#yet again I don’t count real life or the win to be canon but for this au it can be

[grimaussiewitch]

Been cooking it up in my head for a while. So take this with a grain of salt, I don’t count real life or Cleo’s win as canon. And I think it would be really unfair if Cleo got trapped in the real life server for an April fools video. But we can work around this.

So for this au I would like to think that real life WAS supposed to be season 6 but the watchers rushed it. They clicked the button too early, some of the players weren’t there and the rest were loopy, including the watchers that were playing. It wasn’t finished yet, it went too quickly so they couldn’t make a copy of Cleo. Now they’re annoyed, they refuse to let her get her win.

So it was dubbed an April fools episode, hoping that would make Cleo want to try again. Nope. She’s content with it being canon. It’s why ‘Scott’ and ‘Pearl’ are teamed with Cleo, they’ll try to convince her to win and if not they’re help Impulse since he’s been very eager to win for a while now.

Watcher!Scott: so how do you feel about winning Cleo?

Cleo: I count real life to be canon so I’m not trying to win again

Watcher!Scott: yeah that makes sense :) *eye twitch*

In other words the watchers made a mistake and are stubborn so now Cleo HAS to win! They refuse to not have a copy of a winner. Why? I dunno maybe the winners produce endless emotions to feed on in the off seasons and with Cleo not there the watchers are feeling really salty about their little mistake.

It’s either she wins or they’ll find a way to cause negative emotions from her. They’ll torture her one way or another.

I would like to think that the winners can all watch the seasons live, they just can’t talk to anyone. In comes Cleo. Due to the watchers fucking up, Cleo can somewhat communicate with the other players. I dunno maybe when she’s around ‘Scar’ she hears a distance voice. Or maybe when she’s in the shared base by herself they can hear whispers of Scott and Pearl.

Basically they’re the key to helping Scar and the other players. Could be something like getting all of the other players killed off besides the watchers and then killing themselves so they’re not crowned Wild Life’s winner. Can’t make a battery now can you?

In short:

Winners act as emotional batteries in the off seasons and watchers use their clones to spy on other servers and players

Cleo isn’t a winner but also a winner? Real life was an accident

Watchers tried to discount her win so she would actively play again

Cleo doesn’t want to much to their annoyance

The players are somewhat able to communicate with Cleo making them the key to their escape

Also I would like to think that winners can talk to each other via comms but it took Scar a long time because his was broken. Smashing your comm on the success button multiple times would do that to you.

Life series au where Scar is forever trapped in Secret life and discovers that a year later the 6th game happened but surprise surprise Scar is there. But it’s not him.

Scar remembers the previous games, he remembers Grian’s win, he remembers watching over others as a spectator. Why is he there?

Turns out the Watchers are making copies of the winners to watch over other servers. Grian back on hermitcraft wasn’t the same Grian from third life. He wasn’t even the same Grian from previous hermitcraft seasons.

There’s now a watcher working with Noxcrew with MCC, someone pretending to be Scott.

The real Pearl was only on season 1 of empires, the god Sausage has been gone for a long time.

The watchers finally got Martyn. The listeners couldn’t save him.

Scar is determined to get his real friends back and destroy the copies before the end of Wild Life. He refuses to let another one of his friends be replaced by a watcher spy.

[wakatvshi]

late nights | jean kirstein x reader pt. 2

warnings: canon typical violence

word count: 1644

gif credit: on gif

authors note: part 2 of this story! the next part will come out after the update on my bertholdt fic! i really hope you enjoy this fic because I’ve worked hard on it!

summary: your progressing relationship with jean told through nights you spend together from marco’s death to the attack on marley. all of the ups and downs of life.

read part one here. 

Since joining the Scouts nothing had gone right, it was a constant string of death and destruction. You’d known that though, you knew what the Scouts were. Commander Erwin didn’t hold anything back when he told you all what you would be facing. Even before that you knew the pain of the Scouts. Your father had been one and he’d died. So you knew it could be hell. But your first actual mission being against the female titan, against Annie, that wasn’t something you could have ever expected.  

After the battle Annie had gone into some crystal and you lost her, the whole battle and loss of life was basically useless. There were positives in the situation, the Female Titan was under lock but it wasn’t enough for the MP’s. They were angry at Commander Erwin and to a point you understood, but no one but the Scouts seemed to understand the severity of what she was, what she’d done. How they were so detached from everything you couldn’t understand. There were talks happening now but what those were you weren’t privy to. 

The best way you knew to take out your frustration was to train. Mikasa had agreed to help you with some hand-to-hand training and since Eren was meeting with Commander Erwin right now she didn’t have anything else to do. Of course she was winning, you knew she would when you asked but it was good training. Mostly just dodging and working on endurance for you. 

Putting your hands on your knees you caught your breath as Mikasa rubbed her shoulder, “Okay. I think I’m going to give.” You were laughing but your lungs had a slight burn to them. There was always such a difference in training in the field and training like this. “Next time I’m asking Sasha, maybe she’ll pull punches.” You laughed. 

A small smile was on Mikasa’s face when you stood up, “You would have been angry if I’d have done that.” She was right, “We’ve been at it for over an hour. I should see if Eren is back.” She was right about the time, you hadn’t realized it until you noticed the sun was setting. 

She grabbed her shirt and pulled it back on, you’d both have to shower later but right now she was more interested in finding Eren and Armin. Sasha and Connie were heading out tomorrow so they were already sleeping, so you’d probably just head to the shower. Taking the towel she offered you, you wrapped it around your shoulders. It was your idea to train so you’d make sure everything was cleaned up, you couldn’t imagine how angry Captain Levi would be if he found out you guys made a mess and left it. 

When the door opened you both turned around and saw Jean was standing in the doorway. He looked at you for a second before his eyes quickly went to Mikasa. You felt a sting when he looked at her. For a long time you tried to deny the fact that you did like him, he’d liked Mikasa since the first day he saw her and that didn’t really leave any room for your feelings. You respected that, if he didn’t think of you like that it was fine. Jean was still one of your best friends and so was Mikasa. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when it was so clearly in front of you that you weren’t the one he wanted. 

Forcing yourself to look away from him when Mikasa walked out you focused on trying to clean up what mess you guys had made. It wasn’t much, but things were out of order and that would cause issues. Focusing on something for a few minutes would help you get over the moment of jealousy. You felt bad about it, Mikasa hadn’t done anything, honestly you were surprised more people weren’t tripping over themselves to be near her. Still there were a few times you just wished you could be in her shoes, like when Jean forgot what he was saying because she walked into a room. 

Before you finished you let out a huff realizing he was just standing there. “Did you need something?” You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, you cursed yourself for not waiting until you were sure you had the jealous part of your brain shut off. Jean still had a pink tinge to his cheeks when you looked at him and for a moment he looked confused. “Jean?” 

“Oh. Yeah, I just uh...” He cleared his throat rubbing the back of his neck, he was still blushing. “I just wanted to check on you. I know you got thrown by Ann- the Female Titan.” So he couldn’t call her by her name either. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be exerting yourself this soon.” 

The nasty bruise you’d gotten on your back from the fight with her titan had not gone away, it still looked bad. But the sharp pain down your spine wasn’t really bothering you anymore and you had to do something. You were a soldier, you couldn’t let bruising stop you from training. She’d not killed you or paralyzed you so you were better than half the people that came in contact with her in a fight. You could handle being sore. You couldn’t survive if you got too soft. 

Before you could pick up the training mat you and Mikasa had been using Jean was there picking it up instead. “I’m fine, just sore still.” He was opening his mouth to say something but you were faster. “Besides, Mikasa took it easy on me so there isn’t any real chance I could have hurt myself anyway.” 

It did feel good that he was worried, even if it was because you were his friend, it still was nice to know that he did care so much. You could imagine if it had been Sasha or Connie he would have yelled at them, called them idiots but with you, he didn’t. He’d been a little different towards you since you stood at his house together. He was still loud and sometimes obnoxious, but there were times when he let himself be quiet and just… exist around you. You still didn’t know exactly how to comfort him but just being around someone seemed to help him usually. 

“Yeah well.” Jean put the mat up before looking back at you for a second. His eyes darted away again, looking for something.“You shouldn’t take the risk if you don’t need to.” When he finally found what he was looking for he crossed the room and picked it up, holding it out to you, still not looking. 

Your shirt. That was why he wasn’t looking at you, and why he’d been blushing when Mikasa left the room. He’d been checking her out even if she was just dressed for training. Taking it from him you muttered a thanks before turning around. Mostly trying to keep him from seeing the annoyance that was on your face again. The sooner you could get in the shower and ignore everything that had happened these few weeks and pretend these last few minutes didn’t really happen. 

Before you could button the shirt Jean grabbed the collar pulling it down. “Shit…” you froze for a second, did it really look that bad? You could only see parts of your back in the mirror. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming.” He was good at blaming himself, “You should ice it again.” 

Looking over your shoulder you could see a blotch of deep purple on your shoulder, that part wasn’t really healing yet. “It still looks bad?” He gave a small huff when your eyes met. Basically telling you that was a stupid question. “It looks worse than it is. I promise.” Maybe that would make him feel a little better.

His fingers ghosted over your shoulder blade where it probably looked the worst. His fingers slowly trailed towards your spine, you knew he was just looking at your injury but you couldn’t help but close your eyes at his touch. He couldn’t see your face thankfully, you didn’t want him to see the change in your expression as you reveled in his touch, even if it was just the faintest of touches. Before this you didn’t realize how much you really craved touch, maybe it was just his touch?

Goose bumps rose over your skin when his fingers slid down your spine and you turned around again. Your eyes locked and for a moment you thought he was going to say something, he opened his mouth but closed it quickly and let his hand fall and stepped back. You felt your own face heat up when he stepped back and you realized you were basically standing in front of him half dressed. 

“Just… be careful okay? What would you have done if you’d have been hurt worse? We need you.” He looked away from you as you buttoned your shirt. “And make sure you sleep soon, you look exhausted.” 

A laugh bubbled up out of your chest and he turned sharply. “Yes sir” When you gave him a half attempted salute he rolled his eyes and started walking away from you. “It was funny Jean.” The laughter had hurt your chest though and he wasn’t wrong about you being tired. “You should sleep too, Connie will probably try to wake you up in the morning when he leaves. I know Sasha will wake me up.” 

You both knew you were right, they’d never leave without saying anything to both Jean and yourself. He waved and muttered a goodnight before you stepped into your dorm to grab a change of clothes for the shower. Jean already gone when you came back out. 

[alirhi]

Loki ranting

Okay. I had this thought in my head of like just compiling links of all the Loki shit I've posted/reblogged so far so that when I get into a conversation about the show and how it fucking disgusted me, I can just be like "here. here's this masterlist post, go read all this shit. This is my entire argument, and not only mine, but a lot of stuff posted by people far more intelligent and level-headed and eloquent than I am, whom I happen to agree with." Because the alternative is constantly getting fired up all over again, and that is exhausting.

BUT! I'm stupid and don't know how tumblr works. Apparently I can't just be like "give me all the Loki-tagged shit I've got" I can only search all the Loki-tagged shit on all of tumblr. And I'm not scrolling back through all of my posts. I talk too fucking much for that shit 😂

So, I'll try to remember all of my grievances with how the MCU has treated Loki, and all of the excellent posts made by other, equally upset fans, and put it all together here under this nice, neat little cut for everyone else's sanity and scrolling convenience...

For people who actually read my shit fairly regularly - bless you, you crazy, patient people. I love you! - this is going to be a lot of repetition of shit you've already read. Probably at least twice. I'm passionate and I have a terrible memory lol. Sorry.

Anyway, first, for those who don't know me and haven't been following my explosions of rage for the past couple of months, some quick background: I do not read comic books, so Loki's Marvel comic canon means nothing to me. I know almost nothing about it. The reason I'm so in love with the character in the MCU is because I am an eclectic witch and the deity I've actively loved and worshiped the longest in my life (literally for as long as I can remember) is Loki. So when he was mentioned in The Mask, I squeed. When they named Matt Damon's character after him in Dogma, I cheered.

When Thor came out in 2011, I just about died from happiness. I was hungry for any representation of this underappreciated god, no matter what it was. I didn't even bitch about how underpowered he was, because at least he was there. But I'm getting slightly ahead of myself.

I can hear anyone reading this going "Why Loki? Isn't he, like, evil? Like basically the Norse version of The Devil?" Because I heard all this shit irl all the fucking time. And no. So let me give you a quick rundown of who Loki actually is.

Loki is a Trickster God. He's often referred to as the God of Mischief. He is not and never was evil, simply chaotic and hedonistic. Loki Laufeyjarson was the son of Laufey (that's mama; they changed her to a man for some reason in the movie) and Fárbauti. Right from the start, from his name, we get a sign of how Loki goes against traditional norms of the time, because in Norse culture, families were patrilineal, and surnames were "son/daughter of father" (which would have made him Loki Fárbautitason), not the mother. But Loki's surname is matrilineal. Feminist icon woo! lol

Though he's a Jotunn, Loki is counted among the Gods (Aesir) in Norse tradition. Depending on his mood, he is alternately helpful or disruptive to the other Gods. I'm not gonna sit and teach a whole text class on him lol but I'll use my favorite example of Misunderstood Loki - the conception of Sleipnir!

So, get this shit. This is also part of why I DO NOT follow Odin and never fucking will (a very small part, but still part of the reason). So, the other Norse Gods are petty motherfuckers, and they wanted some shit built but didn't want to pay the dude doing the building. So they were like "okay, if you can get it done in X amount of time, we'll pay you, but if you can't manage it NO MATTER WHAT, this whole thing is free." And they made sure he had NO help, nothing but him, his materials, and his Very Good Horsey. And this guy and his horse were fucking BAMFs. So it was looking like he was definitely gonna get it done in time, and Odin was like "nah, fuck that shit. I'm cheap." and so he sent Loki to distract the work horse. Loki transformed into a mare and lured the horse away, got fucked, got pregnant, gave birth to the 8-legged (for some reason) horse Sleipnir. Odin rides Loki's son into battle. Um. Kay.

So Loki helped Odin be a petty mf, and Odin got himself a new pet out of the deal.

Oh, also, because he's smart af and a shapeshifter and a master magician and genderfluid, Loki "fails" to fit the super fucking toxic and narrow Norse/Aesir view of "a real man". He prefers intelligence and manipulation to solve problems rather than violence, he's not afraid to behave like a clown if it gets shit done, and that grosses the Aesir out, so they constantly ridicule him for being "less than a man".

Loki is the God of the outcast and the misunderstood. The marginalized people from all walks of life. He is the God of the LGBT community. In modern terms, he's pansexual, polyamorous (married to Sigyn and they are deeply in love, but boy gets around and I've never seen any indication that Sigyn gives a shit) and genderfluid.

Okay. Focus, Ali. This is part of why I usually post multiple rants instead of one big long one XD The longer I ramble, the more I get sidetracked and forget the original point.

So. Loki's awesome, and being a Trickster, is powerful as all fucking hell. There's not much he can't do.

And now we come to Thor (the movie, not the deity). Loki's there! 24-year-old Ali is spazzing! All is right with the world!

Oh lord, they've actually done him justice?! Amazing! He's complex and nuanced and emotional, just like the real Loki! I loved this movie. Loved. It. The climactic thing with trying to blow up Jotunheim never really made much sense to me until someone made an excellent point the other day about Loki being raised in a racist society that was racist against his own race, he just didn't know it yet, poor child. Baby Thor was never corrected when he pledged to commit mass genocide, so Baby Loki probably absorbed the lesson then that Jotunns=evil and killing them all will win his father's love. Anyway, 2011 Loki was a beautiful, heartbreaking portrayal of the God I've loved all my life and spent 24 years longing to see depicted on the big screen.

Then The Avengers happened. And I saw another Loki very close to Norse mythology - mainly, how he's treated. In the beginning of the movie, he's sick, exhausted, and in pain. He can hardly stand, he stumbles and needs help when he walks. He was very obviously tortured, and the sickly blue light of the scepter's control is in his eyes. That gets less and less pronounced as the movie goes on, showing Loki working his way free of it, but in the beginning, he's a mess. Because he was tortured and used by Thanos. Marvel directly confirmed this, and that he was under the scepter's/Mind Stone's control. Loki's actions are not his own in The Avengers. He's under both threat and Thanos' direct control. The movie actually shows The Other directly threatening him to keep him on task, because this is not Loki's plan. It is not what he wants. He's being used and villainized... Just like in real life. It hurt to see this done to him, but the accuracy was too beautiful to ignore.

Thor: The Dark World comes out. I've heard people complain that this movie is the weak link in the Thor trilogy. I disagree. I think that's Ragnarok, for a bunch of reasons, but we'll get there. (And for the record, I loved Ragnarok, too. It was a funny movie. Infinity War and the Disney+ series are the only portrayals of Loki in the MCU that I truly fucking hated.) Anyway, good, fun movie. Had its faults, as all movies do, but it still followed Loki's real-life arc in a way. How? By having Loki dragged back to Asgard in chains and imprisoned underground. Again, not super happy that this happened to my love, and having to see it on screen was painful, but at least in the MCU he's not chained to a rock with venom dripping on his face for eternity, so there's that. (poor Sigyn. how tired do her arms get, holding up that bowl? best wife ever, amirite?)

In TDW, we're shown Loki's love for Frigga, who favored him and taught him magic as a child. We see his bravado; his attempts to mask his true feelings, especially grief. We see him slowly coming back to himself after the events of The Avengers, and slowly mending his relationship with his brother. He accepts that Odin will likely never love him, but Thor just might, because they were close when they were young. "I didn't do it for him." No, no my sweet, you did it for your brother, and a little out of guilt for what happened to your mother.

At the end, Loki fakes his death and escapes, taking the throne, and I have mixed feelings about this. Not the writer's choices here; I love that completely! A natural progression in Loki's story. But my joy is tainted by how closely they're following the Eddas now. Because Loki's escape from his prison heralds the beginning of Ragnarok. And Loki will die in Ragnarok. I don't want to see that play out in front of my face. I won't be able to handle the grief (spoiler alert! IW broke me. I almost walked out of the theater. Loki's death was legitimately fucking traumatic for me. I don't even care how pathetic that is. That grief was real, it was intense, and I still shake and cry when I think about it.)

Marvel announces that Thor 3 will be called Ragnarok. The internet treats this as a shocking revelation. I roll my eyes and mumble "duh" to myself and move on XD

Then they say Ragnarok will be a buddy comedy. I throw up a little in my mouth and no longer want to live on this planet. If they're going to make something called Ragnarok, could they at least treat it with even a fraction of the respect they've shown these characters thusfar? Jfc. I mean, I'll see it anyway, because I'm a whore for Tom Hiddleston lol. But come on, people!

I hated that they made Hel the long-lost older sister and Fenrir her fucking pet/attack dog. Those are my favorites of Loki's children! Hel is such an incredible badass that the early Christians named their dimension of eternal torture after her! They were terrified of her, to the point of naming the place that terrified them most after her. That's awesome! And Fenrir's just the best. I love wolves. Those two details, and Odin's retcon of "we're not Gods! ...lol, except your sister. she's totally a Goddess. and def gonna kill literally everything, so... good luck! byyyeeeee" pissed me off royally.

The rest was great. I genuinely liked this movie. Still do. And they finally used The Immigrant Song! That was pretty cool. If they'd thrown in Bring the Hammer Down and Thunderstruck, I might've called this movie perfect. XD

I wasn't totally in love with their portrayal of Loki in Ragnarok. Yes, the falling for 30 minutes line was funny, as was "I have to get off this planet" and "YES! That's how it feels!" And "Get Help" was funny as hell. But also, like... There is no way Loki would have been the dumb one in that first encounter with Hela. Also, he can teleport and project copies of himself and shit, so... He would not have been that desperate to go straight back to Asgard and bring her right along with them. Loki's not stupid. But whatever. Movie's gotta movie.

What I did love was seeing the slow mending of his relationship with Thor continuing, and the badass fighting on the bridge. I also loved that, like Real Loki, Movie Loki helped when help was needed, was quick and clever, and while he was carrying out the main plan, he was also planning ahead and grabbing the Tesseract. Yes, that drew Thanos right to them, but that's a whole other thing. Loki never would have left that thing on Asgard to be destroyed or lost.

And now Infinity War. Hooooly fucking shit. You know what? No. I'm not going into this. He was killed, years of character growth were erased forever, my heart fucking shattered. The end.

Endgame. IW hurt me so bad I didn't see Endgame until this year. I actually watched Civil War first (for context: I had actively avoided all Cap movies until this year because I fucking hate Steve Rogers. I find him insufferable. Did not realize what I was denying myself until I watched CW and finally saw the charms of Bucky. When he appeared in IW, I was so lost. XD I was like "...who dis? Murder Jesus?" also I just... didn't care. I was numb by then from crying through most of the movie over Loki)

So, anyway. Endgame. Loki picks up the Tesseract in alternate 2012, escapes, fans go "yay! he didn't actually die!" I go "yes he fucking did. Five years of his life, gone. Five years of growth and change, erased. Loki is dead. This will not be the same."

I was more right than I could have predicted. Now we come to the point of this rant. Sorry it took so long, but you were warned lol.

The Loki series makes me so angry I actually get sick to my stomach. It was fucking TRASH. When I praised Marvel for following Norse mythology so faithfully earlier? Yeah. I DID NOT MEAN TREAT HIM THE WAY THE OTHER GODS DID. I did not mean paint him as a pitiful clown, a joke, a caricature of who he truly was, with his pain and suffering played for LAUGHS.

This is supposed to be 2012 Loki, newly freed from Thanos' control. The Loki we saw in the beginning of TDW - snarky, exhausted, nihilistic. The Loki who rolled his eyes and said "get on with it" expecting to be killed.

The bumbling clown flipping on a dime from posturing to calling himself weak is not 2012 Loki. That is not ANY Loki. That is Tom Hiddleston in a black wig doing what he's told by a shitty writer who had no fucking idea what he was doing and was salty about his (bad) original script (for something totally fucking unrelated) getting killed.

In Episode 1, Loki is mocked, imprisoned, stripped against his will, tormented, belittled, and given a flippant summary of all the trauma Actual MCU Loki suffered that this one skipped out on, with no context, no acknowledgement of the trauma he's already lived quite fucking recently, and with the narrative twisted to not only erase all the abuse he's suffered, but to make it all his fault. And this is supposed to make him want to help these people?

And worse, IT FUCKING WORKS. WHAT?! I CAN'T- FUCKING WHAT?! Remember when I said LOKI IS NOT FUCKING STUPID?! So why is he STUPID?

Episode 2, he's a child. Mentally, this Loki is a fucking child. Now we've erased all the growth and development of his entire adult life. He's dopey, impatient, impulsive, desperate for a pat on the back and actually shows it. Yes, abused and neglected children crave the positive attention we never received, and we often grow up to be a bit emotionally stunted. But not all of us, and not Loki. Not as we've seen him EVER in the rest of the MCU. Playful and a bit callous at times? Absolutely! But not a big dumb fucking puppy.

Episode 3, a ray of hope, despite Sylvie! (I hate Sylvie) Loki casually admits he's pan/bi; labels never come up, but he admits to being with both men and women! He sings! Not really relevant to whether I approve of his portrayal or not lol but Tom has a beautiful voice, Norwegian ("Asgardian" lol) is a gorgeous, entrancing language, and I could watch that one bit on loop for eternity and never get bored. And then, finally, we see a glimpse - a glimpse - of Loki's power! He stops a falling building and pushes it right back up! Are we finally getting to see what he can really do? Will the next episode bring us Loki in all his glory?

Nope. 4 and 5 we see him mocked and pushed around and utterly irrelevant. Again. We see tiny reflections of what he could maybe theoretically do in other random Loki variants, but the "main" (lawl. main. it was the Sylvie and Mobius show. Loki was never the main anything.) Loki? Nothing. He wears his heart on his sleeve for no reason, bonds with the man who imprisoned, taunted, and gaslit him, is killed, and continues to be a moron and a joke. Always the clown. Always the dumb one. The one with the bad ideas. The inferior Loki.

Don't even get me started on that finale. I can't. This already took so much out of me. Fuck Marvel. Fuck this fucking show. I just... I'm done.

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price–particularly at Levi’s expense. Chapter 9/? Chapter 8 Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

notes: ahhh this one's long, I got carried away. but! hope you all like it! thanks for reading everyone, i think i'll be wrapping up this story in one more chapter after this!

CHAPTER 9

“Happy birthday, Levi!”

Kuchel gently shook the child awake, his big grey eyes blinking sleepily until he realized what day it was. He sat up quickly, a tiny smile on his face as Kuchel squeezed him tightly in a warm embrace.

“How old are you again, sweetie? I seemed to have lost count!”

Levi jumped up on his bed, fists pumped up in the air in triumph— “Mama, I’m 5 years old today!”

“Oh that’s right!” She said with a bright, yet tired grin. Stepping out into the kitchen, she had a small breakfast prepared for him, and reached to the countertop for a surprise. Levi burst out of their shared bedroom and sat at the table, waiting for his mother to sit with him. Next to him she placed down her cup of coffee.

Mouth full, Levi asks, “Aren’t you gonna eat with me, Mama?” Before he could try to give her half of what was on his plate, she whipped out a small cinnamon bun for him from behind her back.

His eyes sparkled as he saw the small pastry, something he had always dreamed of eating—one of the fancy-looking ones from the bakery window he would see on the other side of the underground.

“Once you finish all of your breakfast, you can have this, okay Levi?” He nodded earnestly, gobbling up the rest of his food before reaching for the bun. He tried to give her half, but she settled for a little bite, convinced by Levi’s little glare when she said she wouldn’t try any. Kuchel’s nearly empty stomach rumbled in hunger, but her heart was completely full as she watched her son eat a proper meal for once.

Luckily, she had the whole day free for him without having to leave him early for work. So, she took Levi for a walk to one place she had always wanted to take him—he was just old enough that he’d be able to keep this memory as he grew older, and she wanted him to remember and hold on to it for years to come.

They walked hand in hand until they reached a part of the underground that was very unfamiliar to Levi. Kuchel bent down to his height, and put her index finger up to her her lips, signaling him to keep quiet. Levi nodded, and followed her as she led him to a small ladder hidden amongst some abandoned buildings. When she reached the top, she reached down to hoist Levi up with her—and Levi covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. A tiny secluded area where some light from above ground escaped to shine on that very spot, there a bright patch of green grass with something quite beautiful in the middle...

Kuchel whispered as they crawled up to it together: “These are African violets, Levi,” she said with a smile as Levi’s eyes grew wide as he stared in awe. He had never seen real plants before, only in some of the few books he’s seen in his short 5 years of life. “They grow well in low light, like this spot right here!” She pointed to the grass and dirt underneath it— “Plants grow roots, which keep them grounded and so they can soak up water and nutrients to stay alive!”

“Wow,” Levi whispered as he looked, trying to imagine what the roots looked like below. “Mama, what happens if some of the roots ever get hurt?”

Kuchel tilted her head to the side, pleasantly surprised at her son’s curiosity. She chuckled, “Don’t worry Levi, even if some of the roots were to get severed or damaged, it’ll still continue living, and hopefully one day grow brand new roots in it’s place!”

Levi put one hand up to his forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, thanks Mama, that’s good to know!” Kuchel smiled and ruffled his hair, and they both sat to stare at the violets together for a little while longer.

——

“Is the Captain finally asleep?”

“Yeah, I think so, Jean,” Armin answered. The two stood just outside the open door to the infirmary room Hange laid in, and saw Levi had fallen asleep sitting up in the chair they had placed in the room for him.

It had been an entire week since Hange was in this state, and it had felt like an eternity to all of them. But as much as it was bringing all of them down, they knew it was affecting Levi the most.

“I don’t think Captain Levi has slept all week… the bags under his eyes seemed a lot darker and more menacing than the usual.” “Connie, now’s not the time to joke around about this,” Jean retorted.

“I’m not joking! It’s the truth and you know it!”

Armin jumped in to separate the two. “Guys, calm down, you might wake him up—“

Out of nowhere, a sweet aroma lingered in the air, causing all three of them to stop, looking around for the source. Their eyes all fell upon Mikasa, holding a small paper box.

“I… got this from Niccolo’s bakery. I remember Hange mentioning to me once that he liked—“

“Oi, is that a cinnamon bun?”

All four of them jumped, startled from Levi suddenly joining them.

“Captain, I think maybe you should go back to sleep—“ Levi squeezed Mikasa’s shoulder and gently took the box from her hands.

“All rested. Connie, it’s your turn to watch over Hange,” Levi said as he walked away.

Once he disappeared around the corner, Connie, Armin, and Jean frowned at Mikasa.

“You knew this the whole time and didn’t tell us?? All we needed was a stupid cinnamon bun to get him off our tails all these years??”

“Ow!”

Mikasa smacked Connie upside the head, and she swiftly followed after Levi, leaving the three in her dust. They grumbled and shrugged it off, and Connie went in to look after Hange.

Levi sat outside looking out at the ocean water as the sun began to set, an empty box filled with crumbs in his lap. It had been a long time since he thought about his mother, the violets. He thought about how much she probably sacrificed just to get him that cinnamon bun for his birthday.

The memories gave him some relief for once—he was absolutely exhausted, a week without any sleep weighing down on his eyelids as he stood guard over Hange. For once, they had a win—they made it out alive. But now, he wasn’t so sure they really won, and his hopes were beginning to unravel.

He closed his eyes. “Just for a moment,” he thought. But before he knew it, he woke to the cover of night, and Mikasa sitting next to him.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Mikasa decided to break it. “Can I ask why this is your favorite?” She said as she pointed to the empty box in his hands. Before he would answer Mikasa, Levi looked up at the sky, staring at the stars shining above him.

——

Hange stared at the stars above her, wondering if the ones here in paths were the same ones Levi would be able to look up at right now.

“Come on, Zeke, there has to be another way!”

Zeke yelled back. “Hange, we’ve tried everything! We’ve been at this for who knows how long! It’s not like we could keep track of time here, for all we know, it’s been weeks!’

Hange felt anger surge within her heart.

“And what, so we stop trying??” She kicked, sending showers of sand flying towards Zeke. Thunder cracked and lightning flashed, drizzles of rain beginning to fall.

Hange held up her hand to catch raindrops. “See, we learned that this realm is clearly susceptible to emotions!” She spun a knife from her pocket, and slashed at the palm she held up. “And we cant turn into titans here, but we are still able to regenerate here…”

Steam arose from her wound, the skin of her palm gradually mending back together. Then she picked up a leaf, and as she rubbed it, it morphed into a baseball—“And that objects we find here can sometimes turn into something we most desire…”

She threw the ball at Zeke, who caught it carefully. As he looked down at it, it suddenly morphed into a baseball bat, smacking him right in the face.

Hange threw her head back and laughed, “…and we know that it doesn’t always do morph reliably!”

Zeke grumbled, rubbing his forehead right where the bat hit him. He couldn’t believe Hange still had this much energy. He was right at his limit of patience for all of this. In his opinion, it was all moot—they had tried so many different things, and the turnout was looking quite bleak.

“Hange, have you—“

“…And we found out that…”

“Hange.”

“AND we know that—“

Zeke stood up and grabbed her hand, forcing her to look at him.

“Hange, listen. Have you ever thought… that maybe… maybe you should just let this all, go?”

Hange’s bright expression slowly faded, a confused frown now left on her face.

“W-what?”

“I’m just saying, we’ve racked our brains for maybe a week. And maybe we should just focus on getting you back home and out of paths. We’re not even sure if we could do that, right?”

Hange turned away from Zeke, and remained silent.

Zeke spoke— “Just… maybe you should just let Levi go, Hange. He’s alive right, isn’t that all that should matter to you?”

Hange looked up towards the giant, glowing tree standing in the center of paths.

“Do you really think the tree doesn’t hold anything promising? I know you tried before I landed here, but…”

“Hange are you even listening to me??”

Zeke watched Hange’s back, her frame beginning to tremble. Of all the losses, the countless losses Levi and she had endured up until now—they deserved a win. And she wouldn’t give up on it. Ever. She balled both hands into fists, and stopped shaking, now still and firm in her decision.

“Zeke, defeat is all the Survey Corps has ever known.” She took a deep breath. “…But this time, I’m bringing us a win, whether you’re gonna help me or not.” She then made the trek towards the tree.

Zeke sat in the sand, dumbfounded. Hange was intriguing to him—he wondered how different things would have been if she ended up being a Marleyan Eldian instead one within the walls. Someone sharp like himself but… a lot more optimistic. That’s right. Might have done them all really well and maybe things would have turned out better for him and his comrades—none of them knew what they were missing here. He brushed both these pointless thoughts and the sand off himself, standing up to follow after her.

——

Mikasa spoke— “Just… maybe you should just let Hange go, Captain Levi. She’s alive right, isn’t that all that should matter to you?”

Levi kept walking as Mikasa followed behind him.

“Connie you can go, I’ll be here.” He saluted and hurried out as he saw Mikasa darting her eyes at Levi.

“Captain.” Levi didn’t answer and resumed his post next to Hange.

“Captain Levi, did… did you hear me?”

Levi remained seated, and did not look up towards Mikasa as he spoke: “You remember what Hange said, that day? In Shiganshina?” He took a quick pause. “…That ever since we joined the Survey Corps, every day has brought a new farewell?”

Mikasa’s heart dropped heavily at the memory, but she nodded.

“Well, I’m not ready to say farewell just yet.” Levi said with confidence. He had been thinking all this time that he’d pay the price of Hange being afraid of him, that he’d be happy if she was simply alive. Well, he knew in his heart that Hange wouldn’t be happy this way.

And he wouldn’t either.

So, he was putting his trust in her. If anyone could figure it out, it’d be Hange—and they deserved a win.

Levi took Hange’s hand in his, and brought it near his lips.

“I told Mikasa today about my 5th birthday. My mother, the violets… you remember right?”

He kissed her hand. He remembered when Hange asked him to take her the minute she told her—they spent the whole day looking for it, and luckily, they did find it. And they were still growing there after all this time.

“They grow well in low light…”

He laid his head on the bed next to her, yawning.

“…And even if a small section of roots get damaged, the flowers will still grow happily. And maybe someday, brand new roots can grow back in its place…”

Stealing a glance upwards towards Hange’s face, he swore he saw her smile before he drifted off to sleep.

——

Zeke stood in front of the giant tree with Hange. Her brows were furrowed, deep in thought.

“Hange, what’re you thinking?”

She swung her head back at Zeke, suddenly speaking a mile a minute. “Have you thought about how almost every curious thing in this realm has been activated by some kind of strong emotion? Feeling? Attachment??” She lowered her head, her fingers rubbing her chin, her eyes looking up in thought. “Well, not sure if exactly this, but you know I guess attachment applies to simply having strong feelings and—“

“Hange, Hange, slow down. What exactly are you implying?”

Hange was no longer talking, and now walking up to the tree.

“Strong feelings… a memory maybe…”

She felt drawn to it, and began reaching her hand up to the tree trunk, focusing on one of the happiest memories she had stored in her beautiful mind.

“Hange be careful! None of us has ever touched—“

Hange closed her eyes, focusing on the memory with a smile on her face, and gently placed her fingers over the bark burning a bright white light. Suddenly, yellow light began traveling between the bark’s crevices and nooks, slowly traveling to light up a whole section of the tree. A warm yellow glow covering only one section of branches to the top and going back down to where the visible portions of the tree ended in the sand.

The two looked in awe—it was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Why do you think—“ Zeke started, but simply couldn’t even finish his sentence in his shock.

Hange’s mind began racing, hypothesizing everything she could about what this might have meant, but out of nowhere, she felt like her heart stopped for a second, and it was as though she could hear Levi’s voice.

And her mind quieted, one particular memory coming to mind. She smiled and closed her eyes.

“Aw Levi…” she breathed out. “Thanks for reminding me of that memory…”

“Did you say something?” Zeke asked, only to find Hange shoot her head up, her eyes wild.

“Wait!” Hange yelled.

Was this the answer?

“The roots! Zeke!”

With a whooshing noise, the baseball bat from earlier suddenly morphed into a shovel. Hange began digging impatiently with her hands, pushing sand away to follow the portion of the tree lit with a yellow glow, following it down deep to reveal its roots.

Zeke was confused, but didn’t question her determination. He ran to grab the shovel and began to dig alongside her.

They dug for what felt like hours, and finally collapsed breathing heavily, arms aching, sweat dripping from their foreheads. Most of the root formation had been uncovered, still continuing to give off an inviting, warm, yellow glow.

They looked at the extensive network beneath them. Now curious, Zeke decided to reach out and touch a portion of the roots. When his fingers made contact, before his eyes flashed a memory.

He gasped and fell backwards.

“What! What’s wrong??” Hange rushed to Zeke’s side.

“It’s… Mr. Ksaver.”

Hange tilted her head to the side. “Mr. who?”

“I—“

Zeke paused, thinking. It was Mr. Ksaver’s memory of them playing catch, not his own. It wasn’t from his viewpoint so…

He followed the network and then touched a place a bit further down. He watched a memory, and did the same, touching yet another part farther down the line.

“Hange…”

She looked at him earnestly.

“I think… these are beast titan memories right here. I think, they may be lifetime memories of shifters….”

Hange’s jaw dropped. Zeke paused—one more to confirm his suspicions.

He reached, but stopped. He decided to take Hange’s hand.

“Let’s look together, okay?”

Both of them reached their hands towards the farthest end of the root network. “This would theoretically be your body’s most recent memory,” Zeke announced, raising an eyebrow at Hange.

Hange nodded back at him, ready to see.

Together, they touched the root end—they saw Hange’s body laying completely still and unconscious on an infirmary bed. Levi was there, asleep while holding her hand with his head lying on the bed next to her, an empty pastry box sitting on the table next to him, Mikasa sitting nearby, finishing paperwork in the dim lamp light.

[djarinbarnes]

can I have number 8 with Mando, if you write for him?

Evanescent Sparks - The Mandalorian

8. Hands brushing unexpectedly.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

pairings: din djarin x female reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none other than the reader being an absolute klutz and an awkward, blushing mess

a/n: so this is basically Chapter 5 canon, which I've done a twist to... This is my first time writing for the Mandalorian.... Seeing I have little to no knowledge of the Razor Crest’s interior other than what I’ve seen in the show, I've just freestyled the things from the events of chapter 5...... I don’t even know if this is good, please don’t come after me, but HERE YOU GO I love you guys and <3 stay safe

a/n 2: I’m trying to quit using y/n, so don't mind me.

I don't own the Mandalorian, © Dave Filoni, Chapter 5, The Gunslinger

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

You remember clearly when you met him the first time. One day he was just there. At the hanger where you worked for Peli, along with her droids. You’d heard him from around the corner, that modulated voice insisting on no droids, and you immediately knew you had to investigate.

There was something interesting in the way the armor on his body caught the light of the dual suns of Tatooine. You’d heard about Mandalorians in the brief years of school, the stories of the Clone Wars still fresh in your mind. You hadn’t ever thought you’d see one in real life though, yet here he was.

You knew he had to be sweating under all that heavy beskar and the clothes underneath it. He didn’t say much though. He never really talked about himself, you noted. You watched him from afar when he took off on one of Peli’s speeder bikes.

“SPARKS!” you cringed at her tone, knowing you had a long night in store for you. You reluctantly made your way down to the center of the hanger, stopping dead in your tracks when the giant crest came into view.

“Holy shit.” You muttered under your breath, taking in the holes from apparent battle, the dripping of uncertain fluids coming from the exterior.

“We have a fuel leak among other things that needs to be fixed. He requested no droids, so it’s all on us, unfortunately.” You watch as she makes her way around the crest, her indicator constantly beeping as she points it to the aircraft.

“I’ll handle the leak first, then fill it up.” You mutter out, finding your welding tools before getting to work on the Razor Crest. You feel a hand on your arm just after finishing the weld, turning to find Peli standing in front of you.

“Don’t fill it all the way. He only paid us 500 credits.” You nod and push your goggles up to your hairline, wiping your brow with the back of your hand, the warm, dry air on Tatooine making you sweat more than you’d like. “You should really be careful next time, you know. Sparks can ignite fuel, you know.” Peli let out a laugh as your eyes widened.

“Dank farrik, oh my maker.” You laughed at your mistake, realizing you could’ve easily blown up the hanger. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry Peli.” You look at her apologetically, to which she just lets out another laugh.

“He’s something, I know that. A Mandalorian, here in my hanger… It’s crazy.” Peli makes her way into the makeshift kitchenette of her hanger. She comes back quickly with a cup of ruby bliel, handing it to you with a nod.

You quickly gulp down the gooey drink, relishing in the way it sated your thirst. With a nod, you move around the crest, welding over holes from the blaster fight it’d taken a toll in. You quickly locate all the holes, welding them quickly but efficiently, climbing the ladder way more times than necessary.

You were sweating buckets, your whole t-shirt soaked through under the dual suns. You jumped and slid down the ladder quickly, gliding to your feet with a heavy puff. You let Peli know that you were done, and that you were going to cool off.

Once inside the confinements of the living quarters, you pull off your soaked shirt, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud. You pull out a wet, cold cloth from the cooler, dabbing it all over your bare torso to cool yourself down.

You find a clean shirt and pull it over your head, grabbing another cup of ruby to cool you further. You make your way to the doorway of the hanger, looking over the dusty terrain of your planet. You sigh in content before squinting your eyes, trying to see something in the distance.

It was almost never boring working and living with Peli. But sometimes, you did miss the rush of Mos Eisley. You could barely see the city from 3-5, but you could dream. Dream about the cantinas and the bustling life you left behind.

You turned after a few minutes, walking back to where Peli had sat down with her droids and started a game of sabacc. You knew Peli was a master at the game, which was why you never dared to challenge her. Yet you sat down across from her, watching as she laid in three bolts and a motivator.

You silently laughed, damn well knowing she was going to win the hand over those stupid, no-good droids. You watched as she threw around the cards, making the droids tilt their heads in her direction, clearly confused as to what she was doing.

Your ears picked up the sound of something you didn’t recognize. Your head whipped toward the crest, your head tipping to one side. “Peli?” you carefully spoke up, making her look at you. Then she heard it too.

“What is that sound?” You carefully asked, and she shrugged her shoulders, pointing to a droid and asking it to fetch her blaster rifle. You both got up and you reached over, grabbing your own small blaster, holding it in front of you as you both walked towards the crest.

“I’d stay in that ship if I were you!” you heard her yell, before you both lowered your weapons, your eyes landing on a small, green creature making its way out into the sunlight from the dual moons setting on the hanger.

It looked… sad? You and Peli gave each other a look, before both your heads snapped back to the crest, from the sound of the creature giving a little wail. You watched as Peli handed over her blaster rifle to one of her droids, before crouching down, slowly.

“It’s just a…. child?” you spoke softly as Peli lifted the thing off the gangway, arms stretched in front of her.

“Let Peli take a good look at you...” You heard her say before she turned, her eyes catching yours. “Alright, there we go… Did that bounty hunter leave you all alone in that big nasty ship?” you smile at her chosen words, listening closely as the child let out another small wail.

“What… is it?” you spoke softly, stepping closer to her.

“How do I know what it is? Give me a second!” she stared at you, before turning her attention back on the child in her arms. “Alright! Would you like some food? You hungry?” The child let out another sound, and you sighed, putting your blaster into the hands of one of the droids.

“You feed it; I’ll get back to work.” You said as you grabbed your toolbox, making your way into the crest. You welded up the holes in the hull quickly, before strapping the box over your shoulder to climb the stairs to the cockpit where, what you suspect to be the navigation log, has been beeping your ear off for the past half an hour.

You sigh when you finally enter the cockpit with both your hands over your ears, trying to keep out the brain-numbing noises that are way more prominent in the closed-off space. You light all possible bulbs in the cockpit quickly before locating the log and the red alarm button, that’s been going off.

You quickly lay down on your back under the panel, finding a few detached wires that may have set of the alarm. With swift fingers you untangle the wires from the main panel, before reattaching them to the navigation log. You grin when the beeping stops and push yourself from under the panel.

You rise from the floor and, unexpectedly, comes face to face with the dank farrik Mandalorian, startling you. You feel your heart pick up the pace of its beating, and you find yourself just standing there… Unable to do something. You hadn’t even heard him come in, and the crest was barely what you could call soundproof.

“I… I’m sorry, Mandalorian, I was just fixing some wires under the panel and…” you try to look everywhere but the helmet, where you’re certain a pair of eyes are judging you. “Um… excuse me…” you whisper quietly, before brushing past the statue of a man in front of you.

You stop in your tracks as you feel your hand glide over fabric, then finding a certain warmth you hadn’t expected. Skin? You stutter as you feel something that could go for electricity and take a step back, turning to face the elephant in the room, and finding that elephant to have discarded his fucking gloves. A blush creeps into your cheeks, and it makes you want to crawl into your own oblivion.

Was he allowed to do that? Possibly. You just hadn’t expected it. You had expected a pair of leather gloves, but they were nowhere to be found. You quickly made your way around him to grasp your toolbox, before quickly muttering out a sorry, leaving the cockpit faster than your own feet could carry you, causing you to drop your toolbox on the way down the ladder.

“Dank farrik!” you yell out, quickly getting your toolbox upright, before hurriedly pushing your things back into the metal box. You scurry out of the crest, hiding your reddened face from where Peli is sitting with the child. You didn’t need her to ask questions.

Once inside the, what you assumed to be safe space of the hanger, you quickly pour out the contents of your toolbox to rearrange everything the way you like it. It a fairly easy task, except when you come to the conclusion that you’re missing one of your favorite screwdrivers. You used it in the cockpit and you- fuck - you probably forgot it there in the midst of your trembling, blushing mess of an encounter with the Mandalorian.

“You forgot this.” You let out a yelp as the modulated voice speaks up behind you, startling you yet again. You turn and find him right there, in your hanger, screwdriver in his not-so-glove-covered hand, making you gulp down a fair amount of saliva that’s gotten caught in your mouth.

“Thanks.” You whisper before taking the tool from his hand, the warmth of his palm sending even more shockwaves up your fingers, though your arms and right into your heart. He had to notice the way your skin got clammy and your heartrate picked up, but he just turned on his heel and left the hanger, leaving you to think over what the fuck just happened.

[succubusphan]

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 15

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

PHIL

Travelling north, Westeros.

Loras dismounted and stalked down to the river, allowing his horse to drink some water and washing his face repeatedly. Even after weeks on the road, Phil noticed how obsessed he was with cleaning himself, probably due to his time captive in the Sept where he had lost that privilege. 

Phil followed him and patted his horse, letting him drink too. Ser Pounce was awoken from his slumber and climbed out of Phil's satchel, taking the time to smell his surroundings and scrunching his face up to the sun.

“You can’t be angry at me forever, Loras.”

Loras looked at him with disdain. “I can. I spent years mourning my husband, you saw how badly I was doing, and you never said a word and now I have to grieve for my sister!”

Flinching at the mention of Margaery’s death. He couldn’t talk about it, not yet, so he focused on Renly. “There are many things you don’t understand,” he said. “I know how much it hurt you and I do understand that you are angry at me, but all I’m asking is that you talk to me. We still have a long way to Winterfell.”

“Well, if there’s so much I need to understand, you should explain yourself,” Loras said, punching Phil’s arm a little too hard.

Phil let out a deep sigh but nodded. “Alright. I’ll try my best,” he said. “Do you remember when I asked if you loved Renly, back at the camp?”

“Yes, it was before Renly…” he trailed off.

“Yes. Well… there was a reason. I feared that something would happen and -” He let out a frustrated groan. “When I was a child… When I was hiding in Essos as a child, there was always someone trying to kill me until a Red Priestess gave me a few things. A ring for myself that I was never to remove and a necklace with a rare pendant in it. She told me that the ring would protect me, and it did, I never got tracked or attacked again, even if I'm not sure how it works. And the necklace was meant for someone else. She told me I would know who to give it to, to win the war so that the real war could begin.”

“What would that mean?”

Ser Pounce must have sensed his need for comfort because he meowed and pawed at Phil until he was purring in his arms. “Dan says the White Walkers are real and they are marching south. But - what I mean is, Renly was truly attacked that night. He was truly in danger and the fact that I gave him that necklace saved him. The shadow creature that entered his tent tried to stab him, Lady Stark yelled his name, making him turn around and the stab landed in the necklace, saving him.”

“But why didn’t Renly tell me? Why didn’t you tell me instead of making me grieve for him?”

“It was my idea. I knew that Stannis wouldn’t stop at one attempt and with the Red Witch at his side, I wasn’t sure if either of you would survive. By taking Renly out of the war, you left for King’s Landing and killed Stannis, then the Freys betrayed the Starks and the war was over; at least the main part of it. If Renly had gone into battle we would all be dead by now. Every single one of us. The Lannisters never played fair or intended to benefit us in any way.”

“But you didn’t know things would work,” Loras said. “You risked everything for a hunch.”

“I didn’t, but -” Phil placed his hand on Loras’ shoulder. “When we escaped through the Kingswood, Ser Davos caught up to us, the old Knight serving Stannis. He brought Shireen with him because they were thinking of burning her as a sacrifice to ensure Stannis would win the war.”

Loras frowned. “His own daughter!”

Phil nodded. “I believe that the reason Renly didn’t come out of hiding all this time was to protect her. You know how much he loves her. It took a long time, and there are still battles to come, but in the end, Renly is alive, you are alive and Shireen is safe. He could still become The King of Westeros - with you at his side.”

“I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore. I just want him… if he even wants me still.”

He wanted to tell Loras that Renly would still love him, even after all these years, but he couldn’t; he didn’t know if that would be true and if he was honest with himself, he tried to avoid thinking that was a possibility for he and Dan as well. Would they still feel the same as they did years ago? Would everything be the same even after everything they had gone through?

ARYA

“You're wondering why I brought you all here after all we just had a feast. Since when does old Walder give us two feasts in a single fortnight? Well, it's no good being Lord of the Riverlands if you can't celebrate with your family; that's what I say. I've gathered every Frey who means a damn thing so I can tell you my plans for this great house now that winter has come. But first, a toast. No more of that Dornish horse piss, this is the finest Arbour gold. Proper wine for proper heroes!” Lord Frey raised his wine glass and said: “Stand together!”. 

The Frey men stood from their seats and raised their glasses saying their house words: “Stand together!” And drank their wine. Out of the corner of his eye, Walder Frey saw his youngest wife raising her glass and grabbed her hand. “Not you. I’m not wasting good wine on a damn woman!”

Then, he continued his speech. “Maybe I'm not the most pleasant man, I'll admit it, but I'm proud of you. You're my family, the men who helped me slaughter the Starks at the Red Wedding,” he paused and let them celebrate the compliment. “Yes! Brave men, all of you. Butchered a woman pregnant with her babe, cut the throat of a mother of five, slaughtered your guests after inviting them into your home. But, you didn't slaughter every one of the Starks. No, no. That was your mistake. You should have ripped them all out, root and stem.” 

The old man watched as every single one of his sons and relatives clutched at their throats, unable to breathe. “Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe.” The last men of house Frey died in a matter of seconds, in pure agony as she watched. Arya removed the face of Walder Frey and turned to the young Lady at her side. “When people ask you what happened here, tell them that the North remembers. Tell them winter came for House Frey.”

She let out a happy sigh and walked out of the castle with a sense of peace and fulfilment she hadn’t experienced… ever. She thought back to when she first arrived at the twins and surprised old Walder; what a magical day.

Wearing the face of one of the kitchen maids, she set a big meat pie on Lord Frey’s table. 

“You’re not one of mine, are you?” He asked.

“No,  My Lord.” 

“Didn't think so. Too pretty.” Walder Frey said. “Where are my damn moron sons? Black Walder and Lothar promised to be here by midday.”

“They’re here, My Lord!” Arya said.

“Well, what are they doing, trimming their cunt hairs?” He laughed. “They need to come here now.”

“They're already here, My Lord.” She said and smiled when the old man looked around in confusion. She pointed to the pie. “Here, My Lord. They weren't easy to carve; especially

Black Walder.” 

Walder Frey looked horrified and considerably paler than before knowing he had eaten his own sons.

Arya removed the young girl’s face and leaned down to look at him. “My name is Arya Stark. I want you to know that the last thing you're ever going to see is a Stark leaning down at you as you die.” Before he could utter a word, Arya sliced his throat and the patriarch was no more.

---

Arya rode south of The Twins, her mind focused solely on her next target, but she was surprised when a group of Lannister men stopped her. 

“Good day, My Lady,” said one of the blonde soldiers. 

“Good day, Ser,” she said with a fake smile.

“Where are you going? The sun is going down and this area has become dangerous as of late.”

“Oh, no!” Arya replied. “Would you know of any inns close by?”

“Not that you can get to today, but you could join us for supper. We have rabbits.”

Arya dismounted and tied her new horse to a nearby tree. “Thank you, you are very kind!” She walked over to the firepit that the group was surrounding, looking at the faces of the young men about to enjoy their meat with a smile. She considered killing them, but… they seemed like good men. 

A red-haired one with a kind face gave her the first rabbit out of the fire. “Here; guests get firsts.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense! My mother taught me that guests should be tended to.”

Another man passed her a wine tote. “It’s wildberry wine; I made it myself.”

Arya took a swig from it and coughed at the strong taste. “It’s good!” She said, making the men laugh. 

“Where are you headed to?”

“To King’s Landing.”

“That’s a fine place if you like the smell of shit and piss!” He said, making the others laugh.

“What will you do in King’s Landing?”

“I’m going to kill Cersei,” Arya said with a shrug and bit into her rabbit.

The group burst into laughter once again, Arya joining them. It was a silly concept for them, a joke; but not to her.

One of them that had previously stayed quiet got a sad look on his face. “I heard my wife had our first child.”

“What was it?” Arya asked.

“I don’t know. Lowborn soldiers don’t get news from home… but I hope it’s a girl. Girls take care of their papa when they get old, boys go on to fight someone else’s war.”

The red-haired one nodded. “To be completely honest, when I was home, I couldn’t wait to get away, but now - now I would give anything to go back. Eat with my mum, help my dad with the farm. I would wed Jenny without hesitating for so long.”

“What makes you think she’s still unwedded?” Laughed the blonde soldier.

“I don’t know. I always thought we’d be together. I wish I would have asked.”

Arya watched the men; men she would have killed if they’d met years ago, but now she had time to see other cities, other countries. She knew that being on the wrong side didn’t make a person evil and most men didn’t follow out of choice, but fear for themselves or their families. If they would have shown any signs of being wicked, she’d have killed them and taken their faces, but they had welcomed her into their group for the night, fed her and had the intention of protecting her. Just for that night, they were on the same side; their own side.

BRAN

Bran let out a sigh of relief when he and Meera finally made it to Castle Black. After what felt like an eternity the gate rose but not to let them through, instead a few men of The Watch walked out to greet them.

“Who are you?” Asked one of them. “Are you wildlings?”

Bran recognised the cloak the man had on as the one Jon had been wearing when he met the Night King in Battle in which the man was also present. 

“No. I am Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed. This is Brandon Stark, son of Ned Stark.”

The man shook his head. “How would I know if that’s true?”

Bran tried to sit up. “Please; the White Walkers are coming for us - for all of us. You’ve seen them. You’ve seen him.”

The already pale man paled even further, his eyes widening as he nodded. “Welcome to Castle Black.”

“Thank you,” Bran smiled and let his head fall back to the logs Meera had tied together haphazardly into a sled to be able to drag him. He would need to ask his brother’s friend for another means of transport.

DAENERYS

“Danny! Danny!” The boy called her, looking all around but she stayed hidden. 

“Daaaaanny!” he insisted, but Daenerys covered her mouth with her little hands and giggled, closing her eyes too to avoid being found.

The boy finally entered through the red door and ran into Viserys. “Your Grace! I apologise,” he bowed awkwardly.

Viserys pushed him, making him fall to the ground. 

He hissed and clutched at his wrist, a small drop of blood running down his arm where he’d cut himself on the mosaics.

Daenerys finally pushed the curtains aside and rushed to him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t want you to get hurt!”

Viserys huffed and left the house stepping on her friend’s fingers on his way out.

“It’s alright, Danny. It’s not your fault,” the boy said. “Your brother is the problem. We should run away and leave him!”

“But he’s my brother!”

“He is mean to you too! We should leave and never return!”

“Alright, but first we need to plan.”

“Where would we go?”

“To Dragonstone, my home,” said Daenerys.

She woke up covered in sweat, the sound of the waves crashing against the ship and the seagulls sounding a bit too loud. There was a knock on the door.

“Your Grace. We have arrived. The boat will be ready shortly.”

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion. I’ll be a moment,” she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and trying to dress herself as fast as possible. She was home. Daenerys had to wonder if her friend had ever made it to the island.

When they finally made it to shore, there was a familiar yet ominous feeling looming above the Castle. Dragonstone was nothing but grey and sand; a big fortress built out of volcanic rock, sitting atop a mountain once full of dragon eggs. She smiled sadly and walked towards the gates with resolution.

It was a long way up, with twisting and winding paths carved into the side of the mountain, making it easier to climb up.

Drogon flew past them and landed at the top, looking down at them with interest. The Unsullied pushed the castle gates open and were finally able to walk into her home. There was nothing left behind in the Throne Room; only the stone throne. Daenerys walked further in and found the council meeting room. A huge wooden table shaped like a map of Westeros placed in the centre; wolves, stags, lions and the other Great Houses represented in wooden figurines. The last time the room had been used, Stannis had sailed to King’s Landing. 

Daenerys knocked the stags off to the floor. Stannis was gone and Dragonstone was back in Targaryen hands.

Tyrion looked out the windows to the rain that had started to fall as soon as they had entered. It was turning into a raging storm. He flinched at the crack of thunder falling in the sea. “On a night like this, you came into this world.”

Lord Varys stepped out of the shadows and bowed before Daenerys. They hadn’t gotten the opportunity to speak yet. “I remember that storm, all the dogs in King's Landing howled through the night.”

Daenerys sighed deeply and looked around, at the cold stone walls and the dust-covered furniture. “I wish I could remember it. I always thought this would be a homecoming, but it doesn't feel like it.”

“We won't stay on Dragonstone for good,” Tyrion reminded her. 

“Good.” She looked at the planning table. “Not so many lions.” 

Varys adjusted the pieces all over Westeros as he spoke, updating the information for her to visualise it. “Cersei controls fewer than half The Seven Kingdoms. The Lords of Westeros despised her; even before your arrival they plotted against her, now-”

Danny raised an eyebrow at him; she needed to address their history before they got any further. “They cry out for their true Queen? They're doing secret toasts to my health? People used to tell my brother that sort of thing and he was stupid enough to believe them,” she grabbed one of the dragon figurines and looked at it closely. “If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back, he'd have invaded King's Landing already.”

Tyrion nodded. “Conquering Westeros would be easy for you, but you're not here to be Queen of the ashes. We can take the Seven Kingdoms without turning it into a slaughterhouse. If the Great Houses support your claim against Cersei, the game is won. With the Tyrell Army and the Dornish on our side, we have powerful allies in the south.”

Daenerys turned towards Lord Varys. “I didn’t properly thank you for that.”

“They joined our side, My Queen, because they believed in you.”

“You served my father didn't you, Lord Varys?” 

“I did,” he said, crossing his arms.

“And then you served the man who overthrew him,” she said, unable to hide her anger.

Varys was not faced by her pressing questions. “I had a choice, Your Grace, serve Robert Baratheon or face the headsman's axe.”

“You didn’t serve him for long, you turned against him,” Danny pushed.

“Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure, there have been few rulers in history as cruel as The Mad King. Robert was neither mad nor cruel, he simply had no interest in being King.” 

“So you took it upon yourself to find a better one,” she completed his thought, taking a step towards him.

Tyrion stepped forward nervously. “Your Grace, when I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, Lord Varys told me about a Queen in the east who-”

Daenerys was not going to let Tyrion speak for Varys, save him from his past with bold statements about his loyalty when The Spider had expressed none so far. “Before I came to power you favoured my brother. All your spies, your little birds, did they tell you Viserys was cruel, stupid, and weak? Would those qualities have made for a good King in your opinion?”

“Until your marriage to Khal Drogo, Your Grace, I knew nothing about you, save your existence and that you were said to be beautiful.”

“So you and your friends traded me like a prize horse to the Dothraki…”

Varys didn’t nod, but he didn’t need to. “Which you turned to your advantage.”

“Who gave the order to kill me?” Daenerys asked.

“King Robert,” he replied.

“Who hired the assassins? Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?” 

Varys finally faltered, frowning at her. “Your Grace, I did what had to be done to-”

“To keep yourself alive,” she finished.  

Tyrion cleared his throat and tried to intervene once again. “Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal servant.” 

Daenerys scoffed and turned towards him with an incredulous look. “Proven himself loyal? Quite the opposite; if he dislikes one monarch, he conspires to crown the next one. What kind of servant is that?”

“The kind of the realm needs. Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I'll use them. I wasn't born into a Great House, I came from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering when I was a child. I lived in alleys, gutters, and abandoned houses. You wish to know what my true loyalties lie? Not with any King or Queen but with the people; the people who suffer under despots and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you aim to win. If you demand blind allegiance, I respect your wishes. Grey Worm can behead me, or your dragons can devour me, but if you let me live, I will serve you well. I will dedicate myself to seeing you on The Iron Throne because I choose you, because I know that people have no better chance than you!”

She considered it for a moment and decided to give the man a chance to prove himself. “Swear this to me, Varys: If you ever think I'm failing the people, you won't conspire behind my back. You will look me in the eye as you have done today, and you'll tell me how I'm failing.

“I swear it, My Queen.”

“And I swear this: if you ever betray me I'll burn you alive,” she warned him.

“I really expect nothing less from the Mother of Dragons,” Varys said with a smile and Daenerys believed him.

Grey Worm walked up to her. “Forgive me, My Queen. A red priestess from Asshai has come to see you.”

A red priestess? They had just arrived at Dragonstone…

--

The beautiful woman in red nodded and addressed her in Valyrian. “Queen Daenerys, I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honour to meet the Breaker of Chains.” 

“The red priestesses helped bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcomed here,” Daenerys said.

“I won't be here for long,” she said. “My name is Melisandre, Queen Daenerys.”

Varys scoffed behind her. “She once served another who wanted The Iron Throne. It didn't end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?”

“No, it didn't.” 

“You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone; we've just decided to pardon those who once served the wrong King,” Danny said. “The Lord of Light doesn't have many followers in Westeros, does he?” 

“Not yet, but even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause.”

“What does your Lord expect from me?” Daenerys asked.

Once again, Melisandre answered in Valyrian. “The Long Night is coming, only The Prince who was Promised can bring the dawn.” 

“The Prince Who Was Promised will bring the dawn? I'm afraid I'm not a Prince,” Danny said.

“Your Grace, forgive me,” said Missandei, “but your translation is not quite accurate. That noun has no gender in High Valyrian so, the proper translation for that prophecy would be the Prince or Princess who was promised will bring the dawn.”

“Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?” said Tyrion, smirking.

“No, but I like it better. And you believe this prophecy refers to me?”

“Prophecies are dangerous things,” said Melisandre. “I believe you have a role to play as does another, The King in the North, Jon Snow?” 

“Jon Snow? Ned Stark's bastard?” Tyrion asked.

Danny looked at him. “You know him?”  

Tyrion nodded. “I travelled with him to The Wall when he joined the Night’s Watch.”

“And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this… Jon Snow? Aside from the visions you've seen in the flames, of course,” Varys said. He didn’t seem to like the Red Priestess.

“As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he allowed the wildlings south of The Wall to protect them from great danger. As King in the North, he has united those wildlings with the northern houses so together they may face their common enemy,” Melisandre explained.

“He sounds like quite a man,” Danny conceded.

“Summon Jon Snow. Let him stand before you and tell you the things that have happened to him, the things he’s seen with his own eyes.”

“Your Grace, I can't speak to prophecies or visions and flames but I like John Snow and I 

trust him and I am an excellent judge of character,” Tyrion said. “If he does rule the North, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. John Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.”

He was right, of course, but that didn’t mean that Daenerys would let a man lead her forces; he was coming merely as an ally. “Very well. Send a raven north. Tell John Snow that his Queen invites him to come to Dragonstone; and bend the knee.”

DAN

Being Lord of Winterfell was not what Dan wanted, but every time he thought about asking Jon or Sansa to take the lead, he remembered Robb’s plea. He was at least relieved to have a secondary role in the matter and he couldn’t think of anybody better than Jon to be their King.

During the next meeting with their bannermen, Renly joined and assured the Northmen that he would respect the North’s independence as he had once agreed with Robb and Dan, as well as promising to let the matter of The Iron Throne be until the army of the dead was defeated. He hoped the North would support him, but for the time being, he knew what was important and he would join the fight as a mere fighter under Jon’s lead and nothing else. This pleased the Northmen greatly, it was a sign of respect they were not accustomed to by the southern Kings.

It was decided that Tormund and the free folk would help man Eastwatch by The Sea to hold the White Walkers for as long as possible. Then, Jon let the last members of Houses Karstarks and Umber swear loyalty to him and his cause despite the transgression of their parents and grandparents; they were mere children after all. Both jumped at the opportunity gratefully and therefore their castles remained under their lead. 

Sansa was not quiet about her disagreement, challenging Jon over and over, urging him to give their ancestral homes to someone loyal to their cause, but Jon declined and made his decision final.

After that, it was agreed that anyone over the age of eight would train for the war, not only to fight for their houses but to fend for themselves when they were under attack; some of the Lords were upset about having to send their grandchildren to war but Lyanna Mormont shut them down easily, letting them know that she was not going to ask for the other Lords’ permission to join the fight and she expected everyone else to do so as well.

Overall, the meetings were tiresome yet productive, but Sansa’s way of presenting her ideas opposing Jon was turning out to be a bit… much. The moment they three walked out of the meeting, Dan knew the subject was not over - far from it.

“Sansa, you can’t keep challenging me like that in front of the others. It makes me look weak.”

“Joffrey didn’t let anyone contradict him; do you want to be like him?”

Dan winced at the comparison but didn’t utter a word; for now, he was a mere spectator.

Jon paused. “Do you really think I'm like Joffrey?” 

Sansa stepped closer to him and grasped his hands with a soft smile before speaking. “There’s no one further from him than you, but I do want to be able to advise you, to be there for you, and not let you repeat Father’s mistakes. Cersei would have put their heads on spikes to warn those who want to rebel against her and burn their castles to the ground.”

“Careful, it almost sounds like you admire her.”

“I learned a thing or two from her. I don’t ever want to see one of us like that; please. The decision with the Umbers and Karstarks has been taken, but there has to be some reward for loyalty and some punishment for betrayal. Why would anyone follow us otherwise?”

“I don’t like punishing people. I condemned 4 men and a boy to hang because they stabbed me - it doesn’t feel right. Father said that the man who passed the sentence should swing the sword for a reason; he knew what it does to you.”

Sansa looked at Dan and he sighed, knowing that there was no way out of this argument. “What do you think? Should we pardon everyone who betrays us or abide by some set of rules applied equally to everyone?”

Jon looked at him expectantly. 

Dan rubbed at his forehead to keep the impending headache at bay. “It depends. I agree and disagree with both of you.”

“You can’t do that!” Sansa huffed. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, I can. I agree with you that we should be more careful than Father; I said this to Robb myself and he ignored me only to die shortly after. He was an amazing leader and fighter, but he fell in love and became too reckless. The only person he executed was the one he needed the most. On the other hand, we shouldn’t be tyrants towards those who have not had fault of their own and were merely a victim of the circumstances, like sons or daughters. I could have killed Theon the first time I saw him. I wanted to, but I understood that he regretted his decision, he wished he’d never left Robb, so I allowed him to redeem himself - even if I kept a watchful eye over him. In the end, he died a Stark, fighting at our side, helping us regain what he once helped take from us.”

Sansa frowned. “Would you have forgiven him if he would’ve killed Bran?”

“No. But he didn’t, he only pretended he did to maintain his position of power; something he always aspired to and it was always denied. I think he didn’t really want to hurt Bran.”

“Perhaps,” said Jon, his eyes looking out beyond the castle walls.

Dan stood at his side and looked down to the Courtyard where Brienne and Podrick were sparring with Renly. He’d never been a fighter but he was willing to learn. Maybe there was hope for all of them, for a future in unity where the different houses found a way to coexist in peace and help each other flourish.

---

On a day just like any other, Dan walked around the Courtyard with Sansa and Balerion in tow, checking provisions, the progress of their blacksmiths on the weapons they would need and for everything to be ready for winter. Sansa gave him very helpful advice; she suggested the other houses send their grain since Winterfell would be hosting for them for the foreseeable future and any remnants would be returned after winter. 

Dan was startled when Balerion took running for the gates, he placed a hand on the grip of his sword instinctively, until he noticed the wolf was simply excited. “Excuse me, I’ll be back shortly.”

“Of course,” his sister said but followed him nonetheless. Dan rolled his eyes, much had changed but Sansa was still as nosy as he was.

The guards had two hooded men on horseback waiting while they argued on who to consult about granting them access. Balerion sat, trying to contain his excitement and not jump onto the horse.

“Excuse me, Sers, what seems to be the matter?” Dan asked.

One of the men’s head snapped and Dan’s knees almost gave under him when he saw the flash of a smile and piercing blue eyes. He ran to the already dismounting man and pushed his hood back, pressing his lips to Phil’s. Dan felt him smile into the kiss and smiled back. He pulled away from his love only to press small kisses all over his face before pulling him into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much…” he breathed out, feeling his throat close as tears threatened to fall. “At times I thought we may never see each other again.”

Phil stepped back and looked into his eyes. “Dan… I wouldn’t have dared to die before seeing you again.” 

Balerion whined and jumped around Phil, nearly knocking him over until he received some well-deserved pets. When his brothers came to see what all the excitement was about, Balerion jumped around them too until a beautiful orange cat jumped out of Phil’s bag and started him. Balerion whined, and snapped his snout in the cat’s direction, but one hiss was all it took for him to take running to the Godswood, Ghost and Greywind following him. The cat rubbed against Phil’s leg before walking calmly into Winterfell.

Dan laughed. “Who is that?”

“Tommen’s cat. Couldn’t leave him behind. I’m sure Balerion will warm up to him.”

“He’s missed you, you know?” Dan said. “He-”

“Where is he?” Asked Phil’s companion and Dan recognised his voice immediately.

“Sansa,” Dan said. “Please take Ser Loras to his husband.”

“Of course, just-” She turned to one of the guards. “I believe Renly was showing Shireen the crypts. Please go ahead and let him know that Ser Loras Tyrell is here and I am leading him there.”

“Want to give him a chance to run?” Loras asked dryly. “He wouldn’t be fast enough.”

Sansa laughed. “Of course not. He speaks very highly of you to anyone who will listen, about how much he’s missed you and your memory has kept him alive all these years. I just want him to be prepared to see you - emotionally.”

Loras dismounted and hugged Dan briefly, giving him a warning look to let him know they would be speaking about Renly’s “death” and his involvement in it later. Then, he offered Sansa his arm and leaned close to her. “Did he really? How is he?”

Dan turned back to Phil and pulled him closer by his -quite inadequate- surcoat. “What do you crave the most at the moment?” He asked. “Are you hungry, tired, need a bath?”

Phil snorted. “All three, but if you give me a choice, I believe a long bath is in order.”

He leaned closer to Phil’s ear and whispered: “I can bring food to the baths, but I’m afraid you will only get more tired there.”

“That sounds perfect,” Phil said, looking down to Dan’s lips before pressing a quick kiss there. 

When Dan turned around and saw the remaining guard looking at them with raised eyebrows, he felt his face turn red. It took everything in him not to lower his head in shame at being caught in such an intimate moment, but he was the Lord of Winterfell after all. He was no longer a boy, hiding from his parents to avoid being punished. 

They stopped by the kitchens and grabbed a plate of fruits and cakes before going down to the baths. It was in the lower levels of the castle, beneath the ground and much warmer than outside. 

Phil stopped short and looked around the dimly lit chamber. “It’s beautiful - and warm.”

Dan smiled and started to remove his clothes, causing Phil to remember why they were there in the first place. “There is a legend that explains that: it is said that thousands of years ago, a dragon fell asleep here, in these very grounds, and never woke up. It turned into stone and was eventually covered in grass. This is where Bran the Builder had Winterfell built; a place where there’s always love and warmth. The baths are naturally hot even in winter and the fires never go out.”

Having finished undressing and shivering in the cold, Phil walked into the bath, Dan followed him with a smile. 

“Do the fires really not go out?”

Shaking his head, Dan snorted. “Of course they do; it’s just a legend.” He grabbed a jug and poured some of the hot water over Phil’s chest, reaching for a clean piece of cloth and soap, making sure to carefully scrub his skin.

“Stop it,” Phil laughed.

“What?”

“You are rubbing at my nipples a bit too hard.”

“Oh no,” Dan said with a laugh.

Phil sat on one of the steps and pulled Dan onto his lap; Dan moaned as their cocks rubbed against each other. He let his eyes fall shut and pressed his forehead to Phil’s before he moved his hips, slowly at first but gradually gaining momentum, moans and sighs falling from his lips shamelessly.

“Dan,” Phil whispered, placing his hands on Dan’s hips and stilling him. “May I?” He asked, tentatively running a finger on Dan’s rim.

“Please,” he mumbled before pressing an eager kiss to Phil’s lips, burying his fingers into the other’s hair as he felt his love’s fingers moving inside of him, smiling at the familiarity of the sensation, even after so many years. He would never forget what it felt to have Phil pleasure him in any way; It was like a phantom feeling, chasing after him. Even after years of not seeing each other, if he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still feel his fingers prying him open, his hands caressing him, his lips kissing his neck, Phil’s cock deep inside him. Dan finally opened his eyes and looked into Phil’s. 

“I’m ready,” he said breathlessly.

Phil nodded and helped him lower himself onto him ever so slowly. “You look so beautiful, Dan. So beautiful - all I ever wanted was to return to you,” he mumbled.

“I’m never letting out of my sight again,” Dan said and leaned down to bite on his neck, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he finally sat on Phil’s lap, feeling Phil throb inside of him. “Gods, Phil…” He trailed off.

“Yes,” Phil said even though Dan himself didn’t know what he wanted to say. “Missed you, missed this.” He helped Dan raise and lower himself again, making him moan as he felt fire running through his veins, pressure building inside of him with every movement.

Then, Dan yelped, clutching at his leg. “Noooo,” he whined. 

“It’s alright,” Phil said, helping him stand and rubbing at his leg until it stopped twitching.

“I don’t want to stop,” Dan lamented. 

Phil bit his shoulder and laughed. “We are not stopping,” he said. “Kneel on the step facing away from me.”

Dan was simply happy to continue in any way so he didn’t argue. He set the palms of his hand on the ledge of the bath and kneel on the step, letting Phil take him in whichever way he wanted. He felt Phil push into him, agonisingly slowly, so much so that he could have sobbed. It was only when Phil shushed him that he realised he was, in fact, sobbing. “Please, pleasepleaseplease.”

“Yesss,” Phil hissed as his hips pressed firmly against Dan. Then, he pulled out just a fraction before thrusting into him hard. 

“Ah!” Dan moaned, letting his head fall forward and gripping at the ledge for dear life.

“Is that good?”

“Yes! More!” Dan moaned as he pressed back for a moment before realising Phil was holding him tightly in place to go even faster, harder. 

Phil leaned down. “Touch yourself,” he nearly growled and Dan let his hand fly over his cock pushing him over the edge soon after. It was fast - faster than he would have liked, but he knew they would get to do this for the rest of their lives. Phil joined him almost immediately, his breath coming out in pants against Dan’s neck, which he kissed. The bastard licked at the skin there and snickered when Dan twitched. “Still sensitive?”

“I’ll show you what else is sensitive!” Dan said.

“Let’s wash first, then we can eat that food and ruin the furs in your bed while I play with your sensitive neck.”

“Stay with me,” Dan mumbled, looking over his shoulder. “In my bedchamber - no more hiding and running away.”

With a wide smile, Phil nodded. “You couldn’t convince me otherwise, love,” he said and pressed a kiss to the side of Dan’s neck. 

LORAS

Loras dismounted and followed Lady Sansa through the gates. Had Renly really been thinking of him in his absence? “Please, don’t lie to me. Did he really speak about me?” He cleared his throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“Yes. I swear to you, he speaks of you as if you never parted ways and to anyone who will listen.”

That brought some sort of relief to his heart, but still, there was so much to know, so much to yell at him about, so much to laugh about, so much to celebrate. Would they even recognise each other? “How is he doing?”

“He’s healthy. His hair is much longer, I think it suits him, but he is often sad. Having you back will bring him joy, I’m sure. Shireen can’t wait to see you again as well.”

“Shireen - she was barely a little girl last I saw her. How is she?”

“Tall, learning a lot from the Lady of Bear Island every time they meet,” Sansa said as they approached the Crypts. “Mind the steps; every third one is uneven.”

“To delay intruders?” He asked. 

Sansa nodded and took one of the torches, descending the steps ahead. 

“Clever,” Loras said and followed her in.

They walked much further in than Loras had thought until they saw Renly and Shireen standing before one of the statues. 

“This was Lyanna Stark, sister of Ned Stark. She was very beautiful and kind and my brother Robert loved her - perhaps a bit too obsessively,” he mumbled.

Shireen stepped closer to the statue and ran her hands on the stone. “What are these?”

“What, darling?” Renly asked. Loras’ heart quickened when he saw his husband looking much more mature yet gentler than the last time he’d seen him.

“These small purple stones over her heart. She’s the only one with stones,” Shireen noted.

“I can answer that, My Lady,” said Sansa. “I asked the same question once when I was very little. Father said that he wanted to give his sister in death what she had wanted in life.”

Both Shireen and Renly turned around. His husband had the good sense to take a step back when Loras raised an eyebrow at him, but he still looked at Loras with adoration, even in the dimly lit Crypts of Winterfell.

“What does that mean?” Shireen asked, cocking her head, her eyes travelling from Sansa to Loras and back.

“I am not sure. He never explained,” Sansa said. “Would you like to see the dress I’m making?”

“Of course,” she said before hugging Loras tightly. “Welcome, Uncle Loras. I hope that we can speak at the feast tonight.”

Loras dropped a kiss on top of her head and rubbed her arms. “Of course. It is nice to see you,” he said and watched Shireen walk away with Sansa, who looked over her shoulder with a smile before turning around the corner. 

“Lo…”

“How dare you?” Loras asked. “You made me think you were dead! I grieved you and you were…” He gestured vaguely.

“Up north, living in the woods, then in a farm. I became quite good at growing vegetables and raising pigs,” Renly smiled.

“It’s not funny.”

“I know, love,” Renly said, walking up to him and grasping his trembling hands. “I will spend the rest of my life begging you to forgive me, but I do not regret my decision.”

“Why?” Loras asked, one tear rolling down his cheek.

“That night -” Renly said and pulled him into a hug. “Lo - it was horrible. It was by mere chance that I survived. That thing, it had my brother’s face. It tried to stab me, but Catelyn Stark called my name and when I turned around, the shadow hit a pendant Phil had given me only moments before. I was confused, betrayed, and terrified of the possibilities. What would be of you when I died? Of Shireen? So many people would have died. I think that I was saved for a reason and I made sure to keep us all alive until it was safe.” He kissed Loras’ hair.

“I was devastated,” Loras choked out. “I thought that I would go mad with grief so I did whatever I could do to keep the pain buried deep inside. I joined the Lannisters only to kill Stannis. I put a sword through his head and another through his heart for you! Then I rolled from bed to bed, from lover to lover, hoping to feel less but all I could do was drown in a sea of sorrow and misery. I hate who I became.”

“I don’t fault you for what you did, my love,” Renly said and Loras could see that he was being honest, even if he was hurt. “You thought that I was gone and instead of letting that kill you, you kept yourself alive through the tremendous pain and now you are here with me. We get another chance to make things right.” He shook his head. “I could never be angry at you for continuing with your life without me.”

Loras looked up to his husband and finally kissed him. He kissed Renly for all the years he couldn’t do so. It tasted of the salt of his tears, of heartbreak and of hope for what was to come. He now realised he was not only deeply hurt and angry at Renly, but at himself, for not being a better husband, for not waiting longer.

“I love you, Loras. Wanting to see you again was the only thing keeping me alive. Time changes people, so does war, but my love for you will never change, even if your love for me does.”

Loras pressed his forehead to Renly’s. “I could never stop loving you, but if you ever lie to me again I will kill you with my bare hands.”

Renly led Loras back to his room and by the fireplace removed every piece of clothing from his body, before laying him down on the furs and running his lips all over Loras’ skin. 

Moaning, Loras let his eyes fall shut as Renly took him into his mouth and pleasured him over and over again until he was covered in sweat, shaking and begging for mercy. Only then, Renly took him, gently, lovingly, burning slow like a lasting fire that threatened to drive Loras mad. 

SAM

The Citadel, The Reach, Westeros. 

The life of an aspiring Maester was not what Sam had imagined. He was mostly ignored except when he received orders, his time to read was fairly limited and there was more cleaning old Maesters’ chamber pots than he had foreseen, the number of which was none. Serving lunch and supper was a less nefarious affair, but still not what he had travelled so far for. He had been kindly allowed to keep Gilly and Baby Sam with him after much argument, but his access to the restricted library was denied every time he asked. He could see from afar that the titles he needed to research were there. Everything about The Long Night, the prophecies, information about previous winters even; everything was behind bars. 

There was, of course, an incredible amount of books at his disposal, thousands of them, and he did learn many things, but he wanted to learn more.

At least he was able to send Jon a raven letting him know that he’d found a book describing the deposit of dragonglass under Dragonstone. It seemed both obsidian and the island were of volcanic origin.

---

An odd thing happened when he was assigned to feed those in seclusion. A greyscale riddled hand shot out of the door and tried to grab him, asking him about the Dragon Queen and if she had arrived at Westeros yet, but he didn’t know. 

This person, the man locked away in that room, got his attention right away but there was no information about him and the Archmaester refused to answer until a few weeks later, when he asked Sam to accompany him into the man’s room. 

As it turned out, the man was nobody but Jeor Mormont’s son, Jorah. The Archmaester said the greyscale had spread too much and he had one more day to decide what to do. It was a polite way to suggest to him that he end his own suffering, but - Sam had seen something, a rare procedure that had worked once before. He was banned from treating Ser Jorah because it was simply too dangerous, but loyal to his old Lord Commander, Sam brought the necessary elements in the middle of the night and offered the man the option: A painful and slow procedure that would require cutting the outer layers of his skin with dragonglass and using a special ointment, while he had to keep silent so they wouldn’t be discovered. 

They agreed to continue. Ser Jorah biting down on a piece of leather to keep from screaming and a bottle of rum between them to take swigs from as things got more and more difficult, but come morning, hands exhausted and trembling, the treatment was completed and the only thing left to do was wait. By the time the Archmaester decided to check on Ser Jorah, he found him to be in perfect condition; except for the very vivid scars, and asked him nothing but to leave since his room was needed for the ill. Sam had found that Daenerys Targaryen had arrived at Dragonstone and let him know that, which made Ser Jorah smile for the first and only time.

Sam was punished for his rebellious attitude and for trying to use a banned procedure that could have killed him, but he was also rewarded by being allowed to transcribe books and documents that were rotting away at the Citadel. 

One of said books was quite interesting, to say the least. Gilly was reading an old maester’s diary when she found that Rhaegar Targaryen’s wedding to his wife Elia Martell had been annulled shortly before his death and he’d married someone else in a secret ceremony: Lyanna Stark.

“But - Robert’s rebellion started because it was said she was captured by Rhaegar. That’s why Robert hated him and his entire family so much. It was based on a lie!” Sam said.

Gilly frowned. “Do you think he knew that?”

“Perhaps… perhaps not. He was supposed to marry her, but I guess she didn’t feel the same way.”

“It says here that they both died within a year of their wedding,” Gilly said before picking little Sam up. He was taking to running around the library if left to roam for too long.

“That’s sad, don’t you think?”

Gilly nodded but focused back on their child. 

Still, Sam took an interest in reading more about Targaryen history, which resulted conveniently when he received a new raven asking him to return to the North and go to Winterfell. Jon was now King in the North, Daniel was Lord of Winterfell and so many things had changed since he’d sailed south, but Jon was asking him to return and he would, even if he was not ready. 

Stealing the keys from the restricted library and taking every book about their current predicament that he could find was easy enough. Escaping with said books, a woman, and a child in the middle of the night was a different matter. Thankfully, they made it out of the Citadel without being discovered.

ARYA

Inn at the Crossroads, Westeros.

Arya ran her fingers through her hair and smiled up to the sun. She was close enough to King’s Landing, but before she went on with her list, there was something she wanted to do.

Tying her horse outside, she walked into the Inn at the Crossroads and sat at a table, looking around for a familiar face and soon enough, he found her. 

“Arri!” Hot Pie said, setting a tray with various dishes on her table. “How are you doing?”

“Who are those for?” She asked and not waiting for an answer, grabbed a bowl of soup and a plate of pie. She took a few bites and groaned. “This is delicious.”

“Oh, the secret of my pie is to brown the butter beforehand; nobody takes the time to do that.”

“Hmm, I didn’t do that,” she commented.

“Have you baked pies before?”

“Done one or two recently,” she smiled.

“Where have you been?” Hot Pie asked. “Everyone thought you were dead!”

“That works well enough for me. I’ve been all around. Just came back from Braavos.”

“Braavos? What were you doing there?”

“Becoming a trained assassin for the God of Death,” she said before bursting out laughing.

Hot Pie joined her, clutching at his belly with how ridiculous the idea sounded to him. Arya couldn’t blame him, she wouldn’t have believed it either. He wiped his eyes and patted her hand. “Are you going back home?”

“No, why would I?”

“To see your family!”

“The Boltons are in Winterfell.”

“No, they’re not. Your brother Jon and the other one took it back and killed them. Your sister is there too.” He bit into one of the pies as well and smiled at her. “I met your brother, did you know? The tall one?”

“Are you absolutely sure, Hot Pie?”

“Yes! I tell you, I hear everything around here. People like to talk.”

Arya pressed her lips into a line before nodding. “Thank you,” she said, standing up. “Don’t get murdered, Hot Pie. You are a good man.”

“I won’t. Promise,” he hugged her and patted her back. “Hey, Arri. I don’t know how I believed you were a boy. You’re pretty.”

She laughed. “Thank you.”

Walking out of the Inn she realised she hadn’t paid for her meal but she didn’t have any silver left and didn’t want to steal so she just took her horse and rode to the Crossroads. She had two options: King’s Landing or Winterfell. She searched in her heart and realised that seeing her family meant more to her than killing Cersei ever would. She wanted to hug them, to speak to them. 

Patting the side of her horse’s neck, she pulled the reins to the path leading north.

---

After weeks of travelling, she decided to camp for a full night and set a fire, which she often didn’t, but she was finally entering the North and she could feel the cold seeping into her bones. She knew the fire could attract unwanted visitors, criminals, and predators, but it was cold enough for her to take that chance.

Setting the fire took some time and there was barely any shelter from the elements but at least Arya had a good spot to see any attackers coming. She was just about to lay down on a fallen tree for the night when there was noise around her. She could hear it all around her, as if she was being watched, but no matter where she looked, she couldn’t see anything, until -

A growl coming from behind her startled Arya. She turned around very slowly, only to be met by a wolf, then another, and another, an entire pack surrounding her and her horse. She considered her options, but there was no chance she would make it out alive. Finally another wolf arrived and all the others let it through. Arya smiled; she would’ve recognised that face anywhere. 

“Hello, girl. You are so beautiful, so grown. I see you have a pack now,” Arya took a step towards Nymeria even though she was growling at her, threatening to bite her. “It’s alright, Nymeria, It's me. I’m going home.” She took another step and another until Nymeria could smell her better and stopped growling. “You should come with me. Direwolves belong in the North.”

Nymeria took a step away from her, licking her lips. The other members of the pack did the same. After giving her one last look, Nymeria turned around and walked away from her, leading her pack away from Arya. “I guess that’s not you anymore.”

Sitting down on the fallen tree and looking into the flames, Arya smiled sadly. She wished she could go back in time and live her old life, with her entire family alive, with Nymeria, just - feeling that same sort of excitement for life again. She laid down and closed her eyes, falling into a heavy sleep, dreaming of her parents and Winterfell and the magic lost.

DAN

Jon stood out in the gallery, where their father used to stand and watch them play, train and grow. He looked at his men training, the blacksmiths forging new weapons and frowned, looking down at the message on his and passing it to Sansa. 

“Do you think it’s really Tyrion? It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap,” said Sansa.

“All dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes,” Jon said. “That’s what he told me when we first met. You know him better than any of us. What do you think?”

“Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters, he was always kind to me, but it’s too great of a risk,” Sansa mused. 

“I think you should go,” Dan said. 

She pursed her lips and read the rest of the message out loud. “The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on The Iron Throne. Join us, together, we can end her tyranny.”

“I like the sound of that. You should meet her,” Dan said, feeling more certain about it.

“Daenerys Targaryen has 3 full grown dragons, thousands of Unsullied soldiers and an enormous Dothraki horde, it would be crazy, but - dragons breathe fire and fire kills White Walkers,” added Ser Davos.

“And there’s the dragonglass she is sitting upon,” Jon said. “We need it.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I still value your opinion, Sansa, and I do agree that it is dangerous, but I have to go.”

“I will join you,” she said.

“You will not. Dan and Ser Davos will sail to Dragonstone with me. You, dear sister, are in charge of Winterfell. Dan said you know more about running our home than he does, so for the time being you will be the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Phil should come with us,” Dan rushed to add.

“Why is everyone going but me?” Sansa complained, although her face had lit up at being named Acting Lady.

Jon snickered. “And why would Phil need to come with us?”

“Well - the Tyrells and the Targaryens have always been allies.”

Ser Davos cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Your Grace, would the Mother of Dragons speak with a bastard?”

“She is the Breaker of Chains, I don’t see why not. She will have to speak to two, whether she wants it or not.”

Dan was starting to doubt his suggestion, but he didn’t want to be away from Phil again. “Perhaps send a raven in advance.”

Balerion came charging at him and to Dan’s surprise, he hid behind him. “What is wrong?” he asked, but then felt claws and paws trying to reach Balerion through his legs. “Ser Pounce! Leave him be, he’s scared of you!”

The black direwolf whined and backed away from the cat.

“Oh, come here you,” Dan said, picking the cat up and bringing him to his chest. “It’s alright. You are safe here. I know you lost your master, but you have a home with us.”

“You could take the wolves as well. She’ll make you leave your weapons but might let you keep them with you.”

“Are you also going to suggest that I take the cat as well?” Jon asked.

“No, Ser Pounce stays with me,” Sansa said, extending her hands towards the orange cat and catching him as he jumped towards her. “Come, help me finish embroidering my new dress by the fire. I’ll let you sleep on my bed.”

“The animals in this castle are spoiled,” Ser Davos said. 

Dan nodded. “They are, but they do rip the throats of those trying to harm us if needed so I believe it’s a fair trade.”

---

The journey south was long and not pleasant at all, but it at least allowed Dan to be able to reconnect with Phil and the wolves enjoyed the change of scenery and adventure. In a way, maybe Dan and Phil were like them too, not too eager to settle in one place and lay roots. No matter how much Dan had missed his home, being away from it, even if it was for a brief trip, allowed him to breathe a little easier, to rest better at night. As long as they were in the ship, he could pretend that there was no threat or impending doom hanging over their heads. In the ship, he could just be Dan and he could just love Phil.

That calm, that sense of relief vanished as soon as he saw the distant shores of Dragonstone. A sterile looking mountain full of sharp edges with a stone castle and a sandy beach.

As Sansa had foreseen, their weapons were taken as soon as they arrived at the beach, but after sending one of the Unsullied generals to plea for them, Ghost, Greywind and Balerion, were allowed to follow, granted that their masters stood between them and the Queen’s men.

A long winding path uphill and heavy wooden doors later, they finally stood in the Throne Room.

A beautiful girl, perhaps Daenerys’ advisor or Lady in waiting spoke first to introduce her. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen, rightful heir to The Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.”

Daenerys nodded at them and waited for them to introduce themselves.

“This is Jon Snow…” said Ser Davos. “He's King in the North.”

Tyrion Lannister made no effort to hide his laugh.

“Thank you for travelling so far, My Lord, I hope the seas weren't too rough.”

“The winds were kind, Your Grace,” said Jon with a smile.

Daenerys then looked at Dan and Phil, thankfully Phil was the one to break the ice. “Your Grace, I am a mere bastard of House Tyrell, my name is Philip Flowers.”

“Welcome, Philip. Your grandmother is one of my supporters, she said that you may accompany Daniel, the Lord of Winterfell, as you two are betrothed.”

Dan started coughing in spite of himself but recovered quickly when Phil nodded. “Yes, this is Daniel Stark, Lord of Winterfell and younger sibling of King Jon Snow.”

“Lord Tyrion spoke highly of you and your brother, My Lord. It is surprising to me that you are housing a usurper, Renly Baratheon, yet you decided to answer my summon,” she said.

Phil took a step forward but Dan reached for his hand and laced their fingers. “Your Grace, I mean no offence. Renly is Ser Loras Tyrell’s husband and consequently a part of Phil’s family. The Tyrells and Renly himself saved my life at the time of my father’s execution. They hid me in King’s Landing and helped me escape. A few months later, when my brother Robb was leading the war against the Lannisters, Renly accepted his offer for an allegiance, respecting the North’s independence, but there was an attempt on his life, orchestrated by a Red Priestess and he decided to let everyone believe he was dead to keep Stannis’ daughter, his niece, safe as well as Loras. He knew he couldn’t win then so he waited, and now he is willing to keep waiting. He sends a message, if I may…”

Tyrion looked at her for approval and walked over to Dan who gave him the parchment. Balerion tried to lick his face but sat still when Dan snapped his fingers. “It says that he does not want to go to an open war with you, Your Grace. Instead he wants to negotiate once your common enemies have been defeated. He says he has no army at the moment and he does not think it is time for him to search for one, he is merely following Jon Snow’s commands in this war.”

Daenerys raised one eyebrow at Dan and looked towards Jon. “What war is Renly Baratheon speaking of, Lord Snow? Is it yours with the crown?”

Ser Davos cleared his throat. “Your grace, apologies, I have a flea bottom accent, but Jon Snow is King in the North, he's not a Lord.” 

“Forgive me…” Daenerys trailed off, looking at her Hand.

“Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth,” said Tyrion.

Daenerys nodded. “Forgive me,  Ser Davos, I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn I read the last King in the North was Tauren Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the northmen. Tauren Stark swore fealty to house Targaryen in perpetuity, or do I have my facts wrong?”

“I wasn't there, Your Grace,” Ser Davos pointed out.

“No, of course not, but still an oath is an oath in perpetuity,” Daenerys said. “What does perpetuity mean, Lord tyrion?”

“Forever.”

“Forever,” Daenerys smiled. “So I assume, My Lord, you're here to bend the knee.”

Jon shook his head. “I am not.”

“No? Well, that is unfortunate,” her smile turned as cold as ice. “You've travelled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?”

“Break faith?” Jon scoffed. “Your father burned my grandfather alive, he burned my uncle alive. He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms if-” 

“My father was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family, and I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father,” Daenerys said. “Our two houses were allies for centuries and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known, centuries of peace and prosperity with a Targaryen sitting on The Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen, Jon Snow, honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine, bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it.”

“You're right,” Jon said. “You're not guilty of your father's crimes and I'm not beholden to my ancestors' vows.”

Dan looked at Phil with a small smile. Jon was so good at this, he was a true King.

“Then why are you here?” She pressed, clearly unhappy.

“Because I need your help and you need mine,” Jon replied.

She cocked her head. “Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?”

“I did,” he nodded. 

“And did you see the Dothraki all of whom have sworn to kill for me?” She asked.

“They're hard to miss,” Jon smirked.

“But still I need your help…?” Daenerys said. Dan could almost picture her crossing her arms like a small child. She was a very commanding woman, albeit a bit… unrelenting.

“Not to defeat Cersei,” Jon said and Dan knew he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her. “You could storm King's Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, Stannis almost took it and he didn't even have dragons.”

“Almost,” said Tyrion.

Jon continued, unfaced. “But you haven't stormed King's Landing. Why? The only reason I can see is you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people. It's the fastest way to win the war but you won't do it, which means, at the very least, you're better than Cersei.”

“Still that doesn't explain why I need your help.”

“Because right now you, and I and Cersei, and everyone else, we're children playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair.”

“You told me you liked this man,” Daenerys said curtly to Tyrion.

“I do,” he agreed.

“In the time since he's met me, he's refused to call me Queen, he's refused to bow, and now he's calling me a child.”

“I believe he's calling all of us children. Figure of speech, Your Grace.”

Jon stepped forward with a frown upon his face. “Everyone you know will die before winter's over if we don't defeat the enemy to the North.”

“As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the North,” she said.

“I am not your enemy, if I was, I wouldn’t have come with my family - the dead are the enemy.”

Daenerys sat back, pressing her back against the stone throne she was occupying. “Go on.”

“When I was ranging beyond The Wall, we saw it. We all saw it. An army of dead bodies commanded by White Walkers. There was an attack against Castle Black, the wildlings were trying to flee south and at the time, I didn’t understand. I wanted to keep them out, to protect Westeros from them. But when the battle was over, I understood that if they remained beyond The Wall, they would only make the enemy’s numbers larger. They didn’t deserve such a horrible fate, nobody does. I made a deal with one of the leaders and I sailed to Hardhome to rescue as many wildlings as I could.”

“How did that go for you, to make an allegiance with those who you were supposed to fight?”

“It didn’t go as planned, but not because of us. We tried to save them, but - the White Walkers descended from the mountains in a - a sort of snow storm, the dead raining on the camp, killing the free folk faster than we could get them out. Only a few thousand made it out alive out of the one hundred thousand. They now live near Winterfell, and some are manning the same castles they once tried to raid. Now is the time for us to put our differences behind us and unite against the dead. Once that is settled we can go to war with Cersei.”

“Do you believe this man?” Daenerys asked Tyrion.

“I was once hesitant to the stories I heard at The Wall, but the more I saw of this world, the more I realised that it is beautiful and horrifying, with magic and creatures beyond what anyone can ever imagine. I believe Jon Snow, Your Grace.”

“Very well. You and your family will be led to your rooms, Lord Snow. We have much to talk about.”

“You are taking us prisoners?” Jon asked.

“You are my guests for the time being,” she said and casting one last look in Phil’s direction, she left.

---

The next few days were a bit disconcerting. Jon pleaded with Daenerys to let him mine for dragonglass but she refused without much explanation. She did let them see her dragons, her children, she called them. Dan wanted to be jealous of the way Phil was fascinated by the creatures, asking her questions about them, but he was just as impressed and hanging onto her every word as well.

Still, it was a bit concerning that Daenerys gave Phil as much attention as she could, often choosing to speak to him over Dan or Jon. She even let him touch one of the dragons.

“May I, Your Grace?” Phil asked.

“That is Viserion. If he lets you… you are welcome to try,” she said with a smile.

“Phil - I don’t think that is a good idea,” Dan said.

Daenerys watched in rapt attention as Phil pressed his hand to the golden dragon’s nose, the creature almost leaning into the touch.

“Hello, Viserion, my name is Phil. You are so beautiful.”

Viserion shut his eyes and lowered his head before Phil. Both Dan and Phil turned to Daenerys, who frowned but didn’t explain what the dragon was doing.

Dan’s stomach almost crawled out of his body when the biggest of the three dragons landed beside them. Greywind stayed off to the side, eyeing him curiously, but Ghost and Barelion went up to greet him. Dan wanted to scream and throw himself to his knees, to stop them from becoming the dragon’s next meal, but he was frozen in place, knowing that any sudden movement might end with all of them dead.

Ghost trotted up to the dragon, smelling him and looking into its eyes, the dragon looking at him with interest. Balerion, of course, was too excited for such an interaction. He jumped and whined and wagged his tail at it, trying to invite him to play. 

It was Daenerys who reacted first, letting out a loud laugh. “Drogon, he wants to play! What do you think?”

“Balerion, come here!�� Dan said through gritted teeth.

“You named him Balerion?” She asked, turning to him.

“Of course. He has always been a black dread and the biggest of the litter,” Dan said with a smile. “He likes most people, so he’s not that menacing.”

“Still, I like that you named him after such a great Targaryen symbol.”

Dan nodded. “My sister Arya’s wolf was named Nymeria. We don’t hate the Targaryens despite everything that’s happened, but the northerners appreciate their independence. They will never trust a southern Queen - or a King for that matter. The North being a part of the Seven Kingdoms is a mere formality. None of them bother with us and we don’t bother with them.” 

“What do you suggest then?”

“Help us fight the dead and we will help you take King’s Landing.”

“How would I know you wouldn’t be helping Renly Baratheon instead?”

“We would help vacate the throne. Whether you or Renly agree to take it, that is your business.”

“And you believe him when he says he doesn’t want a war?”

“I do. He spent years away from Loras to keep him safe and to keep Shireen safe. Keeping her safe was more important to him than his claim to the throne so he decided to take her into hiding. He would have wanted to be here, but he feels responsible for her and he knew coming here would be dangerous for him. He’s a good man.”

“You speak very highly of him,” she said.

“He helped me and he tried to help my father but he was too stubborn and honourable to accept his offer.”

“Do you think honour is a bad trait?”

“When it can leave your children fatherless and your house in danger - yes. Renly didn’t ask him to kill anyone, just to take Cersei and her children into custody, that was all.”

“Would the great Renly Baratheon let his nephews and niece live to question his claim?”

“I believe so. He is not a killer, he is not even a fighter. He is trying to learn now, to join the war, but that’s not who he is.”

She nodded. “When we take King’s Landing, I want him to fight alongside your brother.”

“Does that mean that you agree to his proposal?” Dan asked.

“I am not sure yet, Lord Stark. I will know when I speak to him in person,” she said before letting out a shocked laugh when Balerion pressed his nose to her hand. She ran her fingers through his fur without a thread of fear, not even when he chewed onto her fingers. “Balerion… you are not a black dread, just a sweet child.”

Balerion let out a short, excited howl and took off running around Drogon who merely looked at him and exhaled through his nose.

[kiranatrix]

I feel like the nature of Light’s ideology and his methods get caricatured a great deal in the fandom (especially by those who only viewed the anime). I keep seeing popular memes about Light killing petty shoplifters who are only attempting to feed their family and I always get the sense that they’re largely inaccurate (for the most part). Light notices in the Yotsuba arc that Kira’s sentencing spares those: who’ve served their sentences and improved their ways, who committed justifiable crimes, and who have shown remorse. So it feels off to seeing portrayed that way, especially when Light’s elimination of innocents (such as the FBI agents, Naomi, etc...) are usually for strategic purposes, intended to help him progress ahead. Not to mention this pervasive belief that Light apparently didn’t know that he would be bound to sentence some innocents to death (with his large kill count per day). Wouldn’t it be more likely that Light knew that it was inevitable and was willing to sacrifice those lives for “the greater good,” in his view?

This is a doozy of an ask, anon. But it is GLORY bc these are all excellent things for me to ramble about Light (thank you!). I’ll take them point by point, strap in cause this is a bit long. *cracks knuckles*

You’re absolutely right that fandom often boils Light’s character and ideology down to a few basic elements that are distorted, mostly to drag him. Let’s be honest-- it’s fun to drag characters, even our favs-- and pretty much everyone in Death Note deserves it. But it does become annoying when its inaccurate, like with your example about who Kira focused on killing and some others I see. To be clear, this isn’t any kind of apology for the bastardly things Light DID do, but clarifying what he was and wasn’t about.

Did Light kill petty criminals?

The only time it is mentioned that Light kills criminals for non-serious crimes is when he was under surveillance by L (the infamous potato chip scene) and had to kill someone on the news right then, as well as the immediate coverup. In that circumstance, he couldn’t afford to be picky-- he needed L to see a signature Kira death (heart attack) when Light supposedly couldn’t be doing it. The crimes that appeared on the news that night (in his chip bag TV lol) ended up being non-serious criminals, and Light wasn’t so thrilled about this. 

Mainly because it meant he had to cover his tracks and kill a few more minor criminals so it really did look like Kira’s work. 

But his focus was putting himself in the clear with L; those minor criminals were incidental, and when he had choice/freedom again, he did not focus on them. The ruse didn’t completely work because L thought minor criminals dying was suspicious since it deviated from Kira’s usual MO. So, L knew the real focus.

This was a strategic move in service of, versus reflecting, Light’s ideology. This is something we see pop up again and again for Light. He is willing to do ‘wrong’ for the greater ‘good.’ We also see his distaste for killing petty criminals later when Light rebukes Mikami’s off-script killings in his thoughts. If Kira had been acting this way all along, then the Task Force wouldn’t have been surprised and Light wouldn’t have been pissed off that Mikami was doing it. 

Kira was looking for violent criminals who had escaped justice, that’s his main goal. He’s also disagreeing with Mikami’s methods of punishing wrong-doers who paid their debt to society (as opposed to the Death Row criminals I discuss below who haven’t ‘paid their debt’ yet). He doesn’t want people to fear Kira and thinks shooting fish in a barrel, so to speak, would do that. His ideology is not punitive; to him, its about prevention. Petty crime wasn’t on his radar until he had to make that a temporary focus for his safety.

Did Light focus on criminals already in prison? 

I’ve seen plenty of posts in the Death Note tag grousing about how Light was ‘dumb’ because he only focused on criminals in prison, but that’s not wholly accurate. The first two names he wrote were criminals he witnessed in the process of a crime with actual victims that needed help (a hostage scenario where the perp had already murdered people, and a man about to rape). Then he went for the Big Bads in the news- the most vicious criminals world-wide.

Other than criminals at large, he DID kill some criminals in prison. The times he did so were:

1) Killing criminals on Death Row who, in the eyes of law enforcement, “deserved the death penalty several times over.” These are criminals who had already been sentenced to die and Kira enacted the ‘justice.’

2) During Light’s ‘testing phase’ of the Death Note when he was trying to understand the rules in a population he could control 

3) When he was trying to be conspicuous about deaths for L’s benefit, like throwing off the assumption that Kira was a student. Light knew that those deaths would be found immediately and attributed to Kira. 

For 2 and 3, these criminals were likely to be on Death Row given what was said by INTERPOL about who Kira was killing behind bars. Ironically, even L thought Death Row criminals needed to die-- he chose Lind L Tailor from Death Row for his stunt, and said on TV he’d seek the death penalty for Kira. Hmm.

Why did Light kill innocent people?

The innocent people that Light killed include Raye Penber, the rest of the FBI agents in Japan investigating Kira, and Naomi Misora. L and Watari might be considered innocent per Kira’s ideology (Watari had probably murdered people but L had probably not, directly). Rem technically killed L and Watari, but Light certainly wanted them to die and orchestrated it that way. The innocent people that Light WOULD have killed include the Task Force (Mogi, Aizawa, Matsuda, Ide) and the SPK (Halle, Gevanni, Rester, Near,) if he’d won in the warehouse.

The main thread tying all these people together? They were all imminent threats to Light and were actively trying to stop and/or kill him. Killing them would never have crossed his mind if that hadn’t been the case. THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE DIDN’T ENJOY IT. Taking out his enemies was something Light did savor, he really loved that win. But it wasn’t like he wiped out the entire FBI or Japanese police force. Those were not his targets; these were individuals who threatened his goal and life, and he saw their killing as self-defense. 

Did Light kill any criminals who were innocent or wrongly convicted?

It’s certainly possible that he did but the manga never touches on it. Given that his MO for killing incarcerated criminals was limited to Death Row, he probably felt like those were safe bets (we know that’s not always the case in the real world, of course). But let’s say that Light, in canon, found out he’d killed someone wrongfully convicted. In the beginning of his journey as Kira (at 17-18), I honestly don’t think he’d given this a lot of thought. What’s funny is that Light was naively, and paradoxically, putting a lot of faith in the human justice system while simultaneously enacting his own justice that relied on having zero faith in the traditional channels. Makes my head spin, but Light is a fascinating character because of that kind of thinking. He championed sweeping ideals of right and wrong, but couldn’t be bothered with getting in the murky details. 

But by the time he’d grown up and matured some, especially after becoming part of the police force himself, he would have know it was a possibility. At that point, I agree that he’d view it as an inevitable sacrifice in service of, but not directly reflecting, his ‘greater good,’ like the previous choices he’d made. 

So why is Kira’s ideology so often distorted? For one thing, his thinking is kind of convoluted. The anime has less nuance about what Light’s about, and many people just watch that. Another common reason I see for this is that someone really, really hates Light for defeating L, and once we dislike someone it becomes easier to roll in more and more unlikeable qualities into a nasty villain pie. Any trait that is ‘bad’ can be overlaid onto Light because he is ‘bad,’ so it fits right?? Ha....no. He has plenty of bad traits and actions of his own to drag him for without inventing new ones. At the same time, I see L’s flaws and negative traits/actions being hand-waved away or justified because he is their fav. It happened with Minoru, too. 

[j-amespotter]

★ epiphany – r. l.

"with you, i serve. with you, i fall down."

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Nymphadora Tonks (if you squint)

x. x.

Summary: Throughout his life, Remus fought many battles. Only once was he ever on the brink of victory.

Genre/Warnings: angst, war, death, torture, mentions of lycanthropy

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: i'm officially on summer break, so expect more writing from me!! this one actually took a lot of time and effort so please share your feedback. not a reader insert, just some canon character insight. i think about remus's last moments a lot :( let me know if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

masterlist

1978 - With you, I serve.

The moon was bright but not quite full. It shone on two boys, both fresh out of school and on the precipice of becoming men. As much as they tried to deny it, there was an aura of naiveté surrounding them, one that would soon deteriorate beyond their imaginations.

“Come here,” said Remus Lupin, a tall, tired boy, tugging his companion’s sleeve. “Behind the bushes.”

“It’s child’s play, this job. What’s Dumbledore playing at?”

Remus was paired up with James Potter, who was growing more and more impatient by the second. “Prongs, we are trainees. We’re lucky to have an assignment at all.”

The two friends were seated on a small hill overlooking a large, dreary house. It belonged to the Travers family, a family notoriously pureblood, notoriously Slytherin. A family most likely in league with the greatest threat to the Wizarding World in several decades—Lord Voldemort.

The severity of the situation remained unspoken between them. If caught, James and Remus would be killed within seconds. Remus silently wished he shared James’s conviction regarding the ultimate invincibility of the right cause. But there was something inside of him that would remain unconvinced for a long time.

“There’s no way Travers isn’t a Death Eater,” said James. “I say we attack. They know we’re careful. They’ll never see it coming.”

“Perhaps,” said Remus. “Although, I doubt they are unprepared. Stealth is the only path to success.”

James snorted. “Okay, Professor Moony.” Years later, the same voice on a nearly-identical face would be addressing him in the same manner, with an amount of long-faced sincerity that would destroy him. But Remus did not know that yet.

After a while, Remus broke the comfortable silence between them simply because of a lingering curiosity manifesting within him. “Do you really think we can win this?”

James turned toward him. When he spoke, Remus thought he sounded a little scandalized. “Of course I do. And even if we don’t, there isn’t a single part of me that won’t die trying.”

Remus hummed, though he could feel the hesitation brewing inside of him, the same hesitation he found himself constantly suppressing around his friends. It was not as though he didn’t share the same sentiment; that wasn’t the case at all. It felt blasphemous to let his thoughts wander at times, but he couldn’t help himself. The truth was loud and clear. Remus was fighting this war for those who wouldn't do the same for him.

Something about the setting and the shape of the moon kept him lost in his muddled thoughts. “Why did you become an Animagus?”

James looked slightly taken aback, running a hand through his hair. “You know why.”

“Indulge me.”

“Because, Remus, we care about you. We wanted to help you,” said James. “We still want to help you.”

“You have done more than enough, James.” And it was true. James Potters didn’t exist in the real world, and that was a fact that was becoming blazingly clear the longer Remus spent in it.

There was nothing more to be said after that. James only sighed, staring out with a strangely thoughtful expression. “You know something?”

“What?”

“Think I’m going to ask Lily to marry me.”

Remus swallowed. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” said James. “I haven’t told anyone.”

Remus found that hard to believe. “Not even Sirius?”

“No, not even Sirius. Just thought of it, actually. Besides, something tells me Sirius would laugh in my face.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Remus, though it was always hard to tell with Sirius. The idea of James getting married sounded so far-fetched, and yet, made more sense to him than anything ever had in his entire life.

“So, what do you think?”

What did he think? Honestly, he felt a twinge of envy that James had someone to propose to, that he didn’t have to think twice about it, that in all likelihood, when this war ended, James would live a long, happy, healthy life with his wife and enough children to form his own Quidditch team. “I think that you definitely should.”

James’s face broke out into a wide grin, one that made Remus feel warm inside. One that told Remus that it wasn’t actually a whim, that James had been thinking about it for weeks, and that when it came to Lily, he always seemed to turn to Remus. It was a bittersweet sentiment, but one that he had come to appreciate.

“Guess I’ll need to figure out who my best man will be,” mused James.

Remus rolled his eyes. “She hasn’t even said yes yet, Prongs.”

James harrumphed. “Of course she’ll say yes to becoming Mrs. Arrogant Toerag.” He puffed out his chest dramatically, only to lose his balance and fall forward into the bushes. “Wow, we really suck at this whole ‘stealth’ thing, don’t we?”

“Shut it, will you?” whispered Remus, though if he had known how few moments he had left to share with James, he wouldn’t have reprimanded him at all.

Suddenly, a scream coming from the direction of the house interrupted them.

“What was that?” asked James. Both boys had their wands at the ready.

“They’re torturing someone,” said Remus, suppressing a shudder. He winced at the sound of another piercing scream, one that shredded his insides with every resounding decibel.

James began to rise. “We have to go in and help them.”

Instantly, Remus grabbed his arm and pulled him down. “James, we can’t. We will blow our cover, we’re likely completely outnumbered, and we were told to call reinforcements if anything got serious. We are trainees, remember?” When James begrudgingly slunk down next to him, Remus nudged him again. “Send a Patronus to the Prewetts.”

As James retreated several yards into the woods to conjure his great silvery stag, Remus turned his attention back to the house in front of them. After hearing another scream, he was beginning to lose his nerve. We can win this, Remus chanted to himself like a sacred mantra. We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

Three years later, wizards all over Britain would celebrate their victory over the Dark Lord. But with three dead friends and one a murderous traitor, Remus Lupin would have nothing to celebrate. And he wouldn’t for a very long time, not until he stared into a pair of startlingly green eyes in a train compartment several years later.

1998 - With you, I fall down.

His heart raced as he watched the silver dome shatter around the castle. A swarm of dark, hooded figures made their way towards them. With one hand over the photograph in his pocket, Remus thought of Teddy—his vibrant, turquoise hair, his soft coos, and the sparkly eyes that looked just like his own.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

It is different now, he thought to himself, I have Harry. A son. A wife. For the first time in his life, Remus Lupin had a proper family.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

He was able to see his reflection on a window. Under all the worry pooling his features, Remus saw the ghost of a smile that looked so achingly familiar— the weary but indestructible smile of a new father, the one he last saw during his final moments with James many, many years ago.

He thought of Dora, who, despite his desperate pleas, followed him to Hogwarts to fight what was beginning to feel like the end. After he righteously begged her to return to safety, she scoffed teasingly. “Honestly, Remus. You should know better.”

She was right, and there was nothing more to say. She kissed him hard before they went their separate ways for the last time. Remus weaved through crowds of warriors, gaze wandering from time to time for a glimpse of either his wife or his young protege. Any sign that Dora and Harry were alright would ease his ever-growing nerves.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

He thought of a late-night in his dormitory. It was the end of his seventh year. The four Marauders were sitting on each of their four-poster beds, picturing this moment, having no idea what was to come, just the confidence that it would and that they would win.

“I think it’ll be at the Ministry,” said Sirius.

“Or Diagon Alley,” said Remus thoughtfully.

“With Dumbledore leading the charge,” added James, a note of excitement in his voice. “I’d give anything to see the end of him.”

“Me too,” grumbled Sirius, struggling to hide the bitterness lacing every word. It had only struck Remus then that Sirius would be fighting his own flesh and blood on the other side. He knew better than to mention it.

“We could die,” said Peter quietly.

“We could,” affirmed James. “But I have a good feeling about it. It’ll be our moment, lads.”

Remus had only heard of Wormtail's death from Bill, who heard it from Harry. Peter, so afraid of death, so willing to do anything to avoid it, killed by his own hand. The last of his friends to go. In his wildest dreams, Remus would have never thought that he would be the last Marauder standing. Alone.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. He had Dora, Teddy, and Harry. Harry, brilliant Harry, the Boy Who Lived, the boy who, unbeknownst to him, changed Remus’s life. The boy who would carry out his father's dream. The boy who would win this for them all.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

Remus heaved a tired sigh. His legs felt as though they were about to give out. Despite his unique set of skills, Remus spent more time sickly than able. Especially now, nearing the age of forty. No longer did he have the agility or stamina of his youth.

He was in the center of the fighting in the courtyard. Suddenly, Remus felt a sinking, silencing feeling inside of him. Swallowing it away, he turned around, grip on his wand accidentally loosening for the quickest second.

The man in front of him was smirking, a forthcoming light blinding any identifying features. Remus's wand slipped from his fingers.

The last thing he saw was green, consuming his vision like a swarm of Dementors closing in on him. The spell hit him squarely in the chest.

He always wondered what death would feel like, often equating it with the debilitating pain of his monthly transformations. But it wasn't like that at all. Death was like falling. An eternal, endless fall into nothingness.

Moments away from victory, Remus Lupin fell down.

Mischief Managed.

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly @sheismadness @she-seeks-magic @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @queenofblacks @duckie-dunham

[monster-bcrn]

SPOOKY’S 100 FOLLOWER SHOUTOUT!

Okay for real this is the fastest growing blog I’ve ever had hehehe. Never expected Grundy to get this popular this quickly!

Freaking love this zombaby and I’m so glad y’all love him too! As promised, gonna shout out some fantabulous bloggos that helped get Grundy to where he is today. XD

@akasupergirl/ @azombieme (I FREAKING ADORE GRUNDY AND KARA AND LIV. I swear Grundy’s loyal to Kara like he was to Shayera and Jade and Liv is totally his baby sister and is gonna protect her from.....everything. :P

Even pigeons, because they’re legion.)

@thecatgoddessbast (A blast from the past! Glad to see you again after I rampaged and caused chaos as a certain deranged pincushion of a mushroom way back in the time before present. XD

Now I get to do that as a zombie. :D Win/win!)

@starcityvigilante (OLLIE. FFFFFF-okay for real I’m HYPED to plot wacky ideas with you. Grundy has a MASSIVE grudge against Green Arrow and I’m like......*push these two together* you both get along right now.)

@folcire (We literally just started talking and I’m loving your Ivy already! Can’t wait to see how Grundy grows to see her the more he talks to her because they’re both sassy plant people that way. XD)

@themartlans (FFFFFF-J’ONN. Everyone’s favorite green uncle :D I freaking adore him and I HATE how the most he ever interacted with Grundy was him being tossed into the bay. >_<

They really need to talk more, and MAN! That Injustice verse of yours is SICK. Definitely hyped for making Grundy into an insurgent and a good zombie instead of Supes’ lapdog.

( Look at this face....LOOK AT IT.)

@blackwingsbluedings (One of the best Dick Grayson’s out there and definitely loving seeing Grundy be less smash and more “......hug?” They both need hugs I swear.)

@marvelousdamsels (We haven’t talked much but I adore your muses and I just hope Grundy doesn’t come off as too weird or clingy.......wait.......that’s......literally Grundy.....

:D)

@theirfirstexperiment (GRUNDY ON A RAMPAGE YOOOOOO! Better run fast. XD)

@amazonexile/ @gothamprens/ @captainstevertrevor ( Freaking love your muses and I love seeing Diana and Bruce actually WANT to help Grundy. It’s too easy just beating on Grundy and I love seeing them actually bother to try to get to the gentler side of the Hulk’s crazy cousin. XD)

@justiceebound / @nighttfight ( *slams fist on the table* YOU ARE AWESOME! Your Shayera is awesome, your Bruce is a national treasure and I can’t wait to throw Grundy at Supes and Diana, because these guys need a big reconciliation thing after all the chaos from literal years of slugging it out.

And I LOVE it. >:D)

@ofamazonia 

@theamazondiana   (Both of you are AWESOME Wonder Women and MAN I love plotting ideas. I’m tired of seeing Diana being turned into too much of a warrior while negating her role as a peace-maker and y’all NAIL her kindness and wisdom and need to give everyone a chance. Freaking LOVE IT!)

@raininginkyxto (LOL I always love imagining Grundy in Marvel and now poor Weasel is kind of stuck with him. XD Man, if the Hulks meet Grundy then that poor bar is going to really get smashed.....)

@notatomo (GIANT. Man I loved that movie as a kid and I LOVE the subsequent giant robot and tiny kid works inspired from it (example being the CRIMINALLY under-appreciated Sentinel series by UDON.) Can’t wait to see what happens when Grundy talks more to someone bigger than him. XD)

@liminalstctic (GRUNDY HEARTS TINY GIRL. XD Yeah he’s trying his hardest to help her. ;A;)

@dolceclavier

@gobsnacc

@adrenalinesaint

@ninelivesruined

@yellowskinnedwackyman  (CREEPER! I’ll forever ADORE these two butts because they’re team Tree Lobsters.)

@collidingxworlds/ @thecursedhellblazer (I. Love. Your. Constantine. I swear I have so much fun writing Grundy trying to get drunk (and failing) and learning to cuss up a storm while still being a mad lad ready to throw down with mega-zombies to protect his tiny friend.

DC, make this friendship canon or so help me Grodd...)

@chaosmultiverse (I love your Klarion so much! He’s so much fun! XD And Teekl for the epic win!)

@raichoose (Herbert West and Solomon Grundy? THAT aIN’T GOOD! D:>)

@gctjinxd (Freaking LOVE your Jinx! LOL how she manipulates Freeze and how Grundy isn’t even REMOTELY phased by her powers. Like he is TOUGH. Even bad luck won’t stop him.)

@killcrcroc (BIG BAD KILLER CROC! I love your Waylon and I adore how he has a collection of watches and that awesome suit. XD Croc definitely deserves more love since he’s much smarter than he looks, and tough enough to even get Grundy to back down in a serious fight.)

@babydxhl (Baby Doll is criminally underappreciated and I love how she’s the opposite to Grundy. She looks child-like but is very crafty, mature and knows how to get what she wants, while Grundy is physically strong and big enough to bully his way into anything he wants, but is very simple and child-like and would rather watch the birds. XD)

@theednygma (An awesome Ed Nygma and I love how Grundy is so unsure of everything yet still goes along for the ride as a support. XD)

@sleightlyoffhand (BUNNY MAN! Okay the idea of Josiah monching on carrots in Grundy’s pocket makes me smile so much. XD)

@thanagrian (BIRD-NOSE! Honestly every time I think of Grundy and Shayera I get the feels big time. These two definitely deserved more than just two episides to give them a unique friendship.

(I love that STAR Labs mission so much in Injustice. XD)

@the-arkham-librarian ( I love Eliza so much! She’s crafty, stubborn, sweet and kind and just cares about everyone so much when few don’t. Grundy grew so attached to her I swear she’s like his little sister at this point. XD And he’s totes the best uncle along with Eddie.)

@fatherdamned ( I LOVE YOUR RIDDLER OMG! He’s so snarky but man he is SO DAMN FUN to write with! Grundy is there for his green friend, no matter what!)

@fartemis-crockpot

( I freaking LOVE Artemis and Grundy, especially in the Injustice Society stuff. Yeah Grundy’s been a butt before but he genuinely likes and cares about her and the rest of the team and I’m like....

Look at these bunch of a-holes. Yeah they’re a family and even if they’re bad.....they’ve got each other. And that’s what counts. C:)

@powerhours/ @lastofmars (Green dad? Green dad. I love your J’onn so much and I’m like *throws Grundy at green dad* Here give this disaster some love. XD)

@gothamdad (YET ANOTHER AWESOME BATMAN. :D)

@redsleuthed (TIM! I love Tim and I swear these two should talk more because Grundy doesn’t WANT to fight and I think just letting someone hear him out would help him immensely.

Plus that stuff with Freeze? Poetic cinema.)

@themusespace

@12thlevel​ (On this blog we stan socially awkward green boi with angery grandpa genius mastermind. XD)

@pluckyingenue

@seekthedarknesswithin (SHADE! I love Shade in Justice League where he constantly throws Shade at everyone so you can imagine how excited I was to see Shade on Tumblr! We haven’t done much but man.....even Grundy was excited to see an old friend from the Injustice Society/ Injustice Gang.)

@youstolemycoat (Okay, hands down, Nick Necro is so much fun to plot with. His Robin verse is so fun too and poor Grundy tries to help but a certain birdy won’t let him. XD)

@ufotm (Tiny alien baby. :3)

@thetrigonborn

@kitfreeman

@partcfyouruniverse/ @diamondcladclown ( An awesome mun and my goodness her Harley is EPIC! I love the metas about Harley too and you just GET HER. And that????? Is the sign of an excellent writer and mun.)

@bigbadkillercroc ( I love your Croc and the brotherly bond he has with Grundy! It’s so refreshing to see these two bonding instead of Grundy tearing off Waylon’s face like he did in the Solomon Grundy mini-series. :C)

@blizzardmuses (I LOVE YOUR MUSES OMG. Your Batgirl?????? I ADORE HER. I love Freeze as a member of the Birds of Prey and I love tossing Grundy at your muses because the guy needs love and an excuse to smash.....and I really love both lol.)

@starfirechan (You’re Starfire is so freaking CUTE! I love how she and Grundy get along so well since they’re kind of two misfits that aren’t very well-versed in city life. XD)

@gotham-crusader/ @maximummuses (One of the best Batman and Damian Wayne RPers out there! I have a lot of fun with our threads and even if they fizzle out there is so much heart to them that they’re some of my absolute favorites no matter what muse I put on. C:)

@teufortsquidman (PRAWN! Okay, a giant mega-zombie and an Eldritch abomination? Yeah they’re gonna be good pals lol. XD)

@tragedybcrn (Hands down one of the BEST Batman RPers I’ve talked to and plotted with. I love how Bruce helps Freeze and even Grundy try to be better than just crooks. Grundy though has had so many bad experiences that he can’t trust anyone anymore unless there is some SERIOUS help. But he’ll learn to at least try to trust Batman.....because Batman was genuinely nice to him.)

@krygothite ( I freaking LOVE your Bane! We haven’t written much but FFFFF0yeah he’s epic. XD And Grundy is kind of nervous about bringing Bane to Slaughter Swamp because Bane is tough but not kaiju-sized gators and snakes tough....

Or....maybe he is.....let’s test him. >:D)

@batvvmn

@redwinefangs (VAmpire Batman? Vampire Batman. We have an epic trifecta of vampire Bats, Freezy-wolf and zombaby Grundy and I LOVE it. These three are so much fun to plit ideas around. XD)

@bclaur

@stcrshnes

@titanicscionofthestars ( I freaking LOVE Sara! All across my blogs I love her and the way you write her! And I swear her reaction to Grundy being impaled????? MY HEART. ;A;)

@jcinthedance  (JERVIS! Okat for real I love the image of Hatter and Grundy just enjoying a tea party at the asylum and being weird dorks. XD)

@adventurepunks (I absolutelky LOVE your Zatanna! She’s so fun and I’d love to plot more with her! :D)

@shesquiinnsane

@laughter-in-white (YOU????? Are??? Like the BEST Joker. Hands down. Your Croptop J is so much fun to plot with and he’s funny and being dramatic for Bats. And Grundy is like ‘yeah he’s crazy but he’s my crazy.’)

@yourfavoritesidekick

@smartvulpix (* glomps on you for being epic*)

@thehouseofivo (Your Freeze and Julian are AWESOME! Love throwing my guys at them both lol)

@lil-miss-romano

@sweet-tea-solly

@slauhter

@occultsleuth

@wiisectrpillar

@wonderlandcarpenter

@gunborn

[zackmartin]

hii jaksjdkd @\deweyducks is my children's media sideblog but this is my main so i'll send my ask from here but like...god that's so weird??? i haven't gotten to that episode yet (i'm on international dateline and cringing) but. barbara and cody were so sweet (and!!! a good interracial couple!!! that's important actually!!! why the hell would they make them cheat on each other when it has been established that doing so would be horrifically out of character for both of them) if they really wanted to put him with bailey the whole guy waits for girl after she repeatedly says no trope was not the way to go. at all (and yeah!!!!!! zack and bailey could have been something actually but i want to see where things go with him and maya once she shows up) and i actually would love to read your essay :)

I’m sorry, I will turn anon back on soon 😅 (and I get it, this used to be a sideblog until I accidentally deleted and then I decided to just make two mains instead but).

(For real! Like, yeah they were super important and good!!!! but if you had to have them break up, Barbara was going to stay in Boston and Cody’s on a cruise where he’s going to be a literal continent away at any given time. They really could’ve just done something as simple as letting them have an amicable breakup because the distance was too much instead of decimating both of their characters like that)

Anyway, I love Maya and Zack a lot, for the most part, they’re cute and I adore Zoey Deutch and Zack’s good with her so my love for what Zack and Bailey could’ve been isn’t really an either/or thing, I like both ships but just,,,

Putting Cody’s terrible characterization and treatment of Bailey aside for a moment, they pretty much made Bailey and Cody almost exactly alike. There are some differences, but they’re kinda few and far between. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing, you have to have some things in common with your S/O in order for it to work, but in the case of Zack/Bailey I really believe they could've been the good kind of opposites attract. Like, it could’ve turned into a situation where their differences turned into making each other better.

Like, in the case of Zack, we’ve seen in the original that he can actually do well in school (like when he went to summer school and was able to analyze Shakespeare fairly easily), he just needs a reason to really apply himself. And I mean, we know he would definitely do it to impress a girl alsdkfj (technically we saw that in the original too, when he told Maddie he got an 85 on his vocab quiz and he revealed that he tried to do well because she said she likes smart guys). Ofc, it’d be ideal if he was doing it for himself, but him actually trying in school, even if it starts as him just trying to impress Bailey, is not going to really hurt him in the end alsdjkf On top of that, I’m not sure if it’s canon or if I’m just HC’ing this, but I’m positive Cody has probably tried over the years to help him in subjects that don’t come so easily, but I know Zack, and whether we’re talking the og version or On Deck, I know neither of them would listen nor pay attention if Cody’s the one trying to teach him alsdjf He’d be way more apt to listen to Bailey, and I know she’d be willing to tutor him. And I know Bailey would celebrate his accomplishments, even if it’s as small as getting a C on a geometry quiz or something, and I feel like having someone like that, someone that shows him they’re proud of him and isn't constantly comparing his grade to Cody’s, could be enough to make him want to keep trying. (even if he isn’t always operating at 100%).

And on Bailey’s side; I totally respect the fact that she finds enjoyment in school-related things, and she definitely doesn’t have to have fun a certain way in order for it to “count” but. I feel like filling your day with only school/educational-related activities with no space in-between to breathe can so quickly lead to burn-out (especially if she goes to an ivy league, and you add that in with her going from being top of her class to being in a space where everyone was top of their class. But, again I’m getting off track). And, finding mindless, fun things to do in order to blow off steam is Zack’s exact area of expertise. (Like, I’m gonna be vague so I don’t spoil anything, but there’s legit an episode of On Deck where he teaches someone to relax and not make one thing your whole life). And I know this is adult me projecting cause she wishes teenage me wasn’t so serious, but Zack convincing Bailey to stay out an hour past curfew or skip one class wouldn’t kill her asldfjk Like, she might be upset in the moment if they get detention or something but you get out of high school and look back and you realize it literally Didn’t Matter. (i’m not being a great influence here, please don’t listen to me lklsjkdf)

Like, long story short, I just think that Bailey could teach Zack how to take things like his education and his future a bit more seriously, but Zack could show Bailey that you don’t have to take everything seriously all the time

And while we're on the subject; i know he was partially willing to keep Bailey's secret in the first episode because he wanted to room with a girl, but even after everything was revealed and Tuttweiller and Moseby were saying they had no choice but to send her home, Zack stuck up for her! He listened to her when she talked about why she wanted to go to seven seas high and how she wanted to see the world and he didn't do it for the sole purpose of using that information later in order to "win" her 🙃 He genuinely just wanted her to be able to live out her dream, and he did what little he could in order to make sure she got to keep living that dream.

[creamypudding]

Woeful WIP Wednesday

Hi! This is the start of my Woeful WIP Wednesday series of posts which will happen on Wednesdays, duh. And before anyone gets up at me about it not being Wednesday yet... just remember time zones exist in this world, and yeah, it is actually Wednesday.

Other things about the name... Most of these WIPs I'm happy with so it's not the actual stories that are woeful. It's the fact that they are still WIPs and not finished that is woeful to me, hence the name, yeah? Ok 😄

So with that out of the way...

I've gone through all my folders and found the various bits and pieces of writing I've begun and let slide or abandoned. My hope is that by letting them be free on Tumblr I might either A) remember that these stories exist, B) perhaps get a renewed appreciation and motivation to poke them, C) give myself permission to never look at them again.

Some of these WIPs I 100% mean to finish one day. Some I know I won't. Some I have actually finished but haven't polished completely or something's getting in the way of me doing a final pass so I don't consider them worthy of going onto my Ao3 account just yet but hopefully will one day.

The WIPs I'm gonna upload are also of various lengths. I have some completed chapters that are thousands of words long, I have some that are mere hundreds of words long and are slips of ideas I started to formulate.

I have 10 AkuRoku WIPs and 6 Zakkura ones. Each week I'll post one WIP and the pattern will be 2 AkuRoku WIPs followed by 1 Zakkura to mix things up a bit. I'll blab a bit about the WIP and post the full WIP under the cut.

If there is anything in particular people would like to know about the stories or the creative process in future posts please let me know and I’ll incorporate more information if people are interested in that sort of thing. If you give me direction I can follow through.

I hope you will enjoy these WIPs and I trust you'll judge them way less harshly than what I judge my own writing.

So anyway, kicking things off I have a very short and sweet AkuRoku WIP. 

I started this in May 2019 and it's technically 'done' but I haven't posted it because it's not done to my specific level of 'done-ness'. All it needs is a little polish. A little editing here and there. Fixing the grammatical and spelling errors, and fleshing it out in a few spots perhaps.

It's the 'fleshing out' bit that hasn't happened and that's truly stopping me from considering this a finished product.

This story is called ‘10 ways to fall in love’ but I never came up with 10 scenarios which I suspect is why this story will never be finished. I could change the name of it and if I ever post it I will change the name of it. In fact, most of the WIPs I post would have different names if they ever do go up on Ao3.

But going back to this specific WIP— it is a canon story spanning Days, KH2, KH3, and after, which is maybe the biggest culprit in regards to why I never finished this story. I don’t do well with canon-based story telling. It’s too much pressure to get everything canon-compliant. Do people ask for things to be right? Probably not so much, but my brain is very hyperfocused on getting things right, which is a huge road block to my creativity and the reason why I prefer AUs.

I don't have much else to say about this story but if you enjoy this, or any of the other WIP’s it would be great if you would let me know.

If others are passionate about these stories it might make me passionate about them again. But who knows.

Rated G

Word count - 951

10 ways to fall in love

What do you call it?

This feeling I have?

Love?

No. Too strong, or not strong enough

A name

A special name

Your name

It was always your name

That made me feel like I had a heart

They didn’t have a name for it. They didn’t even know if what they felt was real because how could a Nobody feel anything. For Axel it was just a ghost of a memory of his old life. For Roxas it was an endless source of confusion because these strange sensations fluttered in his body all the time when he was around Axel. It was incredibly dull at first but grew exponentially bigger with the passing days.

He couldn’t reconcile that even the most tedious missions were made fun when they were around each other - though he shouldn’t be able to have fun without a heart. What were any of the experiences that ever happened between them, without a heart? They felt nothing. They were Nobodies. They couldn't be anything other than empty husks.

That had always been the greatest lie which had been told to them, which they chose to believe, until it became impossible, though the denial sat rife in the way they denied their joy, sadness, and anger. But the strongest denial flowed from the warmth and nameless affections that fluttered in the chest and stomach when they were together. Such a thing was most unbelievable of all and merely a figment of the imagination - a vestige of when they were Somebodies, a quiet echo in a vast nothingness of their actual existence. Even for Roxas, with his half-formed ideas of his Somebodies life.

But none of these things mattered because Roxas disappeared and Axel died.

"He made me feel like I had a heart." A quiet whisper of a thought, made real and said aloud finally crumbled the paper-thin veneer which Axel had clung too, all too late to do anything about.

And he is reborn, and now knows better. Lea knows better. He understands his returned heart which aches and bleeds broken and shattered even as it is physically whole inside himself, pumping blood. His soul has gone, reappearing for fleeting moments when he sees Sora get a certain look in his eyes, or uses a turn of phrase. A spark exists and it jolts Lea every time closer to awareness - closer to a name.

And then he is in that most miserable of places, fighting a war that might never be won, but he must try because the promise of what lies ahead if he does win is worth every risk. He fights for his friends, present and gone, and then out of almost nowhere Lea's heart is returned and whole and stronger than ever before, and his memories are back, and he holds the two people most dear to him. He cannot lose them again and does everything in his power to protect them both, and it is a safe feeling because it stops him from thinking too hard or feeling too strongly the flutters and warmth, and the soothing in his heart.

But he feels it all again, and let's himself be overcome by it as the never-setting sun of Twilight Town is observed with his most favorite people in the whole wide world sitting next to him.

He scooches a little closer, seeking the warmth and reassurance of Roxas next to him. The tinkling laugh builds his own and drips deep down into his body and soul to become the best sound he's always known to miss.

Happiness engulfs him. But it is not the word he looks for when he sees Roxas walking, talking, laughing, grumbling, and eating ice cream. It is so much bigger and all-encompassing than this miniscule word for a feeling..

"I never stopped wanting you back. I never stopped fighting to get you back," he confesses in the evening on Destiny Island, during a rare moment alone on this summer vacation full of reunions and happy tidings.

"I know. I saw, I heard."

"You did?"

Roxas nods and swings his legs as they dangle off the pier the both of them at sitting on.

It warms Lea’s heart to know Roxas was never far away. “I think I felt you – there in Sora. When he got angry and frustrated.”

Roxas laughs. “I was always angry and frustrated in Sora. Everything felt so warm and fluffy inside of there.”

“Realy? Why would that make you angry?”

“Because it’s like eating nothing but honey – you get sick of it,” Roxas shakes his head, “But it’s worse because someone else is force-feeding it to you.”

"It's ok. Just seeing you – knowing you were there wanting to get me back was enough." Roxas leans, Lea receives and the feels which are always right there, in the middle of his chest ignite and burn so bright.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you."

Lea hugs him tight, almost too tight. Roxas writhes against his arms and just as Lea makes to let go Roxas gets his own arms around Lea and squeezed him, robbing him of his breath for a few seconds, but Lea feels he could happily die in Roxas' arms and savors the crush.

They both end up laughing against each other, inhaling deep breaths, rubbing their cheeks against each other and leaning their foreheads together.

Everything they ever felt for each other is still there, but stronger, because they have hearts and acceptance of their reality.

"Axel," Roxas' breath tickles Lea's lips. He doesn't care to correct Roxas. Roxas could call him a heartless and he wouldn't care because Roxas is back and with him.

"I don't want you to ever disappear again," Lea murmurs.

"I don't want you to ever suffer again," Roxas apologizes. 

Lea cups Roxas' cheek, which is so soft and warm. "I never will as long as you're with me."

[angellbarnes]

Kinda Like Fate

Summary: Your greatest loss has taken its toll on you

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader || Pirate!au

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None? Mentions of fighting, injuries and blood

A/N: This is my first original post on Tumblr. Thought this challenge would be a good way to start writing on here, so thanks to @wxntersoldiers for letting me take part in your 6k au challenge and congrats! Hope you like it 🤍 (italics are flashbacks)

A burning sensation travels down your throat as you set the bottle of rum back down in your lap. You like it, though, because it takes away from the pain drumming in your heart. It’s a pain like nothing you’ve ever felt before, like someone ripped away a piece of you and you’ll never get it back. Heartbreak.

You take another large swig and swing down the rope attached to the mast you were sat on. You land with a thud back on deck and watch as your crew are busy on the ship.

“Banner? What the hell do you call that? Put some back into it!” You yell angrily at your crew member. He cowers and avoids your glare as he mumbles an ‘aye, captain’ and gets back to work. Harder.

It’s safe to say that Bucky’s death caused you to become a little less than friendly.

Your whole crew is, quite frankly, terrified of you. One wrong move and that’ll be it for them. You’ve turned your pain into anger, taking it out on everyone else. Your quartermaster, Sam, is one of the only people who can be around you for a long period of time now, without you threatening him.

As you trudge back towards the wheel, you can hear footsteps hot on your heel.

“What do you want?” You ask blankly.

“You know, there’s no need to take your hurt out on everyone else. We know you’re in a lot of pain right now, and we all lost him, remember? Just talk to us.” Sam’s voice echoes through your mind and you take a deep breath. You reach the wheel and lean on it with one hand, taking another sip from the bottle.

“Just leave me, Wilson. I lost a captain, is all. If all you’re going to do is try and play therapist with me, you can go and swim with the sharks, savvy?” You snarl. “You’re better off talking to them anyway.” You mumble and he slowly turns and leaves. You let out a sigh as you cast your gaze to the glistening open waters.

Silently, you tiptoe along the wooden deck of another random ship you’ve found. You head below deck, searching for anything that looks of any value to you. You grin proudly as you lay your eyes on a sword, but not just any sword, it’s golden detailing with a ruby engraved at the end of the handle proves its worth. Hurriedly, you return it to its scabbard and make your way back up. Just as you reach the deck, a tall figure emerges in front of you.

“Now where do you think you’re going, doll?” The man starts walking towards you and you take out your regular sword, making the stranger chuckle deeply.

“I don’t want any trouble. Now, if you’ll excuse me-” You step beside him to leave but he’s quick to bring his sword out across your neck, preventing you from going any further.

“Hold on there, sweetheart, I think you have something that belongs to me.” He whips you around, pushing you against the mast, still with his sword against your neck. In the moonlight, you are still able to make out his features: dark hair that ended just at his shoulders, a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes, evident even at night. A strong, muscular body and... a metal arm? The reflective surface of his hand and forearm are revealed from his shirt being rolled up to his elbow. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, making the scarring at his shoulder just visible.

“Now I’ve heard of Captain Hook, but this is something entirely different.” You state as you eye his left arm. He chuckles and looks you up and down, as if analysing you.

“Name’s Bucky. Though I go by Captain on this ship. Didn’t catch your name, love.” He leans in a little closer. You couldn’t lie that his presence was somewhat endearing.

“Seems not, love.” You mock with a smirk. You push his blade away with yours and spin so you’ve now got Bucky pinned as you were before.

“How would you like to join my crew, doll?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I just stole from you and now you want me on your ship?” You question with somewhat amusement and disbelief.

“You seem like someone I’d rather have on my side, darlin’.” He grins. You contemplate for a second, knowing a crew and a ship is exactly what you’ve been looking for for a while.

“If you want me on your side, you better quit it with the nicknames, princess.” You scoff.

“Better tell me your name, then, princess. Huh, I like that one.” You roll your eyes at him while a small smile tugs at your lips. You part your sword from his neck and hold out your hand, which he takes.

“Y/n.”

When your mind returns back to earth you notice the tears that have begun forming in your eyes, threatening to fall. You blink them back and take some deep breaths, yet again settling for the burning rum as a pain substitute.

The first time meeting Bucky wasn’t a normal encounter, to say the least, but the two of you had a connection, this connection that you couldn’t really describe. You were like Yin and Yang; you balanced each other out and were inseparable, really. You became co-captain of The Avenger shortly after and thus your romance began and, for the first time in a long time, you were happy.

That was until a week ago.

You were down to the last few pirates. You could see their ship now sinking beside yours and a smirk grew on your face as you turned back to the man in front of you. The sounds of metal clashing echoed around the ship and with one final swing, your enemy collapsed to the ground, with a deep crimson seeping from his chest. You grin as you see the others winning their fights, focussing your attention to Bucky on the opposite side of the ship.

He was battling the captain of the rival ship and it was intense to say the least. You started to head over to help when a blood curdling shriek escaped your lips. Your hands covered your mouth as your sword clattered on the ground. The opposing captain had Bucky at the end of his sword like a skewer, a smug grin plastered on his arrogant face. Blood was seeping from Bucky’s stomach now, staining his shirt. You were frozen in place and with a small nudge, Bucky fell free from the sword’s grip and was swallowed into the depths of the sea.

His eyes never left yours as he fell.

As tears now fell freely from your eyes, anger rose from the depths of your being. You brought out your pistol, aimed it at the pirate’s head and shot. He landed back with a thud. You collapsed to your knees feeling empty. Although everyone from the other vessel was dead, this was not a battle you’d won.

The second time you’re pulled from your thoughts you have to wipe a few tears that had escaped, hearing the yelling of your crew. You now notice the ship that is fast approaching, no more that 20 feet away. It’s not huge but it’s not small, there can’t be a large crew on board.

“Should we prepare to fight, Captain?”

“Wait, Danvers, let’s see what they want. Tell Stark and Barton to get the canons ready but don’t fire unless I say so.” You order, eyes still fixed on the oncoming vessel.

“Aye, Captain.”

As the ship settles beside yours you try to see who’s on board. A blonde man is only visible and you narrow your eyes in wariness. He strays from his ship and uses a rope to jump to yours. As he lands you draw your sword and he raises his hands in defence. With the point of your sword you silently lead him to the middle of the deck and instruct your crew to tie him to the mast, which they do, and you lower the blade, stepping towards him.

“And you are?” You ask sternly.

“My name is Steve. I don’t want any harm. I just need some supplies for my ship. Some water, food, anything you have to spare.” He replies with confidence, yet there was shyness laced in his tone. Your brows furrow as the name reminds you of someone.

You sit on Bucky’s lap, straddling his waist as you play with his hair. He has his arms wrapped around your waist and a content smile painted on his face.

“What was your life like, before all of this?” You speak up, looking deep into his mesmerising eyes.

“Before I found my ship and crew?” You nod. He takes a deep breath and holds you a bit tighter.

“Well, when I was younger, the pirate life always excited me. I used to have this little wooden sword that me and my friend Steve would play with. He had his own and we’d have sword fights on the docks.” He chuckles at the memory. “We had each other our whole lives, until one day when we were older and got parted. I started this life and god knows where he is now. Who knows, maybe I’ll see him again one day.” He lets out a small sigh as he looks back up to you.

“Sounds like you two were pretty close.” You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, thick as thieves. But then I found you, doll. It kinda feels like fate, me and you.” A smile forms on your lips as you bite down on the bottom one.

“Fate, huh?”

“Mhm.” He leans in to press his lips on yours.

You shake your head to try and rid it of your wandering thoughts.

“I won’t have anyone stealing from my ship.” You snap.

“Not stealing, ma’am, just need some help.” He pleads. At this moment anger and grief and almost every kind of detrimental emotion is bubbling inside of you. You take no pity on this man as you lift your sword above your head.

“Then let me help you.” Your blade comes swooping down and Steve squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

“Y/n! Wait! Stop!” A voice causes your motion to halt suddenly. Your eyes widen and your heart feels like it’s pounding a hundred beats per second, almost beating out of your chest. You sword falls at your side and you turn slowly to face the voice.

Your breath hitches as you stare wide eyed at a ghost. A very real looking ghost who comes striding towards you. Your breathless. Speechless. Only one, breathy word escapes your dry lips.

“Buck.”

You run. You run towards the lost love of your life as a grin spreads across his face. You jump into his arms as they encircle your waist and yours his neck. Tears prick at your ears as a sobbed laugh flees your throat. Your hand moves to caress his cheek just to make sure he’s definitely there.

“I missed you, doll.” He whispers with teary eyes.

You lean down finally to capture his lips with yours. The kiss is full of passion and desire, sadness and hope. Something you never thought you would be able to experience again.

Once the kiss was finally broken he sets you down in front of him, not daring to let go of you, though.

“What happened? You... you died.” He wipes a few tears from your cheeks before answering.

“I remember falling, looking at you before falling into the water. Next thing I know I’m on a ship. Turns out it was Steve’s, you know, the punk I told you about. Though I never thought this is how you two would meet.” You both chuckle and you mumble an ‘oops’. “Anyway, he found me washed up on this little island and managed to stitch me up and stuff and now here I am. All he told me was that he’d seen a ship and he was going to talk to the people on it. When I came back up to deck I noticed it was this ship. Our ship. Now I’ve got him back and you.” He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Kinda like fate, right?” You murmur and he chuckles softly.

“Kinda like fate.”

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story - Chapter 5: The Present

Whouffaldi non-canon AU. 8 chapters, will be about 32,000 words when complete. Rated Mature for heavier themes, including in this chapter, please contact me privately if you’re worried about triggering topics. Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor. Mystery, pining and angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same username and title. Updates every Friday.

This Isn’t A Ghost Story

Chapter 5: The Present

Clara woke slowly to the sound of birdsong and the blue light that preceded dawn, feeling surprisingly well-rested, despite the night she’d had. Opening her eyes, she found the Doctor stretched out on the bed beside her. In the first of the daylight he looked pale but not yet translucent, a reminder that the hours in which she was able to touch him were quickly coming to an end. When he saw she was awake, he smiled at her softly, his gaze tracing across her face.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he said quietly.

Humming happily, Clara stretched against the pillows. “Good morning, Doctor.”

His smile widened. “It’s good to hear you call me that again.”

“Why do I call you that?” she asked curiously, rolling onto her side facing him and propping her head up in her hand. “The journal referenced it but didn’t explain. Why do I call you Doctor instead of John?”

He made a face at the mention of his given name. “By the time we met, most people I knew had been calling me Doctor for years. It started as a joke on my first archaeological dig — that with a name like John Smith, the most distinctive thing about me was my newly acquired academic title. The nickname stuck, and I’d never been particularly attached to John in any case.”

“Is that what your doctorate is in, then? Archaeology?”

“With a special emphasis on Egypt and its ancient languages,” he said, nodding. “That’s why I was at that party at the Cairo museum, the night we met in 1921, I was part of the team that discovered some of the artefacts that were on display in the new exhibit.”

Clara let her mind drift to the hazy memories of her previous life she had uncovered the night before, trying to will them into sharper focus. “I wish I could remember it better...”

“I’m glad that you remember it at all,” he told her. “It’s more than I’d hoped for.”

She hesitated, then said, “About the other memory, that nightmare—”

“Later,” he said, rolling away and pushing himself into a sitting position. “There’s something we should do before the sun is properly up. I hid another box, besides that one in the attic, buried it in the garden out back. If we get started now, I might even be able to help you dig it up before the sunlight makes me useless again.”

“What’s in it?” Clara asked, also sitting up.

“It’s, ah.” The Doctor shot her a sidelong look, not quite meeting her eyes. “What’s in it is yours, and you should have it, even if...” He trailed off, chewing at his lower lip.

Something about his tone chilled her. “Even if what?”

“Clara, I don’t want you to be tied to a dead man,” he said carefully, gaze on the bedspread. “You know the truth now, but you still have your life ahead of you. You should live that life, even if it’s without me.”

“We are not having the ‘land of the living’ argument again,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I just got you back. There is no version of my future that makes sense without you in it.”

He turned to look at her. “I’m still a ghost, Clara,” he said, a note of self-loathing making his tone harsh. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But in the dark you’re as solid as I am!” she objected.

“And now that the sun is rising, that’s quickly going away.” He reached out one hand and ran his knuckles across the curve of her cheek, his touch faint and cool.

She resisted the urge to take his hand, worried that her fingers would pass right through his. “The sun will set again, it always does. It’s better than nothing. At least we’ll be together.”

“So you spend each day counting down to sunset?” he demanded. “What kind of a life is that? What sort of a life can I give you, as a dead man?”

“You don’t have to give me any sort of life!” she shot back, trying not to be offended at the old-fashioned notion. “I’ve done quite well constructing a life all on my own, thank you very much. All I want is for you to be part of it.”

“As a ghost,” he said derisively.

“Yes, as a ghost! I’ll take what I can get when it comes to you.”

“You deserve to have a real life, with someone who won’t literally disappear on you during daylight hours.”

“I have lived almost twenty-eight years only knowing you in daylight. Every moment I’ve spent with you in this life, that has been the deal. And even then, no one ever managed to measure up to you. I have loved you my whole life, Doctor, and that’s hardly going to change now. I want a life with you, whatever shape that takes. I meant what I said last night: I am not going to give you up. You promised to stay, and I am holding you to that.”

He dropped his gaze, looking away and fiddling with the ring he wore on his left hand — his wedding ring, she realised abruptly. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?” he asked in a low voice.

“No,” she told him firmly. “Not unless you take away my say in it.” She didn’t add again, but she knew they were both thinking it.

He winced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She softened, watching him fold in on himself. “Don’t be sorry,” she said gently. “Make it up to me.”

He looked up at her sharply, hope hidden in the fading blues of his eyes.

“If you keep your promise and stay, you’ll have years to make it up to me,” she said, smiling at him. “Decades, even. The rest of my life.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you want?”

“Very sure.” She stared at his familiar face, the face she had loved for so long, watching him become fainter as the sun began to rise outside, rendering him back into the incorporeal presence she had known all her life. “Our story, Doctor... It isn’t the tragedy you think it is. This isn’t a ghost story. It never was. It’s a love story. And if I know one thing about love stories? They always have a happy ending, one way or another.”

“Clara, my Clara,” he said fondly, raising his hand to sweep his cool fingertips across her cheekbone with feather-light pressure. “How can I argue with you when you look at me like that?”

“Then don’t argue,” Clara said softly. “Promise you’ll stay.”

“I promise,” he murmured. “And that’s all the more reason for you to have what’s buried in the garden. Come on, I’ll show you where, while you’re still able to see me.”

They went downstairs together, and he waited as she pulled on her shoes and her coat, then let herself out through the kitchen door that opened onto the garden. He led her confidently to the base of the old maple tree at the back of the garden, its branches clinging to the last of their autumn leaves. She had to sidetrack to the shed to find a spade, but the sun was still low behind the roofs of the nearby houses, and in the shadow of the maple tree the Doctor had enough form to pick up a crimson leaf and spin its stem between his fingers for a moment before letting it drift back to the ground.

Clara dug in the spot between the roots that he directed her to, relieved when she hit something solid only a foot or so down. Reaching into the shallow hole and brushing away the last of the dirt, her fingers found a metal jewelry box about the size of a paperback novel, and she carefully lifted it out with both hands. The silver surface was tarnished, throwing the raised geometric designs into sharp contrast, but it appeared to be in good condition. She glanced up at the Doctor, who was looking more translucent in the gathering daylight, and he nodded at her.

“Go on,” he said when she hesitated. “Open it.”

Taking a deep breath, she thumbed open the latch and pulled up the lid, the hinges squeaking slightly. Inside, resting against the crumbling blue felt that had once lined the box, there was a black velvet ring box and several other pieces of jewelry, the largest of which was a wide silver amulet on a delicate chain necklace. Her ghost brushed his fingertips over the ring box, and she looked up to find his gaze fixed on it.

“I’m split between wanting you to have it right away,” he said softly, “and wanting to wait until I can put it on you myself.”

“We could go back inside,” she suggested in a matching tone. “The west side of the house should still be shadowy enough.”

He shook his head. “It’s best appreciated in the sunlight, anyway.”

Clara grazed her hand over his, feeling only the chill of his daytime insubstantiality but hoping he took it for the affectionate gesture she meant it to be. Setting the jewelry box carefully on the ground, she picked up the ring box and lifted the lid. The ring inside was small and delicate, a white gold setting holding an oval cabochon sapphire flanked on each side by narrow tapered diamonds. In the indirect light, the smooth rounded surface of the sapphire was a dark indigo blue.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“It’s your wedding ring,” the Doctor replied. “Not very traditional, perhaps, but then, we never have been, either.”

She looked up at him, her heart in her throat. “May I?”

“Of course,” he said, raising his eyes to meet her gaze. “It’s yours.”

Carefully pulling it from its velvet box, Clara slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand, where it settled naturally into place as though she had worn it there every day for years. “We really are going to have to go inside,” she told him when she had control of her voice, “so I can kiss you properly.”

He smiled at her fondly. “Go look at it in the sunlight, first. I’m looking forward to seeing your reaction to it all over again.”

She glanced at him curiously but did as he asked, putting the ring box back into the jewelry box and then pacing a few feet away. The early morning sun was casting long shadows through the garden, and she turned her hand until the ring caught the light. Clara gasped. As if by magic, a pale six-rayed star appeared in the depths of the sapphire, clearly visible against the luminous dark blue of the stone.

“It’s called a star sapphire,” the Doctor said, and she looked up to find him standing beside her, his form a faint wispy outline in the dappled sunlight. “When you found me in Thebes in ‘21, I took you to see the excavation work going on at the Temple of Hatshepsut, and you were particularly fond of a section of the ceiling that was painted with stars against a dark blue sky. I was immediately reminded of that when I saw this ring.”

It wasn’t a memory, exactly, just a quick surge of nostalgia and images she couldn’t quite hold on to. “Our first date, sounds like,” she said, smiling up at him.

His answering grin was warmer than the gathering daylight. “I suppose it was.”

Despite his spectral appearance, Clara felt herself swaying towards him, overwhelmed by the need to kiss him in this happy moment. She shook herself, squaring her shoulders. “Alright, mister, inside with you, before the neighbours catch me talking to myself in my pyjamas in the garden at dawn. The last thing we need is more gossip about how strange this house is.”

She quickly refilled the hole she’d dug and returned the spade to the shed, then led the way back into the kitchen, the Doctor trailing silently behind her. Pausing only long enough to set the jewelry box on the table, Clara continued on towards the large walk-in pantry just off the kitchen, casting her ghost a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure he was following her.

“Clara, what are we—” he started to ask as she closed the pantry door behind them, plunging the tiny room into complete darkness. The rest of the question was lost when Clara pushed up onto her toes and kissed him soundly, steadying herself on the solid line of his shoulders. She felt the reassuring pressure of his hands at the small of her back and hummed in happiness, deepening the kiss.

“See?” she said when they separated, her smug tone somewhat ruined by the breathless elation of a woman well-snogged. “No need to spend each day counting down until sunset when there’s a world full of darkened rooms.”

“You make a very good point,” the Doctor agreed, and kissed her again.

The growling of Clara’s stomach eventually forced them out of the pantry and into the daylight, and with it came the realisation that there was very little food in the house, and absolutely nothing resembling coffee.

“I should shower and change into real clothes, too,” she told him as he followed her into the foyer, the jewelry box again clasped protectively in her hands. “All the more reason to get back to my flat.”

Her ghost nodded. “Will you come back later today?” he asked, voice carefully neutral. “Or do you need to spend the day doing human-y things, preparing for the work week or shopping for groceries or whatever it is you do when you’re not here?”

Clara shot him a disbelieving look. “I do, in fact, need to do all that stuff today,” she allowed, watching as he nodded and glanced away, fiddling with his wedding ring. “But I just assumed you’d come with me?”

He looked up at her in surprise, his expression tinged with hope. “Seriously?”

“Of course, Doctor. When I said I wanted you to be part of my life, I didn’t mean here in this house. Our future isn’t here, it’s out there,” she said, nodding towards the front door and the world beyond. She hesitated, a thought occurring to her, and added, “You can leave, right? You’re not tied to the house?”

He nodded, his hands still nervously occupied with his ring. “It’s been a long time since I last left, but... No, it was never the house that I was tied to.”

“What is it, exactly, that you’re tied to, then?” she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer, of the power it held over their future. “What’s kept you here all these years?”

“What do you think?” he said, looking at her like he thought it ought to be abundantly obvious. “You. It’s always been you, Clara.”

--

After a none-too-brief detour to the small and blessedly dark coat closet, she finally managed to get them out the door and on the way to her flat. The Doctor sat in the passenger seat as Clara drove, faint and ghostly in the daylight, but with enough form that she could clearly make out his expression. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at the way he stared out the window in wonder, angling his head to catch a passing skyscraper or an airplane flying overhead.

“First time in a car?” she asked, only mostly managing to keep the amusement out of her voice.

He shot her a sour look. “We did have automobiles by 1927, you know. And I’ve left the house since then, back when Margot used to travel. It’s just— been a few years, is all.”

“I can see how it would be jarring,” she said levelly. “I’ll try not to tease you. Too much.”

“Clara, my Clara,” he said on a sigh, shaking his head. “We both know that’s a lie.”

She shot him a quick look, finally letting her grin break through, and tried to keep her attention on driving and not on how unreasonably happy she was.

--

By the time they arrived at her flat, it was still early enough in the morning that not many of her neighbours were about, and Clara silently led the way up the flights of stairs and let them in through her simple front door that matched all the others, such a stark difference from the grand Victorian house where she’d always known her ghost. He trailed in behind her, looking around in interest at her clutter and her framed pictures, the dimness of the windowless hallway making him look almost alive again.

“Left it in a bit of a mess when I rushed out of here last night,” she said with a wince once she’d closed the door behind them, setting down her purse and keys and the jewelry box on the tiny table next to the door. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had company over, let alone someone whose opinion mattered to her as much as the Doctor’s. “It’s not much, but it’s mine and I’m fond of it,” she added, trying not to sound defensive.

“It’s intensely you,” he replied, leaning in to examine a photo from her travels after university. “If I wandered in off the street I’d know it was yours.”

Clara directed a bemused smile at his back, oddly touched at his first impression of her home. “Thanks, I think,” she said as she hung up her coat on the wall rack and toed off her shoes. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour, it’ll be quick.” She led him down the hall, indicating each room as they passed. “Kitchen is in there, that’s the loo, my bedroom, and the sitting room,” she said, pausing just inside the doorway and surveilling the chaos left behind from her late night efforts to make sense of the box they’d found in the attic.

“When you said you couldn’t sleep last night...?” the Doctor asked, looking at her sidelong.

“It looks worse than it is,” she said as she crossed the room and pulled the curtains closed over the door that led to the balcony, blocking out as much sunlight as possible. “I sorted everything into piles, maybe later we could look through it together? See if any of it sparks bits of memory for me?” she added, turning back to him.

The journal was still sitting on the coffee table, open to the scrawled final entry, and as she watched the Doctor leaned down and used what substance he had in the dim room to carefully close it, his fingertips lingering on the embossed cover. “I would like that, my Clara,” he said quietly, lifting his gaze back to hers.

She stared at him for a breathless moment, still trying to come to grips with their new reality, like something out of her teenaged fantasies come to life. “I should— I should shower, and eat, and all that,” she said, shaking herself. “I won’t be long, feel free to peruse the bookshelf or whatever, make yourself at home. Which,” she laughed, her nerves catching up with her, ���if we sell the house, I suppose it is, or will be, at any rate—”

“Clara,” he said gently, crossing towards her. “This is just you and me, same old, same old. Nothing’s changed, not really.”

“Right,” she murmured, looking up at him.

He watched her, his expression concerned. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than you want it to be,” he said. “I can go back to being just your ghost, if that’s what you want.”

She realised she was twisting her wedding ring around her finger and dropped her hands. “No,” she assured him. “No, I want a future with you. I want... I want long evenings and sneaking into coat closets and waking up with you beside me. It’s just a lot to adjust to so quickly.”

“Take your time,” he said easily, grazing her cheek with his cool fingertips, “I’m not going anywhere.”

--

After her shower, Clara carried her coffee and her breakfast down the hall to the sitting room. She found the Doctor camped out on the sofa, a rag and the wide silver pendant from the jewelry box in his hands, and a bottle of silver polish and the jewelry box open on the coffee table in front of him. At her inquisitive look, he said, “I thought I’d clean these up for you. I noticed it’s all looking a little tarnished — not too bad, considering they spent the better part of a century buried in the garden, but no reason not to treat them to a good cleaning.”

“Why did you bury the jewelry box?” she asked, settling into the empty space beside him and taking a sip of her coffee. “And when?”

“End of November, 1928. A few days after you— after you’d gone,” he replied, not looking up from methodically working at the tarnish on the necklace. “I wasn’t really thinking straight. I’d just lost you, and I didn’t want to be there, but I couldn’t leave Margot.”

“Your duty of care,” Clara said quietly.

He nodded but didn’t elaborate. “There were strangers in the house, including your parents. Your former parents, I mean, not Ellie and Dave, obviously,” he clarified, gesturing with the polish rag. “I couldn’t stand the idea of them touching your personal things, not after how they’d treated you the five years or so prior. I reverted to some sort of archaeologist’s instinct, I suppose: bury the evidence and let someone in the future piece together the true story of what happened.”

“Not realising, of course,” she said, “that the someone in the future would be us.”

The Doctor glanced up at her then back down at the necklace. “I couldn’t have imagined something like this at the time. I know I wished for a miracle, when I buried this. Wished for a way to see you again, without breaking my promise to watch over Margot. But it just felt so...”

“Impossible,” she finished for him, thinking about how hopeless her love for him had seemed, even just twelve hours earlier.

“My impossible girl,” he whispered, gaze on his work. “I should have known you would find a way. Here,” he said more briskly, turning towards her and holding out the necklace. “Ready to wear again. If you want.”

She carefully took it from him, turning it in her hand so the details caught the dim light. It was a single piece of engraved silver, heavier than she’d expected, about two inches wide and maybe half an inch tall, with the necklace chain attached at the far ends. Now that the tarnish was gone, she could clearly make out the shape of long, finely feathered wings extending from a circle in the centre, and what looked to be a snake’s head flanking each side of the circle. In much the same way as her wedding ring, it felt familiar, both the design and the weight of it in her palm, but she couldn’t quite summon up a memory that fit with it.

“This was a favourite of mine?” she asked, glancing up at the Doctor. “It looks Egyptian.”

“It is,” he said, his attention focused on removing the layer of grime from a narrow bangle bracelet. “It’s a winged solar disk, based on an image found in many ancient Egyptian temples. It symbolised their concept of the soul, which they believed to be immortal and capable of rebirth.”

“So it’s ancient, then?”

“The design is, the necklace isn’t. I suppose it’s an antique now, but it was new when I gave it to you in 1925. Part of the Egyptian revival movement, Tut-mania and all that.”

Clara frowned to herself, thinking over the dates covered in her great-grandmother’s journal — her journal. “It hadn’t occurred to me that the discovery of King Tut’s tomb would have been right around the time we were in Egypt.”

The Doctor shot her a quick look then said, “Somewhere in that pile,” he nodded at the stack of photographs on the coffee table, “there’s a photo of you and me and Howard Carter, taken just outside the tomb in 1923.”

She tried to imagine it, but her mind snagged on the memory of finding the Doctor at the dig site in Thebes in 1921 instead. “What was Egypt like, when we lived there?” she asked, running her fingertips over the engraved surface of the necklace.

“Hot,” he shrugged. “Though I seem to remember you complaining more about the weather in England when we came back in ‘25 than you ever complained about anything in Egypt. It was an exciting time to be there, an exciting time to be a field archaeologist. There was plenty of excavation work still to be done, but the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb had caught the public’s imagination, and there were more tourists than there’d been since before the war. You were far more swept up in it than I had expected, especially given the sorts of places I dragged you around to.”

She smiled in bemusement. “I read the journal entries from that time and she— I sounded happy. Even drew some of the little cottages we lived in.”

“‘Cottage’ is far too flattering a word,” he said, making a face. “Most were barely more than workmans’ huts, smaller than this flat, and a few didn’t even have indoor plumbing. And every time we moved into a new place, stepping into it for the first time, I’d think, ‘this is it, she’s definitely going to leave me now.’ But every time, every time, you would look at me with this sparkle in your eye and say—”

“‘Well, this will be an adventure,’” Clara said, quoting the words along with him.

The Doctor shot her a surprised look. “I didn’t think you would remember that.”

“I didn’t, not until right before you said it,” she replied. “But it’s like we’ve opened the door, now. It’s getting easier to remember little details like that.” She looked down at the necklace in her hand, running her fingers over it again. “Doctor,” she said slowly, keeping her gaze on the necklace, “we need to talk about that other memory. That nightmare, and the events that inspired it.”

He sighed loudly, and she looked up to find that he had closed his eyes, his hands gone still. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“We can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” she said. “We can’t will it out of existence.”

“Why not?” he demanded, turning to look at her. “It’s the worst thing that ever happened to us, and you want to relive it? I can’t understand why!”

“I need to know what happened. It’s like it’s hovering at the edge of my consciousness, all undefined and foreboding. I have pieces of it but there’s still so much I don’t know.”

“I should have burned that damned box when I found it,” he said, scrubbing at the bracelet in his hands with more force than necessary. “I should have burned it years ago, as soon as I realised you were you.”

“You really think I would have been better off never knowing? That we were better off without this?” she asked, gesturing between them.

“I’m glad you remember me, but the last thing I ever wanted was for you to have to remember that night!” He tossed the rag down onto the coffee table and dropped the bracelet back into the jewelry box, his agitation evident in his movements.

Clara closed her hand around the silver pendant, grounding herself in the immediacy of its feathered edges biting into the skin of her palm. “I don’t want to remember it either, Doctor,” she said. “But if you tell me what happened, I won’t have to go digging for the memory. Please, I just— I have to know. Not everything, just the basic facts of what happened.”

“And what if telling you those facts opens the door to that memory, too?”

“Then I’ll be grateful I won’t have to sleep alone tonight,” she said, holding his gaze. “Or any night.”

The Doctor stood abruptly and paced away, bracing one arm against the bookshelf, his eyes downcast. “Why do you have to be so stubborn and headstrong?” he said in a low tone. “Why can’t you just let it be?”

“I know you’re trying to protect me—” Clara started, her voice even.

“Of course I’m trying to protect you!” he burst out, turning back to her. “I died trying to protect you, so you can see how it’s a bit of an important topic for me!”

“How would I know that?” she demanded, pushing to her feet as well. “If you won’t tell me what happened, how the hell am I supposed to know that?”

“You already know,” he said harshly. “You know everything important. But you have some morbid desire to revisit all the gory details that I frankly cannot understand.”

“I have to confront this,” she told him, sharp with honesty. “I’m not sure I ever did, before I died. I don’t want this unknown, half-seen thing looming over us. I want to be able to go into our future together with all of this firmly behind us.”

“Then just let it alone! Don’t go looking for trouble!”

“I didn’t go looking for it last night! That nightmare, that memory dredged itself up all on its own.”

“That’s just the house,” the Doctor said, shaking his head. “You’ve never slept well there.”

“Since I was a baby, you said. Last night you said you worried it was because I knew something about the house. Well alright then, here’s what I know: You died trying to protect me, so that means we’re talking about the twenty-third of November, 1927, yes?”

He turned his face away, seeming intent on not answering her.

“Someone broke into the house,” she went on anyway, “broke a window and came inside, the noise woke me up in the middle of the night.” She curled her hand tighter around the necklace, trying desperately to keep her mind in the current moment, keep it away from the memory of breaking glass. “And I woke you and asked you to go investigate. I heard your voice from downstairs, then a gunshot— ”

“Clara, stop,” he snapped, looking up at her. “I don’t see what good can possibly come from this.”

“I need to know. And if you won’t help me, I’ll piece it together on my own!”

“I am not going to indulge you in your self-destructive urges!”

“You said you would tell me! You said you would give me the basic outline of what happened that night. Why are you being so difficult about this?” she demanded.

“Because if you’re angry with me now you’re not thinking about what happened to you then!” the Doctor said, the words seeming to explode out of him.

She stared at him, flabbergasted. “What happened to me?” she repeated. “He shot you! I heard it! I saw your blood on the—” She stopped abruptly, the memory flashing through her mind in vivid colour, the chilling implications close on its heels.

“Clara—”

“I saw your blood on the floorboards,” she went on over his objection, her voice sounding far away. “I heard the gunshot and I came downstairs, and I saw... There was so much blood.”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he insisted, “don’t think about what happened next. Not that memory.”

She shook her head. “Whatever it is you’re worried I remember, I don’t. There’s nothing after that. I came downstairs, terrified for you, I saw the blood — and then I woke up in hospital, and they told me you were dead. I’m missing that whole chunk of what happened in between.”

The Doctor was staring at her, his expression closed off and his gaze searching. “You always told me you didn’t remember it,” he said, his voice low. “But I was never certain if that was the truth. Or if you were just... trying to spare my feelings, I suppose. My guilt and my worry.”

“What did happen? Why don’t I remember? Please, Doctor,” she said softly. “I need to know.”

He sighed, and she could see the instant he relented, the shift in his expression and the way his shoulders dropped. “The man who broke in—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, then tried again. “He hit you,” he said, pushing out the words like each one took a monumental effort, “with the butt of the gun. He’d tried to shoot me a second time, but it had jammed, so he hit you with it instead. You were in and out of consciousness after that, for what came next.”

“I really don’t remember it,” she told him, searching her memory again and coming up completely blank. “Whatever happened next, I don’t remember it.”

He studied her face for a long moment. “Then that’s a small mercy,” he said quietly. “When they examined you in hospital, they said you had a concussion, along with all your other injuries, everything else that monster did to you. I’m sorry,” he added quietly, “I shouldn’t have doubted your word.”

Clara intentionally eased her grip on the necklace, letting the ache in her fingers ground her in the current moment, safe in the company of her ghost, home in her familiar flat, far away from that night in 1927. “But you remember it,” she said, not really a question. “You know what happened to me.”

Nodding, he turned away. “I saw it all,” he said softly, his back to her. “I was bleeding out on the floor of the home where we’d hoped to build our future together, but I fought to stay conscious, for you. I couldn’t just... leave you with him while he hurt you. I saw it, and if I can carry any part of that pain for you now, I will.”

She hesitated, then carefully approached him and touched his shoulder, grateful that he had substance beneath her fingers in the dim room. “You’ve carried it alone long enough, Doctor,” she said. He looked up at her, his expression anguished. “Let me be an equal partner with you in this. What happened next?”

“Clara,” he said, shaking his head, “if you don’t know, if you don’t remember, maybe we ought to keep it that way.”

The answer formed in her mind, even in the absence of first-hand memory, the pieces of the mystery fitting themselves together. The hints in the journal entries, the secret of Margot’s parentage that she’d asked the Doctor to keep, his insistence that she was better off never knowing what had happened to her that night. It all added up to only one possibility, one horrible truth. The realisation was jarring, grim and ghastly, and she found she couldn’t quite make herself think the single little word that would encapsulate what had happened to her.

“The man who broke in...” Clara said in a small voice. “He was Margot’s biological father, wasn’t he?” she said, avoiding that word and sparing the Doctor from having to say it, either. “That was the night she was conceived.”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Oh,” she said on the breath that rushed out of her, dropping her gaze to the floor as she struggled with the enormity of that revelation. She had no memory of the man’s face, this stranger who had broken in and ruined everything. And perhaps that was a small mercy, too, that she had never had to look at her Gran — at Margot, her daughter — and see the resemblance to the man who had attacked her and killed her husband.

“Clara,” the Doctor said in a gentle, worried tone, drawing her attention back to him.

She looked up at him, blinking away her tears. “That’s what you didn’t want me to know,” she said. “That’s what you’ve been trying to protect me from.”

“I couldn’t protect you when it mattered,” he murmured. “I’ve spent the last eighty-seven years trying to make up for that.”

“Is that why you stayed, after you died? Because you felt guilty?”

“I stayed because I had to be sure you were alright!” he said, raising his hand to her face, his fingers cool against her skin. “Because I couldn’t stand to leave you.”

Clara stared at the Doctor with tears in her eyes, finally understanding the depth of his love for her, everything he had gone through to bring them to this moment.

“I don’t remember it well,” he went on, “my death or what came immediately after, but I know I could have moved on then. That that’s what I was supposed to do. But you needed me, so I stayed. I sat by your hospital bed, even though I didn’t yet know how to make myself visible to you, or even that I could. I just... I couldn’t bring myself to leave you.”

“I am so selfishly glad that you couldn’t,” she said, her voice breaking. “That we get this second chance.”

“My Clara,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek with the pad of this thumb. “All I ever wanted was more time. We were supposed to get more time. It shouldn’t have ended like that.”

She smiled at him tremulously, and reached up to lay her hand over his. “We get more time, Doctor. This, right now, the rest of my life. We’ve stolen this time, and it is ours. We have our future back.”

--

Chapter 6: The Future

[katehuntington]

Title: Three Days Ago Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester (Sam Winchester & Castiel mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Summary: Dean and Y/N finally decide to settle down. But before they do, they take on one more case, which will turn out to be their last. Warnings: ANGST with a capital ‘A’! Canon typical violence, description of blood and injury, panic, major character death, grief. Seriously, do not read in public if you don’t like crying in a crowd. Word Count: 3514 words Author’s note: Grab your tissues, hurdle up in a burrito of sadness, because this is gonna be sad. @kittenofdoomage said: “Well, that was rude,” @wingedcatninja: “HOW. DARE. YOU.” and @winchest09 asked: “Why? Why do you do this to me?” So on that note, I hope you all enjoy!

     Three days ago, you and Dean had the talk. About quitting the job, about getting your own place, maybe even start a family. It has been occasionally discussed before over the years, but always jokingly, always the sarcastic ‘as if’. Dean and you are both realists. You know you will most likely die in armor. There is no happy ending in the cards. Every time the hunters took out an enemy, new ones would arise. The war never seemed to end, you were always covered in blood and bruises, always neck deep in trouble, fighting some impossible greater power that was way above your pay grade. And so you both laughed at the idea, like neither of you could picture it, while deep down both longed for that kind of peace. 

     One time, while driving through the night with Sam fast asleep in the back seat, the two of you fantasized about living a normal life. How it would be to have a home that isn’t a bunker, with windows that would allow sunlight to peek through the curtains. A house where the floors creak and the roof tiles tick when autumn rain pelts down. Maybe a house with a porch or a deck, with a view over a lake, so that Dean could spend his retirement fishing. A house like the cute cabin in Grand Mesa, Colorado, that you spotted on a real estate website. Dean doesn’t know, but you’ve been keeping an eye on the property, feeling a hint of relief every time you went online and found it to still be for sale. Even though the chances of ever living there are slimmer than winning the lottery, you couldn’t help yourself. 

     That is, until the final big bad was defeated. All there is left now are the little cases. The little cases that other hunters would have no problem with, the little cases that aren’t worth dying for. After decades of fighting a battle against what hides in the shadows and threatens mankind, you and Dean have decided the time has come to lay down the weapons. Your hunting days will soon be over, you were finally going to settle down with the man you love. So when Dean came across a suspicious news article and convinced you to work the case, you promised yourself: one last job. 

     Three days ago, the two of you went on that final hunt, having no idea that this case would end so much more.

      “Dean!”

     The damage is done before you can blink, let alone prevent it from happening. With a gun trapped and steady between both hands, you hurry around the corner and enter a dark alley in one of the neglected neighborhoods of Chicago. The hunter you care so much for comes into view, pushed against the brick wall by the shapeshifter that’s wearing your skin. Making a split second decision, you fire two silver bullets. Both hit the shifter in the chest, one piercing its heart. When the creature turns to you, horrified, the light coming from the lamppost on the corner of the street hits its eyes, igniting them to flash abnormally bright one last time. Then the spitting image of yourself crumbles to the ground, a fist clasped around the handle of the knife, pulling the weapon from Dean’s chest. 

     Every detail is clear, your senses heightened by the adrenaline. It all happens so fast, yet you are very much aware of every detail of what’s playing out in front of you. The fresh crimson on the blade, the gasp that escapes from Dean’s lungs as the knife is roughly drawn from his flesh, your racing heartbeat drumming in your ears, triggering a crippling state of inner panic. You lower the gun, big eyes watching him in shock as he turns his head to meet your gaze. A desperate, hopeless shade of emerald green, begging you silently to catch him before he collapses.

     You start to run towards him, but his legs give out. Unable to stay on his feet Dean slides down against the brick wall, but before he tumbles over to the side, you grab him and keep him vertical. 

     “I got you. I got you now. Hey hey hey…”       You force him to look into your eyes, your hand firmly on the back of his neck, holding him upright. Damn, he took a good punch. Two nasty gashes on his brow and cheekbone allow blood to drip down his face, but the red substance that is pooling on his bottom lip and starts to drip down his nose is not just a result from the beat down. It’s coming from deep within, filling his lungs, creeping up his throat. 

     You hastily shrug off your flannel shirt, first one arm, then the other, so that you can keep him steady. After folding it into a ball, you move his denim jacket aside to witness the stabwound between his ribs. For a short second you just stare at the stain that evens out the colors of his plaid shirt in one dark tone of red, growing larger with each passing moment. The image translates in your mind, setting it in overdrive. 

     “Cas!!!” you yell up to the sky.      You know he can’t hear you, you know Castiel doesn’t have the power to heal Dean either, not at this moment anyway. Still, you hope for a miracle, looking up at the tainted clouds above, painted in a hue of purple from the city lights. You call out for the angel again, but nothing happens, and so you return your teary eyes back to the hunter. The look he returns petrifies you to a degree that it can be felt in your deepest core, because besides the mixture of fear and pain, you notice something else. Sympathy for having to leave you for good this time. Acceptance of the inevitable fate that lies before him. Then you know. Dean is going to die tonight.

     You could give up. Now that you realize all hope is lost, you could stop fighting. But you can’t. You can’t give up on him. Not now, not ever. The small voice that tells you to stop your attempt to save the man you love, causes your hands to tremble and your heart to race, but you are calmed by the strong minded will that wants to keep him alive.       “This is going to hurt a little,” you warn, before you press the bundled fabric against the injury, doing your best to stop the severe bleeding.       Dean groans in agony when you apply pressure, grinding his teeth in the process as he does is very best to keep pulling in breaths.      “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Shhh…” you hush him, pulling out your phone and dialing 9-1-1.      “Y/N… don’t bother,” he says.      “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” you return, stern yet broken. “We’ll do this the old fashioned way, alright? All we gotta do is get you to a hospital and they will fix this. You’re gonna be fine. You're gonna be just fine.”

     You’re not just trying to convince him as you keep repeating the mantra in your head, but who are you fooling? Certainly not Dean, who watches you with empathy as you press the cellphone between your shoulder and your ear. The operator asks what your emergency is.       “I need an ambulance! M-my boyfriend just got stabbed in the chest and he’s - he’s losing a lot of blood. You’ve gotta send someone quick,” you tell the woman on the other end of the line, trying your best to get the message across best as you can.      “Okay, m’am. Help is on the way. What’s your location?”      You quickly glance at the corner of the street, trying to find a street sign. There isn't one, but years of experience in hunting and tracking pay off. You only need a fraction of a second to determine where you are, going on observations and memory of your chase that led you in this dark and empty street.       “I'm in a back alley of N. Morgan Street, right next to the ‘L’,” you explain, returning your focus to Dean.      “I’m dispatching units to your location right now. Is your boyfriend responsive?”      “Yes. Yes, he is,” you reply. “He's conscious.”

     You observe the oldest Winchester, witnessing how the flare in his eyes slowly starts to die down. He has a calm over him that seems foreign, at terms with the inevitable. Dean, who never backs out of a fight, who keeps throwing punches no matter what, has accepted his fate. The sight causes tears to fill your eyes again, desperately clinging to your lashes. You can't let them fall. If the tears fall, you will acknowledge it. If the tears fall, you will admit that you are about to lose him.      “What’s your name?”      You snap your attention back to the operator, who tries to gain more information. For a second your mind rushes through your aliases, deciding which one to give the woman on the phone, but then Dean’s head slowly dips in your hand as his eyelids become heavy.      “Dean? No no no no. Stay with me now,” you respond panicky, quickly dropping the phone to the concrete in order to hold him up.      “Look at me. Look at me. Dean?!”      Frantically you cup his face, trying to get him to focus on you again. Your thumb rubs his scruffy cheek lovingly as you pray for him to hang on. Someone seems to listen to the request, though, because his eyes flutter open again, able to take you in once more. 

     “They’re on their way, Dean. You just have to hold on a little bit longer, alright?” you say, emotion thick on your voice. “Tell me something.”      “Tell you what?” he asks, weakly.      You shrug, because honestly, all you want is to hear his voice.      “Anything. A stupid joke, a funny story. Just keep talking to me.”      A small smile appears on his lips while thoughts form in his head. Something in his warm eyes changes as he seems to figure out what to say to you. You can tell it’s a message he needs to get across, last requests and pleas for promises.      “W - will you do me a favor? Sammy, he's gonna be devastated--”      “- Dean,” you object, knowing where this is going.      “Y/N, please let me say this,” he whispers, weakening by the second. “I'm not sure how much time I've got here.”

     You want to interrupt him, yell at him to stop talking like he is going to die. Because you still want to believe that he isn't. You still want to believe that the two of you will have your happy ending. But you let him continue, as the tears finally fall. Reluctantly admitting, acknowledging, the last spark of naivety slipping away.       The hand that is clenching the piece of clothing against the wound, hesitatingly loosens grip on the fabric. Eventually you let go completely, allowing the dam to break. Dean sighs relieved when the painful pressure is taken away from his chest and then looks into your glistening eyes. Despite his deteriorating condition his hand now reaches for yours, rubbing his thumb over your bloody skin comfortingly, then gripping it tight.

     “Promise me--” He inhales sharply, trying to get enough air in to deliver his message. “- that you will look after my little brother. Make sure he doesn't do anything suicidal... And let him look after you too. Don't go through this alone, okay?”      A burn ignites in your chest, the hurting flames firing up your throat as you lower your gaze, unable to hold yourself up. Actual physical pain, caused by heartbreak. Nonetheless, you promise with a nod.       “One other thing. Now this… this is important.”       His voice gains a little strength, drawing your eyes back to his. His pupils are dilated slightly, the darkness of the alley surrounding them this dreadful evening, but the beautiful shade of jade that has always captivated you is still noticeable. You take him in, trying to look past the blood, past the bruising.      “Promise me you'll quit hunting.” Dean pleads.

     Your jaw lowers a little as you stare at him. Not nearly confident enough to take a leap that substantial, especially now that you are going to have to make it on your own, you shake your head frantically, and look down again.       “Dean, I can't,” you resist.      “Yeah, you can,” he pauses, trying to catch his breath.      You watch him struggle, blood coloring his teeth red as it gathers in his mouth. Despite that the shadows are closing in on him, he clears his throat.      “You’re talented, Y/N. You’re capable of so much more,” he says, smiling lovingly as he watches you. “Go get that degree you’ve always wanted, buy that little house by the lake that you’ve been checking on for months now. But don't dwell on revenge, okay? Leave this life behind.”      “How the hell am I supposed to do that without you, huh?” you reply, whimpering.       “It’s gonna be easier to move on from being a hunter now that I won't be there to slow you down.”

     As he swallows apprehensively, he glances down at his hand on yours. The message shocks you at first, but quickly transforms into compassion when the true meaning of his words settles in. Moved, you run your fingers through his hair as you support his head, trying to get through to him.       “You picked me up when I was at my worst, you took me for the mess I was and you made me into a better person. So don't you dare think that there has ever been a moment in my life that you were a burden, you hear me?” you say, the words coming out strong, contradicting the tears that stream down your face.      For the first time you witness a glazed fog in his eyes, not caused by the pain he is suffering from, but surfaced by your moving words. You know he needed to hear that, because he would never be able to convince himself of that fact. The guilt doesn't leave his weary mind completely, though.

     “I - I’ve done many stupid things in my life, but you know what I regret most?” Dean continues.      You shake your head, waiting in suspense as he coughs violently. He settles, though, and you wipe the blood away that drips from the corner of his mouth.      “Not settling down with you,” he continues. “Not taking the chance that was right in front of me. I waited too long, and I - I was too damn scared to let my guard down, that I drove right by the exit…”      You hush him, trying to ease the man who carries so much on his shoulders still.      “Hey hey… It’s alright,” you say, softly. “You know why? You didn't have to take that exit. I was right there on that highway trying to hitch a ride. Look who stopped and let me in, huh?”      You smile through the hurt and Dean mirrors your expression as he blinks slowly.      “It's been one hell of a ride,” he whispers, his flooding lungs making it difficult to speak.      “It sure has,” you chuckle, trying to mask a sniffle. “And I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”

     Fingertips try to break the trail of blood that has come down his handsome face when he closes his eyes again, pulling in a shallow breath with difficulty, trying to cope with the pain. It kills you to see him like this, to watch him stall, trying desperately to stay with you for a little while longer. He’s living on borrowed time.

     “You need to know something, too,” you start, steadying him with both hands now, cupping his face.       His eyelids part again, but he can barely focus. He is beginning to weigh heavily on you and it is petrifying to see how the strength oozes from his body. As his heartbeat slows to a worrying low pace, yours speeds up. Tears have now carved shimmering lines in your cheeks as you tremble, not ready for the moment that is about to come.      “I love you, Dean. You know that, right?” you say, falling apart.      Going on fumes, he looks up into your eyes, as the corner of his mouth twitches. There is no actual answer to your insecure question, but the line parting his lips growing further into a small smile says it all. Pupils bouncing over your features, trying to imprint this image in his mind, so that he can take the memory with him to wherever he will go in the afterlife. It’s the last thing he is going to see.       “Kiss me,” he breathes, barely audible.

     You lovingly stroke his cheek with your thumb as more tears spill from your eyes. Willingly, you come closer until you’ve closed the gap between the two of you completely, pressing a gentle kiss on his mouth. You are the one who he wants to feel in his final seconds. You are his last wish.      As his lips move over yours, dwelling in the moment, you understand that this is his way of saying ‘I love you, too’. His taste that is so familiar to you, has mixed with the metallic flavor of blood, but you try not to think of that matter. Memories of all your epic moments with him flash through your mind, and God, how beautiful those memories are. 

     4th of July on an empty desert road on the hood of the Impala, beer instead of champagne, shooting stars instead of fireworks. Driving across the country for a Bob Seger concert and ending up right in front of the stage, you dancing freely and him singing along every word. The first time he took your hand in his while riding down the 101 in California, finally allowing himself to fall for you. The first time you kissed him under the traffic lights, stretching the moment until the lights turned green and the cars behind you started honking, but neither of you cared. All you want is to make more of these memories, for those intimate moments to carry on. But they will not. This is going to be the final moment you will share. So you put all the love you carry for him in this last kiss, just like you did in the first.

     You feel his last breath on your lips without realizing it. It’s only when he fails to respond to your touch, that you freeze. Paralyzed, you wait as fear of your worst nightmare coming true begins to crawl up your throat, closing it off. You slowly remove your lips from his, not ready to look at his motionless face that you still hold in your hands.       “Dean?”      His eyes are closed, like he’s sleeping and could wake up at any second, but the silence is horrifying. Frightened by what is right in front of you, your fingers slip down to his neck, desperately trying to find a pulse. You relocate your fingertips on his artery in denial, looking for a heartbeat, a breath, any sign of life.       “No no no no…” you speak again, repeating his name more forceful. “Dean!”

     Unable to accept what has in fact become reality, you shake your head as you keep holding Dean up, unable to bare feeling him slip from your hands. Desperately, you try to force him to feel your touch once more, running your fingers through his hair, caressing his clammy skin, as you whisper to yourself in order to keep calm. This is not happening. This can't be happening. This must be a very, very twisted dream. This is not real, this is not real, this is not real.

     But it is. It is real. And just like that, your light is gone.

     Your breath hitches in your throat and the confirmation hits you like a freight train. You let his lifeless body slip against your chest as you fold your arms around him, letting his head rest on your shoulder. A heart wrenching cry reverberates through the back alley. Unable to breathe you struggle to let the cool air fill your lungs, so unsettled by the loss of the man that you love, that you can’t imagine yourself ever getting up again. As sirens approach in the distance and echo between the concrete of Chicago, you hold Dean close, your tears mixing with his blood, your wailing breaking the silence.

     Three days ago, you were faced with a choice and made the wrong one.      Three days ago, you could have decided to spend the rest of your lives in peace, but you promised yourself, one last job.       Three days ago, it wasn't Dean who drove past the exit. It was you.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

This work is written by me, Kate Huntington, and it is under no circumstances allowed to copy my work.

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[dreamsmp-megaritz]

my problems with the tone of post-season-1 Dream SMP

Here are some things I often see in Dream SMP post-season-1, which I do not see so much in season 1. Take all of this with a grain of salt, in light of how (1) I am not nearly as familiar with the seasons 2&3 material as I am with season 1 material (so there may be some or many parts of seasons 2&3 which do not have these problems, and which I am failing to give due credit to), and (2) I often cannot pin down why I feel differently about season 1 than about seasons 2&3, so I am not certain how much of my claims stem from objective differences between them vs. subjective biases on my part.

I hope this post can present some topics of further discussion, investigation, friendly debate, and/or analysis.

--

Problem #1. Excessive emphasis on making a clear distinction between “canon” and “non-canon.”

It seems that now players often talking about “canonically” doing X and “not canonically” doing Y. I don’t like this much. Back in season 1, people almost never used the word “canonically.” The line was blurrier, and I liked that better. This is a block-game role-play, and given this format, there are many features of the story which really cannot be pinned down with much precision.

As one example (among many), L’Manberg was a “nation” but it also seems to have consisted of only a few people. There’s arguably no way to make much sense of this within any tightly defined “canon,” and I think it’s good that the story has not tried much to do so. The canon should remain loose in some ways.

The blurriness of the canon/non-canon distinction is also good for the intertextual elements discussed in @lucemferto’s video about Philza (which is fantastic, and I highly recommend watching it). This sort of intertextuality is one of my favorite things about Dream SMP-- and I have my own theories as well, which I will write about at a later time-- but I suspect some of these cool elements may require keeping the canon/non-canon distinction at least somewhat blurry.

Of course, I totally grant there is a need for a "role-playing / not role-playing” distinction, or something along these lines. Many of the characters dislike each other in the story, but are friends in real life. Occasionally some of the younger fans get confused about this, and will become angry at content-creators under the false impression that the content-creators are mistreating each other. I fully recognize that some kind of explicit distinction is needed in order to avert these confusions, and to keep everyone on the same page of realizing it’s all in good fun. But the necessary distinction should be sensitive to the loosey-goosey nature of the storytelling format.

Back in season 1, I think content-creators would often correct young viewers’ confusion by saying “It’s a bit” i.e. a skit or game (rather than using words like “canon”). I like this “bit” terminology, because it seems appropriately loose-- instead of using the word “canonically” which seems inappropriately strict.

(Admittedly the term “bit” may be more appropriate to the very early period where there was little to no scripting. I’ll briefly return to the “scripting vs. improvising” distinction a few times. It is related to these other distinctions, but not identical to them.)

--

Problem #2. Some dialogue scenes are too long.

Let’s take a bunch of the one-on-one scenes between Dream in prison talking to other characters such as TommyInnit, like in this VOD and following ones. These scenes involve a lot of interesting story details, but they go on for a frankly very long time. To me they feel incredibly drawn out. They’d be better at half the length. They seem to have a lot of needless repetition, among other issues.

I’m not certain of the cause of the problem, but it seems to be stemming partially from the particular kind of combination of scripting and improvising which they involve. It isn’t always a great combination. It’s like the players have a checklist of story points to cover, but they aren’t sure how to pull it off in a way that sounds natural without taking too long.

I’m not sure how to solve it. Scripting the dialogue more thoroughly might help make them more concise-- but at the cost of sounding less natural, and losing the charm which Dream SMP’s improvisation often holds.

But further analysis would be needed to say exactly how or why the problem is happening. And not everyone might agree me that it’s happening at all. So I’ll be curious to hear other people’s assessments of the problem (if there is one) and what’s causing it.

In any case, I’ll contrast it to season 1. I believe season 1 did not have many scenes that dragged out for a long time. Season 1 has serious moments as well, and it has dramatic weight. But it does not often have the feeling of dragged out scenes. Again I think further analysis is needed to figure out whether I’m right about this or not-- and if I’m right, further analysis will be needed to figure out why the seasons feel so different, because I can’t really say for sure or in detail why it feels this way. So again I’m curious what other people will think about this.

--

Problem #3. Too serious.

This problem seems to be part of the cause of the first two problems. Excessive seriousness may contribute to dragged-out scenes which aren’t fun to watch, and it may contribute to taking the “canon vs. non-canon” distinction too seriously, with an excess tendency to put “serious” stuff on the “canon” side of the divide and put “non-serious” stuff on the “non-canon” side of the divide.

In any case, the storyline after season 1, or at least some parts of it (probably not other parts), seem to have a puffed up air of “seriousness” which really feels off to me.

This does not mean it never succeeds at being serious in the right way. For instance I think serious parts of the Quackity VOD “Quackity Visits Dream in Prison” actually work very well-- even the one-on-one scene between Quackity and Dream, which is one of the best prison scenes. Crucially, this specific prison scene does not seem to have the problems that I’ve complained about for other prison scenes, or at least not nearly as severely. But a lot of seasons 2 and 3, from what I’ve seen of them, appear to have the problem of feeling like they’re “trying too hard” to be taken seriously, and it doesn’t work for me.

Another strength of that Quackity VOD is that the scene with Schlatt at the afterlife gym had a combination of seriousness and levity which I thought was very strong. Whatever one may think of Schlatt’s style of comedy outside DSMP (i’m aware of the myriad controversies), I think Schlatt is incredibly skillful at pulling off an effective combination of seriousness and levity, and I think his chemistry tends to enhance other players’ ability to pull it off too.

And to be clear, season 1 has serious moments as well. But the mixture of seriousness and levity in season 1 seems stronger to me. When Schlatt wins the election, this is a dramatic moment, but it also seems to have a degree of campiness which makes it work well. When Wilbur goes through various scenes of planning to blow up Manberg, this is dramatic and a serious character arc in some ways, but it does not seem to me that it has the air of over-seriousness which parts of seasons 2 and onward seem to have.

However, I can’t really articulate why this is. Some of it may be a nostalgic bias toward the earlier material, and/or the fact that the earlier material had more novelty. And I was in a very particular kind of emotional place when I watched a lot of season 1, due to the pandemic and various other factors, which has strongly impacted how I feel about it today.

However, I think this does not account for everything. I maintain that, most likely, there are also objective differences between the seasons in their style or tone, even though I cannot really pin down what they are in detail or with much assurance.

I also want to add another disclaimer that I’m not sure how consistent this is. For instance, there are plots like the Butcher Army where I simply haven’t watched enough to get a sense of how serious or non-serious it comes across as.

--

Possible diagnoses?

There may be a bunch of possibilities for what causes these issues, but for now I only have the faintest speculations.

One possibility is that seasons 2&3 are more scripted, whereas season 1 was more improvised. This would explain some of the issues, if true. However, I am not sure whether it is actually true that seasons 2&3 are more scripted than season 1.

I can’t find citations offhand right now, but I recall Schlatt once said (at least a lot of) season 1 was heavily scripted, and I think that Wilbur once said season 2 is not as scripted as many people think it is. Now, I grant Schlatt and Wilbur may be using different standards of what counts as “heavily scripted,” and it’s not clear to me whether they agree or not. So there may be some ambiguity. But in any case, the combination of these two statements leads me to think season 2 is probably not significantly more scripted than season 1. And if that’s true, then the degree of scripting is not the key to understanding the problems.

Another possibility is that the difference stems from whether Wilbur or someone else is the main writer. This is most likely a big part of it. However, I am not sure of the details, as I have not researched it enough. I also do not know whether Wilbur has returned to being the lead writer yet (as of late March 2021), or if that is still upcoming.

[thecagedsong]

Cool, so one of my fandoms is having a really bad day, and since I care about Fablehaven until this monster of a fanfic gets finished, how about some wholesome meta? I don’t really care what the drama was about, so don’t tell me. We’re all a little high strung, and I tend to take disagreements personally in a way that I’m working on, and don’t need to be involved in. 

Now that that disclaimer is out of the way, who wants to talk about the Five crowns? Because I had a 14 hour car ride yesterday, listening to the second half of Evening Star and Shadow Plague, and I am so ready to let you all in on the code I cracked. I found the unifying magic diagram of the Fablehaven verse. The key to ultimate satisfaction, and if there was a magic research journal in universe, I would post this in and win the Top Magic Nerd of this Century award.  My goal is to make this as accepted canon as possible, because I am ridiculously right. No characters involved, so no drama except of the scolastic kind, relying on heavy references to canon. 

Ready? 

SO, I made a pretty big claim. But I’ve been toying with this theory since before Dragonwatch three came out. I need some reviews before I inform Brand Mull that I’ve cracked his secret and won the game. If this symbol isn’t on the spine of the Journal of Secrets, what is even the point. 

A good symbol does three things: identifies the pieces you are dealing with, helps the viewer reach a new understanding about the pieces, and map onto the cultural understandings of the audience. aka a cross with four quadrants of airplane, mitochondria, love, and toe nails is a terrible symbol. See common memes for usually pretty good symbols and graphs. 

So you got five crowns right? That means you have a pentagon and a five pointed star, and the biggest trick was figuring out where each crown went, and how they related to each other. 

Examine five-part belief systems, see where the crowns match, unifying symbol explains everything, move on. Easy.

NO.

You wanna know why?

BECAUSE FIVE POINTED STARS AS SYMBOLS ARE MORE WORTHLESS THAN AAA BATTERIES FOR WATCHING TELEVISION

Okay, a bit of an exaggeration, obviously they are very useful for things like organizing systems within a single body. Who functions as the head, the shield arm, the pivot foot, etc. But the point of that diagram is that they are equally important and dependent to every other part. Which doesn’t work when the different groups keep trying to break each other’s kneecaps (see b5: fairies v demons).

It also falls apart on the five-piece cultural scale. The most well-known 5-piece cultural scale is obviously the chinese elements: Fire Wood Water Metal Earth.

Now, I don’t pretend to be an expert on those at all. But it all broke down on fire, TBH. Were dragons fire? But a large point was that their breath weapons weren’t always fire. Were demons fire? Even the ones covered in sludge. Were demons earth? Was the underking earth? All I got were fairies as water, in the end. If someone wants to give that a go, be my guest. 

I drew so many pentagrams trying to figure it out, and it never worked. No matter the arrangement, it never told me more about the crowns except that there were five of them. I was about to despair. 

But then the muses sang: The Forgotten Crown. 

(That’s the title of my thesis, btw)

Like I said, five pointed stars were trash for this system, but what if I added another crown, one that no one bothers to count, because by their nature, they can’t do anything. That’s right:

The Forgotten Crown of the Fair Folk. 

The symbol slipped into place like sharp pointy things into Warren. And now I can get to the real meta after sharing this image:

Isn’t it beautiful? After I cracked this code, I showed it to my little sister. She smiled contentedly, calling it satisfying. It is so satisfying. It speaks to so many levels of understanding. 

First, I depicted for you, we have the morality and the terrain triangles. 

Morality triangle is the easiest, if you feel uncomfortable labeling drown-happy naiads as good and all demons as evil, congrats, thinking about the nature of good and evil is precisely what Mull was going for. Since I am suddenly one of those people, I’m going to be using the creation/destruction dichotomy, but acknowledge that both of those work. 

Fairies can be most easily understood when Kendra asked the Fairy Queen what she should do with her life. She’s an unlimited fount of the Fairy Queen’s own power, allowed to do whatever she wants, and the Fairy Queen tells her to nurture life. Be fruitful, put good things in the world, help people grow. Their goal is to create, their magic is defensive, beauty is wonderful for its own sake. The better you are at respecting and nurturing life, the stronger your magic is. Dryads are responsible for the whole forest, and throughout the series they are seen as more powerful and serious than fairies, which can make the plants they interact with grow and hamadryads, who are connected only to their tree. Certainly more powerful than the petty, waterbound naiads. 

Ganalus’s speech to Seth about his own nature is where you can understand demons in this world. They like to destroy and torture, they find amusement in things like plague and clipping live beings to their belts and dragging them around. They are driven by the need for more power and control. Their nature is to harm and break apart, and that has its place in this world, but we care about the stuff and people here, so mortals and fairies have got to keep these punks in check.

And of course, the Fair Folk. Here’s where this triangle gets fun. The worst of the worst gets to be Demon King, the best of the best get stronger fairy powers. That means the most neutral of the neutral get to be the leader of the Fair Folk. We’ve heard references to the main city of the Fair Folk: Selona, somewhere in Europe, and a mysterious exert that I’ve seen images of with Lord Dagrel that I’m trying to pin down. I’m posing that their powers come from being neutral. They talk about the terrible consequences of the last time they went to war, what if it the equivalent of their fallen state, when they break their neutrality, and changes them fundamentally. 

This breaks down the most, but they are the Forgotten Crown for a reason. They hold themselves apart from issues of the other crowns. No one even remembers that they have a crown, because as Seth and Celebrant have shown, who cares? They aren’t going to do anything about it. Everyone collectively forgot/don’t care about them. But their abilities are equal in strength to the others, but different in use, and less valued by those who have battles to fight. Their neutrality puts them exactly between good and evil, creation and destruction. They take the choice not to act, and there is power there too. 

Next is the Terrain Creatures. 

Sky giants control the sky, obviously. Thronis and his ability to control the weather, their height, while their feet are on the ground, far as we know, everything important happens in the sky. 

Underking gets under the ground, again, obvious. Different from the other two points of the terrain triangle in that there is a lot of creature classifactions in their domain, but think of how big the surface of the earth is, underneath it, all theirs. 

Dragons, they dwell in the sky and below the surface, putting them in both. Water dragons and Dromadus both primarily function beneath the surface, and their wings let them be in the sky. while not stronger necessarily than the other terrain crowns in their own domains, they are top of the food chain for the creatures living on the ground, and could probably take out the undead that venture near the surface, and I have high hopes for seeing a Sky Giant v Dragon in the next book. 

Cool, we got our organization of information. We learn something about them based on their placements within the triangles. But is that our symbol? No! Symbols are different than graphs, we should be able to squeeze ridiculous amounts of meaning from them, and we aren’t done yet. The two triangles map really, really well together.

What does the placement of the two triangles together tell us about the individual components?

a WHOLE TON. This is what makes this symbol the most satisfying, the triangles create two separate categorizations of their powers and abilities, but they inform each other. The morality of the terrain beings, and the domains of morality beings. 

Dragons run the whole spectrum from creation to destruction. We see a lot more of the destruction dragons, because our kids are in a war, but Raxtus hits really close to the Fairies and can heal and grow with his breath weapon. We also have wizards, who chose mortality for the ability to use magic to create. All the way to effing Navarog, honorary demon. They run every shade of the creation/destruction spectrum. We also see dragons that don’t depend on destruction because we know that there are some that agreed to behave if it meant they weren’t shoved into sanctuaries. 

Sky giants, the group we know the least about, are good enough that their queen was deemed able to be the caretaker of a dragon sanctuary, so no inherent thirst for destruction and chaos. But they run the neutral side of creation, they weren’t going to step in to stop the demons, they like magic and creating from what we know of thronis, but they fit right here. 

Underking - fall between neutral destruction. The underking wasn’t orchestrating the opening of the demon prison. They crave life, its a food source, but more than that, they want to endure. They might fall closer to demons in their taste for extinguishing life, but they need their wanting of life to continue existing. They might have individual prizes and desires for life, but because they depend on wanting life for their own continued existence, they will never organize themselves into taking over the world. Congrats, you’re only half as destructive as demons.

The morality on the terrain is much easier to see blatantly. Fairies have wings, but in no way do they control the sky, and they live on the ground. Demons...I’m sure some of them fly, but they tend to prefer caves like Granulas and pits like Jubaya and Kurisok. Prefer the night, though the light doesn’t harm them. Fittingly, the Fair Folk do not have the ability to fly on their own, and they live on the ground, not under it. 

sO SATISFying how those fit together. Are you weeping yet? This is harmony on the organizational level. 

But I claimed this was the perfect symbol, the ultimate. There is one more layer describing how every piece relates to every other piece, per the best symbols. 

Opposites

This is the least defined level of interaction, and each line is unique, while still being opposite its counterpart. We’ll start with the ones we have the least information about and go from there. 

Demon/sky giant: We know nothing, at the moment. They have never commented on each other, and have never interacted. Why didn’t sky giants show up to the Zzyzx party? Who knows! So I’m going to speculate here, and propose that they just really can’t stand each other’s presence. Demons stay away from sky giants, because giants are way bigger than them, and it is hard to feel powerful when you only come up to their knee, and sky giants don’t like demons because...eww, demons. 

Fair Folk/Dragon: We know that there are Fair Folk at all seven dragon sanctuaries. We know that the Fair Folk were there long before the sanctuaries were created. Fair Folk neutrality let both parties trust the dragons to part of their watch. It also seems that Dragons have a very difficult time staying neutral. We’ve seen a lot of flavors of dragon, but the one flavor we haven’t seen, possibly by its nature, is a neutral dragon. The closest we came was Dromadus, who was an abstaining pacifist for two books, but kept lending help to the innocent and those aligned with the innocent. His neutrality broke literally the week someone asked him to break it.

 Fascinatingly, the talents of the Fair Folk are actually the closest analog to the breath weapons of the dragons. One unique ability, can be augmented by training, can do something unique to the characteristics of the user. This is enough to make their uses of magic foils for each other in ways that they can’t be with the other races. In fact, they take human shape, their wizards act a lot like the talents of the Fair Folk.

Their final opposite string: physical appearance. Fair Folk are attractive (symetrical) humans. Dragons are hulking reptiles of scale and claw meant to let everyone who can see them know who is the top predator around. Fair folk are disarmingly beautiful. 

Fairy/Underking: The dichotomy that we know the most about because it’s the one the protagonists find themselves on opposite side of. I could double the length of this post talking about these opposite foils, but this is already ridiculously long, so I’ll keep it brief. Consult upcoming thesis for full analysis.

Most obvious aspect of this line? They literally cannot co-exist, one must overpower the other. Nova Songs are consumed by darkness, while crown-fueled Kendra literally turns the undead into bones and dust. The darkness and light can’t balance like the demon cursed area + Fairy shrine stone did in Shadow Plague, there is no middle ground.

While fairies and demons make the creation-destruction spectrum, Fairy and Underking make the Life-death line. Unicorns, who have so much life and youth that lectoblixes overdose to death on them, and the undead that give up the joys light and live to continue. Because Death lasts as long as life. 

And finally my favorite line of opposites, their crowns functions in exactly the opposite ways. The under-crown does not share power. It accumulates, you become one of consciousness of the crown. They swallow you up, and you will never take power from them. They will continue. Meanwhile the Fairy crown has had several owners, as identified by Risenmay in dw2. And the Fairy Crown shares magic in a way that the other crowns don’t. The fairy Queen shared her magic with Kendra, yes, but she also shared it with her husband. All the male fairies fell with the Fairy King, turning permanently into imps. Unless the Fairy Queen isn’t being honest about how that happened, that meant that the male half of the kingdom was under the authority of her husband when he fell. Which makes sense for this crown. One person can’t make a new person on their own, they have to have a male and a female genetic coding. For the crown that is all about creating and preserving life, that power isn’t meant to be wielded alone. The Fairy crown can share, can give, while the Undercrown can consume and take. They are complete opposites in this.

Conclusion

Thank you for reading through this preliminary thesis. Counterpoints, additions, and commentary are welcome. I want to flesh this out a little more before sending my transcendent, beautiful, unifying symbol to Mull and have him announce that I have officially cracked the code. Really tho, the fact that I can pull this together into a unifying symbol is pretty cool in terms of Mull’s worldbuilding. 

Well...only works if he acknowledges the forgotten crown. Dragonwatch 5: the Crown of Selona. I can’t wait.