a new beau.

It’s two in the morning, and you’re fighting with your inner self on whether or not to call in sick to work tomorrow. Snatching the carton of milk in the fridge, you grab a mug settled in the cabinet before pouring yourself a drink. Placing it into the microwave and tapping a couple of the buttons on the screen, the humming of the appliance is the only sound that floods the room.

The doorknob of the front door rattles, and he comes in with newly dyed blue disheveled hair wearing his clothes from practice, dropping his duffle bag by the door and his keys thrown into the bowl on the entryway’s table. There was no greeting nor kiss as he immediately makes his way into the kitchen.

“She’s just a co-star. We’re filming a music video, and afterwards she said she was going to grab us all coffee, and I felt bad if she went alone. I mean, there’s ten of us.” His eyes hasn’t even looked directly at you, yet somehow he knew what was running through your head.

“I didn’t say anything.” You mutter, attention wavering to the beeping of the microwave.

“You didn’t have to.” He’s standing what feels like hundreds of meters away from you. The light in the room is dim, nearly as though it reads the tension in the atmosphere.

“She’s pretty,” You say before gripping onto the warm beverage before hissing at the impact of the hot ceramic against your fingertips.

“What are you insinuating?”

You’re silent for a moment. “Maybe it’s time we should talk about us.”

Jaehyun is the guy who doesn’t say much. He’s a level-headed person, soft spoken, and sensitive yet reserved, but capable of opening his heart. He’s the one you admire from afar with his breathtaking features, a radiant smile that can wipe an entire nation, with his popular group of friends, and friendly demeanor. Even when he’s trying his best not to shine in a sea of people, he’s under the spotlight. It’s impossible for Jung Jaehyun to be just a regular person.

But recently, his heart just doesn’t feel open to you. He didn’t seem to glisten in your gaze anymore.

“What’s wrong with us?” He precipitously makes his way behind you. You don’t recall hearing the creak of the hardwood floor underneath his feet; your heart skipping a beat when your back bumps into his chest abruptly.

“Talk to me.” You gulp. He’s so close-- and what it seems like have been forever since you’ve been even this intimate; the slightest touch from him sparks nostalgia. “What’s wrong with us?”

“You’re never here anymore.”

You can’t look at him, you just can’t. You shouldn’t, because just seeing his face might bring you to the brink of tears.

Your lives were so different. He was an idol with fans throwing themselves at his feet, and constantly inundated by a plethora of talent and beauty. His ambitions weren’t aligned to yours, and it’s a miracle that the relationship lasted this long. You had such an average life, working a 9-5 job, occasionally going out on weekends to meet up with friends, and spending the remaining free time by watching movies or shows. He was out in different countries, exploring continents you’ve never even been before, and meeting thousands of people almost weekly out on tour.

It didn’t help that the relationship was always a secret. There wasn’t initially any regret about it being hidden, but the insecurities eventually began to gnaw out your insides when swarms of beautiful women flirted so shamelessly with him in front of you when you’d previously gone out on discreet dates.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to be here more. There’s a comeback soon, so the hours at work are endless.” His baritone voice vibrates in his chest against your frame, something all too familiar but hasn’t appeared in a while.

Attempting to be empathetic was easier said than done when you’re angry with someone. Turning your body around, your stare sticking to his upper torso, refraining from looking into his eyes. From your peripheral vision, he’s indisputably exhausted, dark circles residing below his eyes after removing the day’s make-up from photoshoots and filming and visibly slimmer. It isn’t a competition but you were tired too.

“If... this is taking too much of your time,” The words get caught in your throat. “Maybe we should... let this go.”

His breath hitches, taking a moment to absorb the words you’re saying albeit his heart feels like it’s shattering. “It’s not taking much of my time.”

“That’s the problem, you’re not using any of your time with this to begin with.” Practicing in front of your mirror countless times before, you thought you'd recited every possible outcome of the conversation and what you’d argue to every response he had. You were confident until standing in front of Jaehyun. It lessens your assurance on the break-up because everything about him weakens your knees.

Jaehyun pulls you in, wrapping his arms around your waist before dropping his head into the crook of your neck, pressing a warm, gentle kiss against your skin. He couldn’t face you either. “Don’t do this.”

“There’s so many women out there that are better,” You sigh, swallowing the tears. He’s too great of a guy but you’d come to terms that maybe he wasn’t for you. “Someone else who can treat you better. You can’t give me what I want.”

Grabbing your shoulders, he obligates you to look into his eyes as he knits his brows. “Those women aren’t you. Tell me what you want, I’ll do it.”

“Jaehyun, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I don’t get what you mean. We’re talking about this and I’m trying to make it work.”

“That’s the other problem, I don’t want you to make it work anymore. You have to want this, do things willingly and not because I forced you to. It’s different now. I don’t think you love me the same way I do.”

He shakes his head. “You’re wrong,” his eyes are gradually brimming with tears, and you can almost hear the sound of your heart breaking, “I’ve always loved you, I never stopped.”

Jaehyun never cries. He’s all laughs and smiles but never manifestly melancholic. He was great at hiding it but never with you. Overtime, it felt as though the only mood he had was irritation and fatigue, and only his friends and fans were given the opportunity to see the beautiful side of Jaehyun. Seeing him unsteady with your decision made it difficult to leave. Even when the relationship fell apart the first time, he didn’t even seem like he cared. He wanted to portray himself as perfect-- and he was successful at it.

His hand reaches up to push a strand of your hair away from your face and moves it behind your ear. Cupping your cheeks, he leans in, his soft, plump lips capturing yours. He fit into you like the missing piece of a puzzle, and you craved for his touch. Your mind wanted to fight him, push him off and tell him that this was over with because you couldn’t take it anymore. With him pressed up on you against the kitchen counter, he’s the cause of your foggy head and you forget what your mind tells you to do.

Letting go, saliva strings between the two of you, but neither of you are bothered by it. His eyes held despair when they linked with yours, tugging you into his embrace. “These people that step into my life aren’t here for the mutual benefits. They’re all here for my name as a celebrity, they care about who I am only when it has to do with them. They expect me to be perfect all the time, and it’s tiring.” He takes a moment to take a deep breath, nuzzling his nose into your neck, inhaling in your scent.

“When I come home to you, you don’t expect me to be perfect. And I know you still don’t, you just wish I tried. You were never persistent about me being a certain way, and I took it for granted. I just thought you’d always be by my side.”

“You know that I’m always here for you.”

“And I took advantage of that,” He responds, and there’s a sudden wetness on your neck. “That’s my flaw and it’s my fault. I want to be better for you, please let me try again.”

The emotions from the past few months start flooding back, and anger fills your bloodstream, reality hitting you in the face. “What’s going to be different from before? It’ll all still be the same.”

“It won’t.” His voice is stern, and steady, removing you from his grasp. “Come to our showings, come to our concerts, our recordings. Let’s not hide this anymore.”

You choke on your spit. “What?”

Jaehyun’s expression doesn’t change; he’s serious about his idea. “I’m sorry it took me five years, but it’s long overdue. I don’t think I can lose you, you’re my rock. I need you here. Please, think about it.”

“What are you going to be doing on this lovely Friday night?” A co-worker of yours asks, reaching up to your desk an hour before you’d be released from your duties for the weekend. 

“Honestly, not sure yet.”

She raises a brow, crossing her arms against her chest as she leans on the wall of the cubicle. “Hot boyfriend hasn’t had anything planned? If not, you should definitely come by to this new club that opened--”

“Sorry, she has plans.” Startled, the both of you turn your heads to the direction of the voice. Jaehyun’s standing in the walkway between the aisles of desks and cubicles that line up throughout the office, and you’re surprised he even finds yours. “Also, I’m not her boyfriend anymore. Didn’t she tell you, I’m her fiance.” He smiles cheekily, giving your coworker a glimpse of his dimples and raising the bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

His hair is slicked back with gel, the blue dye washed out and a dirty blonde comes out from underneath. He has on a white button-up, a couple buttons undone, sleeves rolled up and shirt tucked in his black slacks. Jaehyun walks over to you, handing you the bouquet before bowing at your coworker. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s our anniversary today.”

“Anniversary?” She glances at you questioningly.

“Yes. Happy 7th Year Anniversary, love.”

[thoushaltnottpass]

War Takes Away Our Humanity

Teaser for Ch1 (basically a trailer.)

Excuse them if they had been a bit surprised at first. One and a half years of quiet had felt too good to be true, but after a few months of being tense and paranoid, people had begun to yearn for tranquility, slowly letting their guard down. Ol' Voldy and his merry band of Death Eaters had all disappeared underground after Harry had challenged their leader to a duel of skill, announcing that Riddle's Horcruxes had been all but demolished, so wizardkind had taken the opportunity to try and regain a semblance of the normality they had had before the war had started.

...

In just a month, Riddle had created utter chaos. His Death Eaters massacred muggleborn families left and right. They burned down the new St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the Albus Dumbledore Home for War Orphans, and the Severus Snape Trauma Center all in one. They overtook the Ministry of Magic once more. Minister Shacklebolt was ruthlessly murdered, as was every Ministry official who stood with him. They were able to destroy the wards around almost half of Wizarding Britain's homes. Hell, the only wards they couldn't take down were ones equal to the ancient family homes, such as Longbottom Hall, Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor, or Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

...

George had broken. He had fallen to his knees in anguish, his tears and promises of revenge never-ending. A day later he had been discovered in his flat's bathroom, blood oozing out of his slit wrists, a moving photograph of him, Angelina, Fred, and some of their other friends at the Yule Ball of 1994 in his hands.

...

In another seven months, over a third of Britain had been demolished. The words You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were gone from everyone's vocabulary; everyone knew very well who. As well as The Dark Lord, fearful whispers on the streets referred to Riddle as the 'Cold One'. There were Death Eater revels almost every week, stated either in Diagon Alley, or various Muggle towns and cities.

...

Despite all of it, Voldemort had not appeared, not once. No-one, wizard or Muggle, had seen him in the flesh and lived to tell the tale. His inner circle members handled most of the revels, raids, and general killings, while he relished in the safety of his hideouts, torturing and/or killing wizards and the occasional muggle. What a way to live.

...

"No, Draco, just keep looking. There's at least another half of this library that we haven't seen. It's all Dark, we're bound to find something."

"Hermione, Harry, please. Just hear me-"

"No, Draco. There has to be another way."

...

"They found Ted Tonks. They're moving in on him, but it'll take them a minute to get through his wards. That's all the time you get before they kill him. Approximately seventy of them. He is there. They expect you to fight, bring as many as possible. High Street, Marlborough. Go, quickly." (A.N: That's a real place. I searched it up- it's in England)

...

Andromeda was the first to fall. She had broken when she had seen the house her husband had resided- and died in, apparently, as the house was now just a pile of ashes surrounded by a lovely fence. Her attention -and shield- wavered just for a second, but that was all that her opponents had needed to take her down. A quick flash of green light, and she had crumpled to the ground, an agonised expression forever on her face. After her, it had been Neville. The brave, yet foolish, man had been battling five Death Eaters by himself -and winning, it seemed- when someone had shot an emerald green jet of light to his back. Seeing him fall had been tragic for all around him, especially Augusta, who had sunk to the ground in despair, clutching her daughter-in-law. Those had been a sad few moments- before Augusta and Hannah had, too, sadly met their ends. Molly Weasley had launched herself into a duel with Bellatrix, and she fought like a vicious lioness. Even lionesses died, however, and that was what had happened to Molly. Percy and Bill, who were briefly distracted from their own duels when her body had tumbled to the floor, had all joined her in the afterlife after being hit by some very Dark curses. Percy had killed Dolohov and jumped in for his mother, grieving but level-headed, though he was no match for the serpent that was Bellatrix. Soon, the only remaining Weasley was Ron, not that he had had much time to register it, as he was battling three very dangerous Dark wix.

...

"My dear Death Eaters, would you look at this," Voldemort drawled in his snake's hiss, drawing out the 's' at the end. "The only members of the Light we have not yet defeated."

...

"Ronald Weasley," Ron looked repulsed at hearing the bald snake say his name. "You could have been great, my dear boy. You could have brought the Prewetts and Weasleys back to their former glory, but you chose not to. You are a disgrace to the pureblood name.”

If anything, Ron looked proud at that.

"Draco Malfoy," he announced, his eyes straying to the blond man. "You are a traitor to our cause, Draco. You didn't think I knew about that measly code, that spelled parchment, those private little Charms lessons? Your mother died as soon as I made her send that Patronus, boy. Your father must be rolling in his grave. Filthy blood-traitor," Draco's mask flickered for a second at the news of his mother's death, but he determinedly put it back into place, strengthening his shields.

The Death Eaters gleefully snickered at the mention of the deceased woman. Bellatrix outright cackled madly. A look from her beloved Lord quietened her immediately.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione looked ready to spit in his face and stomp on his non-nose. "You are the brightest witch of your age. A Mudblood, yes, but bright nonetheless. I would gladly excuse your unfortunate heritage. Join me, my dear, and bask in the praise and glory Lord Voldemort will give you. Join me, and be rewarded greatly," he purred. "Hermione."

"Rot in hell, Riddle," Hermione spat, seeming beyond revolted.

"Very well. And Harry Potter," Riddle sneered. "The Chosen One. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Saviour of the World. Where have you been as the world needed you, Mr Potter? You once took everything from me, Harry. And now," Voldemort smiled a sickening smile, and Hermione's shield faltered. "I shall take all from you." He raised his wand, and a jet of green light rushed toward Harry's best and only female friend.

Hermione didn't panic. Her life didn't flash before her eyes. She just felt numb. She dropped her arm and closed her eyes, ready to meet her fate. But apparently, fate had other ideas. Because she didn't see the black abyss she had thought would absorb her, she didn't feel the spell she thought would hit her, and she didn't die. No, instead, she heard a shout of her name, and as she opened her eyes, she saw a mop of bright, orange hair, followed by a thump on the ground in front of her.

"No!" she cried in sorrow.

...

Ron... Ginny... Molly... Andy...

...

“We have no other choice.”

“Draco-”

“No, Hermione, please listen to me,” Draco pleaded. “If we had another option, I would gladly choose it, but there isn’t another option. Please know that I would never ask you to do this unless it was the only way. But, don’t you see? This isn’t Dark magic, because I’m willing.”

...

“O cara mors vetus noster animos habere pudicos, et nostri bonis magicae. Rogamus te ut nos back: reversusque est in tempore. Obsecro mi mors sanguis nostras quaesumus ut nos salvos et mundo. Mortem, et dabo te in sanguinem et vitam draco malfoy, et in reditu ad nos a vobis et nobis bonum passagium praeterita, ita non potest prohibere mala et beatitudo omnibus!”

...

Tears streaming down their cheeks, they both thrust their knives into his gut. Draco cried out at the unimaginable pain. He slumped to the floor, writhing in agony.

They repeated the words once more as he bled out in front of them.

...

Hermione turned to Harry, and saw that his face was also twisted in pain, as though he could feel what Draco was feeling.

“We're monsters.” she said numbly. “We killed someone pure.”

“This is what war does, Mione,” he muttered numbly. “It takes everything from you until the only thing you have left is your humanity. Then it takes that, too.”

Draco gave one last twitch, one last whimper, before he became still, his pain still on his face. At that very moment, Hermione and Harry stumbled feeling a pull in their stomachs not unlike what one felt mid-Apparition. The wind around them spun quickly in a circle, and the two friends let go of each other's hands.

...

That had been her last thought before she had stopped flying and landed on her two feet; the world went dark, and she slumped to the shining floor of the abyss. And for the first time in a long time, Hermione Granger rested, no bad dreams or dark memories plaguing her. Little did she know, she would have quite the same fright when she woke up.

[were-all-idjits-here]

Still Alive, Part I: What About Dean?

Request from @totallyluciferr​ : the reader lives in a universe where Supernatural is fiction and they’re a big fan of SPN, so the reader is re-watching the episode where Dean and Castiel gets zapped to Purgatory, they suddenly get zapped to Sam and Amelia’s house. Then the reader tries to tell Sam that Dean is trapped in Purgatory and needs help. The reader ends up meeting and saving Dean. 

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst, cursing

A/N: this was meant to be a one-shot, but I have no self control and it got away from me and became super long. In an attempt to not make this 5000 miles long or make the end super rushed, I’ll be posting this in three parts. Hoping to have all three up by the 27th. @totallyluciferr​ thank you so much for being patient while I took forever to write this. Some mental health issues have made writing hard, but I want to make sure I take the time to get this done well the first time.

~~Read here on AO3~~

You noticed how heavy your head felt before you even opened your eyes. A hard, cold surface laid beneath you and you frowned. The last thing you remember was laying on the couch in your shitty apartment, trying to drown out your screaming neighbors on one side and the blaring music on the other with your favorite show, Supernatural. It had partially been working, even if you were annoyed at having to turn subtitles on to be able to understand some of what they were saying. You had almost nodded off right when Dean and Cas got zapped to Purgatory in the season 7 finale when there had been a bright white light. Had you fallen to the floor maybe? But what had the light been?

You groaned and slowly sat up, bringing a hand up to your head. Your forehead bumped something cold and you slowly opened your eyes, backing up a bit. You were suddenly very awake as you realized there was a gun pointed at you. You were even more awake when you followed the hand holding it up to the face and realized you were sprawled out on a nicely manicured lawn in front of Sam Winchester.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment before you broke the silence with a loud, “What the fuck!”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking,” Sam growled, still pointing his gun at you. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

You blinked, jumping as you heard the safety click off. “Take it easy. I have no clue how I got here. I was on my couch one minute and now I’m here and this can’t possibly be real and holy shit, I must’ve had too much to drink and oh my god you’re Sam fucking Winchester, I thought this was just a TV show, what the fuck is going on—”

“Okay, easy, easy!” Sam lowered his gun, but still kept it tightly in his hand. He frowned before holding out a hand to help you up.

You hesitantly took it and let him pull you to your feet. Sam clicked the safety back on the gun and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. He roughly grabbed your wrist and yanked you across the backyard, up the steps of the back porch and through a back door into a dimly lit kitchen. You recognized the house as Amelia’s from the show and realized you must be somewhere either in or close to the season 8 premiere. In or close to the season 8 premiere—holy hell, had you seriously somehow been Blue scadooed into the TV? That couldn’t be possible, no fucking way—

“Hey, hey, hey—breathe!” Sam suddenly knelt in front of you from where he’d been rummaging through the cupboards. You suddenly realized the faint wheezing sound you’d been hearing was coming from you and it felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You grabbed the table for support, your palm coming down flat on top of a fork. The prongs stung your hand, confirming this was real. You wouldn’t be able to feel pain in a dream, right?

A brown paper bag was suddenly thrust in front of you and you panted into it gratefully. After a few minutes, you could feel your pulse and breathing slow.

“That’s it, nice and slow,” Sam said, taking a deep breath in and slowly blowing it out. You mimicked him for several minutes until you felt coherent enough to set the bag down on the counter. “Hold this,” Sam said quietly, gently putting the silver fork into your hand. When nothing happened, he handed you a glass of water next. “Drink this.” Again, nothing happened and Sam sat down across from you, seeming satisfied.

You let a deep breath out slowly before asking, “How the hell is this real?”

Sam shook his head. It took all your restraint not to laugh at the famous wifi-shaped wrinkles that formed above his brow. “I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, then down his face. “What did you mean you thought this was just a TV show? And how do you know my name?”

“It’s gonna sound insane.”

“I specialize in insane. Try me.”

You swallowed hard, taking another drink of water. “So, um…I came from this…world, I guess, where your and Dean’s lives are a TV show and you’re fictional characters. I was actually on the episode that shows the events that happened probably…six-ish months ago, fell asleep, saw a bright white light and then woke up in your backyard.”

Sam nodded. “Dean and I got zapped to some sort of universe forever ago where our lives were a TV show. We kept getting mistaken for the actors.”

“Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Why would you wanna watch our lives anyway? It’s just a bunch of darkness and death and despair.” His face seemed to sink at the last sentence and you noticed his dark circles and sunken cheeks. You glanced at the clock you noticed behind him to see it read 3:30am. So he wasn’t sleeping. It made sense after everything he’d been through.

“Well, I mean…at first, it was kind of cathartic, watching the good guys win, ya know? Then I just got so attached to you and Dean as characters—er, people, I guess, that I just kept watching. I just wanted to root for you and watch you win.”

Sam smiled sadly. “Well, thanks, I guess. Haven’t been a lot of wins lately.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, “I’m sorry. Thanks for saving the world and stuff.”

Sam gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, avoiding your gaze as he picked some stray paint off the edge of the kitchen table. “So…what did you mean when you said you were on the episode about events six months or so ago? What happened?”

You hesitated, realizing how fragile of a state he was still in. “You sure you wanna know?”

His dark circles seemed even more prominent now. “When we…lost Dean?”

“Yeah,” you barely whispered.

Sam nodded, biting his lip and looking at his lap, renewing his efforts to pick at the table. The two of you sat in awkward silence for several minutes.

“I’m sorry you had to watch that,” you finally murmured.

“Yeah, me too.” He paused. “I’ve seen my brother die before, but it always felt like I could bring him back, ya know? This time…there isn’t even a body left to bring back. He’s really gone for good this time.” He sniffled. “But, I’ll figure out how to get you home, don’t worry—”

“Dean’s not dead,” you blurted.

Sam’s head shot up and he stared at you bug-eyed. “What?”

“He’s not dead. When monsters die, they go to Purgatory, which is where Dick went. That’s where Dean and Cas are. They’re still alive.”

Sam squinted suspiciously. “Says who? The show?”

You nodded. What followed was a long string of questioning from Sam about events from the show, no doubt trying to find out how accurate it was to his real life—which still felt insane to say; you still weren’t completely convinced one of your neighbors’ drug fumes hadn’t floated through your vents and triggered some sort of acid dream—and you answered them to the best of your ability.

By the time 45 minutes had flown by full of questions, you sighed. “Look, Sam, you said you’d been to my universe, so you know it’s a real place. I passed all your tests, so I’m not a monster that’s trying to drag you out of your apple pie life. How long has it been since Dean and Cas disappeared?”

“Six months,” Sam answered, his face still skeptic.

“Okay, so Dean was trapped in Purgatory for a year in the show. There’s a portal in Purgatory that lets humans escape, since they’re not supposed to be there. I don’t know how the hell we would do it, but if we can find where he emerges from Purgatory and somehow get a message to him, we can get him out.”

Sam opened his mouth to reply when a woman’s voice behind you suddenly said, “Sam? What’s going on?”

You spun around to see a sleepy Amelia standing in her PJs, looking at you blearily with wary dark eyes.

Sam glanced at you, then smoothly said, “She was on her way home from a friend’s sleepover and got lost. She stopped here to ask for help. I know her address and I’m gonna drive her home.”

Amelia frowned. “You were on your way home from a friend’s sleepover at almost five in the morning?”

“Things were getting a little too rowdy for me.” You hoped you looked and sounded convincing. “They’re big partiers and I guess I didn’t realize how big till the drugs came out and…” You did your best to look sheepish and shrugged. “I noped out of there.”

“Oh, yikes,” Amelia said. She looked at Sam. “You’ll be back soon?”

“Yeah,” he answered, grabbing a familiar set of car keys off the counter behind him. He stood and gave her a parting kiss. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you soon.” He motioned for you to follow as Amelia trudged back up the steps to the bedroom.

You stood in awe for a moment as Sam led you to the garage. The Impala. Baby. You gently reached out and touched the immaculate black paint, feeling a strange sense of calm as you looked over the car. Sam watched you from the driver’s side. “Big part of the show, I take it?”

“It’s practically its own character,” you replied. “If something happened to Baby, I’d probably cry.”

Sam chuckled as he climbed in. “Dean would’ve loved you.”

You climbed in after him, making sure to take care with how you shut the door. You sighed as you settled down on the leather seat. This felt good. This felt like home. “Would, Sam. He’s still alive.”

Sam glanced at you warily before opening the garage door and firing up the engine. He didn’t reply as you backed out of the driveway and sped down the road. “There’s a motel about five miles away. I’ll get you a room for a couple days while I figure out how to get you home. Don’t worry about the bill.”

“I don’t want to go home, Sam, I want to find Dean.”

“Listen, this isn’t a life you should want just because some TV show romanticizes hunting. Hunting isn’t some noble, epic good versus evil battle. It’s brutal and all it has is death and darkness and pain. You lose people all the time, there’s risk of you dying all the time, you see things you can never unsee—”

“Yes, I know, I do watch the show. I’m not saying the life is like that, I’m saying you’re doing something. You’re saving people and through that, proving your worth. Plus it’s not like I don’t have my own trauma, you know. My life home is shit. I don’t even have anyone or anything, a shit apartment, a shit job—”

“I’m not saying you don’t have your own trauma or that it isn’t as valid. But you seriously think this is better? If it weren’t for Amelia, I wouldn’t have anyone right now either.”

“But Dean’s alive, Sam! We can save him!”

“Just stop talking about it, okay?”

“Why won’t you believe me? I aced your quiz back in the kitchen.”

“I just don’t know if I believe you. That’s a show, it’s Hollywoodized! This is real life!”

“Do you really not believe or do you just not want to believe me?” Sam didn’t reply, but you could see how white his knuckles were as they gripped the wheel. You had always been frustrated with the fact that Sam didn’t look for Dean in the show, but had always held a level of sympathy for him. That level was quickly evaporating. If it was Dean you were talking to, he probably would’ve taken any chance—no matter how small—that his brother was alive and done something with it. You saw the motel fast approaching out the window and knew you were quickly losing your chance. “How many times as Kevin called you, hm? Kevin needs help, I have proof that your brother’s alive and we can save him and you’re seriously just gonna sit here on your ass—”

The Impala’s tires screeched as Sam made a hard right into the motel parking lot, barely putting the car in park before yanking the keys out of the ignition. “Stay here,” he growled before slamming the door closed behind him and stomping into the lobby.

You fumed in your seat, pulling out your phone to find that you did have signal. You quickly opened the Notes app and jotted down the place where you remembered Dean emerges from Purgatory in the show before you forgot. Since someone wasn’t interested in helping you, maybe you would just have to make a visit yourself. But he wouldn’t escape for another six months. How the hell were you going to speed that time frame up? Witchcraft, maybe? But you didn’t know anything about hunting. If you tried to contact a witch, you would end up dead for sure.

Just as you were googling where the nearest library was, a knock on your car window made you jump. Sam stood there, still fuming and holding two keys in his hand. You rolled your eyes and got out, following him into room 205 on the second floor. He slammed the door behind you, pointing a long finger at you. “You stay in this room until I can figure out a way to get you home—and you are going home. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

“So you’re trapping me here? Should I assume both of those keys are for you then?”

He handed over a key, along with a credit card to your surprise. “This is for clothes and food. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get you home.” He handed you his phone next. “Put in your number and name.”

You begrudgingly complied and handed him your phone to do the same.

“Stay,” Sam said again as he made his way towards the door. “You’ll thank me later.”

“What about Dean?”

Sam sighed, pausing in the doorway. “We’ll see. But there’s no way he’s still alive.”

“I’m telling you, there is.”

You saw Sam’s shoulders heave for a brief moment. “I’ll look into it.” With that, he slammed the door behind him and you heard the click of the lock, completing your cage.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 10

An Asha’man contemplates personhood and Perrin finally has a meeting.

Chapter 10: After the Taint

Back to Perrin, who’s talking with Elyas and Grady and walking through camp and still not meeting Galad. His last chapter seemed like the last few moments before such a meeting, but I guess we’re drawing this out a bit more?

Ah, a fallen statue with a sword. Well, now I know generally where we are in the timeline, at least. That’s the statue Rand mentioned to Nynaeve (when he told her to dream on my behalf, Nynaeve; and yes, that still hurts).

Perrin’s second-guessing all his life choices—okay, in fairness, mostly just his recent strategic choices—and Elyas, voice of reason, is making the very good point that you can’t actually anticipate every eventuality. Or, as Lan might say, “You can never know everything, and part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps even the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that.”

Lan may not be there, but I’m glad Perrin has both Elyas and Tam with him. Both of them are good… not just grounding influences but I guess… steadying ones. They’re people who have gone through quite a lot of Life Experience, not all of it pleasant, and have emerged from it with a clear sense of who they are, and how they fit into the world around them. And Perrin needs people like that with him now; Rand needs people who help remind him he’s human, Mat needs his Greek chorus, and Perrin needs… people who have found that kind of balance within themselves, to show him it’s possible. Elyas, who has found his balance between man and wolf. Tam, the farmer and soldier, and neither of those lessening the other. In a way, I think they’re both not unlike the sort of person Perrin himself might be when he’s older.

I suppose what I’m getting at here is, it’s good for Perrin to have some role models.

Ugh, apparently the Two Rivers people are still judging Perrin for that time they think he slept with Berelain. Don’t slutshame the wolfboy, people; for all you know he has an open marriage!

…Okay anyone who’s met Faile could likely guess that’s not the case. But they should know better than to trust so much to rumour, especially when they know Perrin. Unfortunately, though, people are people. Also, you know, Wheel Of Absolutely No Communication and all that. Sigh.

Perrin wants to sneak into the Whitecloaks’ camp for a rescue mission, and Grady just wants to go Dumai’s Wells on their asses. Not…sure either of those is exactly a great solution here, boys. Have you considered talking? Oh, wait, no, forgot what series I’m reading.

He hated the idea of letting the Asha’man loose with impunity. The scent of burned flesh in the air, the earth ripped apart and broken. The scents of Dumai’s Wells. However, he couldn’t afford another distraction like Malden. If there were no other choice, he’d give the order.

And now he knows how Rand felt, when he did give that order.

Still, this could be taken as a small moment of growth for Perrin, to acknowledge—hating the idea but not letting it drag him fully into a crisis of self-hatred—that he could do this, will do this if he has to. That this is an option available to him, and that if it is necessary, he’ll do it. And being able to do that not in the moment (the way he sort of did with the Shaido prisoners, for example), and not in that desperate single-minded focus on finding Faile, but as a simple evaluation of the options available to him, in anticipation of what might be needed for this next task.

Still, for all their sakes, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Not yet, though. There are no coincidences with ta’veren. The wolves, the Whitecloaks. Things he had been outrunning for some time were returning to hunt him.

Wow that sounds almost like self-awareness! And lack of denial! Again, to Perrin’s credit, he’s been alright at that for a little while now, but it’s still a big enough achievement that I’ll celebrate it whenever it happens with these boys.

But yes, Perrin. It’s the endgame of an epic fantasy series; there are no coincidences here.

The Whitecloaks had haunted him since his early days out of the Two Rivers. Dealing with them had never been simple.

It felt like the time had come. Time to make an end to his troubles with them, one way or another.

That, basically. Coming full circle and getting closure to an arc and all that fun stuff.

Which is another reason why this shouldn’t end in violence, perhaps. Because that’s what started all of this: Perrin fought the Whitecloaks, and killed two of them (and then several more, with Gaul, for old times’ sake), and had to Deal With That, both in his own mind acknowledging himself as a killer and with the consequences of it. And at every stage of this he’s been in conflict with the Whitecloaks. Fighting them directly, or at odds with them in the Two Rivers.

(They make such a good point of conflict for him too, especially when you set the Tuatha’an on the other side, because together they kind of represent an extreme version of some of the sides of Perrin’s own conflict within himself. The Tuatha’an as an extreme version of his wish for peace and his fear of the violence he carries within himself; the Whitecloaks as an extreme version of a determination to do the right thing.)

But now the Whitecloaks are being set up for a kind of redemption via Galad, and Perrin’s arc is drawing to a close for the endgame, and so it would fit both sides for this long-running conflict, which challenges the fundamentals of who they are, to come to a close not in violence but in alliance. To recognise in each other something to be admired rather than only something to be feared or hated. To see points of similarity rather than just irreconcilable difference. Because to do so would also, I think, mean accepting some of those things in themselves, so that they can all move forwards.

And on the subject of alliance where once was enmity, the Asha’man and Aes Sedai with Perrin have figured out linking. Well, Neald has, and Grady seems keen to get on board. Cooperation! Overcoming millennia-long barriers! Being stronger together!

“Light! It’s wonderful. We should have done this months ago.”

Or centuries, but it’s all relative, right?

I do love, though, that at almost every turn, once this kind of cooperation happens, it’s seen by those involved as something positive, treated with this kind of joyous amazement. Like Nynaeve’s first time as part of a circle, or this, or affirmations of friendship, or those moments when characters finally decide to be open or honest with one another. It’s almost always rewarded; it takes a hell of a lot of work and time and pain to get there, but once they do, it’s something good.

“I was wondering if I might…” [Grady] seemed hesitant. “Well, if I might have leave to slip over to the Black Tower for an afternoon, to see my family.”

Oh. Oh man. Okay I think I see where this is going. (The importance of having family, to keep him grounded, as Rand recognised so long ago when he first started gathering men who could channel, before he all but lost sight of his own anchors. And the taint is gone now so it’s safe, or at least safer…).

Also, please let Grady or someone go to the Black Tower because I need a Black Tower interlude. It has been far too long and there have been far too few in the first place. What is happening there. I need to know. Because of reasons.

Damn it Perrin let him go see his family! I mean okay fair, there’s a clear threat ahead and a possible threat behind so tactically yeah, not a great time. And he does agree to let Grady go at some point soon.

“You never worried about this before, Grady,” Perrin said. “Has something changed?”

“Everything,” Grady said softly. Perrin got a whiff of his scent. Hopeful. “It changed a few weeks back. But of course you don’t know. Nobody knows. Fager and I weren’t certain at first, and we weren’t sure if we should tell anyone for fear of sounding delusional.”

“Know what?”

“My Lord, the taint. It’s gone.”

And with it, the certain death sentence they’ve all been living under. It does change everything: once, they were weapons, because that was all they could hope to be in their brief time of power before madness. Once, all they could do in the end was die for this cause. Now, there’s a chance they can live for it. Can let themselves be more than weapons again, can hope for something more.

In its own way it’s yet another version of Rand’s realisation on Dragonmount, for all that this comes earlier chronologically (and for all that we’ve seen it happen already for some of the characters who were closer to the cleansing). This idea that there might be more to the future than death, more to give than a last stand and despair, more to be than a weapon.

The timing of this does seem kind of weird, given that the cleansing was several books ago now, and the explanation that they were waiting to be sure… eh, I suppose no one ever tells anyone anything in this series so it doesn’t strain suspension of disbelief too far. I suppose it just feels weird because everything about Perrin’s chapters up until now has felt like a building up of tension before his inevitable meeting with Galad, and this feels like a kind of random digression.

Not an unimportant one—this is lovely, and fits well in terms of where we are in the overall story in the sense of realisation of hope once thought lost—but just… somewhat oddly placed.

“Seems the sort of thing Rand might have been about,” Perrin said.

Which might just be the most chill reaction to hearing about the cleansing of saidin we’ve seen from anyone. Oh, a miracle? The removal of a three-thousand-year-old evil that has gradually destroyed so much of society and thrown the world out of balance? Yeah, that sounds like something Rand would do, cool, fair enough.

It probably helps that Perrin himself can’t channel, so all of this would feel a bit more… abstract, maybe? Which might make it easier to accept than it would be for someone to whom this is an integral part of their lives. Still, it makes me laugh.

“When I joined the Lord Dragon, I knew what would happen to me. A few more years and I’d be gone. Might as well spend them fighting. The Lord Dragon told me I was a soldier, and a soldier can’t leave his duty. So I haven’t asked to go back before now. You needed me.”

“That’s changed?”

“My Lord, the taint is gone. I’m not going to go mad. That means… well, I’ve always had a reason to fight. But now I’ve got a reason to live, too.”

This, exactly. The difference between having something to die for and having something to live for; dying for a cause and living for one. It’s adjacent to Rand’s own why do you fight question and realisation, but it’s also the realisation that there is something more than death ahead.

There’s a kind of honour, certainly, in knowing he’s going to die and deciding to at least make that death worth something—give that brief time before madness to some kind of cause, use this power that damns him to serve some goal. But now that’s not the only choice. Now he can decide to fight, still, but also to live, and to hope for something else; to be a soldier, yes, but not merely a weapon.

It’s one of those shifts in perspective that from one angle looks so slight but that actually means everything, that changes everything.

And again, while the specific timing in this chapter is a little weird, it otherwise is such a fitting realisation; sure, it’s technically before Dragonmount, but narratively it’s during this time when this kind of shifting perspective is spreading across the world from its epicentre: the mountain where hope first seemed to die and now at last has been restored. This realisation that there’s more than just a dark inevitability to the future; that instead there are choices and things to live for and possibilities and second chances.

(There’s one rather prominent character who still has yet to come to his own version of this realisation, but he’s riding towards it now, unless I am very much mistaken).

That was what Perrin had sensed in the Asha’man all along, the reason they held themselves apart, often seeming so sombre. Everyone else fought for life. The Asha’man… they’d fought to die.

That’s how Rand feels, Perrin thought.

Indeed. And almost surprisingly perceptive of Perrin; for a while in the middle he sort of… didn’t quite allow himself to see Rand’s despair and sadness. But he’s absolutely right, in this.

And he touches on another key part of this change, in that thought of the Asha’man holding themselves apart. Not quite letting themselves be part of the world in the same way as others, not allowing themselves connections and friendships and anchors; turning themselves to weapons (or, in Rand’s case, to steel, to cuendillar). Which then leads to a kind of apathy or despair, to no longer having anything to live for, because they allow themselves nothing, because they don’t allow themselves to be people. But now they can, and so Grady is reaching back out to those things that mattered, back when he was a person and not a weapon (like the veins of gold). Drawing on them once more to pull himself back, to let himself be himself again.

I suppose in a way this ties into where Perrin is in his own story as well, now that he has found Faile and come out of the other side of that single-minded despair in which nothing else mattered. Because he, too, is finding his footing again after that. Finding some kind of purpose. It’s not like-for-like, but it all ties together.

Grady laughed. It felt odd, but good, to hear that from the man.

Laughter and tears.

Oh, are we actually going to get the meeting with Galad now?

“There is a stranger riding along the road towards camp. He flies a flag of peace, but he wears the clothing of these Children of the Light.”

FINALLY.

Oh good Tam is here. Tam is a good person to have around when everything’s likely to go to shit.

Ah it’s Dain Bornhald rather than Galad. That’s… not exactly ideal. He and Perrin didn’t precisely part on the best of terms. Or meet on the best of terms. Or ever interact on anything but the worst of terms, really.

Anyway Bornhald opens by calling Perrin a criminal so we’re off to a great start.

“It is you. The Light has delivered you to us.”

“Unless it has also delivered you an army three or four times the size of the one you have now,” Perrin called, “then I doubt very much that it will matter.”

I’m always here for Perrin’s backtalk, of course, but I’m pretty sure an outright threat isn’t going to help this situation any. Then again, it was more or less a lost cause as soon as Bornhald showed up, given I don’t think anything but a severe concussion and possibly amnesia is going to change his opinion of Perrin, so.

Perrin’s attempting something vaguely resembling diplomacy, in that he’s basically saying ‘why don’t we just ignore each other until we’re out of sight’, but Bornhald’s not so keen on that option. Unsurprisingly.

“But I will leave that for the Lord Captain Commander to explain. He wishes to see you for himself.”

YES. FINALLY.

Though Perrin’s not so keen on walking into what could very likely be a trap, and Tam’s thinking much the same thing… but hey, he’s ta’veren; what could possibly go wrong? When has knowing they’re walking into a trap ever gone anything but perfectly well for any of these characters? (Don’t answer that).

“Burn me, Tam. I have to at least try before attacking them.”

That’s… a fair point, at least given Perrin’s own sense of honour and morality. It’s part of his ongoing conflict with the Whitecloaks as well, really: at none of their encounters has he actually wanted to kill them, or to attack first. He’s not out hunting them, and while he does sort of bear a grudge against them now, it wasn’t always that way. It’s just that there’s quite a lot of bad blood there, and even in the early days things went south quickly, and so it inevitably ended in bloodshed.

The six of them broke away from camp, and blessedly, Faile didn’t seem to have heard what was happening. Perrin would bring her if there was a longer parley or discussion, but he intended this trip to be quick, and he needed to be able to move without worrying about her.

Kind of a shame, given that she could be an asset in a discussion or negotiation. But at least he knows that well enough to be thinking of bringing her along if there’s going to be extended talking, I suppose. Would Galad know her? Maybe not on sight, but I’d imagine he might know her name, and certainly would know her father’s… that could help. Or not; who knows.

HI GALAD.

The tall man had fine features and short, dark hair. Most women would probably call him handsome. He smelled… better than the other Whitecloaks.

This description is just trying way too hard to emphasise the ‘no homo’ that it pretty much runs screaming in the other direction, and I’m laughing.

“Goldeneyes,” the man said. “So it is true.”

“You’re the Lord Captain Commander?” Perrin asked.

“I am.”

Oh, of course we’re doing this without Perrin ever getting his name. Of course. I can’t quite decide if that strains my suspension of disbelief or not, but either way: ARGH. Then again, Perrin’s never actually met Galad and doesn’t know that Maighdin is Morgase, and barely even knows Elayne, so knowing Galad’s identity might not actually help him all that much.

“What will it take for you to release the people of mine you’re holding?”

“My men tell me they tried such an exchange once,” the Whitecloak leader said. “And that you deceived them and betrayed them.”

Well, yes, they would say that. But Galad, you of all people should know that there are probably more sides to that particular story, especially given you’re not getting it from an unbiased source.

Galad keeps listing out Perrin’s alleged crimes, some of which could be argued to be true (killing Whitecloaks); some of which are bullshit (leading Trollocs to attack his own village), but none of which he has any actual evidence for, beyond the word of his own men. Their word against Perrin’s, and it seems like Galad should also know that just because he’s the Lord Captain Commander now, and trying to drag this organisation kicking and screaming into some kind of redemption, doesn’t mean everyone in it is suddenly noble and honourable and not lying outright to him.

Or even that they’re mistaken. That, as is so often the case, there’s just more to the story. That maybe the people whose information he’s relying on didn’t know everything that was actually happening. Which is closer to the truth, really; Bornhald genuinely believes Perrin is evil, and so everything else gets filtered through that lens of confirmation bias.

“I want a more formal parley, where we can sit down and discuss. Not something improvised like this.”

“I doubt that will be needed,” the Whitecloak leader said. “I am not here to bargain. I merely wanted to see you for myself. You wish your people freed? Meet my army on the field of battle. Do this, and I will release the captives, regardless of the outcome.”

I am a little surprised Galad outright refuses Perrin’s request to sit down and talk about this like adults. Because sure, he’s seen Perrin now, but what information does that tell him? It’s a perfectly reasonable request, and nothing Perrin’s said to him has been particularly unreasonable, and again, Galad should know better than to just take as absolute truth everything he’s been told.

Then again, Bornhald told him the truth about Valda and Morgase, so maybe that’s earned him Galad’s trust? Still, it seems odd that he wouldn’t give Perrin some kind of chance—a trial, or a conversation—to defend himself, before challenging him to a battle, where so many more people could die.

I just don’t get Galad sometimes, but what else is new.

“Your force will face ours under the Light,” the Whitecloak leader said. “Those are our terms.”

So you’re just going to sentence some of your own people to death in order to determine this, rather than… talk? Sure. Okay. Trial by combat by proxy; why the hell not.

I’m still guessing it’s not actually going to come to that, somehow, though I can’t quite see how. Unless Galad sees Morgase. That’s the only thing I can think of that could potentially stop this from turning into the mess it’s currently heading for.

He could take the Whitecloak leader captive right here, with barely a thought.

Perrin was tempted. But they had come under the Whitecloak’s oath of safety. He would not break the peace.

That’s some rather weird logic, if you’re intending to then meet him on the field of battle. Capture one person, and the cost is breaking an oath of peace. Keep that oath of peace, and the cost is, very probably, the lives of some of the people following you.

I mean okay, I get it, truce flags should be honoured because otherwise Bad Things Happen, but… eh. Like with a lot of the ‘rules’ of warfare, sometimes thinking about it too hard gets a bit weird.

***

Oh we get a Galad POV now, so maybe his thinking will make more sense. Though admittedly I don’t hold out a great deal of hope for that, because again, Galad’s thought process just baffles me sometimes.

Those golden eyes were unsettling. He had discounted Byar’s insistence that this man was not merely a Darkfriend, but Shadowspawn. However, looking into those eyes, Galad was no longer certain he could dismiss those claims.

Come on, Galad, did no one ever teach you not to judge people by their appearance?

Like, on the one hand… okay, people he trusts have told him some pretty terrible thing about this guy, and he does have (apparently) unsettling eyes, and he didn’t deny any of the accusations Galad listed out. And confirmation bias, again, is a strong thing. It does make sense that he would be wary of Perrin, and expect him to be an enemy, to potentially be evil, and to see that at least his physical description matches what he was told so maybe the rest does, too.

It’s just frustrating.

“They would not have harmed me,” Galad said.

So you’ll believe he’s a monster, but also that you were safe?

To be fair, his reasoning for why he was safe does make sense, more or less, given what he knows and (mostly) what he assumes.

“If he is as you and Child Byar say, then he worries greatly about his image. He didn’t lead Trollocs against the Two Rivers directly. He pretended to defend them.” Such a man would act with subtlety. Galad had been safe.

Well, it makes sense if you partially discard Occam’s Razor and also fail to account for the possibility that he’s not as Bornhald and Child Byar say. Then again, if that’s true, then Galad was also safe, because Perrin’s not a monster or a threat.

Alright, fine, Galad, I’ll give you that one.

Those eyes… they were almost a condemnation by themselves.

Seriously, people, what is it with determining a person’s morality by their eye colour? You live in a world with literal magic! Sometimes weird shit happens!

And Aybara had reacted to the mention of the murdered Whitecloaks, stiffening. Beyond that, there was the talk his people gave of him in alliance with the Seanchan and having with him men who could channel.

Again, I can just about see where Galad’s coming from, and how he’s putting the pieces together, but I wish he’d stop for just a moment to consider that maybe there’s more to the story. But then, he’s hardly the only person in this series to come to not-entirely-accurate conclusions based on flawed or incomplete information. They’re all just working with what they have, and sometimes what they have is wrong, but… well, if I gave Lan’s a portion of wisdom quote to Perrin earlier, I suppose it’s only fair I grant Galad the same courtesy now. He doesn’t have perfect evidence that what he’s been told is right, but it paints a compelling enough picture, and he doesn’t have much evidence to the contrary, either.

Better to defeat this Aybara now, than to wait and face him at the Last Battle. As quickly as that, he made his decision. The right decision. They would fight.

Morgase, get over here; we need you.  

Previous (ToM ch 9)

[kumeko]

Title: Corrin’s not-so-fun vacation

A/N: For the Fire Emblem Press Start Zine! I like making happy AUs where everyone can just live together.

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Standing in front of the Residential Services, Corrin frowned. She was far too familiar with these large oak doors, with the rooms hidden within. In fact, she could count the number of times she’d visited this place in the past week with both her hands. Most people, she heard, only visited this place once a month at most.

 “Is something wrong?” Azura asked, clutching her hands anxiously. Dressed in a blue-white sundress, she looked like the picture of island living. She even had a large, floppy hat.

 She wished she could look just as carefree, but summer fun had to wait. Corrin sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Nothing, it’s just…” She eyed Azura again, taking in the healthy tan of her skin, the lack of worry lines on her face. For a woman who used to seem like she was on the brink of collapse, she looked like the epitome of life now. “You like it here, right?”

 “Of course.” Azura smiled softly. She clutched the brim of her hat as she bashfully added, “I have to thank you for bringing me here. You were right, we really did need a vacation from…well…” Trailing off, Azura glanced at her helplessly. “You know.”

Oh, did she know. Corrin could only nod her agreement. There wasn’t an easy, quick way to bring up the war between Nohr and Hoshido, between the land of her birth and the land she was raised in. And that wasn’t including the heartbreak of fighting her siblings, the strangeness of her newfound powers, or any of the other things that occurred during her mission to bring peace.

 The worst part, perhaps, was that it didn’t end with peace. No, even with her families leading their respective countries and Xander and Ryoma signing a treaty to end all conflict, there was still so much work to be done. Rebuilding took time and effort, whether it was property or relationships. It was taxing. For months, Corrin’s eyes looked like that of a raccoon’s. At some point, she just had to take a break from it all.  Chuckling deprecatingly, Corrin smiled wearily. “Well, we wouldn’t be much help if we collapsed, right?”

 “Certainly.” Azura tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, troubled. “Though I am not sure if it is a good idea to leave our countries for so long.”

 “It’s fine.” Corrin reached out and squeezed Azura’s hands tightly. “Time passes slower here, remember? They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

 “That…is true,” she admitted reluctantly.

 Emboldened, Corrin continued, “It might just be a single day that’s passed. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

 “I hope so.” Azura giggled, a bell-like sound. She smiled appreciatively. “I have to say, though, Jakob managed to find the perfect Deep Realm. This world is quite idyllic.”

 “I wonder just how many he went through to find this place.” Corrin scratched her cheek, considering her faithful butler. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if Jakob was even human—he could track her down anywhere, find whatever it was she needed, and was equally as capable in the castle as he was on the battlefield. “Though the inhabitants here are…strange.”

 Azura glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot before agreeing. “I still cannot believe there are talking animals here. I am not sure what is odder, that the citizens here are all animals or that there are maybe one or two humans in existence.”

 Corrin leaned closer, speaking in hushed tones. Even though she doubted anyone here had a weapon, let alone could wield it, she didn’t want to raise their ire. She had enough angry citizens to deal with at home. “It’s so weird. They sound like they’re saying gibberish, but it also makes perfect sense. And they just give away entire islands!”

 Azura nodded as she leaned close too, her voice a low whisper. “They did just give you this entire island when we first arrived at that—what did they call it? Airport? Maybe they don’t have kings here?”

 “But how do they function then?” Corrin raised a brow, unable to imagine it. Leo might know, or maybe Xander or Ryoma. Even with all the time she’d spent pouring over books, absorbing information of the outside world, Corrin had never once read of a place without royalty. “How do they run things?”

 At a loss for words, Azura shrugged. Even that simple movement felt elegant from her. “Maybe they do not, and that is why they gave you this island. Though, they are fast builders despite this lack of oversight.”

 “They are ridiculously fast, aren’t they?” Corrin glanced at the building they were about to enter. All she had to do was enter, request a change, and by the time she woke up an entire house had been built. Or moved (and somehow, without the occupant waking up). “I haven’t seen any magic here, though, so I don’t get how they do it.”

 “Maybe the magic they use is undetectable by us,” Azura suggested, looking toward the beach where the airport was. “We did fly here, after all. And without any incantations or diagrams.”

 Corrin stopped herself from replying. These were questions that neither of them could answer. There was no point in stressing out over this, that was the exact opposite of the reason they were here. Taking a deep breath, Corrin counted to five before letting go of Azura’s hands. “Alright, that’s enough of that. We’re just going to go in circles.”

 “That might be the case,” Azura agreed, her hands falling to her sides as she also took a deep breath.

 “We’re here to relax and have fun.” Corrin glanced at the door again, remembering just why she had made her nth journey to this building. “And you’re having fun, right?”

 Azura nodded, giving the same answer she’d given earlier. “Of course. You have done an excellent job managing this island.”

 “Okay, then if you’re having fun here, why is everyone else driving me crazy?” Corrin grumbled, opening the door. Inside was a large room, portioned into two main areas. A counter divided an office space manned by a giant tanuki and a golden dog. “I should have known better than to have everyone vacation at the same time.”

 “What do you mean?” Stepping after her, Azura gave her an inquisitive look. “I thought everyone liked the island?”

 “They do.” Despair dripped in her voice and Corrin rubbed her forehead as she walked over to the counter. “They just don’t like being together.”

 Before Azura could press, the tanuki noticed them. Tom Nook, as he was called, got up from his desk and rushed over to them. In a strange, high-pitched voice, he asked, “What can I do for you today?”

 No matter how many times she heard it, Corrin couldn’t shake the strange feeling she got when she heard the locals speak. Their voices sounded like Elise’s scribbles when she had been younger and learning to draw. Yet the words organized themselves perfectly in her head. Still, they could communicate, and that was all that mattered in the end. With a strained smile, Corrin admitted, “I need you to move two houses apart.”

 “Again?” Incredulous, Tom stared at her. Awestruck, he pulled out a form. “You’re really reshaping the island! I wonder what it’ll look like now.”

 “Who needs to move?” Azura asked, looking surprised as well.

 “Xander and Ryoma.” Corrin sighed, slumping forward slightly as she remembered her older brothers’ arguments. They were the kings of two nations. They’d fought in a war, created peace, and were even drinking companions at night. Yet somehow, on this island, they had developed a fierce attachment to their houses. “They’re both trying to recreate Hoshido and Nohr in their homes, and—this is like the war all over again. Ryoma wants a bamboo fence, Xander wants a stone wall, and there isn’t room to have them both.”

 “Oh.” Patting her shoulder sympathetically, Azura consoled, “I see what you meant now. Perhaps it would be better if they requested these changes themselves?”

 “Unfortunately, we can only accept our leader’s requests,” Tom interrupted, an understanding smile on his face. “Though I am sure they are impressed by all of your hard work.”

 “I hope so,” Corrin grumbled. Before Tom filled out paperwork, he pulled out a map. She leaned forward to study her brothers’ houses. It looked like the river blocked them one way, an orchard the second, the museum the third, and the town plaza the fourth. There wasn’t enough room to move them apart from each other, nor was there anywhere she could relocate one of them. “There’s nowhere to go.”

 Tom studied the map before nodding sadly. “No, I’ m afraid there isn’t.”

 “Drat.” Corrin pinched her nose but she was still here, staring at a useless map. “Alright, I’ll let them know then. I guess they’ll have to sort it out themselves.”

 “I’m sure they can handle it,” Azura comforted, squeezing her shoulder now. “They managed a peace treaty, after all.”

 “I hope I don’t have to jump through as many hoops for this.” Corrin straightened her posture, forcing away her irritation. “Alright, they’re going to have to compromise. Thanks, Tom.”

 “Let me know if anything else needs moving!” Tom offered, rolling away the map.

 “Hopefully not,” Azura answered, a weary smile on her face.

 Corrin side-stepped to Isabelle’s half of the room. She was a strange, dog-like person and looked like a cuter version of Kaden’s fox form. “Anything I should know, Isabelle?”

 Isabelle worried her lip as she grabbed several papers and stepped closer. With a nervous smile, she started, “Well, first things first, our town’s rating has gone down.”

 “What?” Azura gasped, covering her mouth. “But we’ve been taking such good care of this place.”

 “You have,” Isabelle agreed, looking a little antsy. “The problem is that there’s a lot of trash.”

 Corrin blinked, not sure if she’d understood. “Trash?”

 “Yes, trash.” Isabelle rubbed her arm. “Takumi’s house has been overrun by trash.”

 “Takumi—” Corrin had a sinking feeling she knew why her brother was in that state. “What about Leo? Did he do something? Or get something?”

 “Well, I don’t know if he did anything, but he is certainly having a terrible time himself. There have been rotten turnips around his house, attracting swarms of flies.” Isabelle rubbed her chin. “I don’t get how that happened.”

 “A minor war,” Azura sighed. “I would expect this from Takumi, not Leo.”

 “Like I said, I should have just had them both on different islands. One for Nohr, one for Hohsido. There wouldn’t be any issues then.” Honestly, she should have just snuck here by herself, or with Azura. Just a small vacation for the two of them, sans any annoying siblings. Corrin hesitantly asked, “Anything else?”

 When Isabelle nodded, Corrin wondered if she really needed to hear the answer. Pulling out another sheet, Isabelle continued, “Elise and Sakura have requested that the town’s flower be changed.”

 “Elise and Sakura?” Corrin echoed, not sure if she’d heard correctly. “They both want it to be changed?”

 “They’re working together!” Azura clapped her hands happily. “That’s good.”

 “Oh, no, they both want a different flower.” Reading the sheet, Isabelle explained, “Sakura has asked for it to be a sakura, while Elise wants it to be a daffodil.”

 “Oh…okay…” Corrin felt her energy drain. Well, there went that short-lived hope. “That’s a simple thing, at least.”

 “And I have a letter for you from the airport!” Isabelle held out an envelope, her smile bright. “And that is all I have for updates.”

 “Camilla and Hinoka seem happy,” Azura consoled. “That’s good, right?”

 “Yeah, that’s…” Corrin trailed off as she looked at the letter. That was Hinoka’s writing. There were no two ways about it. Suppressing a groan, she opened it. “What happened now?”

 “Corrin, save me!” Azura read aloud. Startled, she glanced at Corrin. “She’s in danger? I thought there was nothing harmful in this world.”

 “No, we brought the harm ourselves.” Corrin continued reading the letter aloud, “I keep trying to get into the island, but the airport refuses to let me in. I’ve given them all my weapons, so it isn’t that. They said someone’s blocking the entry. Could you check?”

 “Is there something wrong with the airport?” Azura asked, perplexed.

 Isabelle shook her head. “There is nothing wrong. If anything, Camilla has been flying in and out a lot lately. Our airport is running in tiptop condition!”

 Corrin had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what was going on. “Camilla isn’t letting Hinoka on the island.”

 Surprised, Azura glanced at the letter again. “Can she do that?”

 “Yeah, if she keeps going in and out like that.” Corrin groaned. All of her siblings, all eight of them, were causing chaos on this island. On this vacation. She was supposed to have a stress-free couple of weeks. This was the exact opposite of that. “Azura?”

 “Yes?”

 “Wanna run away together?” Corrin asked, half-serious. Maybe they could start afresh on a brand-new island. An island only filled with animal-people.

 It would be so peaceful.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Precious Friend

The beds were platforms attached to the walls that lifted up to an opening aptly called a coffin rack that served as under-bed storage. There were four beds in a room. Besides the coffin rack storage, there was one locker per occupant. That was all.

Aaron tried and failed to fit all his gear into a locker before giving it up and tossing it on top of his bed next to where his foot would be. “People live here for months? Jesus…” He muttered.

Brian held out his hands, “I have space in my locker, give it here.” 

“Careful, my guns are in there.” Despite his words, he tossed his bag to him and hopped up to pull himself onto the top bunk.

“I know. That’s why I don’t want it getting tossed about if we hit rough seas.” He tucked the bag into the locker and shut it securely.

“I hope none of you get seasick. Masato peered down from his top bunk where he was surfing on his phone.

Rodney meanwhile stood in the doorway looking in despair and wondering if he was even short enough to fit into the flimsy blankets. This was a common issue. At six feet and four inches, he was too tall for a lot of things. He caught Masato’s smirk and inwardly grumbled that, for once, someone who could fit into a locker like him had the upper hand.

Masato turned back to his phone. “I’ve been doing some research into what the Lieutenant told us. Norma doesn’t really contradict anything that she said. She’s just… less conclusive about the actual existence of the dragons they spoke of. The lack of written record is a problem, but the rainbow serpent’s connection to alchemy is pretty solid.” He turned his phone to them. “The appearance of a serpent looped in a circle is common in Egyptian depictions of an afterlife, but it doesn’t have much context. Still, European alchemists adapted this symbol into their own writing.”

“So it had to mean something…” Aaron whispered, opening his phone as well.

“I’m going to bed.” Brian ducked into the small gap between the top and bottom beds and disappeared.

Aaron let out an awed sigh. “Wow… their definition of Speech Spirits is Voodoo… I wonder… I wonder if we’ll get to see something like that. Sounds spooky.”

He dipped his head down to peer at Brian. “You’re sure you’re okay with your lady out by herself with a bunch of a voodoo?”

Brian gave him an annoyed glare. “By their definition aren’t we also practicing voodoo when we use our soul skills?”

“Oh that’s true.”

Brian rolled over to face the wall.

“But you didn’t deny she’s your lady.”

“Shut up.”

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

Mr. Baldwin didn’t go with the rest of the students to the residential deck. He instead followed Dofi, the youngest of the quadruplets towards the Officer’s area on the ship. Dofi kept up the act, nodding dutifully at the sailors who had no idea he was masquerading as his brother.

“How long are you going to keep up this act?” He mumbled quietly.

“As long as I can!” Dofi flashed his brilliant teeth and chuckled. “After all, it’s not often I get to be captain.”

Mr. Baldwin raised his eyebrows. “Really? Somehow I doubt that. Switching identities would be an easy way to keep sailors on their toes at all times. I envy your ability to be in multiple places at once… so to speak.”

They came to an elevator. Dofi, scanned his ID and it opened and they stepped inside. Mr. Baldwin stifled a yawn. “Will you be joining us for our discussion?”

“Nah…” Dofi waved his hand. “Foli wanted to speak with you privately. And I have an assignment that just came up. We can have fun later!” He gave him a hard slap on the shoulder that nearly took his breath away.

The doors opened and there was Foli, grinning, bearing the Cassell College world tree logo on his chest. The two men both embraced each other rocking back and forth. 

“It’s been too long. Too long, brother!” Foli growled happily. “Come in and sit down! We need to catch up!”

Foli ushered him into the room. It was centered by a large wood table and decorated with maps, globes, and had a view of the vast ocean. There was no wine or cigar, but a box of fine chocolate on the table.

Mr. Baldwin took a seat at the table and Foli joined him. “Wow, are these chocolates made by hand?”

“Of course, I’ve been saving them for this occasion.”

Together they reached in. The chocolate was velvet smooth, full of butter and had just the right bitterness, fruitiness and sweetness. Mr. Baldwin closed his eyes. “It’s just like what you brought with you to Cassell…”

“Yes…”

He looked at him. “How’s your father?”

Foli sighed. “Still unwell, we’re expecting his passing soon.”

Mr. Baldwin’s eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry. I’ve dragged you away.”

Foli patted his hand to reassure him. “Our ancestors are never truly gone. His mind is resting in his body, waiting to be set free from its confines. He would never forgive me for missing out on this opportunity. You met with him before… yes? I was always curious. How did that go?”

“He didn’t tell you? Basically, he just wanted to congratulate me and give me some encouragement. Losing Professor Schneider was very difficult. Not just his death but the pressure of the expectations.” Unable to resist, Mr. Baldwin accepted another chocolate from the box.

“In the end, his choice was the correct one.” Foli spoke reassuringly to him. “Not only your training and education, but the power of your Soul Skill is undeniable.”

Mr. Baldwin grimaced. “I can barely control it. I’m no Anjou.”

“Such humility… it’s born of wisdom. It will keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe?” Mr. Baldwin chuckled with surprise. “I don’t recall safety being mentioned in this job description. But you do have a point… Time Zero, when it comes to applications on the battlefield…” He ducked his head and huffed. “It’s a bit unfair!”

“Just a bit!” Foli leaned against the table with one arm. “You’re not tired?”

“I am. But I can’t sleep.” He turned his eyes to the window. “The moon’s too bright tonight. And it’s nice to come here and chat.”

“How like you.” Foli said, delighted. “Then you’re fine with chatting with me?”

Mr. Baldwin gave him a small smile. “It would be an honor to chat with such a precious friend as you. The only thing lacking is some champagne.”

“I hope you don’t mind some tea instead? There’s a kettle.” Foli stood up and moved to a cabinet. Mr. Baldwin watched as he poured the tea and brought it back over to the table.

“What are we drinking tonight?”

“Just regular black.”

Mr. Baldwin began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

He took a deep breath of the tea wafting into his nose and sat back in his chair. “When I visited the Italian branch to meet with Commissioner Gattuso they served me some tea called “Imperial Red” from China. It’s supposedly over a million dollars a pound.”

“Oh really?” Foli blew over his cup.

Mr. Baldwin gave him a fond smile. “I’ve gotta say. I like regular black better.”

Foli raised it in a small toast. “Only the best.”

They touched their cups together. Mr. Baldwin allowed himself to relax, letting the steam warm his face. “I don’t have many people in this business who understand me as much as you do. I miss the days in the dorm where we used to stay up and talk all night.”

“Yes… so do I. It’s been too long since we’ve had tea together.” Foli’s eyes fell to his cup. “But… you would do most of the talking!”

“I had a lot to say! Especially right before our graduation, remember? I had to go away to run the Executive Branch, and you were chosen by the elders to lead as well.”

“Is that the last time? I can’t quite remember.” Foli scratched his head.

“You wouldn’t. We drank a lot more than tea.” Mr. Baldwin lowered his voice. “You got piss drunk. No wonder you don’t remember.”

“Oh…” Foli looked bashful. “Well, you understand… alcohol has never passed my lips since.”

“It’s a cruel tradition. You can’t even spike a little brandy to help you relax without losing your job?”

“It’s just the way it is, my friend.”

Mr. Baldwin started to laugh again. “I was frantic trying to dry you out before you had to report to your family.”

Foli looked mournful. “You did?”

“Seems like you don’t remember that either.”

“Well your memory has always been better than mine!” Foli replied. “Always has been. After all, you didn’t even confuse me with my brother! To be frank… it was a relief that you still remember.”

Mr. Baldwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold medallion. It was carved with a skull ringed by twining vines. “Which reminds me, I think this belongs to you.”

Foli gasped, inhaling the tea he had just sipped. He covered his mouth, choking. “Where did you get that?” He asked around the coughs.

“You don’t remember but you left it in my room all those years ago. I couldn’t give it back to you without revealing to your family that you got drunk. So I took the opportunity to return it today.”

Foli reverentially took the medallion, speechless. “These relics are priceless. I assumed it was stolen from me.” He muttered quietly. His heart slammed in his chest as he tilted the heavy metal in his hand, watching the light shimmer across it.

“No one’s seen it but you and I.” Mr. Baldwin watched his friend’s reaction feeling deeply satisfied. “I’m the head of the Executive Branch. You will soon be one of the spearheads of the West Africa Branch. With Anjou, the relationship was wary. I hope to change that. Starting tonight.”

Foli opened his mouth to speak, eyes still glued to the medallion. But no words came out. He finally looked up at him. “Were it just up to me, I would absolutely accept full cooperation with Cassell. But these heavy matters? They’re left up to the Elder Council. That said, I will strongly convey your trustworthiness.”

He placed the medallion in his pocket. “Grant. People said that you changed after you were appointed, but you’re still the same person.”

“I changed only on the outside. I had to. Or else the Executive Branch might have fractured.”

Foli nodded. “I remember when we first met. I was full of many different worries.  I was… not prepared to make friends, but to maintain our secrets to maintain our superiority over the European Hybrids. At least, what I perceived to be superiority.”

Grant poured himself another cup. “I remember too. You were determined to show us up. Not that I blame you. The rest of our classmates wanted to teach you rather than the other way around.”

“I was shocked when all you asked were questions.”

Grant sipped. “That you didn’t want to answer.’

“And I asked, ‘why do you want to know?’ What did you say to me back then?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here? To teach us?” Grant replied.

“Yes that’s it. Your memory never fails!” He laughed. “Both Cassell and the West Africans have viewed each other with suspicion. Even now… it’s a bad habit.” Foli drummed his fingers on the table.

“One can’t be too careful.” Grant shrugged. “Trust is earned gradually.”

His expression turned grim. “You’re too kind. I just hope that trust gets its chance to grow and is not choked out by stubbornness and pride.”

Grant glanced at him. “Is there something wrong?”

Foli smiled again. “Ah… I believe it’s late. The moon is making me sentimental! But a cloud just covered it and broke the spell. We should get our rest.”

Together, they stood up. “Thanks for chatting with me. I hope we get this opportunity again… sooner this time.”

Together they walked out of the main meeting room, when they walked, it was hand in hand, leaving the cups steaming on the table.

[avauntus]

Supernatural - a retrospective

This is super self-indulgent, and I have so much else I’ve promised-- I owe a long-fic rec post, and ao3 comments, wip work, and that’s just my fandom stuff I’m behind on. *sigh*

But it’s late on a Saturday and now I’ve finished Supernatural, I want to share what I think are my top few eps, and a few other comments. I promise some of this will be different from the “greatest hits” you probably usually see, and I’ll try to make it worth your time. *wry smile*

Look, we have to have categories like: “Most Likely to Live in My Head Rent-Free for the Rest of my Life” and “Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction” that are different from “Favorites,” because that’s just the cursed energy this show has. ;-)

My top five

#5 - 13.01 - “Lost and Found”

Written by: Andrew Dabb | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

In fandom, this is most often referred to as the start of the “Grieving Widower” arc, tongue-in-cheek. Also has Alexander Calvert (Jack) walking around completely in the nude for the first third of the ep. (Neither of these are why this is in my top 5, but he has a good story about wardrobe for his ‘first day.’) 

I didn’t expect much out of this episode the first time I watched it, but I’ve gone over this ‘section’ of the show maybe 3-4 times in my Netflix catch-up, and I watch this one in full every time. From Jack being...not at all what anyone expected and an unsteady vindication, to the stunning cinematography (there’s a post that compares shots to Brokeback Mountain, but I think the shots here might be better), to the sheriff who takes the time to remind her deputy that “...there’s no such thing as ‘weird.’ Everyone’s normal in their own way,” to the slow reveal of exactly how hard the events of the previous night (12x23 - All Along the Watchtower) are hitting Dean and Sam and in different ways...(how long the episode takes to reveal to you how Dean fucked up his hand, and what he was saying when he did. Augh!) The Winchesters are trying to rally, but they have been taking hits for a long time, and the cracks are showing.

 #4 - 15.06 - “Golden Time”

Written by: Meredith Glynn | Directed by: John F. Showalter

Supernatural  has a terrible track record with representation in all stripes. It is infamously consistent in killing off anyone minority, female, or non-White. One of the interesting things about the chaotic meta-narrative of season 15 is you can see the lack of fucks some of the writer’s room had to give about not even being subtle about tearing down that type of ‘White-male-hero-journey” now that they were in a literal “what will they do, fire me?” situation.

I’m a Cas fan, and this episode, which gives him an actual, ‘case-of-the-week’ hunter’s narrative where he gets to save the day on his own, successfully, was wonderful. I love that for him! But more than that, for me, this episode is emotional to me for other reasons-- the way Dean and Cas circle around each other on their angry phone call (with the body language! They are broadcasting so LOUD and neither can see because they’re on the phone!), Sam’s story here, where he’s inheriting things from Rowena that allow him in turn to save Eileen, to Cas’ speech and quick anger at the lake when you reflect on his entire journey of self-realization from a soldier of blind faith to an agent of free will... “You selfish little men in your positions of authority...” I just... *clears throat, grabs tissue* 

#3 -  6.20 - “The Man Who Would Be King”

Written & Directed by: Ben Edlund

Speaking of Cas’ journey... I know some folks don’t like the angst and drama of the ‘Heaven and Hell’ plots of Supernatural, but I am here for it. Oh, did we need another reason to include this episode? This has some of the most metal quotes I have heard from any TV show. Ever.

I mean, look at this:

“If I knew then what I know now, I would have said: Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it.”

“Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like explaining poetry to fish.”

The delivery of: “It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!” “Dean, it’s not broken!” is one of those Supernatural bits that will live in my head until the end of time. All of Edlund’s episodes are among my favorites, but this (along with “5.04 - The End”) was on another level. 

#2 - 5.16 - “Dark Side of the Moon”

Written by: Andrew Dabb & Daniel Loflin | Directed by: Jeff Wollnough

I think of this episode every time  I hear Bob Dylan sing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” This is kinda a giant montage episode, but the connecting concepts are so...satisfying. 

“Heaven is your favorite memories.” “ It’s called the axis mundi. It’s a path that runs through heaven. Different people see it as different things. For you, it’s two-lane asphalt.” “This is your idea of heaven? Wow, this was one of the worst nights of my life.” “I don’t think I realized how long you’ve been cleaning up Dad’s messes.” “It’s awesome to finally have an application—a practical application—for string theory.” “Everyone leaves you, Dean. You noticed?” “Why is God talking to me? Gardner-to-gardener, and between us, I think he gets lonely.” “You son of a bitch, I believed in... ” Whoosh.

#1 - 4.01 - “Lazarus Rising”

Written by: Eric Kripke | Directed by: Kim Manners

So...this is the episode where Castiel, angel of thee Lord, shows up. And that’s primarily why it earns the no. 1 spot, because 80% of my enjoyment of Supernatural from this point on was Cas-adjacent. Plus this entire episode just hits. ALL OF IT. Dean’s homecoming. Ruby, my darling. Bobby’s entire vibe. Pamela Barnes, easily one of the most interesting women Supernatural ever introduced. Cas being so hot to say “Hi” to Dean he forgets he wounds people. 

But beyond that-- the way the show writes their ‘oh, by the way, angels’ narrative! If you haven’t seen this episode, would you believe me if I told you that THIS EPISODE, the episode where Supernatural said “canonically, Judeo-Christian Heaven is real, btw” involves no churches but does involve a séance, a soulmark handprint brand, and a himbo angel that “gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition”...but they were all “no homo, guys” for years?

Truly no one was out here doing it like Supernatural even back in 2008.

Others--

15.18 - “Despair” 

“Most Likely to Live Rent-Free in My Head for the Rest of my Life”

Written by: Robert Berens | Directed by: Richard Speight, Jr.

You know why this episode is here. It broke reality. I could be wrong-- but I’d put good money on this episode being the subject of academic theses in the future. That doesn’t automatically make for interesting story, but...

Has there ever been a case, in a mainstream US TV show where a major lead character (Cas) came out as queer so late in the game in a narratively-important way? I’m not aware of it, but I might just be behind on my television.

This episode has great writing, and (blessedly) amazing direction and blocking anyway. Check out the above gif - that is some next level foreshadowing going on in the cinematography, and this isn’t even the most remarked upon shot in this episode. (Seriously, I had to search for 40 minutes for this gif, please respect my game, lol.) Everyone who was involved in 15x18 is giddy talking about their investment, from the costume designer to the actors to the director to the writer...

...And then a bunch of them steadfastly have avoided posting much Supernatural-related since. So that’s...loud. There is a bunch of subtext in this episode that is screamingly loud; there is a bunch of text in this episode that makes several things clear fandom has been chattering over for years and years. The meta-commentary around this episode continues, months later. There are over 700 fics on AO3 with this episode tag.

I have more to say about the themes of ‘free will’ and ‘love’ and ‘identity’ tied to this episode, but seriously-- you’ve probably read 17 versions of it on Tumblr already, so.

This is the last time we see Cas, and the last time Supernatural can claim anything close to narrative consistency. For that alone, it’d earn free head-space.

Runners-up: “4.20 - The Rapture”; “5.04 - The End”; “7.21 - Reading is Fundamental”; “8.21 - The Great Escapist”; “9.06 - Heaven Can’t Wait”; “12.19 - The Future”; “14.08 - Byzantium”

6.17 - “My Heart Will Go On”/8.07 - “A Little Slice of Kevin”

“Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction”

Written by: Eric Charmelo & Nicole Snyder (6.17); Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia (6.17); Charlie Carner (8.07)

Usually the show kills off it’s “one-episode” female characters, but do you know one time it didn’t? When the Moirai (the Fates - specifically Atropos, the shearer of the Threads of Fate) showed up in canon in 6.17. She was posited to have “two older sisters that were bigger than her- in every sense of the word,” ...and Castiel had to back down when she challenged him to a cosmic game of chicken over the Winchester’s lives.

Then they never returned to that idea again. 

“A Little Slice of Kevin” is on here for the opposite reason -- an amazing idea that was really underwritten in the episode it showed up in. Dean Winchester has been dragging himself across the fabric of universes; the literal Word of God is in play in a warehouse in Middle America; Cas is back from Purgatory, but what does that mean, micro and macro? As a person on the street, what would it mean, or feel like, to learn you were a Prophet of the Lord, uncalled? That what you are, everything you are, is a cosmic contingency?

Maybe Fate has an opinion on all these shenanigans?

Perhaps all that doesn’t make sense, but it certainly made an impression on ~2012 me. To this day, it remains the WIP I can open up and fool myself with the ‘twist.’ I wish I remembered where I was going with it so I could finish it.

Runners Up: “2.20 - What Is and What Should Never Be”; “5.04 - The End”; “6.15 - The French Mistake”; 12.12 - “Stuck in the Middle (with you)”; “13.05 - Advanced Thanatology” “14.03 - The Scar”; “14.10 - Nihilism”; “15.15 - Gimme Shelter” ... and “15.20 - Carry On” (obviously)

Fifteen seasons. There were plenty of other episodes I loved that didn’t make these limited lists. But overall -- thank you, Supernatural, for the run. Even if I’m upset at the ending, I can appreciate the game. If you watch the show, what were your favorite episodes?

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing Chapter 11

Sleepover fun! Credit for all the good ideas goes to @afretfulporpentine, like they’re literally all down to her!

**

Anne takes her into the playroom which is all decorated with balloons and streamers- it’s just them, because Anne’s dad is at work and Anne’s Mum is Busy and Mary has gone to her Group with baby Catherine. 

Group, according to Anne, is where you have to go if you have a baby so you can talk to other people who have had babies- or, in her case, if your big sister has had a baby and Jane isn’t there to look after you because she has to go to her job, which is sometimes stacking boxes on shelves in Sainsburys and sometimes listening to people shout because their parcel wasn’t delivered on time. 

(Jane does not like her job much.)

All the people at Group are young (like Mary) and they all look a bit tired (also like Mary), and their babies all look more or less like Baby Catherine too, except that Baby Catherine has nicer clothes and newer toys that make the other girls look at her and Mary out of the corners of their eyes in a not-very-nice way.

 At Group- says Anne- sometimes you sit in a circle and take turns crying and other times, you sit in a circle and lie about whether or not your baby can sit up yet or not and how much sleep you’re getting, unless you’re Anne, which means sitting on the floor at the side and playing Candy Crush on Mary’s phone.

Anne says it’s all very boring but that Mary brought her a McFlurry on the way home the first time so it was mostly worth it.  

(The second time, Anne pointed out that Baby Catherine wasn’t really sitting up by herself ‘just that morning’. She didn’t get a McFlurry that time.)

It’s nice, not having to have Anne’s Mum and Dad there, because it means Cathy doesn’t have to talk to them about how school is going or worry about Manners or be scared she’s going to do something Wrong, like when she was invited for lunch and it had been a proper lunch at the table and Anne’s Dad kept looking at her while she was eating and shaking his head and Anne’s Mum kept twitching like there was a fly on her and she was a restless horse.

 It had made her so nervous that she’d barely been able to taste her food because she couldn’t work out what she’d done wrong- her elbows definitely weren’t on the table and she couldn’t possibly be talking with her mouth full because she wasn’t saying anything because Anne’s Dad likes to hear himself think.

 The whole thing was so tense that it was almost a relief when Anne’s Mum eventually turned to her, frowning like she had a headache.

‘We like to use our knife and fork properly in this house, Cathy.’

She hadn’t understood what she meant until Anne nudged her and she realised that everyone else was holding their fork in their left rather than their right hands.

(She hadn’t known it was wrong until then.)

Her face had gone all hot and she’d quickly switched hands and done her best to eat the rest of her food like that, but eating with her left hand made her clumsy and when Anne’s Mum winced when she accidentally spilled a forkful of couscous into her lap, she’d nearly cried.

She hadn’t been allowed to go over to play at Anne’s house for weeks after she’d told her Mum and Dad about it, so she’d stopped telling them anything much about Anne’s house at all.

(She wonders if she’ll need to be careful what she tells Catalina.)

Once they’re in the playroom, she drops her rucksack on the floor and thrusts her parcel into Anne’s hands.

‘Open it!’

‘What is it? No wait, I want to guess!’

‘You'll never guess!’ (She knows Anne won’t be able to guess.)

‘Bet I will!’

Anne immediately starts shaking it, listening to see if it rattles and it makes Cathy very relieved that she and Catalina packed it all so carefully.

‘I picked all of it out myself, and I picked the wrapping paper and ribbon too- Catalina helped with some of it but it was my idea!’

Anne examines the outside, pokes the dinosaurs, giggling, and then strokes the green ribbon lovingly.

‘This is so cool- I’m going to save it and have Jane tie it onto my ponytail when she next does my hair...’ 

This is an excellent idea and Cathy is just wondering if Catalina could be persuaded to stop by the craft shop one more time so that she can see if they have any blue ribbon for her own ponytail- when Anne puts down the parcel unopened.

She feels a little sting- is Anne bored of it before she’s even seen what it is?

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

‘When Anna’s here.’ Anne starts sorting through the pile on unwrapped presents in the corner, hunting for something.

‘Oh no, Anne, open it now-’

‘I will when Anna’s here, I said!’

‘Please-’

It’s the magic word but it isn’t always very magic and now is one of those times because Anne just shakes her head.

‘No, I want to wait for Anna!’ Anne picks up the parcel again and hugs stubbornly it to her chest. ‘And it’s my birthday so I’m going to open it when I want and I want to wait.’

She can’t argue with that. The ‘It’s My Birthday’ rule is inviolable, she knows, which is annoying because she’d quite like to be able to argue.

She isn’t sure if she really likes the idea of Anna seeing the present she got for Anne. 

It had seemed like such a good idea when Catalina suggested it.

 (She knows that telling Anne she came up with it was a tiny untruth but Catalina had just laughed when she’d anxiously asked if Anne would mind it not being her idea. 

‘It doesn’t really matter, mija. It’s an excellent present, no matter who came up with it.’

‘But-’

‘If it bothers you, you can tell her it was your idea if you like.’

Cathy eyed her suspiciously.

‘Will you really, really not mind?’

Catalina kissed the top of her head.

 ‘I really, really won’t mind.’)

The shopping trip to find Anne a present had been long- they’d spent the whole morning looking through shop after shop until Cathy’s feet felt ready to fall off and she’d been sure she was going to drop to the floor in exhaustion.

 Just as she was ready to despair, Catalina had said that they should take a break and led the way to a Starbucks, a welcome bit of quiet after the noise and bustle of town.

‘Let's try to plan a bit before we brave the masses again.’ Catalina stirred her hazelnut latte while Cathy worked on spooning every last bit of froth from the top of her hot chocolate. ‘What does Anne like?’

‘Lots of things. But she has it all already.’

Cathy knew she wasn’t being unhelpful but she didn’t feel like being helpful, she was too tired to be helpful.

‘She can’t have everything, mija.’

‘Well, she does.’ She rolled the marshmallow around between her fingers, enjoying the sponginess, until Catalina raised an eyebrow and she reluctantly let it drop into her mug.

‘What sort of games do you play together? Maybe we could get her something to go with one of your games?’

Cathy had started to explain that they didn’t do expansion packs or accessory kits for the games she and Anne liked to play- and Catalina had just shrugged.

‘Why not?’

She hadn’t been able to answer.

The second part of the shopping trip was much more fun. 

They’d made a list on the back of a paper napkin of all the things that one should put in an accessory kit for Inca Princess Burial and then made a thorough search of all the little poky second hand shops to find just the right things.

The embalming sheets and the embalming lotion just came from Asda, which was boring, but the wax grape ‘offerings’ and the candles that worked with batteries and the bright silky Priestess robe came from little shops that smelt of dust and old books. 

The flowers came from the big stack of plastic flowers in the Poundshop- Catalina explained they’d last better than real flowers- and that night, she and Catalina had woven them into a beautiful big flower crown that was surely worthy of any princess, Inca or otherwise.

She’s sure Anne will love it but she isn’t sure she wants Anna to see it: what if Anna thinks it’s silly? 

After all, to explain it, they’ll have to explain Inca Princess Burial, and what if Anna thinks the whole game sounds babyish and stupid? 

She had hoped that Anne would be able to open her present, just the two of them (and that maybe they’d even have time for a quick game before Anna even arrived) but Anne isn’t budging and it IS her birthday, so she pushes the worry away as much as she can and lets Anne show her the birthday card that George sent.

When Anne pulls it out from its hiding place, she thinks it doesn’t exactly count as a birthday card because it’s not a ‘birthday’ birthday card. 

It doesn’t say Happy Birthday anywhere on it, there isn’t a badge with Anne’s age on, there’s no glitter or really anything birthdayish about it at all.

Really, it’s only a card because it’s a postcard, with a picture that’s of some funny looking figures carved in stone wearing beads and headdresses and not very much else at all and as funny as that is, it isn’t really a birthday sort of picture.

The card also wasn’t even sent to Anne, it was sent to her parents, so it’s not for Anne’s birthday really, it just happened to arrive on the right day.

 Anne says she rescued it from the bin when her Mum wasn’t looking and that she’s not going to show this one to Jane to read to her- she’s going to read it herself because now she’s eight and that’s too old to be read to and besides, Jane leaves bits out, which is ok when it’s just changing the end of Kitty’s old copy of Millions of Cats so that the cats in the story run away rather than eating each other, but most definitely not ok when it’s something important like a real postcard.

(Cathy wonders if Catalina knows that eight is too old to be read to. She hopes that they at least finish Little Women before her birthday.)

She doesn’t say any of this to Anne though.

She keeps the unbirthdayishness of the card to herself, and when Anne shows her the important bit- the bit at the bottom that’s written more clearly than the rest, the bit that says ‘Rock on, little sis. Peace and love from your big bro in London’- she agrees with Anne that that bit at least was worth saving the card for.

They pass the card back and forth, trying to decipher the rest of George’s scrawly writing. 

Anne’s so far made out ‘Francis’- Jane calls him George’s special friend and Anne’s Dad calls him ‘that one who got him into this bloody ridiculousness in the first place’- and Cathy has made out ‘understand’ and ‘busy’- when the doorbell rings, and they both jump up and run to let Anna in.

She can’t help but feel excited as she races Anne to the door because- although she still isn’t sure that she’s glad Anna was invited too, having her arrive also makes everything feel more special.

Now it feels like the birthday party part of things has actually begun and now rather than it just being her and Anne playing together like usual, it’s a proper sleepover party.

Anna arrives with her present in one hand (a shiny red gift bag with little string handles) and her overnight bag (smart blue duffle bag) in the other. 

‘Happy birthday Anne!’

‘You came!’

Anna’s Mum gives her a kiss and tells Anne Happy Birthday in her funny accent and then she looks past Anne and Cathy like she’s expecting to see someone else.

‘Your mother, she is at home, yes?’

Anne nods.

‘She’s busy.’

‘Ah-’

Anna’s Mum hesitates. ‘I was hoping I might say hello to her-’

Anne looks uncertain. ‘I could- go and get her-’

Cathy wonders what’s going to happen- Anne’s Mum always gets cross when they interrupt her, even when it was because the man at the door needed her to sign something so that he could leave her parcel-  and there are some rooms Anne isn’t even meant to knock on the door of and what if she’s in one of those rooms…..?

But luckily Anna interrupts things.

‘Mutti, I’ll be fine!’ She huffs a bit as she says it, stretching out the last word into two syllables like it’s chewing gum. ‘Please! You don’t need to say hello!’

Anna’s Mum looks into the (empty) hall and then back at her daughter. 

‘Well…. Is she very busy? I suppose I wouldn’t like to disturb her….’

‘Yes! Yes!’ Anna looks ready to push her Mum out of the door. ‘She’s very, very, very busy! Busier than Vati!’

Anna’s Mum laughs. ‘Alright then, liebling. You have the new telephone number?’

‘Ja! Yes!’

‘Ok. Be a good girl. Do everything Anne’s Mutti tells you.’

She says the last bit a little uncertainly, like she is only now just wondering if Anne’s Mutti will be there to tell them anything at all- but at last she goes, and Anne tugs Anna into the house and towards the playroom.

Anna’s looking all around her as they go up to put her bag in Anne’s playroom and Cathy wonders why before she remembers that Anna hasn’t seen Anne’s house before so she isn’t used to how it has more rooms than most houses and how everything is extra shiney or extra fragile or both.

 As they walk up the stairs, Anna asks Anne where her Mutti is, and if she’s really at home, and Anne looks like she’s surprised Anna is asking.

‘She’s here. Somewhere around.’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘She’s busy’ Anne shrugs. ‘It’s better if she is, it means she won’t make us be quiet or do a jigsaw-’

(Cathy has experienced Anne’s Mums jigsaws before. It’s always the same one, with a stupid picture of a rabbit and a kitten in a basket, and she makes them do it whenever they’re being too loud or playing something she doesn’t like. She always says it was her favourite as a little girl and it makes Cathy wonder just how boring Little-Girls-Anne’s-Mum was.)

Anna just blinks back, all confused by the absence of parental figures and Cathy thinks that she’ll get used to it soon enough.

In the playroom, Anne wants first of all to show them her best present.

It’s a bit awkward when she pulls them out from the pile of gifts at first because they just look like a pair of trainers.

Anne says that Jane found them in the British Heart Foundation shop, and Cathy thinks she’d be able to tell even if Anne hadn’t said anything because the green suede is a bit worn-shiney, and even though they’ve obviously been cleaned up and scrubbed to look new, the insides are still a long way for the snowy-white of proper new shoes.

The glittery rainbow laces threaded through them are new (paid for by Jane but picked out by Kitty as her contribution to Anne’s present) and they’re even quite pretty, but still, it’s not a very exciting gift.

 Cathy thinks it’s a shame that a boring pair of shoes is Anne’s best present, and she’s very glad that she got her something more fun to make up for it.

 She’s just trying to think up all the nice things that Catalina would know to say about Anne’s birthday present shoes so that she won’t feel sad about them when Anne sighs like she and Anna are missing something obvious, then turns them over and shows them both the little wheels in the soles and suddenly they go from being just boring old trainers to being very exciting and cool, especially when they take turns trying them on and gliding across the playroom floor.

They’re even better than roller skates Cathy thinks- because really you can only wear roller skates to the park or in the street, unfortunately. 

 (She knows this because Catalina has made her feelings about wearing roller skates inside the flat very clear and plain, even though she didn’t break a single thing when she tried out her skates in the hall. When she pointed this out, Catalina just shook her head firmly and said she had no interest in tempting fate, whatever that means, and from now on, skates are only to be worn outside. It’s a very boring rule.)

Anne’s wheelie shoes though look just like normal shoes which means she could wear them anywhere and the possibilities makes her breathless.

Anna says that if they were in Germany, Anne could wear them to school because they don’t have to wear uniforms- and Cathy barely even has time to be annoyed at Anna for bringing up Germany yet again because the idea of Anne wearing the shoes to school on a mufti day is brilliant.

 Anne agrees and then they all try to remember if they have a mufti day coming up or not.

Annoyingly, they don’t (at least, none of their parents have done the sigh-groan-that- school-always-asking-for-money moan that accompanies most mufti days), so they make a Plan that on Monday, they’ll all suggest to their teacher that perhaps it would be nice to raise money for the poor sick children or the poor sick puppies or the poor sick old people or the poor sick hedgehogs or the poor sick something else.

The sneaky part is that they’ll all make sure to make it look as if it’s something they’ve only just thought of themselves, and surely their teacher will be so surprised that all the children are wanting to raise money at the same time that she’ll say yes to a mufti day at once.

(It is an excellent Plan.)

They glide around on the shoes until they’re dizzy (and a little bit bruised from attempts at rolling on just one foot) and then Anna asks Anne what her parents got her.

Cathy is excited to hear what it is, because Anne’s presents from her parents are usually very exciting….but when Anne shows it to them, it’s just a doll.

Not that there’s anything wrong with dolls per se. 

Actually, Cathy thinks that Anne’s doll is rather nice- it looks like the sort of doll from a story about a little Victorian girl, the sort of doll that’s almost too pretty to touch.

 It has long, perfect curls of blonde hair and tiny leather shoes with little pearl buttons and cream stockings and a cream silk dress and a cloak trimmed with real white fur.

It’s beautiful, beautiful, and she opens her mouth to ask Anne if she can hold her...but before she’s even asked, she changes her mind.

The doll is far too pretty to be held after all, and she’d hate to mess her up somehow, especially seeing as it’s Anne’s birthday present.

Anna is a bit braver, but even she holds the doll awkwardly when Anne hads her over, as if she’s scared of dropping her, the way Anne looked when she was allowed to hold Baby Catherine once, and soon she hands it back to Anne, who lies it down very carefully indeed.

‘She’s- pretty…..’

‘Yeah.’ Anne sounds distinctly unenthusiastic. 

‘She looks really expensive.’

‘Yeah.’ Anne sounds even more disconsolate. ‘Mummy keeps on telling her that she was and she says I have to be really careful with her because she can break very easily.’

They all eye the doll, as if she might crack under their very gaze but she stays reassuringly whole, for the moment anyway.

‘She says I’ll be in big trouble if I break her so I have to be really really careful because she’s fragile.’

‘Can you play with her?’ Anna asks and Anne shrugs. ‘Mummy says yes and that Daddy will be really sad if I don’t because he picked her out but I don’t know how I can. She’s too…..fancy.’ 

Anna and Cathy and Anne devote the next few minutes to trying to think of a way for Anne to play with her present but it’s difficult: normal games for dolls like Victorian Orphanage won’t work, and games like Witches definitely won’t work. 

Her clothes won’t come off, even her hair can’t be brushed because of her ringlets, and her dress is so clean and pristine that it’s obvious immediately that it will show up every speck of dust or dirt.

She is, overall, quite a disappointment of a doll, and it makes Cathy glad that her own dolls are reassuringly sturdy and well up to being dropped, thrown and smeared with pretend red-smartie blood, as the game might require.

It’s all very tricky…..and eventually Anne says they can think about it later and that she wants to open Cathy’s present.

She does….and there’s a silence as Anne picks out and unshells the little individually wrapped parcels.

Anne looks at them.

Anna looks at them.

Cathy looks at her knees.

She thinks about the lotion, the robe, the candles in their box- and about how, helping Catalina wrap them in tissue paper last night, they looked beautiful- but now, lying on the carpet, they look….just normal. 

Even a bit tatty- suddenly she can see the loose threads from the cut up sheet, she can see where the robe has gone bobbly from being washed.

She wants to sweep the things up and hide them back in the box before Anne or Anna can laugh at them (she wonders if she should pretend that it was a mistake, to say that of course these aren’t Anne’s REAL presents) but she can’t. She can’t move or say anything or do anything other than sit there and burn with embarrassment and wish with all her might that she’d just got the colourful felt pens Catalina had suggested in the first shop.

Tentatively, Anne leans over to examine the bottle of lotion. She holds it close to her eyes and brightens.

‘It’s glittery!’

Cathy nods (it’s what finally convinced her to get the lotion to be embalming oils rather than the multi-pack of lip balms that actually HAD balm in the title).

 ‘It….it smells of strawberries too….’

Her voice trails off- she can’t say anything else without crying but Anne doesn’t notice, she’s trying to sound out the words on the label Catalina carefully hand lettered and stuck to the bottle the night before.

‘Em- ball- Em- Balling… Lotion-’ Suddenly her face clears of confusion and she beams. 

‘Cathy! It’s embalming lotion!’

She looks so happy and excited that Cathy can only nod.

‘And-’ Anne sifts through the box with new interest. ‘Bandages- and candles! And-’

She picks up the wax grapes.

‘Offerings!’ They say together, and now she knows it’s alright, Anne does like it, and everything is ok and she hasn’t ruined the sleepover- and she’s so relieved she’s almost forgotten Anna is there too until Anna asks what offerings are.

Anne rolls her eyes like it’s a silly question- which is really a bit unfair because they didn’t know what offerings were until they learnt about the Inca Princesses last year and maybe Anna hasn’t had anyone to tell her yet. 

‘They’re what you bury with the princess so she doesn’t curse you!’

‘Princess?’ Anna looks confused and Cathy can tell she’s thinking of other princesses, of Rapunzel and Cinderella and Belle with their big dresses and pink-lipped smiles, who couldn’t rain down a curse if their life depended on it.

‘Not those princesses!’ She explains. ‘Inca princesses- from-’ She tries to say it properly, since it’s easy to twist her tongue over the word. ‘The Incan Empire.’

Anna still looks a bit confused so she and Anne do their best to explain about offerings and sacrifices and people living hundreds of years ago in a place called Peru.

‘Oh!’ Anna looks like she understands and Cathy sort of hopes it will stop there but then- ‘So how do you play Inca Princess?’

She sounds like she actually wants to know so Cathy lets Anne explain.

‘-and then she gets embalmed and entombed and then you make offerings to her to appease her angry spirit…..it was Cathy’s idea!’ Anne finishes and she wonders if Anne is saying that so that Anna will only judge her for playing baby games and not Anne- but instead Anna looks at her with a smile that is definitely not a smirk and her eyes open wide.

‘Cathy! That sounds like a fantastich game!’ 

It feels funny to have Anna looking at her like she’s so clever- funny but also nice but also a bit embarrassing too. 

‘Anne came up with the idea of removing her brain through her nose like the Egyptians’ is all she can say, and Anne sends her a grateful look when Anna gasps like that’s the best thing she’s ever heard of.

‘Do you think it would work with three people?’

Anne shakes her head. ‘We tried to make Kitty play with us and she ruined it-’

‘She wasn’t any good-’

(It had been a real disappointment, Cathy thinks, because Kitty is usually quite willing to take whatever part of the game they need her for, as long as Pink Kitty is allowed to accompany her. 

She has been a Dead Body in Business Woman Detective, and a Vampire Bat in Vampire Barbie- a black cocktail napkin had served well as Pink Kitty’s wings, but when they tried making Kitty help entomb Anne, she just wailed that she didn’t want Anne to be buried like a dead person, and when they tried to show her that entombing really didn’t hurt at all, she cried until Jane heard and came to investigate.

The game ended with the un-entombed Inca Princess sniffling in Jane’s lap and being soothed with an illicit Jammy Dodger, while the tragically biscuitless Inca Priestesses were told quite firmly to be more gentle in the future and to find something else to play, which was not a satisfactory end to the game at all.)

‘Oh.’ Anna droops and then Cathy realises what she meant.

She opens her mouth, just as Anne is already speculating that while the game didn’t work with three people when the third person was Kitty, maybe it would just fine if the third person was someone else….

It turns out not only does Anna NOT think that Inca Princess Burial is babyish at all, it’s a game she really wants to try for herself and they’re well into setting up the burial ground, having settled the argument over who should wear the robe first (Anne because it’s her birthday, Cathy because she brought it all or Anna because this is her first time ever even getting to play) when Anne’s Mum pokes her head into the playroom to check on them.

‘Alright in here, girls?’

‘Yes thank you Mummy.’

‘Yes thank you Mrs Bullen-’

‘It’s Boleyn now, Cathy dear!’ Anne’s Mum reminds her with a tight smile, and Cathy wishes she could explain that it’s actually really very tricky to learn a whole new name for someone when they’ve been Anne Bullen since Reception and that no matter how many angry letters Anne’s Mum sends to the school about teachers getting it wrong, it’s hard to make her mouth say Boleyn when her mind says Bullen.

Instead, she settles for a meek ‘Sorry, Mrs Boleyn’ and is rewarded with a little nod of forgiveness.

‘Are you having a nice time?’

‘Yes thank you Mummy.’

Anne smiles beatifically from beneath her flower crown but Anne’s Mum frowns.

‘What on earth are you all up to?’

‘Just...playing. Aren’t we?’

Cathy and Anna nod and try to look well behaved.

‘What’s all this rubbish everywhere?’

Cathy wonders what she means- and then Anne’s Mum picks up the offerings with a dainty thumb and forefinger and then she realises and it feels horrible.

Anne’s Mum thinks her present is rubbish. 

Anne fidgets a bit. ‘Just part of the game, Mummy. We’ll clear it up before we go to bed, won’t we?’

Cathy and Anna nod again and Anne’s Mum purses her lips. 

‘Alright. Although I don’t see why you’re not playing with your birthday present…. Your father worked very hard to be able to afford it, you know, and he’d be very sad if he heard you weren’t grateful…’

Anne’s looking so sad and uncomfortable that Cathy can hardly bear it- she knows that in Anne’s house, the crime of being ungrateful sometimes leads to lots of unpleasant things like early bedtime and no dessert and how can you go to bed early and have no dessert at a birthday sleepover?

 She isn’t sure whether to stay quiet or to speak up and say she’s sorry for getting Anne a present that’s gotten her into trouble- but before she can even decide one way or the other, Anna interrupts with a big beaming smile, like everything is fine and nothing is wrong at all and no one is nearly crying.

‘Oh we were playing with her, Mrs Boleyn! She is such a lovely doll, Anne is so lucky- we just put her down to keep her safe for this bit of the game. So she wouldn’t get broken or hurt.’

Anna is looking like one of the choir children at Catalina’s church, all sweet and good and perfect, and miraculously, Anne’s Mum actually smiles back.

‘She is lovely- and I suppose it’s sensible to put her to the side if you’re playing something more boisterous…. Just make sure you’re careful!’

‘Oh we will be!’

‘Good good…..’

Anne’s Mum waves a hand at them and goes back out and it’s as if the whole room lets out a breath.

Cathy wonders how Anna knew to do quick thinking like that, how she knew what to say- even Anne doesn’t know how to say the right thing to make her Mum smile like that at her….but Anna doesn’t seem like she was having to make an effort, like knowing the right thing to say to make things better comes to her naturally, like how reading is easy for Cathy and French is easy for Anne.

And things are better- sort of. 

Anne doesn’t seem to be in trouble any more at least, which is good.

Still, there’s a moment after the door closes when everything feels a bit flat- like the game is a balloon and the word ‘rubbish’ is a pin and now all the fun and special feeling is leaking away…. 

But then Anna mutters darkly that the Inca Princess will surely rise up to rain curses upon any silly person who dares to insult her offerings, and they have such fun coming up with curses and acting them out that they forget all about everything that isn’t toads raining from the sky and food that turns mouldy before you can take even one bite.

Then Anna wonders if maybe the Inca Princess would be angry enough that she might even rise up from the grave to wreck revenge and it’s such a good idea that Cathy doesn’t have time to even think about whether or not her present was a good idea because she’s too busy trying to help Anna subdue the wrathful Inca princess.

(She can’t help but think the game really is better with three.)