#god knows how this impacts law when he finds out about the leg thing

[cebwrites]

[check tags!]

Just thinking about the chokehold Doflamingo probably had on Crocodile in the thick of their relationship, when they actually were 'in love' Like the longer he stays with him the more Crocodile notices just how fucking incompatible they are Doffy's never had to want for anything after Trebol took him in, he just takes whatever he wants when he wants to, so Crocodile wouldn't be able to shower him in gifts as a substitute for actual affection, worse still is Doffy's reactions to his attempts at that He'd acknowledge Croc's gifts and think they're nice but only in a patronizing "oh, that's cute that you think I'd need this" way and toss them on the mountains of other material things he has in his castle and think nothing else of it without addressing Crocodile's underlying emotions that he struggles to express because Doffy just doesn't care to

There's a lot of emotional undermining going on and if Crocodile ever seems upset about anything Doffy thinks just the 'luxury' of being in his presence and a hollow apology should be enough All he wants is to for Crocodile to shut up and play his part as his partner without any fuss and any time Crocodile desperately tries to stand his ground with clear boundaries Doffy's strings just tighten around him with further manipulation Doesn't take long until Crocodile takes off the rose tinted glasses and fleeting whirlwind affections that got them married under a month quickly turns to resentment as he painstakingly has to navigate his way out of the maze he's found himself in after starting the strikingly slow process of removing Doflamingo from his life And not in the 'oh but I still love him, he could change' way, Crocodile is fully aware and full of hatred the entire way through but Doffy just refuses to let him go because he sees Croc as one of 'his', someone that belongs to him, and therefore something he's entitled to

That absolutely bleeds into his work and the way he carries himself long after throwing Doffy's wedding ring into his face Crocodile's always kept to himself but being around Doffy in such close proximity even for a short while made him a smidge paranoid, and it's not like Doflamingo hasn't been hellbent on exerting his influence further on him either When he starts fooling around with Baroque agents because he's an allosexual man with needs to and they're the people that get the closest thing Crocodile can manage to trust, he's cagey around them too and keeps everyone at arm's length Plus, sleeping with someone just to axe them after is tactless even for him Crocodile does a lot to show off his power and what could happen if they so much as think of betrayal though, still, but to the ones that gain his favor, they're rewarded handsomely All the treasures and gold that Kirin had to leave behind when he fled Baroque because it'd weigh him down more than help, and presumedly Robin did too

He's deliberately emotionally unavailable and whatever harm comes to his partners he expects them to be strong enough to handle it on their own as Baroque Works agents, he doesn't derive pleasure from their pain though, and he's had more than enough experience to know when to stop Crocodile isn't good with any of that mushy shit but he makes sure they're compensated Years later Crocodile's still pulling cobwebs off himself from being under Doffy's thumb, there's reminders of him everywhere, Doffy hasn't given up the prospect of ownership either, shown by him asking Croc to join him after his 'little stint' in Arabasta, basically Crocodile's life's work, "didn't work out", more undermining his accomplishments

I'm not sure if they ever clashed in cannon but in Kirin's verse Doflamingo goes directly for Daz after taking Kirin's leg off and leaving him there to writhe, only a little disappointed when Kirin didn't give him the wail he wanted because it'd draw attention to him He's got Daz by the throat with severe organ damage from his fruit, monologuing about how pathetic Croc's 'number 1' really is if this is all the fight he can put up, before Crocodile flies at him in a barely concealed rage Kirin manages to roll over and ask if Daz check still breathing before making the call to Law on Sabaody that he needs a ride out of there He doesn't have the full picture because Kirin only started working for him five years ago but through context clues and piecing things together over the years the picture he's painted of the exes is a pretty grim one No matter how hard he tries to get away Doffy's just always one step behind him Watching Crocodile fight Doflamingo madder than he's ever seen him is definitely something for Kirin, it's of course no excuse to how he treated them all in Baroque but at that point he just feels sorry for him, Daz says something along the lines of worry for his 'boss' and Kirin's feelings are solidified

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, mentions of murder, unclear timeline, blackmail, unprotected sex, fingering (F!receiving), smut, esoteric references to past abuse, manipulation, Dark!Fic

Words: 5.2k (holy fuck?)

Summary: You need his help. He names his price.

Notes: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 and her incredible 5K Soft!Dark Challenge and I can't believe I wrote over 5k words for a oneshot, making this the longest piece I've ever written. I took a blend of prompts: Mob!AU; “When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this;” and “That’s a big favor you’re asking for, I think you need to make it worth my while.”

And this was intended to be a oneshot but now I can't stop thinking about it so thanks Siri, I think this is now a part of my WIPs too! Your work is amazing and I had a blast being able to take part in this!

As usual, my work is 18+ ONLY, Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You went to him first.

You went to him, handed them your business card and I want to speak to Steve Rogers.

Honestly they almost threw you out with an extra hole in your head but then the man of the hour walked right in.

So now you’re here. Now you’re here, sitting across a gorgeous dining table with a ten-course meal laid out and honestly you’re surprised they didn’t tie your wrists to the arms of the chair while you watch him eat and take in the look of those baby blue eyes scanning you over.

He even brought you non-alcoholic rosé, when you said you didn’t drink.

So.

So.

You wanted to talk to me?

Yeah, I do. Thought you’d just sit me in your office, have a consultation.

I like breaking bread with new friends. Have a nice dinner, get the wine flowing — of course, that’s not gonna loosen your tongue, but we’ll forgive it.

Oh. Cool, I like being forgiven.

He laughs at that one and the room, strumming with tension, snaps into amusement. So do you, cracking a half smile on dark red lips, before swallowing down the lump of anxiety threatening to break through and destroy everything. You need this. You need this and you can’t let anything — not your nervousness, not your morals, not him — stop you. You need this and it needs to be done and if this is what justice is in this fucking city then so be it.

Well, sweetness, you’ve got my attention. You want to talk business or pleasure?

That one makes you laugh, a little sharp and a little cruel, and the curling smirk on his face gets a little furrowed because he hears it too — pain.

It could be both, you say finally, picking up the glass of rosé-that-wasn’t, if your reputation is as real as they say it is.

He lifts a bite of cheesecake into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue while he watches you, somewhere between impressed and incensed. You know the look — you saw it the last time he met you in court, but you weren’t there as allies then. Never thought you’d come to me, he admits finally, sounding halfway bemused at the idea, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Counsel?

You wince, or maybe smirk, eyes on the man before you.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse, and the woman you thought you were thirteen months ago when you put four of Steve Rogers’s best men in jail for fifteen years — fifteen years longer than any District Attorney had ever managed to do before you, and you were just the rookie they handed a shit case to — is leagues different from the woman you are now, seated prim and proper in the lion’s den.

You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years — this life doesn’t leave room for innocence, it tears at you, leaves you tired and broken and ill.

Your colleagues learned to fear him a long time ago, the man before you. Captain America, leading the city, the country, the world into a new era of high tech crime all under his thumb. It’s a pretty shiny shield, the one that sits behind him, but mirrors are black on the other side and his soul is dark as coal.

You’re not an angel yourself, and this deal with the Devil isn’t for anyone but you.

I need someone taken care of.

So you come to me? I thought you were a lady of morals, Counsel.

Certain kinds of morals.

You can see him smile, see the way he raises his glass, the glimmer of malice and amusement in his eyes. So tell me. What’s the name?

You give it.

He’s not in the city, your target, but he will be. A Judge, an activist, real tough-on-crime-sweet-on-justice type of shit. You don’t tell him the reasons why, because those are yours, but you tell him the name. You tell him he’s a problem, you tell him he’s dangerous, you tell him you’ll pay to have him taken care of, you tell him you don’t want to practice in front of that black, black robe.

And he smiles like the Devil he is, watches you with a grin and drinks his whiskey in one last shot before slamming it down, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You said that when we met the first time.

He’s a hunter, you can see it in his eyes. That lion’s mane might be tamed right now but it won’t be for long and you’re playing with wild animals. The eyes on you are ice and daggers, daring you to do the one thing everyone in the office has been begging you not to do.

(Drop the charges, Rookie, the case is just to get your face in front of the judge.)

You upped the charges.

(Rookie, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, there’s other cases.)

You subpoenaed his phone records.

(Rookie, don’t make me drag you off this case!)

You won.

You had no witnesses and a jury you had to drag in from god-knows-where after you proved, over and over again, that he’d paid off the cohort in the courtroom. Finding people with nothing to lose and a desire to do their civic duty wasn’t harder than you thought — it was exactly as impossible as you expected.

But you did it.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Push and push and fight, claw your fingers at the ledge and pull yourself up, you pay for your crimes in your blood, sweat and tears you pay for the things you could have done then and didn’tdo.

You pay.

And sometimes, that payment bounces back.

And when it was all said and done, when the closing statements were delivered, when the Jury came back out and the Judge — hands shaking, mouth agape, eyes wide — read out the verdict no one expected, you… didn’t feel any better, did you? There was no justice for you in that room, just the searing glare of ice-blue eyes and the burning of your steel spine.

Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

First words he said to you, while the courtroom emptied out and you stood there, facing the man you’d just made an enemy of with your briefcase in your hand and your eyes aflame.

I did my job.

Did you? Is that what you think your job is?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

You leave him with a smile on his face and the scent of your perfume in his memories.

He leaves you with the pride of victory in your bones and a reminder that your strife could be worth it.

One day.

How do you plan to fill that pit, the one you tossed the corpses of your old self into? The one you let them claw up out of, to haunt you? Remind you?

You’re digging your own grave and you know it, but you won’t let Steven Grant Rogers be the first one to toss a handful of dirt over your corpse.

But now here you are.

In his dining room, enjoying dessert and some sort of after-meal coffee. In need of him…

This might almost have been a date, if not for the topic of conversation.

So. You want a Judge taken out. What if he’s already on my payroll?

Why would you keep a dead man in your pocket?

You like the sound of his laugh, and you don’t even have the excuse of wine to fall back on when it warms your core. Don’t admit it though, don’t say it aloud, don’t let him get an in. Be smart, cross your legs tighter, keep your eyes on the prize.

You’re so close to the finish line.

That’s a big favor you’re asking for, Counsel, I think you need to make it worth my while.

Worth your while?

I’m not a charity. And since you put the guy I usually use to handle these things behind bars for a few years—

You know I can get him out too.

That’s not payment, that’s putting things right.

You take a drink. Steady on, girl.

I’m leaving the DA’s office.

That stops him.

Oh that stops him good, and he looks fascinated. Interested. You’ve said something he can use as leverage and it’s not just about a job. That smirk on his face is smug and his eyes are darker and he has to know the impact that look has.

Can’t falter, don’t falter, don’t give in.

Am I allowed to ask why?

No.

You’ve done your research. You just don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. Steven Grant Rogers, “Captain America,” leader of a crime family that had too many names to stamp out, bolstered by a mad scientist, a military man through-and-through who turned New York into his own private base against whatever stood against his way.

Get in his good graces and you’re set for life. Get in his good graces and you’re safe, you’re protected, you’re good.

Get on his bad side and you only make that mistake once.

There are no second chances in this game, and here you are, asking for one.

So what? You leave the DA’s office, you leave yourself open to me — you think leaving New York is going to be the thing that stops me, Counsel?

No.

Then what?

Breathe. Steady.

I know you gave me that win on purpose — you could have taken out my last jury cohort. This isn’t about the four men… and you know I’ll get them out. This is something else, but I’m not here to ask about what or why.

He falters just briefly, like he’s surprised you knew, but the crack in his mask smooths itself over as soon as it forms and he’s back to watching you, nodding along in silence while you breathe and watch him and keep talking.

But even then. I got four of your guys in prison. And I know how your organization works — I subpoenaed the documents, remember? Your lawyers are good, but they’re not used to people asking the right questions. You want someone to seal up the cracks you need someone who actually knows what to look for.

You have more than his attention, you have his interest, and now he’s leaning in a little. Imperceptibly, but enough. Scanning over you from across the table, like he’s thinking how you managed to get so impertinent in the face of the likes of him but that’s the thing — when the only thing you have left to lose is your life, you’ll risk everything.

So what are you offering?

Breathe. Don’t. Stammer.

Myself.

The chair scrapes and suddenly there’s the clicking of guns, aimed and ready until his hand rises up and he stops them and he’s stalking towards you.

This is the lion’s den, sweetness.

The stakes are higher and you ought to be braver and he’s got your chin in his hand before you have a chance to react, dragging you to your feet. Do you know what you’re offering me, Counsel? Low and hissed and hungry, like those perfect teeth might be sinking into your throat in the next moment.

Oh, you have no idea.

You get me. On your payroll — you know. The offer you sent me a year ago.

You think it’s still open?

If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have met with me.

The chuckle in your face makes your cheeks warm and you’re looking more flushed than you would like, the open shoulders of your dress suddenly feeling a lot more like a mistake the more you realize just what kind of meal he might make out of you tonight.

We might need to have a discussion about your workplace duties, Counsel.

You don’t notice the hand near your thigh until it’s too late, sliding up the soft fabric of your skirt until it’s squeezing your ass, until it’s jerking you towards him, until you’re pressed against his chest and the hand on your chin is now hooked around the back of your neck, thumb pushing your jaw until you’re forced to look at him. Won’t lie, when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this, having your pretty little body in my arms,and you can look as indignant as you want but he’s got the upper hand and you only thought you were two steps ahead of him.

You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to put you in your place, Counsel? You’ve got a smart mouth — I wanna know what else it can do.

He doesn’t give you a chance to use that mouth to lash at him, lips sliding over yours, swallowing that indignant yelp with a punishing kiss. Nipping at the plushness of your lower lip until you open your mouth and yield to him with a sigh of reluctant surrender, let his tongue slide past that barrier for him to explore. He’s got his fingers wound through your hair, just a little too tight and whether the whimper in your chest is because of the pain or because of the want, he doesn’t care.

Knew you’d be sweet, Counsel… softly, when he pulls back to look at you, take a look at those love-swollen lips and your ruined lipstick, the pretty way you pant at him already, the heat burning your cheeks. Pay no attention to the slick warmth between your thighs, pay no attention to the way he makes you burn already, pay no attention to how your fingers have curled into the lapel of his coat to hold yourself steady, pay no attention to how you suddenly miss the pressure of his lips.

All that smart-talk and now you’re quiet, Counsel? F’I knew it just took a kiss to get you to shut up, I would’ve done that at trial, he’s purring in your ear, soft and sweet and you should push at his chest, so uncurl your fingers girl and push.

I didn’t say I was selling my body, there’s your harshness, and there he is, laughing at you again, the grip on your hair jerking your head back until you’re looking into those dagger-cold eyes again.

You don’t make the rules here, Counsel, I do, and you need me more than I need you. So if you want to make sure your Judge can’t start wreaking havoc on your career… you might want to get used to readjusting it for me. I promise I’ll make you feel nice, if you let me…

And if I don’t?

Then I take what I want and I don’t feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain. Your choice, Counsel, you cum willingly and I’ll give you everything you want. Don’t, and it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me.

That’s not a threat, that’s a promise, and suddenly you’re more scared than you ever thought you’d be, wondering if you’ll need to sell another part of your soul to take him down after. How much of yourself will you put up as collateral to get justice for the wrongs you were never able to correct?

You’re afraid.

Oh sweetness, you’re afraid.

Here? Now?

No, Counsel, we’re gonna do this right, aren’t we? You wanna be in bed with me, I’ll take you to bed with me. Come on, say it. Say the word.

Say no. Say no, rail and fight, stamp your heels into the expensive leather of his shoes, jam your knee into the sensitive between his legs, scream and yell and tell him you will never let another man take advantage of you again to help you reach your goals. Do it. Do the thing you swore you would do the next time a man like him — men who think they can take anything from anyone, men who think they own the world and the women in it, men who think you aren’t strong enough to fight back — propositioned you just like this.

You’re selling your soul to get rid of a man just like this.

But that’s coiling heat in your core that wasn’t there the last time, was it? That’s want. That’s the realization that you like the way this predatory smile feels, that you like the way this one wants you. You’re not her, not scared and alone and helpless. You could fight back and run and maybe escape if you were lucky.

You could choose.

He’s let go of your hair to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers, soft and sweet, You gonna give me an answer, Counsel, or am I gonna have to take it?

Say something. Say no. Scream. Say no say no say no say— Yes.

It’s a whisper. A desperate, soft whisper. A helpless, lonely whisper. It’s enough.

He sweeps you around until you’re pressed with your back against his unyielding chest, feeling him flex with every movement, broad arm wrapped around your shoulders from the front. All of you are dismissed, and that’s when you remember there were others in the room with you. Others who just watched you concede to becoming Captain America’s newest plaything and the burn on your cheeks is more shame than lust. You pull at his arm briefly, futilely, earning a tighter hold for your efforts and a whispered don’t make me choke you, before you are half-walked, half-dragged out of the dining room.

The walk to his room is slow and agonizing as you’re pulled along, barely struggling but barely helping at the same time, tears sliding down your cheeks as you come to terms with what’s going to happen next — no one is going to save you tonight, no one’s going to interrupt and drag you out, this is your job and this is your place and here you are.

No one speaks. There’s no sound but the steady tap of your heels and his shoes on fine marble. Even your sobs are silent, even your breathing is muffled, until the stairs are traversed and the faintest click of a lock turning opens the door to the rest of your life.

You made a deal.

Time to pay.

Sit on the bed.

You move as if in a trance, and he watches your face, the hint of waterproof mascara failing to do its job, the smudged ruby red of your lipstick. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked into this house, Counsel.

His hands are gentler than you’d expect, when he wipes away the streaks your tears leave down your pretty cheeks, coaxing you to look up at him, We’ll set ground rules later. Tonight? I wanna see if I can get that mouth of yours to beg for me.

It won’t, you snap without thinking, knifeblade sharp and cruel, ready for a fight again. He promised you that once, in a hiss you thought you’d misheard but no, you heard him just fine and now if he thinks he can quench your fire and have you pleading just because you sold your body for the prospect of revenge then he’s wrong.

Thing is, he laughs like that’s a challenge, and the hand holding your chin so gently is wrapped around your throat before you know it, silencing your voice with just the right application of pressure. I can do this all night, Counsel. Do you think you can last that long?

Fear. Anger. Indignation. You are fury made flesh and he is manipulating you with just the barest press of his palm and sliding over you, until you’re laid out there on soft sheets and he’s looming over you, splaying that big hand out and sliding it down your throat, over your chest, feeling the ruching of the fabric under his palm. You wrapped yourself up like a present for me, didn’t you sweetness?

The change in nickname isn’t lost on you but here you are, glaring up at him while he smiles so beatifically it leaves your blood boiling and your skin steadily warming. The rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, every angry breath a swear you don’t utter, every inhale your protests dying in your throat. What can you say, what would you say, right now? There’s nothing that can change the way he looks at you, or the way his eyes flicker from ice to blue fire the more he takes stock of the pretty little thing he’s about to start sharing his bed with.

Fuck, you’re beautiful, that one shocks you, but not as much as the sudden rush of cold air when he tears the emerald green fabric of your dress down and reveals the soft swells of your breasts, nipples peaked from the sudden cold.

You don’t get much time to gasp, just something soft and strangled before he turns your voice to whimpers, wrapping lips around that pebbled tip and laving his tongue over sensitive flesh. Where are your words now, Counsel, while he threatens the softness of your chest with the scrape of his teeth, when he slides his hands over the round curve of your thighs and parts your legs so he can press himself between them, so he can press himselfagainst you? Where is the knife-dagger of your wit to protest each soft, suckling kiss to your skin, each press of his fingers like he could just squeeze his ownership of you into the plushness of your hips, into the sweet swell of your ass? What do you say to the dirty little thrust of his hips as he bucks with his own burning need, reminding you just how much this is for hispleasure as he will make it for yours.

You would, could, should push him off and instead what are you doing? Curling your fingers into the silk-smooth of his comforter, desperate to writhe out of your own skin away from the burning pressure between your thighs, the foreign, unfamiliar heat you suddenly feel like you might be craving.

Anyone ever touch you like this before me, Counsel?Warm breath splays across your skin when he questions you, eyes fixed on yours and he waits. Answer him, answer him, tell him he’s nothing, tell him you’ve had better, lie and destroy that ego, lie lie lie lie—

Nnnh—no.

He looks like you’ve just told him the best news of his life, eyes wide and blown with lust, Oh is that right? You’re saying no one’s ever touched you this good? Or just no one’s ever touched you at all?

You don’t have to answer. The furious blush on your cheeks? The way your eyes slide away from his? The way you writhe, trying to press your thighs together to relieve the pressure and finding the effort futile? If the man’s grin could get any wider, it would, right now. Oh sweetness, we’re going to have so much fun exploring your body together…

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, already flushed and writhing and overwhelmed and if he could take a picture of this right now he would. He’ll save that for later though. Tonight? Tonight is just the two of you, and his hands are back to your skirt, pushing the tight fabric up over your round hips and revealing the lace of your panties… just before he rips them off, to the sound of your indignant yelp Steve!

You’re going to call me Captain, sweetness, we’re not close enough to use my name just yet.

No. No you’re not, and he’s not sure you’ll ever be — he rather likes the idea of hearing you whimper out his title when he gets you desperate and wanting.

He touches, slow and steady, watching you try to jerk away and tutting at you when you do, fingers at your delicate nerves like an assault on your pleasure. Bite your lip, bite back the moans, whine at him like he’s wounded you, You’re so wet, sweetness, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you, as he palms his cock to relieve the pressure on himself. You’re going to beg before he does and he’s patient, he’ll last the night.

St-stop it, it’s too— he shushes you ahtahtaht and rests his free hand on your mound, holding you down so his probing, inspecting fingers can take stock of the velveteen plushness of your delicate cunt. It’s too much, too much and you want to scream the moment he presses one finger into you, already overwhelmed, already so tightly wound the barest touches are unraveling you steadily.

You’re such a pretty thing, all desperate and needy, sweetness. You wanna cum already, don’t you? So busy, never gave anyone the chance to fuck that stuck-up bitch right out of you, did they? It’s almost pitying, isn’t it, the way he talks, hums at you while you’re reduced to a whining, whimpering mess so soon, so desperate for the release he’s on the edge of denying you, feeling you flexing around his finger and then the second leaping jolt of your body when another joins the inspection. Taking careful stock of the pretty cunt he owns now, and he’s careful to curl his fingers just right as he seeks the spot to hammer just to get you to scream.

You don’t, not yet, but that’s okay too, because he sees the way you take desperate hold of the sheets, the way your eyes roll backwards just slightly, the way you strain against his heavy hand to arch your back. Gotta tell you, sweetness, I imagined you under me a thousand and one ways but this one, right now? Tops the list. You ready to beg for me?

Do it. Do it and end your pleasurable torment. Do it and be released from the pressure, the coiling want. Surrender to him. Let him have you.

The white hot rush of your orgasm is not unexpected to him, his curling, cruel fingers having found the sweetness of your g-spot, but — you, too busy climbing the ranks to think of your own pleasure, too busy demanding your due from an unjust world explore your own warmth beyond that of a memory of a college hookup you would rather forget — you left breathless and wanton in the heat of the explosion he draws out of you, mewling something desperate and pleading against your own will and the song of it fills his ears like it’s all he’s ever wanted. There it is, and I thought we’d be here all night. A thumb flickers over the nerves at your entrance and you practically jump, something between a yelp and a moan escaping your lips.

First one’s just a treat, sweetness. Now on, you cum when I say you do, understand?

You nod.

Oh you nod, and you are lost, here and now. Sensitive and broken and there is so little of that steel spine here, writhing in his sheets and ohyou don’t know the things you do to him.

Think you can go again, sweetness? He’s purring, smug, twisting fingers stretching you slowly, muttering under his breath about how fucking tight you are around his fingers, how good you’re going to feel for him, and the smugness on his face is slowly fading into a dark consternation, brows furrowed like he’s somehow angry at you for being plush and delicate and fuckable.

You’re almost begging him to stop, and yet the pressure is building again, the twisting, coiling heat that leaves you breathless and mewling and he looks like he might be trying to immortalize this moment forever. Say it, sweetness. Say you need me. Beg me for my cock.

That’s it.

That’s what you need to, you need to beg, you need to give in. No more fighting, no more arguing no more —

Please…

Please what, sweetness, come on now. You got a way with words. The snarl is so barely contained.

Please, Captain, please just…

What do you need, sweetness? The fingers are relentless, the buzz in your nerves is overwhelming, you can barely even hear yourself talk, much less him.

Please just fuck me, Captain, I need your cock! It’s hurried and it’s crude and it’s desperate and it’s exactly what he wants as just another wall crumbles and you fall off your pedestal right into his arms.

He’s barely able to resist the buck of his hips, the need to be inside you, the knowledge that you are soft and velvet and you could be all over his senses just like this.

When did he free his cock? You don’t know, you just know it’s practically salvation when he sinks into you, when he fills you like you’ve been desperate for and Oh sweetness…pours from his lips just as you hiss out something like praise right back at him.

You’re so full and he’s so gentle, at first, like you’re made of crystal in his arms, like the slow shifting of his hips might have you shattering underneath him if he’s not careful. Cradling you, even, sliding your legs around his narrow hips as he leans in and takes a hungry kiss from your wanting, whimpering mouth.

Love this look on you, all wrapped around me, whispered low and slow into your ear, sweetness you have no idea how good you look…

Melt into those compliments, melt into him, because the way he’s holding you is divine and you can feel him so deep in you it’s making your head spin. When did your arms end up around him? When did you start clinging to him like an anchor, start winding your fingers through his hair, start leaving the marks of your nails on his back to the sound of his own needy groaning?

He noses your cheek and leaves a mark of ownership on your neck with hungry lips, knowing you’ll bruise a beautiful flower right over your pulsebeat and continuing the steady assault on your nerves, cunt-first.

Harder. Faster. More.

And oh, sweetness, you do shatter.

You shatter all around him, you shatter into something divine and rapturous, full of him and filled with him and he cums so deep inside you as you do, still fucking you through your joined climax, hips rutting and breath hitching and nearly furious at you for the way his vision whites out too, the way he feels like he can Never get enough and so he hisses that at you like an accusation while his thoughts reorient back to reality, back to smugness, back to the control you took from him while he tried to strip you of yours.

In the end, as he pulls away from you and sinks to the side of you, watching your sweet expression as you return to the reality of your new situation, he is satisfied… thoroughly.

Oh yeah, I think we can make this a working relationship, Counsel.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 6

Bakugo x Reader, Dabi x Reader

Words : 4954

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

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

You had attempted to rush off to your room, but you hardly made it back into the house before your knees gave out. It wasn’t even because your legs were tired. If that were the case, you would have gladly crawled just to get away from him. No, you fell because your head was spinning.

You couldn’t seem to catch your breath as the world spun around you. You curled up on your side and let the tears silently stream down your cheeks. You didn’t know how to make it stop because you didn’t even know what was happening. Were you having another panic attack? Was it a side effect of drowning? Was this what it felt like to break Cogernot’s quirk?

Regardless you did as Dabi taught you. You closed your eyes, you took as deep of breaths as you could manage, and you counted.

You heard him step into the house and you could feel the heat radiating off of him as he sat next to you. He made no attempts to touch you or say anything. Which was probably for the best because you could feel yourself on the verge of a mental break.

This was going to be the thing that pushed you over the edge. The whole time you’ve been here you’ve kept your shit together. In all fairness it was mostly due to Dabi’s strict routine. He didn’t give you time to wallow of feel sorry for yourself. From day one he focused on your recovery. But it wasn’t until now that you realized you never talked to him about what happened to you. It was almost as if he thought if the two of you didn’t talk about it, you would just somehow magically forget it ever happened. You bottled it up and pushed it away, but it was still there. Threatening to explode all over the progress you had made. Today just might be the day.

“I know you want nothing to do with me right now… but –“

Your eyes shot open to see him reaching a hand out to you. You smacked it away. ~Don’t touch~

Dabi visibly flinched. Why had you just signed at him? Had he not just broken you free of that shitty quirk? Had he failed? Was this all for nothing? He almost started to panic himself but then he remembered you HAD spoken. Even if your words dripped with hatred and your eyes cut him to the bone. You spoke… out loud…

He desperately wanted to pull you into his lap. To calm you down. To praise you and comfort you. But he knows he can’t. He’s lost that privilege. You don’t even need him anymore. You’re starting to walk just fine on your own now. You don’t need him… and he was the one who helped you get there.

The thought upset him more than it should have. He didn’t even want you here to begin with. How had you managed to crawl under his skin so much? You had wormed your way into his life and now every thought was consumed by you. Taking care of you, feeding you, making you strong again.

You slowly stood up and gave him one last glare before storming off to your room. Well in your head you stormed off, but in reality, it was more like a drunken wobble. You were still soaked to the bone and you were starting to shiver. You had made a puddle on the kitchen floor where you had been lying, and because that was just the kind of day you were having you slipped right through it.

Dabi was on his feet and hovering behind you. His hand gripped your elbow to steady you. You activated your quirk and let him feel the rage bubbling inside you. You wanted him to know how angry you were, how hurt and betrayed you felt. At first he gripped you tighter, but eventually your emotions overwhelmed him and he had to let go, just so he didn’t have to feel them anymore.

You ripped your arm away the second he dropped it and continued towards your room. You threw the door open and slammed it behind you. You slumped to the floor and did something you had needed to do for weeks now. You screamed. You let all of it out. Your anger, your fear, your heartache. You screamed until your throat was raw and your head pounded.

When you were done you took a deep breath, picked your head up, and let the numb wash over you. You stripped out of your wet clothes and hoped into a warm shower. The whole time the only thought in your head was ‘Why?’

The next few hours passed in a blur. You managed to get out of the shower and get into bed, but you couldn’t sleep. Your adrenaline was pumping. You couldn’t convince your body you were safe enough to sleep. It remained in fight or flight. You sat there in silence hugging the pillow to your chest.

It was so quiet that the creek of the floorboards outside you room made you jump. “Y/n… I know you’re mad at me… but you still need to eat something.” You heard him shuffle around a bit. “I’ll just leave it out here by the door. I’ll be in my room….”

You didn’t move from your spot on the bed until you heard his door close across the hall. Part of you knew that you needed to eat. But a larger part of you just… couldn’t. You didn’t understand. The food was right there, you just needed to open the door. But for some reason you just couldn’t make yourself do it. So instead you rolled over and pulled out your journal.

There was something ironic about you didn’t really need it anymore, yet now was the time you were most desperate to write in it. So you did. You poured your thoughts out page after page. Everything you wanted to say to Dabi, everything you wanted to say to Katsuki, to Izuku, to Todoroki and Kirishima. You started writing down memories of what had happened to you, in as much gory detail as you could remember. You wrote and you wrote and hours passed as you hunched over your notebook just looking for the right words to take the pain away. What would it take? What did you need to do to make yourself feel better?

It wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that you realized how deep into it you were. “Y/n… Be mad at me all you want, but don’t take it out on yourself. You need to eat something. Please. I made lunch. I’ll leave it here.” You heard the scraping of a plate being put on the floor outside your room.

How was that man capable of being such a monster, and yet so soft? He literally tried to kill you and now here he is worrying over you because you’re not hungry? Funny how dying tends to fuck with a person’s appetite.

You began to really think about Dabi. His motivation in all of this, what did he gain from helping you? Was he just doing his little brother a favor? Sometimes he treated you like his bratty little sister, and then there were nights like last night… You felt your face heat at the memory of you riding his thigh. It had felt so right at the time, but now it makes your stomach twist.

“Y/N! Can you at least say something, so I know that you’re fucking alive?”

The audacity of this fucking man. He wants to make sure you’re alive… after he almost killed you….

You picked up a cup that had been sitting on your nightstand and threw it at the door. It shattered on impact and it had felt to fucking good. There, that should be enough confirmation for him.

“GOD DAMNIT! ENOUGH Y/N! I’ve let you have your pity party. I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I don’t care if you want to throw a fucking tantrum. But you WILL eat something. This is getting fucking ridiculous.”

You picked up the lamp and threw that next. It was sturdier than the cup had been, so it wasn’t as satisfying but it got your point across none the less.

“Y/n… open the door please. We can talk about this.”

He had to have known your door wasn’t locked. It was one of the laws. It was one of your laws. Yet he made no attempt to open it. He remained on the other side with your uneaten food.

“Well if that’s how you want to be then fine. I guess I’ll just have to sit here and talk to the door then.” You heard him slide down the door as he sat down, leaning against it. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I need you to know that. I need you to know that I realize how fucked up what I did was. I don’t want to make excuses, but I do want to explain. And I want to do it when you can look me in the eye, so you know I’m not lying.”

Again, he was met with radio silence. He sat there for a long time. Finally, after what felt like hours he stood up, “I guess I’ll go start dinner then…”

You looked at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see how late it was. Usually around this time you’d be finishing up with the pool, you cringed. Yeah safe to safe you won’t be getting back in, probably ever.

Dabi forced himself to leave your door, carrying your second uneaten meal of the day with him. He woke up his laptop and started up the video for today’s lesson for sign language. He watched it as he cooked, but he didn’t absorb anything. He was too focused on trying to find a way to fix this.

His hands kept clenching and unclenching. He knew what he needed to do. But it was going to suck. If it would get you to eat though then he didn’t care.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew you wouldn’t die from not eating for a day. He was more worried about the psychological part of it. When he got out of the league, he had started messing around this hot shrink. She had a real savior complex, but the one thing she got right about him was his need for control. After being abused for so long he had to have control over every situation. Which sometimes when he really felt helpless included his eating habits. When everything else felt out of control, at least he could control that. At least he could decide when and if he ate. He was nervous you were pulling the same shit. He didn’t want to see you waste away because you were desperate for something you could control.

He’d swallow his pride. He’d do this for you.

A knock on the door had you groaning.

“Hey dork. It’s me. Dabi called and said you weren’t feeling well. I made some spicy ramen with pork… You gonna let me in before it gets cold?”

You jumped to your feet and ran to the door. You cracked it open at first to make sure it really was Katsuki and that he was alone.

He smirked at you through the small gap, “Don’t worry he’s not with me, now let me in before I kick the door down.”

He opened it enough for Katsuki to enter and then quickly shut it again. He waited and followed you over to you bed and took a seat at the foot of it. “So, Scarface was a little vague on the details, but he said you were mad at him and refusing to eat.” He placed the warm bowl of ramen into your hands, “Want to talk about it?”

Your stomach started to rumble at the familiar smell of Katsuki’s cooking. You couldn’t deny yourself any longer. You took a huge bite and almost moaned at how good it tasted. You quickly took a few more bites before wiping you mouth on your sleeve and sighing. You needed to talk about it, but was Katsuki really the best option for that? The chances of him blowing up the house was pretty high.

You reached a hand out and put in on top of his and released a calming feeling. “Uh oh…must be bad you’re already trying to calm me down.”

You gave him a halfhearted smile, “Uh… well…” The sound of your own voice made your skin crawl. It sounded wrong, even though you were pretty sure that’s how it always sounded. It made you pause for a moment to collect yourself.

In that brief pause Katauki’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, “Wait a fuckin minute! You’re talking again? Since when? Holy shit!” You could feel his excitement bubbling up along with pride and admiration. It was sweet, and it gave you the boost you needed to keep going.

You played with a strand of your hair, “Since…. Now…. I guess.” You averted your eyes embarrassed, “Or well… since I… well I kind of drowned… briefly.” You looked back up and saw fire behind Katsuki’s eyes and anger was coming off of him in waves.

“And where was Dabi when this happened?”

You knew you were practically signing Dabi’s death certificate but telling Katsuki this, but you weren’t going to cover for him either. “He was there….”

Katsuki’s fist clenched, “Don’t tell me the bastard watched you almost die and didn’t help you.” You bit your lip. “Y/n… what are you not telling me?”

You put both hands on him now desperately trying to overwhelm him with calm emotions. “He was the one who held me under…”

His hands tore away from yours as they crackled with a very real threat of explosions. He stood and stomped towards your door, not even bothering to ask you to elaborate. You knew you needed to stop him, there was no scenario where this ended well for anyone. “Katsuki stop.” He ignored you as he reached for the door. “Katsuki… please.”

He froze with his hand hovering over the doorknob. His voice was dark and oddly low,“Y/n… there is nothing you could possibly say to me right now that would change my mind about killing the mother fucker.”

You couldn’t believe you were actually about to defend Dabi, but it wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t at least tell Katsuki the whole story. “Even I told you he did so I could talk again?”

He turned to look at you and signed as he spoke, “I still don’t care! You were learning sign… you were communicating just fine.” He threw his hands up in exasperation, “Why was him drowning you even fucking necessary?”

Katsuki was starting to take that familiar condescending tone with you and you honestly were not in the mood for it. He had done this a million times growing up. He’d make up his mind about something and make you feel dumb until you agreed with him. “Look I’m not saying that what he did was right. I’m not saying I’m not furious with him. Me not speaking was because of some guys quirk.” You stood and made your way over to Katsuki and began pushing him away from the door. “Dabi knew the guy and said if my brain thought I was dying it would somehow reverse the quirks affects.”

He stopped walking and it was like pushing against a brick wall. “You could have fucking died y/n!”

“Do you think I DON’T KNOW THAT?” You pushed on him again, “Do you think I’ve just been sitting here all day twiddling my thumbs? Today has been fucking awful! I don’t need you to talk sense into me. I don’t need you to kick the shit out of Dabi. What I need if for you to just sit down with me, and just- just let me be. I don’t know!” You gave him one final hard shove which lead to him sitting back at the end of your bed.

His eyes were a mixture of sadness and hurt. “I’m not trying to make this harder on you, I promise. But he put your life at risk and that’s not just something I can just be okay with.” His hands reached up and cupped your cheeks and brushed away a tear you hadn’t even realized was there. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but I would kind of prefer you to stay alive… you aren’t allowed to die before me. Especially at the hands of some ugly sociopath.”

You leaned into his touch, “Please, for me. Just let it go for now. Let this be between me and Dabi. Be mad all you want, believe me I’m pissed, but you don’t need to get involved. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

He pulled you towards him and moved one hand to cradle the back of your head and pulled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Only because you said please. But I hope you know this means I’m coming to check on you more often now.” His fingers carded through your hair. “Actually… if you’re not comfortable here anymore… You could always come stay with me.”

“I thought that was too dangerous, what with heroes and villains alike apparently looking for me.”

He chuckled, “I’d love to see someone try. They’d have to go through me.”

“Yeah, but you can’t always be around… you have a job to do. An important one.”

He gave a sad sigh as his grip on you loosened enough for you to pull back and look at him, “Yeah… I do.” There were a few tense moments when your eyes connected, and you could see the way his eyes drifted to your lips as he licked his own. Ever so slightly he started leaning in closer to you.

Your breath hitched in your chest, as your brain went a mile a minute. Sure, you always had a feeling things might end up this way between you and Katsuki. There was a time when you went to bed every night fantasizing about the moment he would finally break down and admit he liked you. You had known him since you were children and there was always this feeling that if ever given the opportunity the two of you would end up together. But, for some reason it felt… off.

You leaned your forehead against his. “I don’t think right now is the best time for this.” You watched his eyes close as he tried to school his emotions. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because believe me I’ve thought about it. But right now, my life is in shambles. It’s not your job to fix me. That’s my job. And I need you to let me do it. Okay? I need you to let me do this on my own.”

He groaned but nodded as he pulled his head away from yours. “I don’t like it, but I get that I have to respect it.” His thumb rubbed soothing circles on your thigh. “I don’t want you to have to do this alone. I’ve always… Fuck.” His cheeks tinted the lightest shade of red. “I can’t stand to watch you struggle. It sucks knowing you’re out here stuck with him, dealing with so much shit that you should never have to deal with.” He hung his head low, “I just wish I could fight your demons for you. I wish I could lock you away and keep you safe from all the evil of this world.”

You pulled his chin up to make him look at you. “Katsuki you have always been there for me. There hasn’t been many problems in my life that I haven’t solved leaning on you for help.” You saw a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “But this isn’t something you can punch away. It isn’t something you can yell at until it stops hurting. I have to do this on my own.”

Tension was thick in the air. You knew there was so much he wanted to say. You could tell he was ready to fight you on this. But he surprised you by nodding and untangling himself from you. “I need to get going. I have a lot of work to do.” You could see the subtle sting of rejection in his eyes but he quickly covered it with his trademark smirk. “You say you don’t want my help but I’m going to anyway. I’ll help by locking up every single shithead that anything to do with your kidnapping.” He stood up and gave you one more, quick hug. “And that’s a fucking promise.”

You followed him as he left your room, intent on walking him to the door. You wanted to make sure he actually left instead of picking a fight with Dabi. But luck never had been on your side. You exited the main hallway and Dabi was sitting in his normal recliner. He looked up eyes cold as they landed on Katsuki, much softer when they found yours. You tried to give Katsuki a push in the direction of the door, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oi! When I gave you the fucking list of things to do to help her with her period, I don’t remember drowning her being on it!”

Dabi’s eyes returned to Katsuki’s agitated one and for a while you thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Did you get her to eat something?”

“Don’t avoid the subject. You’re fucking lucky she begged me not to hurt you. Otherwise your ass would be dead.”

You something like surprise flash in Dabi’s expression. “Bold of you to assume that I am the lucky one here. It seems to me she was just trying to protect her little pet Pomeranian from getting hurt.” He grinned at the way Katsuki’s hands popped in anger. “But thank you for getting her to eat. She had me worried.”Bakugo lunged at him but you quickly stepped in the way and put a hand on his chest. You looked him in the eyes shaking your head and have him a shove towards the door.

Dabi could feel his stomach sink at the fact that the only words he had heard you say was “fuck you” He knew you had been in your room chatting away with man boobs and it stressed him out. Even now you refused to speak in his presence, and it killed him. He was the reason you could speak again and yet you refused to speak to him. That idiot Bakugo had nothing to do with it and yet gets to reap the benefit of Dabi’s sacrifice.

Dabi’s blood began to boil. He knew Bakugo would never in a hundred years have the balls to do what he did. He wouldn’t have the nerve to go through with it. Dabi did what he did for you, even if you refused to see it that way. Does he hate that he had to do it? Yes. Is he sorry, of course. But does he regret it… not really.

He watched as you pushed until Bakugo was successfully out of the house. As soon as the door was closed you turned and started to run back towards your room “OH NO YOU DON’T!”

He stood up and chased after you. “We are talking about this weather you want to or not. You can’t hide from me forever. You can’t mope around all day, not eating and expect me to just let that go. Law number seven we eat three full meals a day!” He got to your door just in time for you to slam it in his face. He had been so patient with you today. Not once had he forced himself into your room even the door was unlocked. He respected the fact you needed space. However, when he reached down and noticed that you had locked the door, he didn’t feel so bad about what he was about to do.

“Law number six! No locked doors!” His pressed his palm flat against the wooden door and burned straight through it. He burned a hole big enough for him to reach his hand through and unlock it from the inside.

He carefully avoided all of the broken glass on the ground from earlier. And stomped over to where you were trying to ignore him. You went through your dresser, picking out what you planned to wear to bed. You took a step towards the bathroom, but he stepped in your way.

“Y/n. Can we please talk about this?” You tried to step around him, but he just moved to block you again. “FINE! We don’t have to talk about it, but you will listen to what I have to say!”

You crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly and avoided making eye contact with him.

“I know what I did sucked. But I HAD to DO IT!” His voice was steadily getting louder. “You had to think you were dying. What did you want me to do? Hold your hand, tell you everything was going to be fine, and then pretend to drown you? It wouldn’t have worked!” He leaned over you and grabbed your chin forcing you took look at him. “I knew you’d be mad. I knew it might fuck up all the progress we’ve made. But I did it anyway! I did it for you!”

You slapped his hand away. “You DID IT FOR ME!? YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!”

There it was. Your voice. It hit him like a truck and it was enough to spur him on. “Yes for you! So you could talk again! So you could start to take back what those fuckers took from you! I decided you liking me wasn’t as important as you being able to talk again. Go ahead and hate me, but I need you to understand why I did it! What I was willing to sacrifice!”

Your eyes bore into his and it honestly almost sent shivers down his spine. “I understand just fine! You see me as this sad little broken girl. You thought I was so broken that you were willing to risk my life to fix me. Let that sink in Dabi… you gambled with MY life. What the hell were you sacrificing?”

“YOU!” His voice dripped with emotion. “I was sacrificing any chance I had with you so that one day I could watch you take back your life and get revenge on the people who hurt you.” He ran a hand through his white hair. “I would literally burn every single one of those monsters and piss on their ashes if I thought it’d help. But I know it wouldn’t! That’s a privilege that only belongs to you and I’d do anything to be able to watch you do it. Because I know you’re not broken! You’re a badass who doesn’t need anyone’s help. You are one strong bitch!”

There was pain in his eyes “I didn’t gamble with your life y/n, because I was so sure I wouldn’t let anything happen to you I was so sure nothing would go wrong.” He reached a hand out to touch your cheek, and surprisingly you let him. “Go ahead and activate your quirk. Feel what I feel. Feel what it was like to think I killed you. Feel what it was like to think that I am the monster everyone thinks I am…”

You activated your quirk and was hit so hard with anguish that you practically choked. He was grieving, even now, and somewhere buried under all his pain was something else entirely. But you weren’t ready to address that. “I hate what I did to you, but I don’t regret it, because it worked. It made you stronger. And in this fucked up world, only the strong make it out alive. So yes, Y/n… I did it for you.”

You felt you heart pounding in your chest. This was either the most fucked up or romantic thing you had ever heard, and you couldn’t figure out which one it was. Your hand came up to his that was still on your cheek. For a while you just stood there. Absorbing each other’s presence, then out of nowhere his lips cashed to yours.

Some animalistic instinct took over as you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. He leaned over cupping your ass in hands and picking you up until your legs wrapped around his waist.

His lips pulled away from yours to start kissing down your neck nipping at your ear before returning to your lips. You squealed when his hand lightly slapped at your ass.

He made his way to the bathroom and sat your ass on the counter, his hands sliding up your thighs as he pulled back to look at you. “Law number thirteen?”

Part of you wanted to say no. You were still furious with him, but all your brain could think about was the orgasm you had just from riding his thigh. Your body was aching to be touched and from the look he was giving you, he was aching to touch you.

You slid your hand under his shirt and so lightly he almost didn’t hear it you muttered, “please.”

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Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime@klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe @unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry @dabislittlemouse @aimee1602 @pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44

[chenziee]

Cool your back.

I have a very cute LawLu prompt

Where Law is still a pirate some how becomes (little doses he know)the Fiance of the Goda kingdom's Cat God of freedom named Luffy(much to the world nobles dismay) and all of the high jinx that come along with it. And Luffy keeps popping up whenever Law doesn't/needs him. Good thing he's cute.

Thank youuu! Glad to be back :D though still super slow I’m sorry

I might have taken some liberties there with Luffy but I hope you like it! :)

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A Divine ball of fluff

[Read on AO3 | Request info | Ko-fi]

Law startled awake at the sound of gunfire and cannons somewhere above his head. Stepping over the lamp on the floor, he only briefly wondered just how it had managed to fall from his nightstand before he forced himself to focus. He only grabbed Kikoku, then ran out of his room to join his crew on deck, ready to murder whoever had come to disturb his sorely needed nap.

“Hand over Luffy and I might just let you go alive, Trafalgar Law!”

With the angry shout being the first thing Law had heard upon opening the door leading to the Tang’s deck, Law could only groan. Not again. “I keep telling you, old man—” Law slammed the door shut behind himself maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary before quickly striding over to the side of the ship to glare at Vice Admiral Garp—  “none of this was my choice! And your stupid grandson isn’t even here!”  

“Uhm, about that, Captain…” Bepo trailed off, quiet and apologetic.

Law took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily and praying for patience. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Bepo mumbled, dropping his head as if it was somehow his fault their regular ‘guest’ had invited himself over without any warning again.

Shaking his head, Law slowly looked at Garp again. The old man was fuming and not for the first time, Law marveled at the stubbornness of this entire family. No matter how many times he said ‘no’ to either one of them, they just kept coming back like a bad rash. Sometimes, Law couldn’t believe neither of the three brothers or their grandfather were related by blood. Hell, one of them wasn’t even human. But well… when it came down to it, Law couldn’t say he cared.

“Fine, take him,” he said finally, smirking at the loud crash from behind him that immediately followed.

“Torao~” someone whined before arms wrapped around Law’s waist

On reflex, one of Law’s legs shot forward as he braced for the impact of the entire body crashing into him a split second later. Why, just why did this man insist on lunging at people constantly? Law would never understand. He was lucky Law had managed to train his reactions well enough by now to not face plant into the railing anymore. “What?” he asked, smirk still shamelessly in place as he turned to look at the person who was hanging off of him.

The person—or rather, the god—in question was staring back at him with an unhappy frown and a pout on his lips. Law hated to admit he looked outright adorable then, and not just because of the cat ears sitting proudly on top of his head, alert and facing forward in agitation. Ears which were also covered in black, incredibly soft fur that Law would never get tired of petting.

Giving Law something that was probably supposed to be a glare, Luffy finally huffed before continuing, voice sounding incredibly sulky, “How could you just sell me out to gramps like this?”

“Because he could absolute keep you on his ship even if he did take you.      Sure,” Law replied in a tone dripping in sacrasm while he rolled his eyes at the dramatic complaints of the literal embodiement of freedom, the person who could and absolutely did materialize out of nowhere on the Polar Tang whenever he fucking felt like it, without any warning, for the sole purpose of driving Law absolutely crazy with his ideas, only to then disappear into thin air again once he got bored. While on the open sea, with the nearest land two days of sailing away.

“That’s not the point!” Luffy cried, his grip on Law’s waist tightening.

Before Law could say anything back, a canon ball landed a bit too close to the ship, causing a wave of seawater to wash over the both of them. Law cursed loudly at the unexpected and fully unwelcome shower, just as Luffy also hissed loudly; if he was in his full monster cat form, Law could just imagine his fur raising until he looked like a huge, black ball of pure fluff.

…Now Law wanted to see it. He made a mental note to find an opportunity to scare the shit out of him at some point later, when he was in his true form.

“What was that for?!” Luffy demanded when he recovered from the shock.

“A warning shot!” Garp retorted, sounding just as angry as Luffy did. “You get off that pirate ship before I drag you off myself!”

“I’m not going back to Goa! It’s stuffy and tiny and they keep burning down my shrines, I hate it there!”

Garp growled as he grabbed another cannon ball. “As if I care about the idiot king’s orders, I’m not going to give you to those scumbags and I don’t care where you go—” he paused to aim his cannon ball at them threateningly before he continued— “but you’re not becoming a pirate on my watch, you brat!”

Law heard Luffy taking a deep breath behind him, no doubt in preparation to go off on his adoptive grandfather, and he sighed. Before either of these idiots could say anything, Law snapped, “If you’re just going to keep screaming at each other, can I go?”

“No,” Luffy said immediately, digging his claws into Law’s stomach painfully.

At the same time, Garp said, “You stay right where you are, I’m not done with you either!”

Law sighed. Every goddamn time.

“Prepare to submerge,” Law said to Bepo tiredly before raising his hand. “Room. Shambles.”

Appearing back in his room a split second later, Law took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to appreciate the blessed silence—or the alternative of, which meant only muffled rage instead of people screaming right in his ear. Not ideal but he would take it anyway. Honestly, why couldn’t these two ever do anything quietly? This whole thing could be so easily resolved if they had just sat down and talked but no, they just had to go yelling at each other while throwing cannon balls and scratching the other’s face off. And Law never had a say in getting caught in the middle of it every damn time either.

Sometimes, he cursed the day the Tang landed on Dawn Island, the place where all his problems started. But really, he couldn’t with clear conscience say that if he were to relive that day, that he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing; that he wouldn’t stop at the tiny, ancient looking shrine to talk to the young man sitting in front of it. That he wouldn’t answer every question Luffy had about the world beyond his small domain, that he wouldn’t look into those large, excited eyes and invite him to leave with him.

But, as stupid as it was regardless, if he could do it over, at the very least, would now actually know he was accidentally proposing to a literal god; one that was incredibly stuborn, selfish, and bright enough to be the actual sun. A god who also came in a package with a crazy grandfather, two over protective brothers, and the softest, warmest fur Law had ever had the pleasure of touching.

“Thanks for getting me away,” Luffy said after he made himself comfortable on Law’s bed, the anger and raw power that had been radiating off of him only moments ago replaced by his usual happy and carefree attitude.

Law clicked his tongue. “I was getting myself away. Not my fault you were clinging to me like a child.”

“Same thing.” Luffy waved him off.

Law didn’t have the energy to argue. Simply shaking his head at him, he instead bent down to put the lamp he had ignored earlier back on his nightstand.

“Weird how this was on the floor. I distinctly remember it was screwed on tight just yesterday,” Law noted, giving Luffy a pointed stare. Now that he knew this giant, ridiculously strong cat was on the ship, Law had no doubt just how the lamp got knocked off. Briefly, Law wondered whether there was even a point putting it back until Luffy left; he was probably going to knock it off again while staring at it with morbid fascination as it crashed to the floor again and again.

Law watched as Luffy’s eyes veered off to the side, his lips pursing as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s super weird.”

Huffing out a small laugh, Law crossed the short distance between them, reaching out to ruffle Luffy’s hair. It was almost as soft as his fur was. “I know. A complete mystery,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Luffy’s briefly.

The kiss was easily returned, a wide grin spreading on Luffy’s lips as soon as they separated, and despite himself, Law felt himself smile back. That damn smile would be the death of him. No matter how maddening this man could be, how loud and selfish, the moment he smiled like that, it was like all Law’s problems and frustrations were melting away. Luffy was simply beautiful; adorable and bright, yet absolutely terrifying and Law loved every little bit of it.

It was funny, actually. If someone had told him he would ever say ‘Luffy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence just half a year ago, Law would have laughed in their face. Back then, Luffy was only some incredibly annoying giant cat who just wouldn’t leave him alone, someone who popped up on the Tang or wherever Law currently was just to ruin any and all of his painstakingly created plans. But now…

Now Law couldn’t remember what life was before him. He had learned to build his plans around Luffy recklessly charging forward, didn’t even bother trying to explain anything to him. He had long since stopped fighting the pull, the warm aura of power and charisma that drew people in and didn’t let go. It took a while but Law had finally accepted that he was not any different from all the other people Luffy had managed to charm without even realizing he was doing it ever since Law had gotten him out of the Goa Kingdom.

There was just something in the stupid divine cat that made people want to join and support him. Maybe it was the sense of absolute freedom that followed him everywhere; be it his own freedom, or the one of whoever Luffy thought deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy asked after a long while of them just looking at each other.

Law smiled, shaking his head at the cute, worried frown on his face. “Just hoping your grandfather won’t hit us before we sink far enough.”

“He’d never actually hit the ship, he’s a big softie,” Luffy announced, that grin back on his face.

“Good to know.” Law chuckled, finally sitting down on the bed with Luffy. “You know, I was sleeping before you two started fighting,” Law said offhandedly, glancing at Luffy and nearly snorting at the way his ears perked up in excitement.

“Wanna?” the other asked immediately, nearly vibrating in place.

Raising an eyebrow, Law gave Luffy a look. “I was going to say yes but seeing how excited you are, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Luffy decided, nodding to himself as he hopped off the bed, walking two steps towards the door to Law’s cabin before shifting into his monster cat form, then lied down slowly, watchful as to not break anything while he tried to fit his huge body into the tiny room.

Once Luffy looked back at him expectantly and Law was sure he was fully settled, Law went to join his boyfriend on the floor, careful not to step on any of his limbs or either of his two tails on the way. As he leaned back against the giant cat’s chest, he let his eyes slide shut, already feeling the exhaustion from earlier in the day settling back in. It was just so warm and soft and fluffy and Law would sooner die than admit out loud how much he loved it. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know by then anyway. What could he say, Luffy’s fur was impossible to resist. It was worse than Bepo’s in this aspect.

“No licking,” Law reminded, cracking one eye open to shoot Luffy a half-hearted glare when he felt his face come close to his body.

“You’re no fun,” Luffy whined.

Law could only sigh. “I’d just like to keep my skin where it is, thanks.”

“Fine.” Luffy huffed, thankfully keeping his sand-paper tongue where it should be, before he simply nudged Law with his forehead.

A smile pulled on Law’s lips, his hand raising to rest against the side of his little monster’s head. To anyone else, this position would seem incredibly dangerous, yet to Law, it was so very comforting. He had never felt safer than when he lay snuggled into into this god’s side, with the jaw which could fit his entire head inside twice over and then some positioned just inches away from his face.

Right here, Law knew he was home.

And while he gently stroked Luffy’s fur, Law’s eyelids slowly slid shut again.

 ~ Meanwhile ~

“What do we do?!” Shachi cried in panic, staring with wide eyes at the neptunian who looked like it was about to eat the Tang for an afternoon snack.

“We have to call the captain and Luffy, we can’t do this,” Ikkaku shouted back, trying to shoo away another two of these giant sea kings away together with Jean Bart.

A frustrated groan came from Clione in response, “I tried but they won’t answer and the door won’t open!”

“Why do they always have to sleep with Luffy’s giant furry ass blocking the stupid door! How are we supposed to get them out here?!” Shachi whined, mind slowly slipping into despair. Honestly, these lovesick idiots. What use was having a literal god around when he was never there to actually help when they actually needed him to?

This was why Shachi preferred dogs over cats.

----------

Dedicated to my cat who has the softest fur and also forces me to keep everything on the fucking floor.

[Request info | Ko-fi]

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine: Chapter Fourteen

We’re here. The final chapter. Y’all. I’m gonna cry.

@lumosinlove thanks for these characters!!

@donttouchmycarrots thanks for being my partner in crime during this whole mess of a story <3

And thank you, lovely readers!! For sticking with me for this crazy rollercoaster of a story, for encouraging me when I felt like quitting, and for always being so, so wonderful. I appreciate y’all more than I can say.

CW: prison, food, anxiety

Clandestine Masterlist

.

The drive back was silent, punctuated sharply by the two empty seats in the van. It was something they should’ve seen coming, but yet were completely blindsided by. Sirius had been on their side for so long now, it seemed odd to picture him anywhere else. It was like he’d been there for years already, fitting in seamlessly and making friends fast, filling a gap that hadn’t been obvious before but felt like a chasm now. He belonged in Gryffindor with them. And Regulus, while more reserved and distant than his brother, didn’t seem to deserve the fate he’d found. The main motive that kickstarted this whole mission had been him – all for him – and he still couldn’t avoid being dragged down with the Snakes.

Remus was on the phone with a contact from the FBI – he had been since they’d taken Sirius away – trying his hardest to find any loopholes he could. He was… actually strangely calm. Methodically tackling one idea after the next, his analytic brain working overtime. Logan could understand, though. Being productive was helpful. It was when things settled down and got quiet, when all you could do was sit there and wait…

That was when things got tough.

His leg bounced up and down in anticipation the closer they got to the cabin, his one-track mind stuck on one thing and one thing only – getting a blond safe-cracker into his arms again. Not having Leo with them had been like missing a limb, making everything feel out of balance. And even thought he was safe, he was still too far away. Logan couldn’t stand it.

Finn reached over and placed a hand on Logan’s with a knowing smile. He was ready to be home, too.

Gravel crunching under their tires only fueled the eagerness. There were lights still on in the cabin, a warm, inviting pull. The front door was open before the cars had pulled to a complete stop, revealing Leo and Hope and Lyall. Julian was presumably asleep, given the hour. Logan’s seatbelt was thrown off and the door closest to him was yanked open, Finn hot on his heels.

Leo bounded down the steps of the porch and flung himself at the two of them, finding every inch of space between them and filling it, a soft sound escaping from his lips as he held on tight in a one-armed grip. Logan and Finn both stumbled back a few steps at the impact but quickly returned the embrace, Logan’s face buried in the junction between neck and shoulder and Finn’s forehead pressed against the blond’s. They seemed to take their next breaths in tandem, slow and steady, as they leaned into each other. Time slowed, everything in the periphery faded, and the world, previously off-kilter, evened out in equilibrium.

Finn suddenly realized he felt the coarse, scratchy texture of Leo’s sling pressed up against him and pulled back a little. “Careful, baby.”

That made Leo pull back. “Why?” He glanced over them nervously. “Are you hurt?”

Logan sighed long-sufferingly and cupped Leo’s face in his hands, looking him in the eyes with a fond expression that belied his exasperation. “No, but you are,” he moved his hands to smush Leo’s cheeks, causing Finn to laugh, “so take it easy.”

Leo smiled – a real one this time, not one of the fake ones he’d given them before they left – and relaxed. After a quick kiss from Logan he asked, “So it went well? Mission’s done?”

Logan and Finn both froze at that. Finn looked over to Remus, who was still on the phone (like he had been for the past hour at least) and frowned.

“Not quite.”

“We can talk inside,” Leo said, looking worried again. “there’s lots of food for y’all.”

He wasn’t wrong. Food covered pretty much every open surface of the countertops, ranging from pancakes to grilled cheese to the cinnamon swirl muffins Leo brought to their first briefing all those months ago. Finn smiled at the memories and instantly snagged one on their way to the kitchen table. His eyes landed on Talker, who was explaining something to Hope as she took a look at his leg. Nat, Kasey, and Alex were piled onto one couch, looking tired and each with a grilled cheese sandwich in hand. He could see Remus on the porch every once in a while when he passed by a window as he paced, phone pressed to his ear.

It didn’t bode well.

Logan sat down with a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and started telling the story, voice a quiet murmur and only interrupted when he shoveled food into his mouth. Finn wondered how none of them had really seen this coming. In hindsight, it made sense that there would need to be a trial – after all, Sirius and his brother weren’t innocent. Finn wasn’t sure what happened next, though. Criminal trials and sentencing weren’t part of the job for them. He hoped they could get the brothers out of this mess, though. If anyone could find a way to do it, it would be Remus.

At least the Snakes were done for. The information on the flash drives was enough to lock them away for a very, very long time.

He took a bite of his muffin, no longer really hungry, and listened to Logan talk.

***

Remus sat down on the porch swing, tired and stressed and not at all ready to quit. He listened to Alice, his only contact in the FBI, rattle off some statistics that he couldn’t even begin to understand. And he wasn’t trying to be rude – that really wasn’t his intent – but he needed to act quickly about this. So he grimaced and cut her off. “Can we get them placed in another prison? Or even in solitary until we can figure something out? If the Snakes can get to them…”

Well. Remus didn’t think they’d show much mercy to the two people mainly responsible for putting them in jail.

Alice sighed, the sound of her rummaging around in her desk filtering through the phone. “We can try. Since they did help you guys, we should be able to swing it. If something jeopardizes their lives, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Remus’ heart twisted – a deep, chronic ache under his ribcage that refused to let up. “Do it fast. I’m going to start reaching out to lawyers.”

“Lupin, it’s four in the morning.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated huff. “Thanks for all the help, Alice.”

He hung up, then braced his forearms on his knees, hands gripping his hair, and breathed.

If there was one thing Remus Lupin was good at, it was planning. It was his job, and a big part of the reason he’d switched from field work in the first place. He relied on structure to get through his days, needed the stability in order to function.

There was none of that.

This was being adrift at sea, constantly assaulted by the waves and the current without rescue in sight.

And Remus had no idea what to do.

His phone pinged, catching his attention. A text from Alice flashed across the screen.

I’ve got a friend who’s a lawyer, and she’s a damn good one. I know you’ll want to do your research on her yourself, but I can vouch for her too. Here’s her contact if you want to reach out.

The contact number and email were listed under the name Dorcas Meadowes.

***

Dorcas Meadowes was, to put it simply, awe-inspiring.

Black curls, a dark complexion, and a serious, no-funny-business expression on her face. Her office was neat and organized, a few pictures around the place of her and a blonde girl with a wide grin and freckles. There was a small pride flag on her desk. Without a word, she motioned for Remus to sit, cool and composed and ready to get to work.

That was all it took for Remus to instantly respect her.

“So I’ve heard some of the story from Alice, but I’ll need you to start at the very beginning. Don’t leave out any details, tell me everything.”

Remus did, settling into the chair and getting comfy. It was a long story, after all. When he was done he looked back up at Dorcas, whose face was expressionless except for a single, raised eyebrow.

“That’s…” she trailed off with a low whistle.

“Yeah.”

“Well, the good news is that, if we’ve got enough evidence to back your story up, we can reduce his sentence by a lot, maybe even get him released.”

Remus sagged back into the chair, relief taking over and wiping out the tension radiating through his muscles. “Great.”

He’d known, logically, that they’d be able to reduce his sentence. With all the work he put into taking the Snakes down, there was no way they’d give him a full sentence. But getting him out of there for good…

Remus had never wanted anything so much in his life.

Dorcas leaned forward, powering her laptop on. “We’ll go visit him in the next few days and tell him what’s going on, but first we need a plan. Here’s what I’m thinking…”

***

Sirius hated this.

He was bored, he was tired, and – more than anything – he was lonely.

In Gryffindor, he’d become so accustomed to always having at least someone with him at all times. It was usually Remus, but he’d also grown close to most of the team. And it was nice at the time – god, did he miss it. But it was painful now. He’d witnessed what his life could be like, happy and surrounded by friends and possibly in love, and now he was back to the way his life used to be. Alone and on the wrong side of the law.

He hadn’t seen Reg since they’d been escorted into isolation for their own safety. Which don’t get him wrong – he was grateful for it. Knowing Riddle, they wouldn’t have survived the night if they were all being held together. But it was too quiet now.

The door to his cell rattled and Sirius looked up sharply. A guard was standing there, unlocking his door and opening it.

“Come with me,” the guard said, sounding bored as he opened the door further and held out a pair of handcuffs. Sirius looked at him hesitantly, not moving an inch. The guard rolled his eyes. “You have visitors.”

Sirius perked up at that, the only thought running through his head being Remus. He knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to take this sitting down. He’d be fighting to get Sirius free, no doubt about it. He wasn’t sure who else would be visiting him, anyways – if someone was here, it was sure to be Remus.

So Sirius got up and held his wrists out to be cuffed, then watched as the officer pointed down the hall.

“This way.”

It took all the self-control Sirius had to not run, to slowly put one foot in front of the other until he finally reached his destination. The guard moved around him to open the door and then Sirius was moving again.

He spotted caramel curls as soon as the door opened to the visitation room and felt his shoulders sag with relief. “Remus.”

Worried brown eyes followed him as he crossed the room quickly to sit in front of him, separated by a thick wall of glass. The movies weren’t lying, apparently. But it was so good to see him that Sirius didn’t care.

Remus looked tired. Unfortunately, that didn’t surprise Sirius at all. He knew the tendency to overwork all too well at this point. More than anything, it made Sirius want to get out of there, to wrap him up in his arms and let him take a nap there, to make sure he was taking care of himself. He settled for giving him a stern look instead.

“You need to get some sleep.”

Sirius expected a sharp, witty retort. Some sass, a comeback of some kind. Instead, Remus did the unthinkable and just smiled. “I missed you.”

Sirius sighed, softening at the gentle admission. He’d missed Remus too, of course. More than he could really put into words, and it had barely been a day. The smell of his shampoo, the quiet, reassuring presence of him by Sirius’ side, those eyes that just seemed to see right through him and know even the things Sirius tried to keep hidden. He found he didn’t mind it too much - not when it was Remus.

“I missed you,” he echoed in agreement, refusing to look away until someone cleared their throat loudly. Sirius looked over to a woman sitting next to Remus, looking unimpressed. Sirius hadn’t even known she was there, as wrapped up in Remus as he was.

Remus, to Sirius’ endless delight, blushed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Remus blush before. It was cuter than it had any right to be. “Um, Sirius this is Dorcas. She’ll be representing you in court.”

Right.

He had to go on trial.

Dorcas took over from there. “We think, with the evidence we have, that we can get the charges reduced, maybe dropped if we’re lucky. If you can think of any evidence we don’t know about, we can use that to strengthen your case, too.”

Sirius nodded, relieved. That sounded better than he thought he’d get, to be honest. “What about Reg?” he asked, looking between the two.

Dorcas was very hard to read, Sirius realized. And Remus looked confident… until he looked over at the lawyer. Then his expression flickered.

And Sirius’ heart sank.

“That’s a bit trickier,” Dorcas stated slowly, treading carefully. “The thing is, he never tried to get out. He stayed with the Snakes. And I know it’s not easy to get out of situations like that,” she rushed to continue when she saw the look on Sirius’ face, “but the fact still stands. And he didn’t do as much to help take the Snakes down, not like you did. We can probably reduce his sentence, but he’ll be in prison longer than you. I don’t think we can fix that.”

Sirius felt himself being torn in two different directions. He wanted to be free, to be able to live his life again. Maybe make a home in Gryffindor (or maybe move in permanently with a certain spy), get a job as a consultant. He’d make sure the poor houseplant in Remus’ apartment survived, the poor thing, and he’d keep Remus’ favorite tea stocked in the cupboard. He’d be able to relax for – well, the first time in a very long time.

But his brother.

He was the main reason Sirius got out in the first place. The reason he ended up in Gryffindor, this entire mission was for him. To get him out, to make sure he was safe.

What was the point, if he was stuck in jail while Sirius got to walk free?

He could practically hear his brother telling him how stupid he was being in that dry voice of his, but he pushed the thought away. He’d made up his mind, and it was practically impossible to sway him when that happened.

Sweet, caramel eyes might test him, though.

Sirius looked up at Remus guiltily, dreading the response he was going to get. But yet again, Remus took him by surprise and smiled sadly.

“I understand.”

Those words hit Sirius like a freight train. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes stinging and throat getting tight. “I’m sorry.”

Remus just shook his head. “Don’t be.”

Sirius loved him.

Remus glanced over at a confused Dorcas. “He can’t leave his brother. Whatever sentence Reg gets, Sirius wants to do the same.”

She was silent for a long time, looking back and forth between the two of them. Then she sighed, seeming resolute. “Well then we’d better get those charges as low as we can.”

***

Four Weeks Later

.

Leo found Remus in the courthouse hallway during the trial recess before they were supposed to reconvene for the sentencing, looking seconds away from pacing from one side of the building to the other. The past few weeks had been hard on all of them. Between coming to terms with everything that had happened in the recent months, to trying to figure out the evidence they needed to bring forward to try and get the charges dropped against both Sirius and Regulus, to the strange feeling in the Agency brought forth by Sirius’ absence, it had been weird for all of them. Remus had been hit the hardest by all of it, though – and understandably so. That didn’t make it any easier to watch, though.

He’d been running himself to the bone the past four weeks, going above and beyond to make sure everything was in order for the trial. He looked ready to drop, if Leo was being honest.

But he understood. If it were Logan or Finn in Sirius’ place… well. He’d already figured out just how far he’d go for them.

He put a hand on Remus’ arm, trying to be as calming as possible. “You’re going to be ok,” he said carefully, choosing his words meticulously. He didn’t want to be cold, but he didn’t want to get Remus’ hopes up only for them to be dashed.

Carmel eyes met his own, and Leo sighed at the stress he saw there. He looked tired – so tired.

“What do you need?” Leo asked quietly, hoping for some sort of guidance on how to help him, how to get that look off of his face.

Remus just laughed under his breath, a sad sound. “There’s a lot of things I need.” He shuffled on his feet, gathering his sleeves in his hands. “But a hug would be a good start.”

Not hesitating, Leo gathered him into a hug, the stretch pulling at the scar tissue in his shoulder that was finally free of a sling. Remus was tense and still for a while, then relaxed into it. Leo wished he could do more, wished he could make any sort of difference in this situation. But everything was so far out of their control now; the only thing left to do was wait.

“Whatever happens, we’re here for both of you. You’re not alone in this.”

Remus stepped away with a fake attempt at a smile. “Yeah.”

There was a visual cue that neither of them seemed to catch and people started filtering back into the courtroom, making Remus’ face grow paler and more pinched. Leo stuck by his side as they walked back inside, trying to ignore the soft sound Remus made when he saw Sirius again – all the way in the front, in a jumpsuit that looked too big for him, hair longer and eyes a little duller than they remembered, fidgeting with something in his cuffed hands. Regulus was next to him, head down and avoiding everyone’s eyes. Leo just stuck to Remus’ side as they squeezed into the row of chairs with the rest of the Agency, making sure Remus was right in the middle, surrounded by so many of the people who cared about him most. Finn and Logan sat down next to him with grim smiles.

Leo reached over to tangle his fingers with Finn’s, feeling him squeeze back gently. The bruises were completely gone from his face, and he was walking limp-free now. He dropped his head onto Logan’s shoulder, having to angle his shoulders down to rest somewhat comfortably against the shorter man.

Leo would never get over the height difference.

“I’m taking a nap when we get home. This is so stressful, oh my god.” Finn sighed, making Leo smile.

Home.

That was still somewhat new for the three of them. After a few days back in their separate apartments in Gryffindor, they’d realized how incredibly codependent they’d become during their mission. Leo would find himself staring up at the ceiling most nights, worrying about the other two, until he’d get a phone call from one of them and they’d end up driving to each other and collapsing in bed together, squished together just like those hotel rooms they’d shared. And it had gotten to the point where there wasn’t any point living in different apartments when they ended up together most nights anyways, so Leo and Logan had packed up their things and moved in with Finn. He had the largest bed, anyways.

So yeah. They lived together now. And Leo was ridiculously pleased about it.

They were taking that vacation in a few weeks, too – the one Finn had first brought up in the back of a getaway car, tears in his eyes and blood on his hands. Somewhere warm, just like he’d promised. He’d get to watch Logan tan and Finn turn red like a lobster, only to go straight back to pale. They’d get some time to relax and not stress about work – just themselves and the vast expanse of beach and water in front of them.

Leo couldn’t wait.

“We’ll take that nap together.” Logan answered Finn quietly, turning his head to meet Leo’s eyes as he pressed an affectionate kiss to Finn’s head. Leo smiled at him, the sense of one chapter ending and the next beginning washing over him.

Whatever came their way, they’d be ok. They’d proven that already.

The crowd hushed as the judge sat back down, face impassive.

“We have reviewed the evidence and testaments brought forward in defense of Sirius and Regulus Black.” He started, looking down at the two in question critically as everyone in the courtroom seemed to hold their breath.

“It still doesn’t change the fact that they committed crimes while with the organization,” the judge stated firmly, then continued, “Regulus and Sirius Black are hereby sentenced to one year in prison.”

The gavel slammed.

Remus sat there in quiet disbelief.

They’d done… everything. They’d worked so hard for the past month in attempts to let Sirius and Regulus’ sentences reduced – and that was technically a reduced sentence – but it was still more than any of them had been expecting.

A year.

They hadn’t done enough.

Remus almost missed all the movement around him, too busy staring at the back of the seat directly in his line of vision, but his gaze snapped up when an achingly familiar voice called his name.

Sirius slowed to a stop as he passed Remus on his way out, eyes wide and frantic. Desperate. It broke Remus’ heart, more than it already was. “Wait for me?” He asked intently, like his sole focus was on Remus and his answer. He shoved his open palms out, revealing what he’d been fidgeting with during the entire trial. Remus looked down to find an origami flower, conveying all of Sirius’ hopes for the future within the delicate folds.

Remus wished more than anything that he could reach for him; to pull him in tight, hold him close, and refuse to let the guards take him away. He also had the half-formed plans of a jail break already in mind, even though he knew Sirius would never agree to it. It was then that his eyes locked with the gray ones he’d come to know better than his own and he knew – he knew that he’d wait, however long it took.

Remus loved him.

It wasn’t a grand revelation, it wasn’t sudden. In all honesty Remus had probably felt that way for a long time now, the truth prodding at the back of his head, nagging at his subconscious. He loved Sirius, plain and simple. Simple except for the fact that one of them was going to jail for a year. And yet, no matter how complicated it got, no matter how much time went by, it was the easiest decision Remus had ever made.

Well. If love made people crazy, Remus was certifiably insane.

He smiled a little tearfully at Sirius and nodded fiercely, picking up the paper flower delicately.

 “You know I will.”

[anntoldst0ries]

The Signs (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 11 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: 1.6k, T Summary: After moments of passion and confessions, Ethan finds himself unable to fall asleep. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None

A/N: They are riding on Hawaiian waves, I am riding on the wave of fluff.

He witnessed the scene countless times during his career.

People squeezed in hospital corridors on horribly uncomfortable plastic chairs, air filled with hope of receiving the good news on their loved ones’ health, shared by many souls simultaneously. Wives resting their heads on husbands’ shoulders, mothers holding children perseveringly, their arms and legs numb and asleep. Some of them unmoving, save for shallow breaths and occasional blinks. Tired, on the verge of emaciation, haven’t had a wink of sleep in god knows how long.

How were they doing this? Where did they take this superhuman strength from?

Ethan could never fully comprehend this.

It was the sort of power he never really experienced in his life.

Until now.

Because when Noelle’s head found its haven on the sea of his chest, there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to become completely still, to hold his breath and be the pillow of safety she nestles up to.

He’d do whatever it takes to preserve her sleep, which, right now, was the most fragile and precious thing in the world to him.

It was a sign.

They lay in the aftermath of the afterglow, two castaways of the storm called life which, despite hurting them both really badly, also helped them find each other.

Them against the world.

Tropical Hawaiian air, sticky and dense, filled the room already soaked with lust.

It was heavy, failing to provide even the slightest relief amidst pervasive heat.

Because it was the type of heat that didn’t have much to do with the temperature.

It was the ardor of lovers.

Written on their curves were the stories of worship and promises of stories yet to be told.

They claimed each other's bodies a couple of times this night, engulfed in waves of desire bigger and stronger than the ones breaking on the shore outside the hotel windows.

The tidal waves hitting them, every next one with more might then its predecessor, their whole world encapsulated in the sounds of pleasure.

And something else.

In those moments, they were so much more than just a combination of skin, bones, muscles and ligaments succumbing to the march of time.

They were everlasting.

As doctors, they were reminded of their own mortality every second of every working hour.

But now, they were invincible, only if for a night.

When they moved in perfect unison, he saw something in her eyes.

He didn’t know what to call it, but he knew what it felt like.

Unconditional.

Their clothes and belongings were scattered all over the floor, the only witnesses of the wedding night fever.

It was the type of mess that was actually a proof of a perfect order.

The only kind of disarray he could live in permanently.

Signs.

Every cell of Ethan’s body craved sleep. But his eyes were wide open, defying the laws of gravity. And his mind was on overdrive. He couldn’t help but reminisce.

Two years ago he kissed her for the first time.

He could tell you exactly what happened right before and after the kiss. He could describe every second, every detail, every thought. But when their lips touched, he forgot his own name. And everything else he thought he knew.

A year ago he was fighting for her life.

Back then, Ethan didn’t know how strong he really was. Until being strong was the only choice he had.

Today, she was right here beside him and it was almost surreal. She was so close that he would notice the rising and falling of her chest. The rhythm of her breath.

It took him long to believe they could have a happy ending.

Too long, he kept reprimanding himself.

Yet the signs were there, if one only looked.

They were all around.

Ethan thought of all the people who made him the man and the doctor he was today.

Dolores. His first patient turned friend, the tragic and unjust loss. Baby Ethan’s fight. The night when nature played the cruelest eye for an eye game. Life for life. The night he started seeing Noelle Valentine through a brand new lens. He never told anyone, but seeing them so vulnerable awoke something in him. His own sensitivity, buried beneath the layers of grumpiness and indifference. Thick doctor skin.

Naveen. Ethan wished he could wipe the images out of his head. Seeing the man who taught him everything shrink and almost disappear was one of the hardest things he had to face in his whole life. Truth be told, he only made it through because she shared the burden with him. Because she saved Naveen. This delicate, slightly-built woman. The warrior. His Noelle. She made him so proud.

Louise. What his mother did to him was beyond repair. The cross he carried with him, anywhere he went. But in a short period of time Noelle achieved something he couldn’t do for years. Forgive. Never forget. Forgive and finally understand that even broken souls deserve the unbreakable love.

Dad. The man who, despite all the adversities, always had time for his child. But that didn't stop Ethan from resenting Alan for always justifying what Louise did. He couldn't understand, even though it was so simple. Love. In the realms of medicine, Ethan was in his element. But the concept of unconditional love was estranged. Until he met her. Not only did she mend the broken fence between father and son, but also showed him that some things truly are unexplainable and can only be understood with heart, not mind.

Tobias - his former best friend then best rival and now...best not to talk about it too much. Only Noelle had the power of talking Ethan into considering looking at Tobias in a different light. She laughed at the idea of holding the grudge forever. She challenged him and called him out on his bullshit.

Every relationship that meant something to him, had irreversibly been impacted by the force of a once clueless intern.

She signed them all.

Suddenly, she peeled away from his chest and rolled over to the left, so that her back was now facing him. Having covered her with a thin sheet, his fingers brushed her shoulder blades ever so lightly, as if anything more than this could hurt her.

It took all the willpower in the world to stop himself, for he wanted to touch every single millimeter of her being.

He wanted to draw the maps on her back. Maps of all the places they are going to discover together. The highways of their world. The plans of all the cities they will tower over. Write the words of pure adoration. The stories yet to unfold.

At the risk of looking like a creep, he slowly inhaled her smell. He wished there was a way to capture and bottle it, so he could carry it with him everywhere. His favourite perfume in the whole wide world.

Noelle shuddered lightly and the tiny movement startled him. Maybe she was trying to shoo a bad dream away.

“You are just a few inches away… and this is the longest distance between us I’m willing to put. No more running.” He whispered and kissed her hair lovingly. As if on cue, her breath returned to its regular rhythm, the tension leaving her muscles.

Part of him hoped she was asleep. Another wished she’d heard every single word. After all, he wasn’t best at translating feelings into words. Or maybe he was actually afraid that once he started, nothing would stop him.

Not only from telling her how he’s never felt this way about anyone, but also how everything fades whenever she’s around. How all the hospital drama dissipates, because everything is figureoutable as long as he knows she’s safe and sound. How, if he couldn’t run, he’d walk. If he couldn’t walk, he’d crawl. To her.

Today has done something to him.

Celebration of Ines’ love. Zaid’s speech. Being surrounded by people he no longer considered co-workers only. His friends.

Ethan lied. “I've never felt this way about anyone... and I don't know if I ever will again." Because he is certain he never will again. But more importantly, he never wants to.

Words echoed throughout his head.

“What I didn't expect was to meet the kindest, sweetest, most amazing doctor I've ever known... and the best friend I've ever had.” That was exactly what happened to him when one intern crossed the threshold of Edenbrook hospital...and inadvertently his life.

A crazy thought was born in his head. Completely irrational. And not a bad idea.

He hoped Zaid wouldn’t mind if he’d stolen the line and used it for his wedding vows. That is, if she agreed to share the rest of her life with him. There was always a dose of uncertainty.

But the idea certainly didn’t sound so scary anymore. Quite the contrary.

~~~

Noelle woke up in a couple of paradises simultaneously.

The tropical paradise.

The physical paradise of total satisfaction.

The paradisiacal view of Ethan Ramsey’s perfect body.

“Good morning.” She murmured to the man on the balcony, who, despite the heavenly view of Hawaii stretching behind him, had his eyes set firmly on her.

“Good morning indeed.” He replied with an unknown sweetness in his voice, that surprised even him.

And he really meant it.

This was a good sign.

Fantastic even.

Maybe the best one ever.

~~

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@openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

[mxvladdy]

heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

[yostresswritinggirl]

Scholars’ Chit Chat Prologue Submission

XXX

Cyno x Reader (Platonic, possibly romantic in the future)

*Lore dump warning

*Spoilers for all the Archon Quests and speculations of Teyvat

*Really it’s all serious talk

XXX

This is basically how you and Cyno met

XXX

The libraries of Sumeru are quiet, like how they’re suppose to be.

It is a new semester after all, the freshmen are still getting a grasp of the large campus, though Cyno does guess that soon enough they will be awed of this place.

Walking among the tall shelves, he tries to locate the section he had been researching on, but a voice calls out to him, breaking his concentration.

“Hey, you ever thought of why were you given a Vision?”

He turns to the source of the voice, only to see you there, sitting on top of one of the book shelves as your legs dangled from it.

“I would say that it is a question worth discovering with my entire life.”

“Huh, to think that you would answer so naturally… Wouldn’t one first ask who I am or ask why would I want to know that?”

“Because, first, I know who you are and second, those who come to this place seek knowledge.”

“Oh, so I had become the talk of school despite me being here for the first day?”

“Indeed, you were known as one who had declared to not take part in any sort of Mysticism studies yet aim to unveil the mysteries of this world. They called you naive yet you had earned the highest scholarship obtainable. It’s kind of hard to not let such news spread out.”

“Well, there are certainly advantages and disadvantages with this commotion, but that’s not my main focus anyways.”

“And may I ask what that would be?”

“To search for answers to fulfil my contract with the God of Wisdom.”

“Contract?”he questions, not capable of following your conversation, you slyly smiled at this.

“Unfortunately, this upcoming topic requires a fee to unlock~ I don’t mind sharing my findings to others, but when it comes to something as rare as words from an archon….”

“You get the idea, a price is required for everything after all.”

“…”

Cyno stared at you as if you were pulling his leg, but his reaction made you smirk even more.

“Oh, I won’t be asking for much, something like… Your name, perhaps?”

Suddenly realising that he hadn’t introduced himself yet and was reminded in such a playful matter, Cyno couldn’t help but let out an embarrassed chuckle.

“My apologies, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Cyno, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hmm… You know that one’s name is important, right? Names hold power, not necessary the one given by your parents but the one that defines your soul. There are quite a few stories mentioning that giving your name to someone is the same as giving a part of their soul to them.”

The male however lets out a laugh at your advice.

“Thanks for the warning, I’ll keep that on mind.”

“It was nothing, and to the end of my bargain, yes…’ you began as you jumped off the shelf, landing right in front of him. “Well, it’s more like a bet than a contract if I’m being honest.”

“Which is?”

“To find out the truth behind Khaen-riah’s fall, or more specifically, the reason behind the alchemist Gold’s fall, before I graduate.”

“?!”

The kingdom that had technology and Mysticism developed greatly even without an archon, then was destroyed five hundred years ago.

Not much is known about Khaen-riah, and yet...

Cyno, was shocked, no, shocked isn’t enough to describe how he’s feeling.

“That’s... nearly impossible, isn’t it? Just what sort of offer did he gave you to tip the scales-”

“If I succeeded, he would answer me anything I want to know about.”

“A-Anything?”

“That’s right~”

...

“What happens... If you fail?”

Everything comes with a price, as you had said.

“Then my life would be in his hands, for him to decide my fate.”

Despite only knowing you for not long, Cyno cannot believe what you had risked.

“Are you out of your mind?! What would you possibly want to know that you’re willing to-”

“To understand the laws of this world.” You answered one a simple matter.

“It has been so long that the human race had been existing and yet none of us came close in finding the truth of the world...”

“Or perhaps someone did, and they failed to tell anyone?”

“Even Khaen-riah itself is advance with Alchemy, history tells us that their greatest alchemist Gold fell and became quite a threat... But why...?”

“...”

“What I’m trying to say is that we’re too trusting towards the gods cause we’re told to do so since we were born, you know what I had learnt after being tricked once? Doubt everything when you first see it, question it’s existence and see if you can use another point of view to perceive it.”

“Why do you doubt the gods?”

“That’s because I believe in humanity’s wisdom. I believe that even without the gods, humanity can still take care of themselves as fine.”

“If you need to rely on someone else in order to live, then what’s the meaning of living in the first place?”

“This is... quite a lot...” Cyno mumbled.

“It is a lot to take in, I agree.” You nodded as you leaned against a shelf.

“Our senior Lisa left this place after mere two years and went to Mondstadt to be a librarian despite her being a genius the Academia hasn’t seen for 200 years... Is it because she saw something that nobody else realised?”

“So what you’re saying is... There’s more to the bigger picture?” Cyno guessed as you snapped your fingers. “Bingo.”

“But that being said, questioning the gods is the same thing as raging treason against this world... “ Cyno pointed out with worry. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Indeed, *I’m trying to understand the rules of this chess game, so that humanity, the supposed audience of this game gets the chance to participate in it.”

“And if we can win this chess game or not, is entirely up to our legacy...”

“You have too much belief in humanity... Or should I say you have no intention of losing in the first place?”Cyno predicted with a sigh.

“Hm, seeing that you’re being so interested in our bet, perhaps you would like to become my partner in crime?”

Hearing this, Cyno finally realised that he was tricked at the point when he answered your question about his Vision.

“So that was what you were going after for all along, huh?”

“Haha, yup~ I mean, our archon didn’t state anything about not able to team up with others, so why not?”

“Able to ask anything from the God of Wisdom himself, what else more can a scholar wish for?”

Cyno understand that your words are trying to lure him, but in truth, who can give up this opportunity?

“I mean, even if we fail, I’m the only one who would lose anything so it really sounds like a pretty good deal to me~”

“And would you mind me asking for a warrant from you for the time I would be spending on this?”Cyno requested, surprising you for a bit.

“Well, how about my name? You’ve heard about me but haven’t known that yet, correct? With a part of our souls in each other’s hands, no one can run off easily, don’t you think so?”

“Alright I accept the of your con-”

“It’s a promise, not a contract.”

Cyno pauses at your sudden seriousness, he then takes notice of the frown on your face.

“...”

“You want this partnership to be built on trust and not just a piece of paper?” He guessed.

You softly nodded, trying not to meet him in the eyes.

But there’s no way that he would accept that, you two only just met after all-

“Then I promise, that I will be your partner in crime upon this bet against the Dendro Archon.”

Wha-?!

Cyno offers you a small smile. “Everyone has their own reasons, I too wish that I can understand you better within these few years... That is if you wish, of course.”

I’m glad.

“Yeah, likewise, Cyno.”

“I also by offering my name, promise that we will find out the laws of this world and allow humanity to earn the chance to be a part of this chess game.”

“My name is-“

XXX

*The chess game is referencing The Feynman Lectures on Physics, it is also referenced from Honkai Impact 3rd (another game of MiHoYo) Honkai Quest event by the character Delta, it is possible that it works as well for the world of Teyvat.

(One way that's kind of a fun analogy to try to get some idea of what we're doing here to try to understand nature is to imagine that the gods are playing some great game like chess. Let's say a chess game. And you don't know the rules of the game, but you're allowed to look at the board from time to time, in a little corner, perhaps. And from these observations, you try to figure out what the rules are of the game, what [are] the rules of the pieces moving.

You might discover after a bit, for example, that when there's only one bishop around on the board, that the bishop maintains its color. Later on you might discover the law for the bishop is that it moves on a diagonal, which would explain the law that you understood before, that it maintains its color. And that would be analogous we discover one law and later find a deeper understanding of it.

Ah, then things can happen--everything's going good, you've got all the laws, it looks very good--and then all of a sudden some strange phenomenon occurs in some corner, so you begin to investigate that, to look for it. It's castling--something you didn't expect.)

And welp, Exiled, mind me adding this?

-To their future child(ren)

And this is how your parents met//slap

With the Gnosis shaped as chess pieces and with MiHoYo’s other games referencing this...

Well theories will be theories until they’re truly revealed.

Until then Snowdrop’s gonna freak out on what the heck I just wrote

There will be continuations... Just please don’t look forward to it... OwO

Oh I do NOT mind AT ALL, Snowdrop. CONTINUE. This series looks so freakin cool and refreshing even!

[whump-town]

God’s Gonna Cut You Down

Part 2!! (you can find part 1 here)

Warning: threat of domestic abuse and you know bad words

January 1972

It had been mortifying when Richard was caught with another woman and his prideful smile and easy shrug of the situation had only hurt Mary that much more. Through everything else, the drinking and the yelling and the hitting, Mary had still been able to tell herself that Richard did these things because he loved her. Extra whiskey washed down his stress, made him smile easier, and touch her like he meant it. When he raised his voice she’d already left him no other options, she just can be so forgetful. And… he’d only hit her a few times. Always when he was drunk and she’d messed something up. Anyone could forgive that.

The affairs… that was the first time Richard had done something with the explicit intent of hurting her. He hadn’t even cared when she’d cried. Had smiled when she told him about her friends, the way they meet her with high noses and expressions of disgust. He’d spun her into a pit of isolation, her own mother didn’t even want anything to do with her.

Persistently, desperately, Mary kept going back to her mother. She knew about her father, the affairs he had with his students over the years. Praying on the young university girls, the very reason they had hesitated to send her to Mary Baldwin. In the end, money and her pleading won through and she went to get a degree in English her eyes on being a teacher. That’s where she met Richard, five years older and making his way through law school.

Her mother might snuff her now but she is no different, neither are any of the women who treat her so differently now.

Her mother had caved after a few months, grew afraid of the way that weight seemed to melt off of Mary. It was unhealthy and fearing her daughter’s life she’d succumbed to her and offered her the advice that had been given to her: a child. Unfaithful men are just confused but this is not beyond Mary’s control, she just has to give him something to have. Men just need a little extra help, they’re just confused. They understand possession, though, and while they might not be afraid to hurt the lives they've made with wives give him a child and he’ll change.

That’s all it takes.

Having a baby was supposed to fix everything. Mary’s mother told her that babies make men happy and that if she wanted to settle Richard to settle down then a baby would do just that.

But she kept losing the babies. A little girl who they hadn’t named, blindsided by their grief. Two miscarriages far too soon in the pregnancy. Another when Richard pushed her into the stairs-- she’d told him it was for another reason and they didn’t tell a soul they even pregnant. After that, they stopped keeping track and she stopped telling him when one kept or when one didn’t.

Mary Hotchner might not make good on a lot of her promises but this time, she tells herself, this time is different. He’s just so little, hardly the size of her forearm. He’s their second chance, this tiny little baby is going to save their marriage. How wouldn’t he? Always watching the world around him, hardly ever cries, and always content just to be placed in the swing so long as he can see everyone.

She’s just changed him when Richard gets in. “Do you want to hold him?” she asks with a hopeful smile. He’s swaddled in his blankets, arms tucked to his sides, and sleepy drunk on milk. “He’ll probably go right to sleep.” Richard only held him in the hospital, only when a nurse made him.

Richard looks at the baby in her arms, up to Mary’s dark brown eyes and back down to his son’s soft blue eyes. He scoffs, “I don’t want to touch that little bastard.” He throws his briefcase down on the floor, kicking his shoes off in the same general direction. Carelessly, he brushes past them. “Why don’t you go give him to the bastard you had to have fucked to make him?”

Mary scrambles, unsure what to do. “Rich--”

He turns, blind with rage and she can feel the force of his words hit her sternum. Feels the baby in her arms jolt at the impact, whimpering as he squirms in his confines. “Don’t!” Richard demands leveling his finger at her. His eyes flick to Aaron and she holds him closer, turning her body so that she’s between them. Aaron cries out, kicking at the blankets wrapped snuggly around him. Richard lurches forward. “Shut him up!” Mary steps back. “I said shut him up before I--”

This baby is a second chance to their marriage, it’s going to change everything she just knows it.

----------

March 1973

Toddling on baby fat legs and clutching the sippy cup in his left hand, Aaron follows his mother across the lawn. Occasionally, he stumbles but is quick to right himself clutching at his mother’s freely billowing dress and going on. He’s much smaller than the other babies, underweight and not very tall, but he’s only a year and three or four months so he’s got time to blow them away. Mary’s positive her bright boy will manage it. He’s smart, they’ll see, small but he’s so very smart. Just like his daddy.

“Come here,” Mary beacons the baby from the edge of the backyard. His back is turned to her but she knows the look that has taken over his features. Those dark eyebrows knitting together as he dances his little fingers across his sippy cup-- brain working a mile a minute to figure out what it is that he’s discovered now. He makes a little sound, more to himself than to her, before turning to face her. She gets a glimpse of that confused look before a bright smile breaks across his face and he squeals happily before running to her.

She’s not sure what it is but she doesn’t like it when he gets that close to the woods. The thick trees line the property and every chance he gets, if he’s not rolling in the mulch of her flower garden, he’s standing at the trees watching. Aaron’s always watching. It scares her just how silent he is, the way he makes nearly no sound when approaching and will stand forever just content taking in the world around him. She thinks that’s why she wants him nowhere near those woods.

The woods are full of death and she wants all of his life and his curiosity to stay away from it. She knows what it is, knows what the woods do to men. To little boys with a little too much curiosity.

“Come to mommy,” she praises, opening her arms and enveloping him. Wiggling about in her arms but not to get away just to make her hold tighter. So she does, groaning and squeezing him until he’s breathlessly giggling. Enthralled by the pressure of her arms and perfectly content with the warmth of the day and her love.

----------

December 1974

He’s been sick all week, succumbing to a fever ravishing his tiny body. Outside snow pours down in thick clumps, the other children howling with joy every few hours as their parents let them back out in it. Snowmen pop up in lawns and footprints betray every hiding spot they run to but there is a clear, unabashed joy eating through the neighborhood. Aaron can only listen for it, falling in and out of naps on the sofa. Sniffling miserably and basking in his mother’s attention when she comes with a thermometer and whatever remedy her mother had called to inform her of now.

Richard gets home early, taking the time to knock the snow off his work shoes before seeing the mop of dark hair that betrays his son’s inactivity for today. He drops his briefcase by the door, scowling as he glances in the kitchen and finds Mary frowning into a pot. “What’s the boy doing inside?”

Mary jumps, not expecting her husband to suddenly appear like that, not having heard him pull into the driveway. She puts the lid over the soup and wipes her hands on her apron. “Sick,” she answers quickly, not sure how Richard is expecting her to answer. Not sure which of his personalities she’s playing with. Afraid an answer of such quick, unapologetic truth will sour quickly but blindly hopeful for the man she married. The man so eager to have children.

Richard hums, turning on his heel, and Mary’s heart stops as she realizes he’s going right for her Aaron. She fists her apron in her hands waiting in fear of what he intends to do.

He squats down by the sofa. “Aaron,” Richard calls softly. He brushes a thick strand of his son’s hair from his face, the lock heavy with his sweat. His hand swallows the cheek he strokes softly, Richard never really thinks about how small his son is. Now, as he sees Aaron’s body curled in on itself, fingers clutching his blanket to his face, and he can’t deny just how small the boy is. “Hey buddy,” he whispers when Aaron’s eyes start to flutter.

Aaron looks up at his father but does not utter a word.

“Come here,” Richard picks him up. Moving him so Aaron can wrap his arms around his father’s neck before Richard tucks his blanket snuggly around him.

“Where are you going?” Mary asks, stepping back when Richard stands and moves from the living room. She has no idea what his intentions are. To take Aaron up to his room? The poor boy could hardly make it down them this morning. She’d had to carry him to the couch in fear of the way his little legs had shaken under him. Is he silently boiling over with rage? Going to throw her baby out into the snow, command that he acts like a child. Go play with the others?

Richard presses a kiss to Aaron’s forehead, rubbing his back when he rises, soothing Aaron’s mindless whimper. “He hasn’t been able to see the snow,” Richard whispers, mindful of the boy tucked against his neck. He can feel his raging fever against his own skin, too hot to the touch. “Gonna cool him off,” Richard explains with a smile.

He steps out on the porch, smiling back at his wife as he shuts the door. Aaron shifts uncomfortably against his chest but Richard settles on one of the porch chairs and brings the edges of his coat up over him. The world is softened by the snow and the old groan of the chair Richard rocks them back and forth on. Aaron’s breathing becomes laborious, his little chest heaving as he rasps on each breath. The silence makes the awful sound deafening.

“You with me, buddy?” Richard asks, pressing his cold hand back to Aaron’s face. His son isn’t much of a talker, not even at three or in the rage of his terrible twos. He’s always just been much more content to watch and hum out his little replies. Odd behavior for people of most ages but it’s nearly alarming from a three-year-old. The way he cocks his head to the side when asked a question, a little hum before he conjures up a one 0r two-word response.

Today Aaron writhes against Richard, whimpering at the weight across his chest. The way his lungs feel as if they’re swelling but he’s too young to know the words. “Hurts,” he whispers. “Hard.” Each breath is hard to pull in as if his lungs are trying to squeeze shut around it. They ache deeply, all over.

Richard keeps rocking. Rubbing Aaron’s back and humming the faint tunes of songs under his breath until, eventually, Aaron falls back to sleep. He doesn’t carry the boy back inside until Mary calls them in for dinner. Richard holds his son through dinner, cherishing the way Aaron clings to him. 

There will be very few moments like this ever again between father and son.

[insomniacowl]

Neon Genesis Evangelion analysis chapter 18: Angels, what are they?

The wings of Unit – 01 in the Opening sequence

The being that is called angels in English is called in Japanese shito (使徒). This word when directly translated to English means Apostle. However, even in the series, they are often referred to as “Angels” this incongruity has its own significance. 

The very fact that the enemies of the series are referred to as “Angels” points Neon Genesis Evangelion not being a simple narrative of Good vs Evil, rather it can be said to even oppose such a narrative. Unit – 01 that our protagonist pilot is based on Lilith who is often referred to as the devil, and the wings on the back of Unit – 01 in the opening sequence are referred to as the “Devil’s wings”. This points some to make a case that this series is a story of Humans descending into demon hood while fighting for their right to survive against the onslaught of the angels, although I disagree with this idea. 

The angels have played an additional and significant role in sparking interest in this series outside of the Otaku communities. If so, what is the nature of these beings in the universe of Evangelion?

One reason for the disagreement on what makes for the category of “Angels” arises due to the inconsistent descriptions the characters of the series give of them. The fourteen angels we have discussed in the previous chapter are definitely considered under this category, and Tabris is widely considered to be the “Final” angel. Adam who is their ancestor is referred to as the first angel and Lilith who is in the same status as Adam is referred to as the Second. Furthermore, some refer to humans (Lilins) as the eighteenth angel.

Adam has 4 legs?

Therefore, to understand what makes an angel, we need to take a look at what ‘ADAM’ is. Adam is the being that was in the White moon that first made landing on earth and holds the fruit of form. Due to the Evangelions being made using parts of Adam’s body, they are genetically identical to Adam. While Unit – 01 makes an exception due to being Lilith based, there is a possibility of Adam’s DNA having been inserted, thus we cannot make any definitive statement for now.

Adam is sometimes described as the giant of light, and it illuminates as does Arael, making it impossible to see its body in detail. In the picture of Adam in Episode 1, we can make out the restraints on its shoulder that are similar to those on the Evas. Some attribute this design detail being present to allude its relationship with the Evas, I argue otherwise. In different illustration of Adam, we do not see such restraints, thus we can make a case that these restraints were places artificially by either the Katsuragi expedition team or Seele.

As mentioned in the earlier chapters, Adam is the being that the First people encapsulated in the White moon and sent to earth. But before Adam was able to fulfill his role, Lilith in the Black moon landed, and the loss of her Lance of Longinus resulted in Lilith creating descendants to populate the earth before Adam woke up.

Zeruel about to attack humans

When looking at the vs Zeruel fight, we see it attacking humans that are not in the way of it achieving its goals. This points to the existence of instinctual hostility the angels hold against the humans who have taken over the earth that they should have rightfully owned.

After eons since the first impact, Seele and the Katsuragi expedition finds Adam and become interested in the fruit of form (S2 engine) he had and initiated the “Contact experiment”. We know that there were at least three “Contact experiments” that have happened in the series, the one with Adam, then Yui with Unit – 01, and Kyoko with Unit – 02. This shows us that the “Contact experiment” is an attempt to create a connection between a Human and the “being close to god”. 

In detail, the “Contact experiment” is the bringing together of a person with the Core. While we do not know exactly the location of S2 engines in the angels, due to the importance the Core has for the Angle’s survival, it is most likely to be located within it. This claim is supported by the consumption of Zeruel’s core by Unit – 01 being portrayed in detail as Ritsuko describes this act as the absorption of the S2 engine. 

The “Contact experiment” then can be described as the attempt at the transfer of soul between humans and the angel’s core, and for the case of Adam, the soul was transferred to create Kaworu.

The consequence of waking up Adam

The experiment however went out of control and the expedition team tried to put Adam back in control using the Lance of Longinus but failed. While the second impact was prevented from wiping out all of humankind, a great calamity befell on earth (and Lilith). At this moment, Adam releases strong waves of anti-AT field, and concurrently opened the door to the room of Guf.

The act of opening the room of Guf is the act Adam took in desperation to create the angels based after himself and insert them with souls necessary for their creation. That makes the moment of the Second impact as the moment of birth of the angels.

Now let's talk about the origin of the angels. Even with the understanding that the moment of the Second impact was when their souls were inserted, many questions need to be answered. There are arguments to be made regarding this when we look at some of the angels, so let us take a look.

The state of how Sandalphon was discovered provides us with many answers but also raise new sets of questions. This was the first and the only angel that was found by humans. Sandalphon was discovered deep inside the stream of magma, inside an egg, shaped like a fetus. Through this, we can tell that the angels developed inside of an egg likely hidden in the deep sea/lava until it hatched in 2015.

Sahaquel and Arael also offer us similar evidence. Unlike the other angels, these two appeared from space, showing us that at least these two developed in the outer space. However, I do not believe that this happened due to their eggs being flung out into space during the explosion of the second impact. 

Just from their gigantic size, we can understand that they would not have been able to develop properly if they were burdened by the conditions on earth. Therefore, I believe that these two needed to develop outside the earth’s atmosphere and their eggs were strategically placed where they developed (Either by the angels themselves or by some other force of Adam).

Evangelion development documents 

The Evangelion development document, a 35-page document that was published on Newtype 100% Collection 29 in 1993, and again in 1997 by Kadokawa points to another possibility to the birth of the angels. While the continuity between the development document and what we got is fuzzy at best, the document states that the First people created the angels. This makes Adam not the genetic ancestor of the angels but a spiritual one, as he becomes the first angel to have landed on earth and the others followed. It is not a useful piece of evidence in our argument, but it does raise an interesting hypothesis.

How did Gagiel know of Adam’s location?

If we think back, the angels have never distinguished between Adam and Lilith until episode 24, and even in this episode, Tabris did not realize that it was Lilith until he was floating right in front of her. There is a potential theory that Nerv deliberately placed Lilith in Central dogma to lure the angels to the strategic location to destroy them. It is a plausible theory but it presumes that the descendants of Adam are unable to distinguish between Adam and Lilith despite their difference. This logic will give rise to the statement that Adam and Lilith may be more the same than different.

Even the inter-character dialogues in the series point to this possibility, and if we were to borrow from the facts from the development document, the manner of which the angels locate the ancestor is not through any biological intuition of the particular being but sort of a magnet that draws towards any “Seed” that exist within the planet.

No... This is… Lilith?!

The one planet one seed principle was supposed to be Law and if it was kept, the descendants only needed to find the seed on the planet and would be “Programmed” to do so. But the situation on earth was unique and the angels had no need to nor the capacity to differentiate between Adam and Lilith. In the Evangelion games, the angels are depicted as having diverse goals yet it is interesting that none of them specifically mentions that they are looking for either Adam or Lilith, again pointing to the fact that the angels are unable to distinguish them apart.

If we reframe our perspective to this argument, that the angels are looking for the “Seed”, it becomes possible to justify the surprise Tabris experience when he finds Lilith in episode 24.

Won’t you become one with me?

There is something to be said of the reason the angels desired to initiate the Third impact. If we exclude Tabris who carried the soul of Adam, Armisael could be said to be the final angel. In episode 23, it is revealed that Armisael feeling lonely during its conversation with Rei. This is in contrast to the assumption that angels are unable to feel any emotions, let alone loneliness due to being a unified being and not having the fruit of knowledge.

The first thing Armisael asked/demanded from Rei was “Won’t you become one with me?” and this is the same desire humans show regarding the instrumentalization. In other words, the angels are not as different from humans, they are capable of feeling loneliness, and desire to be together and become whole. We can then see this as the reason for their desire of initiating the Third impact.

Did Sandalphon really attack unit – 02?

Other then this, we are also told that the angels’ DNA is 99.89% identical to humans’ and this similarity was kept constant in other media spinoffs of Evangelion as well. So be it Adam, Lilith, angels, or humans, it can be said that they are all genetically identical. The key difference is the Fruit of knowledge or form that they possess. Only moments after Sandalphon has hatched, the sound used for its cry was a human baby crying, just lowered down a few pitches. In its movement too, the way it bit and sucked was more akin to what babies do in the first few weeks of their birth.

It was a baby. The only difference was how it looked. It behaves just like a human baby.

Shinji: What do you think the angels actually are?

Asuka: Huh? What are you asking all of a sudden?

Shinji: Angels, the messenger of God. Why are they our enemies? Why do we have to fight them?

Of course, the angels hold the fruit of form unlike the humans thus it results in their behavior patterns being different from that of humans. But in the later episodes of the series, we see them showing interest at humans, learn from them, and also experience character developments. Just like how the humans gained the fruit of form in their battle against the angels, the angels were also able to understand many things about us.

Shinji has questioned why the humans have to fight against the angels? 

It is through the series that we can gain the answer to that question.

It may not be necessary. The two groups can perhaps come to understand each other.

As choose Tabris with his free will, we don’t have to be enemies.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Magic Circle

A JSE Fanfic

Hey, who’s excited for my first non-AU piece in a long time? Who’s excited for my first one-shot in like forever? If you’re excited for either of those things, then this is the piece for you :D I took some inspiration from Marvin’s video on Halloween to come up with this. Here, Marvin meets a magic group for the first time. Let’s see what happens :)

It’s a bright summer day outside. The sun is still high in the sky, despite it being almost five o’clock. There are people walking around the city streets, either going somewhere or even just taking a walk. Birds are chirping on top of the power lines and in the trees planted along the sidewalk. And Marvin was locked inside his room trying not to break something in frustration.

“Oh my goooood.” He puts his head down on the desk surface with a bit more force than necessary. It hurts, but he doesn’t mind. “Fuuuuuck offffff.” The desk before him is lit up with a lamp, despite there being sufficient light coming from the window. The lamp shines down on a laptop, open to a Google Docs document, and a leatherbound book, open to blank pages. Marvin drops his pen down on the desk. “Fuck it.” And with that, he pushes his chair back and heads over to the room’s door, unlocking it and heading outside.

He goes down the hall to the stairs, then down to the first floor. For a moment, he stops and blinks. His eyes feel...weird. Well, it makes sense. He’s spent almost all day staring at a computer screen or a blank page. The only time he wasn’t was when he was going to the bathroom. That probably wasn’t good for his eyes.

According to the wall clock in the downstairs hallway, he’s been trying for nearly five hours. That explains why he’s so hungry. Marvin heads into the kitchen and starts looking through the cabinets for something quick but filling.

Someone knocks on the doorframe behind him. Marvin jumps, and spins around. JJ is standing there. He waves. Hello, Marvin. Did you finish?

Marvin snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I wish. I’ve done like...three pages. God. Fuck.”

Oh dear...JJ frowns. What’s wrong?

“I dunno.” Marvin rubs his eyes. “I just keep getting distracted. Opening up YouTube and stuff. God, it’s just so boring. Why do I even need to write it all down in a book? All my spells and shit are saved online.”

Some people are sticklers for tradition, JJ points out. But anyway, maybe you should take a break. You haven’t eaten anything, have you?

“Uh...no. That’s why I’m here.” Marvin resumes rummaging through the cabinets. “Do we have any crisps? I’m thinking of making nachos.”

You’re not just going to eat nachos, you haven’t had anything since you woke up at ten. JJ walks over and slowly pushes the door to the cabinet closed. Here, go sit down in the dining room. I’ll make you something.

“C’mon, JJ, you don’t have to. You were probably doing something else, don’t stop that for me.”

I was going to make dinner anyway, JJ shrugs. I know you don’t eat until later, usually, but please make an exception. You can’t work on that grimoire if you collapse from hunger.

Marvin sighs. “Yeah. Thanks.” He bumps his shoulder against JJ’s—a sign of affection that could easily be mistaken for clumsiness—and heads into the dining room.

He wishes he’d never found out about the greater magical community. Ever since he had, all it meant were problems. He had to learn all about the structure of this community, about how this organization called the ABIM made laws, about how certain spells were supposed to be regulated, about how things like wands, crystal balls, and other magical aides were supposed to be made certain ways. Marvin had always done his own thing. He didn’t exactly think he was the only person in the world with magic—after all, if that was the case, who wrote down all the spells he found online? But it hadn’t exactly registered that they were probably organized somehow, and that he should probably go look for others. Thanks to his total lack of searching for other magicians, the ABIM hadn’t realized he existed until about two months ago.

But now they know. And Marvin has to learn and keep up with a bunch of rules and regulations. The one that’s giving him the most trouble is the existence of a “grimoire.” Apparently, magicians are required to write down all the spells they know, and keep them in one place. And no, the document where Marvin had copy-pasted all the spells he’d found online doesn’t count. So now he’s spent the last week or so struggling to transcribe the online document into the book he’d purchased. Progress is...slow. Marvin just can’t focus on something as unstimulating as copying words down. There’s not even any new information to process.

Luckily, eating dinner helped him get some energy back. But when it’s all said and done, and he pushes away his plate, he’s dreading going back upstairs to try and ultimately fail some more. “Thanks, JJ,” he says.

You already said so, and you’re still welcome, JJ says. Then he pauses. Is there anyone who could help you with this? Other magicians lately?

Marvin groans. “Yeah, I guess I know some, but...I don’t wanna.”

Yes, we know, you’re very stubborn, JJ signs patiently.

“I can figure this out,” Marvin insists. “I can do things on my own!”

Except for making dinner, apparently.

Marvin can’t help but laugh. “Ah, ya got me there.” He sighs, and stares absently out the window. “Look, all the magicians I’ve met so far are part of this government group. And I don’t like them.”

Well, if you ask them for help, perhaps your opinion on that would change, JJ suggests.

“Well I wouldn’t be doing this in the first place if it wasn’t for their stupid fucking law!” Marvin snaps. Then he winces. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just...tired.”

JJ nods. Maybe you should stop for the night. It could be easier in the morning.

“Maybe.”

And also, if you keep getting distracted, have you tried putting on music? Or perhaps doing something with your spare hand while you write? That helps me.

“Maybe.” Marvin’s still uncertain.

JJ pushes his chair back and stands up. Also, can you please do the dishes?

“What?! But you cooked!”

Exactly, and we both ate it, so it’s only fair we both do something about it.

“Oh come on, I’m all tired, please?”

JJ merely folds his arms and stares at Marvin.

“Alright, fine,” Marvin relents. “I’ve been sitting all day, might as well do something a bit active.”

Oh thank you! JJ says, beaming.

“Heh, act like you didn’t twist my arm,” Marvin mutters, shaking his head affectionately.

———————

Later that night, Marvin finds he’s having trouble going to sleep. He keeps thinking about JJ’s suggestion, the one about asking other magicians for help. Sure, he isn’t exactly fond of the ABIM magicians he’s met so far. But maybe someone else...then again, perhaps the problem with transcribing his spells is just with him, and not with the actual subject matter.

Still, it can’t hurt to get a second opinion, right? But how to find the magicians?

An idea starts to form in his mind. Marvin gets out of bed and walks over to the desk. His laptop is still set up from that day. He powers it on. The time on the computer clock reads 11:20pm. Wow, he’d only been trying to get to sleep for an hour, he thought it was longer. Anyway, he goes back to the document of his spells, searching through them for one specific spell.

Yes, there it is. The title is “Magic Minds,” a tracking spell he’d recently picked up. It’s supposed to be able to guide a magician to other magicians. Marvin hasn’t used it yet, since he had no real reason to. He didn’t want to run into magicians before, but why not now?

Marvin grabs his phone from where it was charging, and quickly changes out of pajamas and into regular clothes. He pauses, then also grabs his cape from his closet. There’s no real reason to wear it, but it would make him feel a bit better. And with all this, he heads downstairs and outside.

The spell is easy enough to cast. He’s done tracking spells before, and they all require the same basic steps. An incantation or a few gestures, then you follow whatever visual cue the spell uses to find your target.

He turns his wand over in his hands, flicking it upward, downward, side to side. Green sparks left behind by the movements make a cross, +, hovering in the air. Technically he could have used his hands, but he likes the wand. And with the cross sign hovering there, Marvin whispers a word, and blows on the middle of the cross. A wisp of green light dances out from the breath, and hits the cross. From the spot of impact, the cross turns from green to white, and falls down to be horizontal, parallel to the ground. It spins, reorienting itself, then one leg of the cross turns red as the cross settles, pointing somewhere. Marvin heads in that direction.

The cross acts as a compass, pointing in one direction. He hopes it’s not too far away. People would think it’s weird, seeing one guy with a magic compass in a cape wandering around the city at night. But unfortunately, it turns out to be far enough that he regrets not taking the bus. Then he remembers that the buses don’t run this late at night, and regrets not doing this in the daytime. How is he simultaneously the most impulsive and least impulsive person he knows?

He makes his way to a section of the city full of identical, red-bricked terrace houses. The compass starts glowing brighter. That must mean he’s getting closer. Though, looking around and seeing nothing but residential buildings around, he’s not sure he wants to break in to someone’s house. This situation doesn’t exactly call for it. He’ll probably just write down the address.

The compass flickers, drawing him out of his train of thought. It locks onto one direction, flares brightly, and then dies. Marvin growls, frustrated. This isn’t the time for the spell to fail!

“You couldn’t have waited to put it on?”

Marvin jumps a bit at the voice, and ducks into the nearest alley way. He glances around, and sees a pair of people on the other side of the street, walking. Oddly enough, one of them is wearing a black cloak. No...it can’t be this easy...

“Oh, who’s out to see it?” a different voice says. “It’s late.”

“It’s a busy city, you’re just lucky no one’s out in this section,” the first voice snaps.

The pair walks up to one of the houses, standing on the doorstep. They continue to whisper to each other, too quiet for Marvin to hear on the other side of the street. After a while, the door opens, and the two of them disappear inside.

Strange...Marvin walks out of the alleyway, staring at the house on the other side of the street. What’s this all about? He glances around, making sure there are no cars or people coming, then runs across the street, stopping outside the house. He pauses, then glances into the window quickly. The inside doesn’t look any different from an average house, but he’s not sure since he ducks away quickly so nobody inside will notice him. Though strangely, there aren’t any people inside, even though there must have been at least three. He glances back in, just to make sure they aren’t anywhere.

It’s then that he notices something strange. The image through the window is...shimmering. Like a heat wave in the air. But the glass isn’t warped or anything that would cause that effect. On a whim, Marvin presses a finger to the window pane.

And surprisingly, the window appears to shiver. A wave of warm yellow light ripples out from the point of contact, just like water across the surface of a still pond. Slowly, the effect ends, and once it does, Marvin can see people gathered in the living room. And they’re all wearing black cloaks.

What was this? A magic gathering? Marvin’s curiosity grabs a hold of him. He has to get inside. But how?

He gets out his phone, looking through the spells he has gathered again. There should be an invisibility one here somewhere. He hadn’t used it since his days as a stage magician, but he must still have it. Though it takes a while of scrolling, he does eventually find it. It’s just an incantation, but it requires the magician to use absolute focus as long as they want to remain invisible. He always had trouble with that part, which is why he gave up on using it as soon as his career ended. Until now, he thought it was only good for escape tricks.

Scanning the incantation a couple times to make sure he knows it, Marvin takes a deep breath. He puts his phone back, then rings the doorbell and quickly whispers the incantation. A rush of cool flows over him, like suddenly walking out of a heated building into a cold outside, and when he next looks down, he can’t see his own body. He gasps in triumph, but then he sees his body flicker, and returns to concentrating on staying invisible.

The door opens, and a man in a cloak looks around. Marvin ducks past him, and luckily just barely avoids brushing against him. “Hello?” the man calls. A few moments pass, and the man shakes his head and closes the door.

Marvin finds himself standing in a living room, decorated in warm colors. At least ten people are gathered, all wearing black cloaks, though it appears they’re wearing regular street clothes under them. There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room, with a few various desserts lined up on it. A low buzz of chatter fills the air.

“What was it, Callisto?” a woman asks.

The man who opened the door shakes his head. “Nobody was there. Probably some kids’ prank.”

“In the middle of the night?” the woman asks doubtfully.

“You don’t know this neighborhood,” the man—Castillo—grumbles.

“You should have taken the cloak off before answering!” Someone else says.

“Shut up Basil, nobody would’ve cared,” Castillo snaps.

Marvin walks closer into the gathering, trying not to be distracted by the various conversations. It was difficult. Words kept sneaking into his awareness despite his best efforts. No, stay invisible. Stay invisible. Complete focus.

“Why does everyone keep bringing desserts to the meeting?” A woman nearby complains.

“Because it tastes fucking good, duh,” another woman next to her says.

“Can we get started already?” asks a man. “Hey Castillo! Everyone’s here, right? Can we get started?”

“Jeez, who lit the fire under your pants, Leo?” Someone mutters.

“Hey, I’m only pointing out that it’s almost midnight, Lily,” Leo says. “We’re running out of time!”

“Alright, Leo’s right, we’re getting close to the time,” Castillo sighs. “Alright, listen up everyone! We’re heading down to the basement to get started!”

A wave of chatter breaks out, and everyone files out of the room. Marvin rushes to the side in order to avoid anyone bumping into him. He watches silently as they all move into the hall and then down a set of stairs. What are they doing? He hesitates, then follows cautiously. A bunch of people in cloaks heading down to a basement for some sort of ritual? Every movie, book, and game ever says that’s a shady thing and should not be checked out. Yet he’s so curious. Is this what other magicians do?

The staircase isn’t too long, and it opens up into a large, wide room. Marvin was expecting a concrete floor and visible rafters, but it looks more like an entertainment room. The walls were painted a pale yellow, the floor was mostly carpeted, there were sofas and chairs and even one of those huge beanbags. It’s lit up by lightbulbs mounted directly into the ceiling, which makes it look just like any other household room. The only thing different is a square section of dark hardwood floor with a circle drawn on it in, well, what looks like salt. A few tall candles sit around the edges of the circle, in alternating purple and orange colors.

Marvin walks closer to the circle. There are some symbols drawn around its edge, also in salt. He’s surprised to realize he doesn’t recognize any of them. They’re not part of any runes he knows. But he does feel like he’s seen them before, somewhere else. Maybe it’s a different runic alphabet? But what does this mean?

“Hey, did you see that?” someone asks.

“See what?”

“I dunno, I thought...nevermind.”

“C’mon, Morgana.”

“Well, I just thought it looked like a person out of the corner of my eye.”

Marvin inhales sharply and goes back to concentrating on staying invisible. This is the last place he wants that to wear off.

“It’s five minutes to midnight!” Castillo calls. “Everyone in position!”

There’s a bit of awkward shuffling as the group moves to stand around the circle. A few people whisper about watching the edge of the salt to make sure it doesn’t get knocked out of place. “Someone get the lights,” Castillo says.

“Uh, shouldn’t we light the candles first so it’s not dark?” Basil points out.

“Oh, I have a lighter!” Morgana volunteers.

“Oh yeah.” Castillo nods. “Mor, you light the candles. Uh, James, you’re closest to the lights, knock them out, will you?”

“Everyone watch their hems,” Morgana says as she starts going around the edge of the circle and lighting the candles. Once they’re all lit, a man dashes over to the wall and hits the light switch, plunging the room into darkness except for the candlelight.

“Hands, everyone,” Castillo instructs. Everyone grabs their neighbors’ hands, forming a connected circle. “Two minutes to midnight. Time to start. Make sure you chime in at the right time.”

Silence falls. Marvin holds his breath, waiting for something to happen. And soon, the circle starts murmuring. No, it’s not just that, they’re actually chanting, all in a low, quiet voice. More voices join in, and they all get louder. Harmonies break off as different strings of words jump in, until the group is singing, their voices echoing off the walls.

Lines appear on the floor inside the circle. Lines of orange light, each one starting at the feet of one of the magicians, then ending at the feet of another. There were so many, connecting each magician to every other member of the group. The light coming from them grew brighter, and then—

SNAP!

Sparks flew into the air in the center of the circle. Quicker than what should be possible, they grow into a fire, hovering about three feet off the ground. The flames start orange, and then flicker between different colors—red, yellow, green, purple, blue, pink, white, and everything in between. It was as if a firework had gone off in the room, completely contained within a small part of the air. Marvin couldn’t help but gasp. And, as he stared closer into the fire, he realized there weren’t just colors...there were images as well. Shapes of people and objects forming scenes. They pass by too quickly for him to fully make out.

The chanting reaches a crescendo, and the fire breaks down into small balls of flame. Each one shoots toward one of the magicians, disappearing into their chests. For a moment, all the magicians glow with the colors of the fire. And then it fades. The lines on the floor disappear, and the magicians slowly stop their chants.

There’s a brief moment of quiet, like the heavy sort of silence one hears after having finished a good book and absorbing the story it contained. And then: “James, can you get the lights again?”

The man from before walks over to turn on the light switch. Everyone gasps and blinks in the suddenly bright room. Idle chatter starts up.

“Hey wait a minute, who’s that?!”

Marvin gasps as one of the magicians points at him. They all turn to look, and he realizes too late that he’d forgotten to concentrate on the invisibility spell.

“Who are you?!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“How’d you get in?!”

And Marvin panics. He turns and runs up the stairs, hearing the magicians shout behind him. Skipping the last step, he bursts out into the first floor hallway and starts to sprint for the front door.

Someone shouts something, and there’s a burst of red light. Then only blackness.

———————

Marvin only realizes he lost consciousness once he starts regaining it. He groans, feeling a headache spike in his temples, and opens his eyes.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” A man is sitting next to him, wearing a black cloak. It takes Marvin a moment to recognize him as the Castillo guy. But upon recognition, he bolts upright. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down!” Castillo holds his hands up, slightly pushing Marvin back down. “You’re not in any trouble. Persephone hit you with a blackout spell, but she’s sorry about that.” He glares to the side. “Riiight?”

Every other cloaked magician is standing nearby. They’re all back in the living room from before, with Marvin lying on one of the sofas. “Uh, yeah, really sorry,” a woman says. “I freaked out and acted on instinct.”

“How are you feeling?” Castillo asks, turning back to Marvin. “Some people have allergic reactions to blackout spells. Are you having any trouble breathing?”

Marvin doesn’t answer, looking wide-eyed at the people around him. Now that he’s actively facing the prospect of talking to other magicians, his throat has closed up. It’s probably made worse by the fact that he technically broke into their secret meeting.

“Uh, sir?” Castillo reaches out and makes to grab Marvin’s arm.

“Don’t!” Marvin flinches away. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Oh, okay, sorry!” Castillo sharply withdraws. “Just wanted to be sure you were breathing.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine, so don’t touch me,” Marvin grumbles. He shifts awkwardly, glancing around at the others. They’re starting to mutter among themselves. He can’t tell what they’re saying, and that makes him nervous. Are they mad at him? It would be understandable. But he’s terrible with tone of voice, so he can’t even tell, and the uncertainty makes him even more worried.

“I got it, no worries.” Castillo gives a friendly smile, no doubt meant to reassure Marvin. “But you are okay, right?”

“Yeah, fine,” Marvin mutters.

“That’s good,” Castillo nods. “Um...do you mind if I ask how you got here? This house is warded from any teleportations.”

“Yeah, if you guys tell me who you are first,” Marvin countered.

“We’re the Magic Circle, duh,” one of the other magicians says.

“Well I’ve never fucking heard of the Magic Circle, so excuse me for not knowing!” Marvin sits up on the sofa, scooting away from Castillo.

“Huh? Really?” Castillo looks puzzled. “Well, specifically, we’re the Mirygale chapter of the Magic Circle, it’s a nationwide organization.”

“Are you guys like a coven or something?” Marvin asks.

“We’re just a group, man,” another magician says. “We meet up, cast spells together, not that hard to grasp.”

“I’ve never heard of magic groups,” Marvin says warily.

Castillo blinks. “Seriously?”

“Well, I know the ABIM guys,” Marvin admits. “But that’s it.”

“ABIM is different,” Castillo says dismissively. “They’re like a government, and a loose one at that.” He pauses. “Are you...self-taught?”

“Yeah. Why the fuck does that matter?” Marvin demands.

It must have mattered significantly, because a chorus of “ohhhhhh” passed through the group. “Ah, that explains why you don’t know about magic groups,” Castillo says. “You’re a bit old for being self-taught, though. Most magicians from outside a magical family find—”

“—find out about the greater magic community when they’re in college, yeah, I know, I’ve heard that speech before,” Marvin says through clenched teeth. “So I’m a few years late, I was busy. Anyway, what are magic groups? Just like, magicians gathered together? Is that allowed? What do the ABIM think?”

Castillo laughs. “The Magic Circle is much older than the Association, they couldn’t get rid of us if they wanted to.” He shrugs. “Well, magic groups aren’t too hard to figure out. It’s just a bunch of magicians gathered together.” He sweeps his arm around the room. “Spells cast by a group are more powerful than just a single magician alone. We share spells with each other, come to each others’ aid in times of magical crisis, study magic together...they say two heads are better than one, you know? Stronger in numbers.”

Marvin nods slowly. “So...what were you doing in the basement?”

“That? That was a combination divination and prosperity spell,” Castillo explains. “Something like that you can only get in a group. It shows us significant events in the next year, then gives us good luck.”

“Never heard of a good luck spell...” Marvin mutters.

“Well, you’ve been practicing on your own, and doing luck spells on your own is a tricky business,” Castillo says. “So now it’s our turn. How’d you get inside?”

Marvin shifts uncomfortably, then reluctantly explains the whole thing with the Magic Minds spell and the invisibility.

“Ohhh, I know that spell!” One of the magicians says excitedly. “But you’re supposed to include your target’s full name in the incantation, otherwise it’ll just lead you to the nearest magician.”

“Why were you looking for magicians?” Another one asks.

Marvin looks down. Now that the time has come for it, he’s kind of embarrassed. “I dunno, I...sort of wanted help with this grimoire thing. But it’s stupid. Nevermind.”

“Huh? What kind of help?” Castillo asks. “You know the Magic Minds spell and an invisibility spell, you seem pretty knowledgeable.”

Marvin scowls. “Well, apparently, it needs to be in a book, not online at all. Which is fucking dumb. Why do I have to copy it all over?! It’s all already there!”

“Have you tried listening to a podcast while doing it?” One of the magicians suggests. “It gives you something to focus on.”

Castillo chuckles. “Well, if it’s a problem with focus, I don’t know if magicians specifically could help.”

“Shut up,” Marvin mutters. “Maybe there’s a spell to copy it all over for me—”

“If you found one, let me know, will you?” Castillo jokes.

Marvin glares at him, then stands up. “Well, I’m sorry for interrupting your Magic Circle shit, I’ll just go now, because clearly this was a stupid fucking idea—”

“Hey wait!” Castillo stands up as well. “What’s your name, bro?”

“Don’t call me bro!” Marvin growls. “But it’s Marvin. Marvin Moore.”

“Wait holy shit like Marvin the Magnificent?!” A magician says excitedly. Marvin recognizes him as the James one. “You had real magic the whole time?! No wonder people couldn’t figure out your tricks!”

Marvin can’t help but smile proudly at that. “Hell yeah, people loved it.”

“Well, Mr. Moore, you have some powerful magic in you,” Castillo says admirably. “You bypassed all the wards I set up here without even trying.” He walks over to a table with drawers, pulling one open and taking out a pen and notebook. After scribbling something down, he tears out the page, and walks back over to hand it to Marvin. “This is all our information, and my personal phone number. If you ever have a group you want to join, call us, okay?”

“Oh! Do it!” James encourages. “Then we’ll be thirteen, it’ll be the ideal number for most spells! And we’ll have a famous guy in our chapter!”

“Hey, let him make his own decision,” a nearby magician says.

Marvin scans the information from the paper. There could be benefits to joining a magic group...one of which being that he’ll finally have more than five people to talk to. And were these spells cast by groups really more powerful? A familiar feeling starts to grow inside him, a feeling of wanting to know, of wanting to be the best. That feeling led him astray in the past, got him mixed up in branches of magic he probably shouldn’t have been involved in. But if he’s with other people, it’ll be different, right? He hesitates for just one moment longer, then asks, “Hey, so uh, what if I’ve already made my decision?”

———————

The next day, Marvin finds himself sitting at his desk once more, with his laptop and his unfinished grimoire before him. But there were also a couple other things as well. A slim book, its cover decorated with the same sort of symbols he’d seen written in that circle of salt, and a sphere of black crystal. “Consider these your entrance-level gifts,” Castillo had said. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the types of magic the Circle likes to use, so this’ll be your beginner’s course.”

Marvin actually isn’t familiar with these branches of magic at all. And that makes this book all the more fascinating. It contains a guide to the symbols they use, the principles of the magic, and a few basic spells. Interestingly, it seems to be derived from alchemy. Or maybe it is alchemy, Marvin doesn’t know. He’d never had any reason to look up what alchemy was before this.

He sets the book down, taking a moment to pick up his new crystal ball and look it over. He can already think of several uses for this, but that might have to wait until later. For now, he really needs to at least make some progress on the grimoire.

And where better to start than with the new, interesting spells? It’s sure to keep his focus if he’s copying down information he’s never heard before. Marvin puts the crystal ball down and picks up his pen. But before he starts writing, he puts on his headphones. Listening to a podcast, huh? Maybe that will help.

He can feel that something new is in the air. Something is changing. Marvin had never worked with other magicians before. The prospect is both exciting and a little nerve-wracking. But however this ends, he knows now that things will be different from here on, in some way or another. And he’s certainly excited to find out.

[a-blue-secret]

CHAPTER IX

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter VIII | Chapter IX | Chapter X

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: swearing, implied homophobia

WORD COUNT: 4.7k+

AN: a shit ton happens in this chapter, and it's not even that long...nevertheless, here it is!

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

Beomgyu stayed in his angry, stressed state for the rest of the week. If he was being completely honest, Taehyun was a little scared of this new, fierce Beomgyu. And he hated feeling scared. Every time Beomgyu snapped out a command or demanded an answer to a question, it made Taehyun temporarily freeze up and he suddenly couldn’t form proper words. This feeling of suddenly having all his common sense snatched from him, leaving him a stuttering, stammering mess, was so new and confusing to Taehyun, and he hated it so much. The stress of figuring out why his brain constantly short-circuited around Beomgyu, coupled with the fact he now had a full-on riot on his hands, made Taehyun want to scream from all the pressure.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“Sir, we have to employ military forces against them. Already, five law enforcement officers have been killed, and several citizens have been arrested. It’s the only way-”

“No no no no no,” Beomgyu said, shaking his head. “Don’t pull the ‘it’s the only way’ bullshit on me. We both know that’s not true.”

“With all due respect, it is-”

“No. If it is, find a new one. We are not hurting these people,” Beomgyu said, glaring at Taehyun. There was such a ringing finality in his words that everyone in the room fell silent. The Head General nodded, bowing.

“We understand not wanting to turn against Gojongja,” he said. “We’ll see ourselves out.” He and the other general filed out past Beomgyu. When they were gone, Beomgyu turned to Taehyun.

“Don’t try and convince me of that again,” he said. “Don’t bring the army officials to me again. Just… don’t speak of anything to do with the military. I’m not going to employ them against them.”

“You’re not even the true King-”

“Don’t-” Beomgyu held up a finger, glaring. “Don’t use that against me. You set me on the throne, so fucking deal with the consequences.” He stood up, roughly scraping the chair legs against the stone floor. Taehyun took a few steps back in surprise. “This is too stressful. Taehyun, you’re going to be in charge for the next three days. I can’t do this.” He glared at him warningly. “Do whatever you want, but don’t call in any military forces.” With one last glare, Beomgyu swept past Taehyun, leaving the room. 

Taehyun stood there, blinking, before growling. That little… Taehyun wanted to scream or throw something. Beomgyu was being so annoying. He ran a hand through his hair, and sat down heavily in the chair Beomgyu had just vacated. There was no other way to subdue them. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. Could they compromise with the people? Just as soon as he’d had that thought, Taehyun shook his head. “It won’t be possible,” he said aloud. “That’ll also be seen as weak.” He clenched his fists. “Those stupid Lords… mad that Beomgyu isn’t involving them, so they decide to start a riot? God, they’re so petty.” His nails dug into his palms as he groaned, realising something else. “I need to replace the council too! The fuck, Beomgyu?” he cursed. “How do I replace the council? They’re not going to like it at all!” He sighed roughly. Someone knocked on the door, and Lord Yeonjun peered into the room.

“Sir Taehyun? If you don’t mind–”

“I do mind,” Taehyun interrupted, pushing past Yeonjun. “Look, I can’t deal with it right now. Just… stay out of the way.” Taehyun stalked down the hallway, fingers twitching from agitation. He needed something to take his mind off of everything that was happening. He needed a distraction. Thankfully, he knew just where to go.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

After Beomgyu stormed out of the room, his feet went into autopilot. He didn’t know where he was going, but soon enough, he ended up in front of the secret garden’s door. Beomgyu hesitated. He didn’t want to think about Taehyun at that moment, but there really was no other place for him to be alone. And so, he pushed open the door, stepping inside. 

Beomgyu sighed, sitting down on the grass. He bunched up his hair in his hands, frustrated. In the Discussion and Tactics room, it had suddenly struck him: what was he doing? Why was he back in court? Why was he getting involved? He tugged at his hair, before releasing the strands and dragging a tired hand over his face. He leaned backwards until he was lying on his back on the grass, looking up at the sunlight streaming through the leaves of the birch tree. He smiled as the sun warmed his face, but soon the smile faded, when he remembered the last time he’d laid down like this in the garden.

“Tae?”

“Hm?”

“If I tell you something… important about me, will you promise to listen?”

“Course.”

“Will you… will you stay?”

“Depends on what the thing is,” Taehyun said jokingly. “If you killed a man, I don’t think I’d want to.”

“Shut up,” Beomgyu said. “This… it’s serious.” He looked over at Taehyun, who was lying next to him on the grass, eyes up towards the clouds. When he felt Beomgyu’s gaze on him, however, glanced at the boy next to him.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I promise to listen.”

“Right. So, um, after what happened to Jieon, it kind of shook me you know? I didn’t think people could be so cruel.”

Taehyun didn’t say anything, just returned to looking up at the sky.

“So, anyway,” Beomgyu said, swallowing nervously. “Because of what happened to Jieon, I- I was hesitant to do this, but…” He looked at Taehyun. “I trust you.” He bit his lip, hesitating. “I trust you, okay? Don’t- please don’t leave.” He looked away, too nervous to watch for Taehyun’s reaction. “I wasn’t sure for some time. I didn’t want to think it possible. But, maybe about a few months ago, I realised that… this was real. This is who I am. Taehyun, I- I'm gay.”

Beomgyu kept his eyes fixed to the sky, waiting for Taehyun’s reaction. When the young prince didn’t say anything, he turned his head. “Tae- Taehyun?”

“Are you going to say you’re in love with me too?” 

“I…” 

That hurt. The fact Beomgyu was actually in love with Taehyun was irrelevant at that point. The tone in which Taehyun had said those words was mocking, senseless. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Taehyun abruptly stood up, and left the garden without another word. Beomgyu stared at the door, still swinging on its hinges, a tear trailing its way down his cheek. Taehyun…?

Beomgyu squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the memories from resurfacing, but they just kept coming. 

After that day, Taehyun began to ignore him, and avoid him whenever they crossed paths in the corridor. However, word never spread that Beomgyu was gay, so he was relieved that Taehyun hadn’t gone gossiping to other nobles. Beomgyu never wanted what happened to his elder brother to happen to him: he’d seen the impact the taunts had had on Jieon. But still, the distance between the two was too much to bear. And after what happened to Jieon, he couldn’t look at the nobles the same way again. He’d only stayed in court because of Taehyun, and now that the prince had turned his back on him… he had no reason to stay. Three weeks after coming out, Beomgyu left court, hoping to never return again.

“So what am I doing here?” Beomgyu laughed to himself. “I’m actually trying to work with these idiots.” He roughly wiped his eyes, taking a deep breath. “No. I’m not working with them. I am working against them, trying to stop them from doing things.” He inhaled and exhaled again, and lay down on the grass. He closed his eyes, and willed away all thoughts of the court, and the Lords, and Taehyun. At that moment, he wanted to just be at peace. With a clear mind, and no worries. 

Maybe it was the gentle warmth of the sun, maybe it was the delicate breeze. Maybe it was the calming rustle of the birch leaves, or even the bright chirping of birds. Whatever it was, it calmed Beomgyu down, and soon he was asleep in the safety of the secret garden.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“N- now, sir?”

“Yes. Probably for the rest of the week as well.”

Heesung balked. “You- you can do that?”

Taehyun shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. I’m doing it anyway.” He turned back to the servant. “Please remove all nobles from this room, and direct any others to the room across the hall.” The servant nodded, and scurried off.

“Uh, I'm not trying to scold you or anything, but shouldn't you be taking care of the riot, and not, um, going to work out?” Heesung said. 

“Yes. I should.” Taehyun flung open the door, letting the nobles file past him, before stepping into the room himself. 

“Sir Taehyun?”

Taehyun paused, and looked back at the Lord who’d spoken. His eyes sparked with recognition. That was the tall Lord who’d been there when Beomgyu exploded. “Lord Soobin, right? What do you want?”

Lord Soobin regarded him carefully, but gave a kind smile. His brown eyes sparkled warmly. “I just wanted to let you know that there are still Lords who support King Beomgyu. Though you have every right to hate us, know that there are some who have utmost faith in you.”

Taehyun blinked, unsure as to what to say next. Eventually, he inclined his head. “Thank you, Lord Soobin. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The tall lord smiled, and walked away. Taehyun turned to Heesung.

“Lord Soobin is from a prestigious family. It is good to have a supporter like him,” Heesung said. Taehyun shrugged.

"Anyway, I’m going to need this gym.” He immediately began to unbutton his heavy vizier’s overcoat, flinging it carelessly over a statue. 

“Why do you need a whole gymnasium to yourself?” Heesung asked.

“Cause I don’t want to get distracted by everyone else.” He looked over at Heesung. “You don’t have to stay,” he called out. “When I come here, you can guard for a few minutes then leave. I don’t need protecting.” Heesung stood there, a little unsure, before nodding his head and bowing. 

“Alright. But please, do return to your chambers before you go anywhere else.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Taehyun assured him. He waved a hand. “Now go. I need to be left alone.” Heesung nodded, and quietly left, closing the door behind him. Taehyun went over and dragged in one of the boxing dummies. He found some boxing tape, and began to wrap it around his hands. Though he hadn’t done boxing in ages, his fingers seemed to automatically know what to do. Throwing the tape aside, he rolled up his sleeves, balled his fists, and began.

When Taehyun was stressed, he needed a distraction. Something which could calm his mind for a few hours. For most people, this was  painting, or reading, or something relaxing. For Taehyun, this was a physical activity. Something which forced him to think of nothing but the sport. At times like these, he turned to archery, or boxing, or sparring. Any sport which required his utmost concentration, he turned to it. 

Jab. Double jab. Left hook. Right hook. Uppercut. Jab. Double jab. Left hook. Right hook. Uppercut.

Taehyun repeated the simple drill over, and over, and over again, until the padded hands of the dummy swung pitifully. Then, he dragged aside the dummy and brought out a new one, finding a different drill to perfect. He did this with several more boxing dummies, until finally he stopped, hands numb from how much he’d been punching non-stop. Then, he switched to kickboxing. 

He pulled out the standing boxing bag, adjusted his stance, and brought his leg up in a swift side kick. When his trousers twisted and stretched uncomfortably, he winced. Probably not the best idea to do kickboxing in dress pants. He glanced at the giant grandfather clock placed in the corner of the room, and sighed. He’d been there for a solid three hours. Taehyun picked up a towel from the rack, quickly dragging it across his sweating face, before carelessly hanging it around his neck. He walked over and picked up his coat from where it still hung on the statue and swung open the doors, striding out. He wasn’t fully de-stressed yet, but his current mental state would have to do for now. He could always come back that night, anyway. Now, he needed to go change his shirt, and see if there was anything he could do about the riots.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Taehyun rubbed his forehead tiredly, and looked up at the official. “The King doesn’t want to use force. Is there really no other way?”

“It’s difficult, sire,” the official responded. “No one has ever objected to a military approach when a riot happens. The only other option that has ever been suggested is to come to an agreement with the people.”

Taehyun sighed, sifting through the papers on the desk. “Looks to me as if these are only applied when military forces failed to detain them,” he said, throwing them down again. “Couldn’t we like… rewind time? Fix the mistake in the past? Or like, I don’t know… brainwash the peo– I’m joking,” Taehyun said, as the official’s eyes widened in horror. “I’m joking. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “The King is really adamant about taking a peaceful approach. And it’s hard.” He bit his thumb, thinking. The official shifted slightly, still standing in front of Taehyun’s desk. Taehyun looked up. “Oh, you’re dismissed. I need it to be quiet to think properly.” The official bowed, and walked out of the vizier’s study. As soon as he was gone, Taehyun buried his head in all the papers, and let out a frustrated groan. “Ugh, Beomgyu… why?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Beomgyu said he was taking a hiatus for three days. Three days turned into five, then it became a week, and before long, they were halfway through the second week of his hiatus. As the days dragged on, Taehyun became increasingly frustrated and frazzled. 

The chandelier glass had apparently done more damage to the ballroom than originally thought, so they’d had to renovate that. Not to mention the annoyed Lords who still lurked the hallways. Taehyun had briefly looked at the rules on replacing council members, and it seemed that it was an incredibly complicated process. Additionally, a few nights after the disastrous revel, seven commoners were found inside the palace grounds, mutilating the gardens. Though they were stopped before they could get to the Hall of Kings, which was their intended target, a considerable amount of damage had been done to the other rooms they’d been in. 

Trying to deal with all of this left Taehyun nearing the end of his tether every day, and he may have screamed at someone more than once that past week.

Stressed, tired, and frustrated, Taehyun began to work out more frequently. Though he had no time during the day, after the sun had gone down and the palace was sleeping, he’d leave his room and exercise for hours. It was a choice between tossing and turning in bed, or clearing his mind in the gymnasium. He chose the latter. It wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep, anyway.

Five days after the revel, one night, Taehyun was again in the gymnasium, this time sparring with an invisible partner. He was so immersed into it, that he didn’t notice the sound of the door creaking open. He only registered the other person when they stood in front of him, practice sword raised, and wordlessly began to spar with him.

Taehyun startled, but couldn’t tell Yeonjun to go away. All his attention was focused on trying to defend himself against a real partner. He gritted his teeth, spinning out of the way before Yeonjun’s sword could come into contact with his foot. As their blunt swords clashed, Taehyun grudgingly acknowledged that Yeonjun was good. Like, really good. As a prince, Taehyun had been taught by only the best swordsmasters, and yet here Yeonjun was, forcing Taehyun to remember all the techniques he’d learnt. 

They sparred endlessly, neither saying a word. Interestingly, Taehyun wasn’t too bothered by Yeonjun’s presence. Funnily enough, he appreciated it. Now that he had a real opponent, his senses had sharpened, and he had to focus a lot more when trying to defeat Yeonjun than he had with his imaginary partner. 

Soon, though, he became tired out. He was too focused on attacking a weak spot in Yeonjun’s side that he completely missed the fact that the reason the Aruyeonan’s side was exposed was because he’d thrust out the sword, the edge coming up to the side of Taehyun’s neck.

Taehyun stood there, panting, and let his sword drop to his side. “I yield.”

A beat. Then, Yeonjun dropped the sword, grinning. “You did good.”

Taehyun ignored him, and walked over to get himself some water. “Why are you here?”

Yeonjun followed him, also pouring himself a glass. “You told me to stay out of your way. I did. But really, there’s only so much a foreign Lord can do in court, so I regularly come down to practice, when you guys are all asleep. They closed off the gym I normally go to, though, so I was headed to another one. I came here because I heard you practicing, and your technique…” He shook his head disappointedly. “You were so stressed that you were tensing up your wrists far too much. I couldn’t resist: I knew you could do better than that, being the former prince and all, so I came in to see if you actually sparred like that or if it was just because you were stressed.”

Taehyun blinked. He wasn’t expecting such a long explanation. “Okay… and was it just because I was stressed?”

“Yeah.” Yeonjun gulped down his water, and poured another glass. “When you actually spar, your technique is crazy good.”

Though he tried to suppress it, Taehyun felt the pride surging into his stance. Back in the day, he was scolded for his technique always being sloppy, so it was nice to hear that all those hours of practice paid off.

When Taehyun didn’t say anything, Yeonjun took it as a sign he wasn’t wanted. He set down the glass. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted you. You haven’t wanted to see me in the hallways, so I don’t know why I thought it’d be alright to see you while you were sparring. If you want, I can go now.”

“Your technique is really good,” Taehyun blurted, as Yeonjun was turning to leave. “The Falcon Twist… I haven’t seen someone perform it that well before.” Yeonjun looked back, and gave a small grin. 

“Also, they way you attack is so fast. And when you defend, as well.”

Yeonjun smiled, and walked back to Taehyun. “Want me to teach you?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

It was a very curious thing. Taehyun escaped to the gymnasium at night to be away from people, and to be able to focus on himself and himself alone. But Yeonjun would always turn up half an hour or so after Taehyun, and the two would wordlessly spar. But that was not the most curious thing. It was the fact that Taehyun allowed him to stay. This was a time for Taehyun to be completely alone, and yet he allowed Yeonjun to enter his little bubble. He allowed the Aruyeonan to stay, and even appreciated his presence. Taehyun had always been an independent person, always preferring to do things alone. The fact that he allowed Yeonjun to be there? That was the most curious thing of all.

No words were ever needed between them. Yeonjun would just immediately jump in, replacing Taehyun’s imaginary partner so effortlessly it was like the Aruyeonan could see the made-up opponent that Taehyun had made. Though Taehyun would still get an uneasy feeling from being around Yeonjun, it soon wore off, and the vizier dismissed it as being part of his instinct to not trust strangers. Yeonjun had proved he was a kind person, anyway.

Some days after they’d settled into this, Yeonjun began to show up with his whip instead of his practice sword. At first, Taehyun was caught off guard, and was annoyed. A whip was more flexible than a stiff, metal sword, so Yeonjun would immediately have an advantage. But, interestingly, Yeonjun seemed more focused on keeping his whip straight. Calling a break, Taehyun sank to his knees, out of breath, but managed to get his question out.

“You… what’s- what’s your ability?”

Sitting down on the floor next to Taehyun, Yeonjun wiped the sweat from his brow. “Inanimate object manipulation,” he said between pants. “I can… I can make inanimate objects brie- briefly animate.”

Taehyun nodded, and lay down on the cold, stone floor. “N- nice.” He lifted his head. “That must be hard though.”

“Yeah. Takes lots of effort. That’s why my play was so off.”

Taehyun smiled a little. “I wondered why you were being so slow.”

Yeonjun looked like he wanted to protest, but relented. “True. Controlling the whip is hard, okay?”

“I believe you. I can’t even keep a flower alive for too long because it drains me.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “You can keep flowers alive?”

“For a bit,” Taehyun responded. “I can also make them out of nothing, if I visualise it.”

“Ooh! Do it now, please?”

“I’m too tired, it won’t work.”

“Try!”

Taehyun opened his palm, and concentrated on the creases within it, imagining a bud blooming there. His hand shook from how hard he was focusing, but all he managed was a small seed. Still, he held it up for the Aruyeonan to see. “There. Now let’s go practice.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Another interesting thing was how Taehyun opened up to Yeonjun. He didn’t know why, but as they spent more hours together, just the two of them, Taehyun came to respect and trust the Aruyeonan. It was a rare thing; Taehyun never confided with anyone about his fears or worries. Not after Beomgyu moved away, anyway. But with Yeonjun, it felt… natural. He felt safe with telling things to the Aruyeonan.

“Further. Further. No, not your neck, it’s your back.” Yeonjun walked up and adjusted Taehyun’s posture. “There we go. Now try and reach that position every time.”

Taehyun dropped his arm, and stepped away, rubbing his neck. “Ugh. Who came up with that move anyway? It’s so hard.”

“I did,” Yeonjun said, grinning. 

Taehyun huffed. “That’s why it’s so difficult.” He motioned towards the drinks. “I’m gonna catch a break.”

Taehyun poured himself some water, and sat down tiredly on the floor. Yeonjun folded his legs to sit by Taehyun. 

“Something on your mind?” he asked the vizier.

“Too much,” Taehyun sighed.

Yeonjun tapped a rhythm on his thighs. He glanced at Taehyun.”Wanna talk about it?”

Taehyun was silent for a moment. “What would you do if your friend came out as gay to you?”

Yeonjun looked at him in surprise. It was obvious that wasn’t a question he was expecting. “Uhm… I have a pansexual friend. When he came out to me, I told him I’d support him, and that no one in court would mind.”

“Ah right,” Taehyun said to himself. “You guys in Aruyeo are more accepting.” He looked at Yeonjun again. “Okay… what would you do… if you came out to someone and they just walked away?”

“Depends on who they are,” Yeonjun said, shrugging. “If it’s someone I barely know… fine. Whatever. I don’t care about them.”

“What if it’s someone you trust a lot? And like, they’re someone who you thought would always be there.”

“I’d be pretty mad,” Yeonjun admitted. “No, scratch that- I’d be really mad, and really upset. Because like you said, they’re someone you trust, right? And if they leave, it’s a sign they don’t want to have anything to do with you, and sort of… neglect you, after you admit who you are.” He rubbed his nose. “If they leave you, they can’t be that much of a good person, anyway. What kind of asshole wouldn’t accept you just because of your sexuality?”

Taehyun gave a small laugh. “Yeah… what kind…”

Yeonjun got up, offering a hand to Taehyun. “I see you put on more comfortable pants. Wanna have a try at taekwondo?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

One day, Yeonjun came in to find Taehyun doing yoga. 

“Sup,” he greeted, and the vizier opened his eyes.

“Hello. I decided to do a bit of stretching today.”

Yeonjun took off his boots, and sat next to Taehyun. “Do you have a routine in mind?”

“No.” Taehyun closed his eyes again, and stretched out his legs. “I memorised some moves, though, so I’ll just do whatever comes to mind.”

“Okay.” Yeonjun also stretched out his legs, and reached forward till his nose touched his knees. He knew quite a lot of yoga, since in Aruyeo he led classes on yoga for the children.

After half an hour or so, Taehyun spoke up. “Everything is so fucking stressful right now.”

Yeonjun didn’t say anything, just let Taehyun speak. He had a feeling that the vizier had a lot on his mind.

“Apparently the chandelier glass created loads of chips in the marble floor, and whenever people go in there they either leave with bruises or glass cuts over their hands. I want to get the floor replaced quickly, but there’s been a delay in the marble transport, ‘cause apparently one of their mines had to shut down due to abnormal radioactive activity, which sucks. For them and for us,” he added. “I can’t imagine how awful it must be for the miners, to suddenly not be able to make a living.”

Yeonjun hummed, bringing his arms up above his head. 

“And the council business. Maybe you don’t know, but Beomgyu insisted that we need to replace all members of the council. Word has gotten out, and I’ve received several angry letters from clans. I don’t have the energy to reply to them when they come, so I always leave them and then forget. Which leads to more angry letters, because they think I’m ignoring them.” Taehyun sighed, bending forwards. “And not to mention the riot. It’s died down, it has, but people have been arrested and killed and it’s just… I just know that it’s going to flare up again. And I just don’t want other people to get hurt.”

He sat back on his haunches, stopping his yoga. “I really care about these people. Beomgyu said we shouldn’t employ the military, but I think we should. The people won’t fight against them, I know it; it’s just to scare them and deter them from rebelling. But every time I try to explain that to Beomgyu, he won’t listen.”

Yeonjun sat up too, crossing his legs comfortably. “Then do it.”

“Huh?”

“If you’re sure it’s a good idea, do it. Beomgyu’s taking a hiatus, isn’t he? Then you’re in charge. You can do it.”

“No, but, he left me with one specific message. Which was not to do it,” Taehyun sighed. “It’s hard.”

Yeonjun tilted his head. “Do you think it’s a dumb decision? The one that Beomgyu made.”

“Uh… not really? I can see why he might not want to use force. But he didn’t see that it’s just to scare them.”

Yeonjun sighed. “Answer the question in a proper way. I’m tryna help you here.”

“Okay…?” Taehyun said, confused. “In that case… yeah. It’s a dumb decision.”

Yeonjun grinned. “Okay, so you can just say that Beomgyu made a decision, but because it’s a stupid-ass decision, you’ve decided to ignore it.”

Taehyun blinked. Then a smile spread across his face. “I like your thinking.” He scrambled up onto his feet, tugging on his boots. “I gotta go inform the Head General! Bye!”

Yeonjun watched him leave, and the smile melted from his face. He knew what he was here to do, but… why did he feel that he wanted to go against it?

[aboveallarescuer]

GRRM interviews about (or mentioning) Dany - Part 1

I went to So Spake Martin and collected excerpts of GRRM's interviews that talked about Dany in some way. Some observations here:

I didn't have access to broken/unavailable links or newspapers that require subscription.

I didn't get video or podcast interviews, only ones that were written down.

I also added some excerpts about how he enjoys grey characters or how he wants to be "realistic" and other topics that may relate ... not necessarily to Dany's character, but to his writing in general. It may be useful for some metas, even if they should not be divorced from the actual text.

I didn't mind collecting interviews about the same topic.

Maybe I did a poor job collecting these interviews or the SSM is incomplete, but, in any case, there are still several key interviews missing; I couldn't find the ones about how GRRM relates to Dany's character or how he wishes the Targaryens were black, for instance. 

Even with these limitations in mind, there is still quite a bit to dig into here.

November 1998

The Targaryens have heavily interbred, like the Ptolemys of Egypt. As any horse or dog breeder can tell you, interbreeding accentuates both flaws and virtues, and pushes a lineage toward the extremes. Also, there's sometimes a fine line between madness and greatness. Daeron I, the boy king who led a war of conquest, and even the saintly Baelor I could also be considered "mad," if seen in a different light. ((And I must confess, I love grey characters, and those who can be interperted in many different ways. Both as a reader and a writer, I want complexity and subtlety in my fiction))

 December 1998

Was it a conscious decision to paint things in grey, killing off good guys, etc.

Definitely a conscious decision. Both as a reader and a writer, I prefer my plots to be unpredictable and my characters to be painted in shades of grey, rather than in blacks and whites.

 July 1999

Just out of being curious how a writer goes about his work -- do you generally write a certain POVs chapters in batches? Or are Dany's chapters, given how generally unconnected they are to the rest of the books as she goes along her own plot thread, easier to do that way? I suppose the momentum can help with a tough character.

Yes, I generally get in a groove on a particular character and write several chapters or chunks of chapters at once, before hitting a wall. When I do hit a wall, I switch to another character. Some characters are easier to write and some harder, however. Dany and Bran have always been toughest, maybe because they are heaviest on the magical elements... also, Bran is the youngest of POV kids, and very restricted as well because of his legs. At the other end of the spectrum, the Tyrion chapters often seem to write themselves. The same was true for Ned.

 Jon was not born "more than 1 year" before Dany... probably closer to eight or nine months or thereabouts.

November 1999

Also, just how much impact did the Rhoynar have on the modern customs of Dorne? Beyond the gender-blind inheritance laws, the couple of Rhoynish gods that smallfolk might have turned into saints or angelic-type beings, and perhaps the round shields, that is. In particular, given that Nymeria was a warrior-queen, is there a certain amazon tradition?

The Rhoynar did impact Dorne in a number of ways, some of which will be revealed in later books. Women definitely have more rights in Dorne, but I would not call it an "Amazon" tradition, necessarily. Nymeria had more in common with someone like Daenerys or Joan d'Arc than with Brienne or Xena the Warrior Princess.

September 2000

It has been my intention from the start to gradually bring up the amount of magic in each successive volume of A Song of Ice and Fire, and that will continue. I will not rule out the possibility of a certain amount of "behind the scenes" magic, either. But while sorcerous events may impact on my characters, as with Renly or Lord Beric or Dany, their choices must ultimately remain their own.

 November 2000

This third Targaryen might very well be -not- a Targaryen, to quote his exact words... "Three heads of the dragon... yes... but the third will not nessesarily BE a Targaryen..."

 He mentioned his frustration that Tranter books don't have maps since Tranter tends to describe journeys using ALL the available landmarks (I also stupidly complained about there not being a map of the landmass Dany's on in the books, and he VERY politely pointed out to me that there was one in SoS [O the shame!]). 

 December 2000

NG: A Song of Ice and Fire undergoes a very interesting progression over its first three volumes, from a relatively clear scenario of Good (the Starks) fighting Evil (the Lannisters) to a much more ambiguous one, in which the Lannisters are much better understood, and moral certainties are less easily attainable. Are you deliberately defying the conventions and assumptions of neo-Tolkienian Fantasy here?

GRRM: Guilty as charged.

The battle between good and evil is a legitimate theme for a Fantasy (or for any work of fiction, for that matter), but in real life that battle is fought chiefly in the individual human heart. Too many contemporary Fantasies take the easy way out by externalizing the struggle, so the heroic protagonists need only smite the evil minions of the dark power to win the day. And you can tell the evil minions, because they're inevitably ugly and they all wear black.

I wanted to stand much of that on its head.

In real life, the hardest aspect of the battle between good and evil is determining which is which.

 NG: You've frequently expressed admiration for Jack Vance. How Vancean is A Song of Ice and Fire in conception and style? In particular, does the narrative thread featuring the exotic wanderings of Daenerys Targaryen function in part as a tribute to Vance, to his picaresque inventiveness?

GRRM: Jack Vance is the greatest living SF writer, in my opinion, and one of the few who is also a master of Fantasy. His The Dying Earth (1950) was one of the seminal books in the history of modern Fantasy, and I would rank him right up there with Tolkien, Dunsany, Leiber, and T.H. White as one of the fathers of the genre.

All that being said, I don't think A Song of Ice and Fire is particularly Vancean. Vance has his voice and I have mine. I couldn't write like Vance even if I tried... and I did try, once. The first Haviland Tuf story, "A Beast for Norn," was my attempt to capture some of Vance's effects, and Tuf is a very Vancean hero, a distant cousin to Magnus Ridolph, perhaps. But what that experiment taught me was that only Jack Vance can write like Jack Vance

 NG: Three more volumes of A Song of Ice and Fire wait to be written. What shape do you expect them to take, and are their titles finalized as yet?

GRRM: Yes, three more volumes remain. The series could almost be considered as two linked trilogies, although I tend to think of it more as one long story. The next book, A Dance With Dragons, will focus on the return of Daenerys Targaryen to Westeros, and the conflicts that creates. After that comes The Winds of Winter. I have been calling the final volume A Time For Wolves, but I am not happy with that title and will probably change it if I can come up with one that I like better.

 You tend to write protagonists with strongly negative personality quirks, people who certainly don't fit the standard mold of a hero. People like Tuf in the Tuf Voyaging series, and Stannis and Tyrion inSong of Ice and Fire. Do you deliberately inject your characters with unattractive elements to make readers consciously think about whether they like them and why?

Martin: [Laughs.] Well, I don't know that I'd choose the word "unappealing," but I look for ways to make my characters real and to make them human, characters who have good and bad, noble and selfish, well-mixed in their natures. Yes, I do certainly want people to think about the characters, and not just react with a knee-jerk. I read too much fiction myself in which you encounter characters who are very stereotyped. They're heroic-hero and dastardly-villain, and they're completely black or completely white. And that's boring, so far as I'm concerned. It's also unreal. If you look at real human history, even the darkest villains had some good things about them. Perhaps they were courageous, or perhaps they were occasionally compassionate to an enemy. Even our greatest heroes had weaknesses and flaws.

 There seem to be two different styles competing throughout the series: historical fantasy in the Seven Kingdoms series, and a softer Roger Zelazny/Arabian Nights style for the scenes abroad. Is there a conscious split between the two for you, or is it just an aspect of the setting?

Martin: I try to vary the style to fit each of the characters. Each character should have his or her own internal voice, since we're inside their heads. But certainly the setting has great impact. Dany is moving through exotic realms that are perhaps stranger to us than Westeros, which is more based in the medieval history with which we're more familiar in the West, so perhaps those chapters seem more colorful and fanciful.

 You do tend to be very brutal to your characters.

Martin: Well, yes. But you know, I think there's a requirement, even in fantasy--it comes from a realm of the imagination and is based on fanciful worlds, but there's still a necessity to tell the truth, to try to reflect some true things about the world we live in. There's an inherent dishonesty to the sort of fantasy that too many people have done, where there's a giant war that rips the world apart, but no one that we know is ever really seriously inconvenienced by this. You see the devastated villages where unnamed peasants have lived, and they're all dead, but the heroes just breeze through, killing people at every hand, surviving those dire situations. There's a falsehood to that that troubles me. A writer can choose not to write about war. You don't have to write about war if that's not a subject that interests you, or you find it too brutal. But if you are going to write about war, I think you need to tell the truth about it, and the truth is that people die, and people die in ugly ways, and even some of the good guys die, even people who are loved.

 June 2001

I'm a bit concerned about Dany's skills as a commander. To succeed with the invasion of Westeros, I believe she will need a lot of sound military advice (both tactically and strategically). What's your thoughts on this issue?

She will need counsel, yes... she will also need to learn to tell the good counsel from the bad, which is perhaps the hardest task of all.

 Was it difficult to you when you wrote Dany's scene with the slavers in SOS? Was that one of the moments where the character spoke to you and changer their direction? Cause for me that act of Dany's seemed out of character. I know she dislikes slavery, but she must have killed an awful lot of innocent people there, plus her motives to me seemed suspect. Yes she freed the slaves, but she also got a large army for nothing. And right after she left the slavery started up again.

Dany is still very young. She has lessons to learn. That was one of them. It is not as easy to do good as it might seem, no matter how noble your intentions.

 February 2002

1. Was Mirri Maz Duur telling the truth when she told Daenerys Targaryen that the latter could never have children again?

I am sure Dany would like to know. Prophecy can be a tricky business.

 3. Is Daenerys Targaryen or anyone in her entourage able to tell whether her dragons are male or female? (Is the question relevant to dragons?)

Not yet.

 4. Daenerys Targaryen believed that her brother Rhaegar loved Lyanna Stark. Does she also believe that Lyanna Stark returned this love?

Dany is not sure what to believe.

 5. Since all of their mothers died, who gave Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen and Tyrion Lannister their names?

Mothers can name a child before birth, or during, or after, even while they are dying. Dany was most like named by her mother, Tyrion by his father, Jon by Ned.

 March 2002

3) Is your world round. I mean if Dany traveled far enough east couldnt she come to the other side of westeros?

Yes, the world is round. Might be a little larger than ours, though. I was thinking more like Vance's Big Planet.... but don't hold me to that.

 Oh, stupid fan question. I've been trying to get a visual of what the Quarth look like in my mind. In terms of what race they might be in our world. Tall and pale but I don't believe their hair color was mentioned. Would they be Western European looking? Slavic? Whenever their culture is mentioned I always think of either Persian or Indians.

I have tried to mix and match ethnic and cultural traits in creating my imaginary fantasy peoples, so there are no direct one-for-one correspodences. The Dothraki, for example, are based in part on the Mongols, the Alans, and the Huns, but their skin coloring is Amerindian. The Qartheen are an even more exotic hybrid, and offhand I don't recall where I got all the cuttings.

 April 2002

[Shaun] How do you view Dany's place in the series. She seems an heroic character to me, but the writeups on the back covers always speak of her as a villain...

[+GeorgeRRMartin] to shaun ignore the blurbs on the back cover and make up your own mind who is the hero and who is the villain

 [Erix] Dany will be betrayes 3 times. Did ser Jorah betray here once for money? so does this make it 2 betrayels so far?

[+GeorgeRRMartin] to erix no comment (twice!)

 He said that in his original plan (when he wanted to write a trilogy) the Red Wedding would take place in book one, and Dany's landing in Westeros in book two. Now he says that Dany's arrival in Westeros will take place in book 5, A Dance with Dragons.

 December 2003

Shaw: You created Jon as a bastard and an outcast from the get-go. Yet he's also one of the most attractive characters. Did you choose to make Jon a bastard to make him more attractive as an "underdog," or was his bastard birth central to the shaping of his character itself?

Martin: Almost all the characters have problems in some way. Very few of my major viewpoint characters have all the answers or have an easy path through life. They all have burdens to bear. Some of them are women in a society that doesn't necessarily value women or give them a lot of power or independence. Tyrion of course is a dwarf which has its own challenges. Dany is an exile, powerless, penniless, at the mercy of other people, and Jon is a bastard. These things shape their characters. Your experiences in life, your place in life inevitably is going to change who you are.

 Shaw: As the novels unfold, Jon becomes increasingly identified with the northern cold and ice, just as Dany is closely tied to the southern heat and fire. Will these two ultimately embody the central image of the series, Ice and Fire?

Martin: That's certainly one way to interpret it. That's for my readers to argue out. That may be one possible meaning. There may be a secondary meaning, or a tertiary meaning as well.

 Shaw: Are all the Targaryans immune to fire?

Martin: No, no Targaryans are immune to fire. The thing with Dany and the dragons, that was just a one-time magical event, very special and unique. The Targaryans can tolerate a bit more heat than most ordinary people, they like really hot baths and things like that, but that doesn't mean they're totally immune to fire, no. Dragons, on the other hand, are pretty much immune to fire.

 February 2004

Jon and Dany will be the two focal characters of AFfC (in the sort of way in which Ned was the focal character of AGoT). 

 May 2005

He doesn't feel that it's fair to call his work gratuitous. He wants the reader to live vicariously though his books (a function of fantasy writing), feel the characters emotions. If a character is at a feast, he wants the reader to smell the food, experience Dany's discomfort at being served an unappetizing dish. The same with the sex scenes-he wants his readers to feel like they are there.

Another bit of information that I found interesting- we *WILL* hear about the POVs who will not have front stage as it were, but will have it in ADwD. The reports of those chars will be somewhat garbled and messy as can be expected from any news that has travelled that distance and is that important. ex) Varys' manipulation of the Dany information, or Theon's skinning of the miller's information (we didn't know it wasn't Bran and Rickon until later). *THOSE* are the kind of reports we will see in AFFC about the missing POVs. We will get information on them, but have no idea which parts, if any, are correct.

I have some more things to add about things I asked, but I will probably trickle out things as I sober up and recall them. :p

The following will show up in ADwD:

Arya, Bran, Jon, Dany, Tyrion, and Asha (she will be in both books, as she gets involved in affairs of the North)

[Note: Spoiler POV redacted] has the most number of chapters in AFFC, while Dany has the most in ADwD. Also, the number of Tyrion chapters is going up from 4 to 7 in ADwD (his storyline is basically beinbg expanded).

 GRRM said Dany and the Wall is excluded. That removes Dany and probably Tyrion plus the Wall which presumably means Jon and Davos. 

Dragons will deal with Daenerys and the North. He decided to split by character, rather than in the middle of the story, as he wanted a complete book, rather than FfC part I and II.

This is no hoax.

I swear it by ice and fire. I swear that I will never post again should this prove false. I swear I will never touch wine again, if it is not true.

George said it is done.

But he had to make a major change. It had grown too large.

Daenerys will not appear. There will be little if any action in the North. Those chapters will be moved into the next book, which should come out shortly thereafter.

AFFC will be the size of AGoT.

 The next book will still be called aDwD. (Dany will be in it after all). 

 That being said, Dany will be presented with a map of the world from a fellow whose name I cannot remember because the pronunciation was very odd indeed.

 There was some talk about the Targaryen bloodline and how it worked when there weren't enough siblings to marry. Uncle might marry niece or aunt, nephew. There were also cousins in that family at one time. 

 Dany has more chapters than anyone. He also said that Dany's love life is going to become "extremely complex"

 Parris has proclaimed that Arya cannot die! (No, she wasn't there :( but he mentioned it when someone said that he's not allowed to kill Dany)

So yeah, in short, book not done but soon, lots of Dany, the Ironborn, and the Dornish, and Renly and Loras were INDEED knocking boots.

October 2005

The main point of discussion was the reason for the five-year wait since A Storm of Swords. I'm sure most of you know this already but, briefly, he wanted a 5-year gap between ASOS and ADWD to allow the kids to grow up. Some characters, mainly the children and Daenerys, really benefited from this, but most of the other characters suffered and the book was degenerating into a flashback-fest. After about a year he decided that wasn't working, ditched everything, and started again. 

 November 2005

His analogy is that the series is a symphony and each book is a movement, and explained that he likes each character arc to have some sort of finale in each book, whether it's on a cliffhanger, or a completion of some phase of the character's story arc (or death hehe). Ultimately, he decided to divide it geographically as you all know, since Dany's story is taking place in Martinland's China, and the rest is taking place in Martinland's England.

 One man asked whether George ever learns of people naming their kids after his characters. He pointed the guy to his website, where he even has baby pictures of Sansas, Aryas, even a Daenarys, Nymeria, Eddard, Bran, Chataya, and several Cerseis. He won't take credit for the Jons, though (hehe). It was great; someone in the audience made a crack about Cersei, and someone else said "as long as they aren't twins"). He mentioned meeting a little girl whose parents had named her Daenarys and he made a joke about how she was really going to hate spelling that when she gets to first grade. He also once got a letter from a 23-year-old girl named Lya whose mother said she was named after a character in one of his stories (A Song for Lya) and wanted to know who the heck Lya was. George sent her a copy! Hehe. He said he finds it flattering overall, but thinks it's a bad idea when the story isn't done yet and some of the characters will come to a bad end, and then those parents will be pissed with him!

 He was asked or mentioned most of the stuff that's already been covered, but one thing he talked about that I found particularly interesting was Romanticism. He said that he is a romantic, in the classical sense. He said the trouble with being a romantic is that from a very early age you keep having your face smashed into the harshness of reality. That things aren't always fair, bad things happen to good people, etc. He said it's a realists world, so romantics are burned quite often. This theme of romantic idealism conflicting with harsh reality is something he finds very dramatic and compelling, and he weaves it into his work. Specifically he mentioned that the Knight exemplifies this, as the chivalric code is one of the most idealistic out there, protection of the weak, paragon of all that is good, fighting for truth and justice. The reality was that they were people, and therefore could do horrible cruel things, rape, pillage, wanton killing, made all the more striking or horrifying because it was in complete opposition to what they were "supposed" to be. Really interesting stuff.

 At the San Diego signing, I asked GRRM at the Q&A, "Besides Dany's dragons, have all the Targaryen dragons been descendants of Aegon the Conquerors three?" GRRM answered "yes".

 And that one of the things he regrets losing from the POV split is that he was doing point and counterpoint with the Dany and Cersei scenes--showing how each was ruling in their turn.

 Q: 5-year gap?

A: It worked for characters like Arya and Dany but not so much for the adults or those who had a lot of action coming. He was writing chapters where Jon thought, "Well, not a lot has happened these past five years, it's been kinda nice." And Cersei chapters where she thought, "Well, I've had to kill sooo many people the last five years." So he ended up dropping it. He said he would have done it sooner if he hadn't told so many fans about it. And there is no gap anymore. "If a twelve-year old has to conquer the world, then so be it."

 (Petyr is just Peter, for example.)

Some he did say during the course of the evening:

Cersei = Sir-say

Jaime = Jamie (I think that was obvious but just in case)

Sansa = Sahn-sa

Tyrion = Tear-ion

Arya = Ar-Ya (Ex, Are ya?)

Daenerys = Dane-err-is

 TARGARYEN KINGS

SUBMITTED BY: AMOKA

[Note: The following information was sent to Amok for his contribution to the Fantasy Flight Games artbook.]

These are all Targaryens, of course, so there should be a strong family resemblence from portrait to portrait. All of them (except as noted) will have the purple eyes and silver-gold hair for which House Targaryen is noted. All of them should be wearing crowns... the same crown in many of the pix, though it will change once or twice along the way, as noted.

The hard part will be making each of the kings an individual, despite the similarities, and evoking each one's character through facial features, pose, clothing, background, and other elements in the portrait.

Here's the lineup:

DAENERYS I. Daenerys Stormborn. No description necessary, I assume. Show her wearing the three-headed dragon crown she was given in Qarth, as described in A CLASH OF KING. Might be good to include the three dragons in the picture. Show them very young, as hatchings, one in her lap, one wrapped around her arm and shoulder, one flying just above her.

 January 2006

He repeatedly emphasized that he prefers to write grey characters, because in real life people are complex; no one is pure evil or pure good. Fiction tends to divide people into heroes who do no wrong and villains who go home and kick their dogs and beat their wives, but that reality is much different. He cited a soldier who heroically saves his friends' lives, but then goes home and beats his wife. Which is he, hero or villain? Martin said both and that neither act cancels out the other.

 February 2006

NAERYS TARGARYEN

SUBMITTED BY: AMOKA

[Note: The following continues GRRM's series of descriptions of notable Targaryens (and Targaryen bastards) for Amoka.]

The sister of King Aegon the Unworthy and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight was beautiful as well, but hers was a very fine and delicate beauty, almost unworldy. She was a wisp of a woman, smaller even than Dany (to whom she bears a certain resemblence), very slender, with big purple eyes and fine, pale, porcelain skin, near translucent. Naerys had none of Dany's strength, however. 

 July 2006

George regrets that Cersei and Dany will not be contrasted directly. I told him of how some dedicated boarders try to defeat him and piece together a timeline. George replied that he tries to keep it vague.

He likes the extra breathing room to flesh out the characters. Bran didn't have any chapters and Dany's ending was different. Now he likes the way she ended. I think he actually may be doing more with Dany.

 SPOILER: Possible for ADWD

The second Dance of Dragons does not have to mean Dany's invasion.

Geroge stopped himself short and said he shouldn't say anymore. The response came because of my question of whether the dance would take place in ADWD because AFFC and ADWD parallel. So now my friends, speculate away.

 February 2007

Some other bits of info from Q&A: In Song, he considers Bran the hardest viewpoint character to write, while Tyrion is the easiest. The Red Wedding was partly based on a historical event in Scotland called the Black Dinner. His biggest lament in splitting A Feast for Crows from A Dance with Dragons is the parallels he was drawing between Circe and Daenerys.

 E. His dragons have no front limbs -- just rear legs and wings. He said that although the traditional depiction of dragons as six limbed creatures has become a staple of fantasy -- the fact that no animal in nature has ever evolved in such a way always bothered him. As a sci-fi writer originally, he insists on the depiction of the dragons with just four limbs. I never heard that before and though it was pretty neat.. In addition, he said that although AsoIaF dragons are intelligent, they cannot speak and will never evolve into the sort of dragons we see in Tolkien or Le Guin. Specifically he said’ Drogon is never going to share witty aphorisms with Dany. The Targaryens rule by Fire and Blood and that is what the dragons represent in the story". I guess the power icon is more Nedly for them than some of us thought when they were first rolled out back in AfoD.

 F. Cersei and Daenerys are intended as parallel characters --each exploring a different approach to how a woman would rule in a male dominated, medieval-inspired fantasy world.

 May 2007

GRRM: Well, the next book out is A Dance with Dragons, of course, and that's the fifth book of the series but in some ways it's really 4B, as those of you who follow the series knows that A Feast for Crows got so big I had to pull it in half. I split it not by chopping it right in the middle but I split it by characters. The one I'm working on now is going to have an awful lot of the characters that that aren't in A Feast for Crows, it's going to have a lot of Jon Snow, a lot of Daenerys, a fair amount of Davos, and it's going to have have a lot of "me" -- Tyrion, who is your favorite, and my favorite, so I'm enjoying writing a lot of those right now.

 And you know I got phone calls from people at the studio afterwards saying, "There is a way to make this as a feature. There's a way to do it as a movie. You could just take Jon Snow and Daenerys and just concentrate on them and get rid of some of the minor characters." And it just, it was kind of appalling because, much as I love Jon Snow and Daenerys, I didn't want to lose the other characters. I mean this is an epic and the only way we could conceive of doing it properly was to tell it as a series. And you can't do it as a series where's it interrupted every twenty minutes by a commercial for toothpaste. And you can't do it where I'd have Tyrion saying the things he says and doing the things he says, all of which network TV would have had a huge problem with.

So we really felt from the beginning that the best way to do this was on HBO or possibly Showtime. 

 August 2007

Just because I still love Popinjay and the Turtle and my other Wild Cards characters does not mean I have stopped loving Arya and Tyrion and Dany.

 April 2008

BERBERS AND DANY

[Did the unrest during the transition between Arab and Berber rule inspire Dany's storyline?]

No. Sounds fascinating, but I'm afraid I don't have enough experience with the Berbers or their history to draw on them for inspiration.

 July 2008

GRRM was asked the typical question, of where the idea for ASOIAF had come from. He replied that in the summer of 1991, when he was working as a Hollywood screenwriter, in a gap between assignments he began work on a new novel, a sf novel called Avalon ( personal note, no I would not swap it for ASOIAF, but I would have loved to have read it), set in his future history universe. And somehow, he found himself writing the first chapter of AGOT, about the direwolf pups un the snow. And after that came a second chapter and pretty soon he spent the whole summer writing AGOT.

From there he started to plan a trilogy, since there were 3 main conflicts ( Starks/Lannisters; Dany; and the Others) it felt it would neatly fit into a trilogy (ah!), but like Tolkien said, the tale grew in the telling. 

 April 2010

GRRM said he regretted mentioning the eye color of any of his characters. He also noted that as a brown-eyed person, he finds it annoying that brown-eyed characters are always portrayed as ordinary, while the doers of great deeds always have blue or hazel eyes or something - he notes that he himself was somewhat guilty of this with the violet eyes of Dany or the red eyes of Melisandre.

 (25) Any particular storyline he is enjoying right now?

He said that Dany's storyline is emerging in increasing importance. But he is struggling with the Meereenese Knot. So he can't say he is enjoying it. But he is really enjoying writing Arya's story. He could write an entire novel of it. He could write an entire YA novel about her...(at this point the audience starting clapping and calling out YES! DO IT!)...but her entire story isn't part of the greater novel. He has 12 novels worth of info for this book and its hard to fit it all in.

 February 2011

Sam Thielman: So, why did "A Dance With Dragons" take longer to write than the other books in the series?

George R. R. Martin: Well, you know, that's a good question and I'm not sure I have an easy answer for that. #1, none of the books have been exactly fast, I mean, I'm a slow writer, I've always been a slow writer, and the books are huge. I mean, they're three, four, five times the size of most novels being published. And they have extremely complex interweaving storylines. I remember back when I did the first book, 'A Game of Thrones,' Asimov's Magazine wanted to publish an excerpt and I pulled out the Daenerys storyline from the first book, and they published that as an excerpt, and after I pulled out all the Daenerys chapters and put them together for Asimov's, I did a word count and discovered, technically, I had a novel, just about Daenerys. I'm never gonna be one of those writers who has a book a year, or two books a year like some of my colleagues do. I simply can't write that fast. I do a lot of polishing and revising, and it's a big task.

 July 2011

Tad: Question: Do you purposely start a character as bad so you can later kill them?

GRRM: No. What is bad? Bad is a label. We are human beings with heroism and self-interest and avarice in us and any human is capable of great good or great wrong. In Poland a couple of weeks ago I was reading about the history of Auschwitz – there were startling interviews with the people there. The guards had done unthinkable atrocities, but these were ordinary people. What allowed them to do this kind of evil? Then you read accounts of acts of outrageous heroism, yet the people are criminals or swindlers, one crime or another, but when forced to make a choice they make a heroic choice. This is what fascinated me about the human animal. A lot of fantasy turns on good and evil – but my take on it is that it’s fought within the human heart every day, and that’s the more interesting take. I don’t think life is that simple.

 Tad: All of us work with multiple viewpoints – I hear this next question a lot: with story-driven plots, how do you decide which character viewpoint to write from – do you write several characters, taste them, then decide?

GRRM: No, not several, at least not intentionally. I had more choice early in the series, I frequently had situations where 2 or 3 were present at the same time. But as it’s progressed they have dispersed, so I need to be in the viewpoint of whoever’s there. There are some cases when I have a choice and in that case, I weigh which one. Without talking exactly about "The Mereenese Knot" – I’m not going to talk exactly about it, but but [there was a time when] a number of viewpoints were coming together in Mereen for a number of events, and I was wrestling with order and viewpoint. The different points-of-view had different sources of knowledge and I never could quite solve it. I was rewriting the same chapter over and over again – this, that, viewpoint? – spinning my wheels. It was one of the more troublesome thickets I encountered. There’s a resolution not to introduce new viewpoint characters, but the way I finally dealt with things was with Barristan, I introduced him as a viewpoint character as though he’d been there all along. That enabled me to clear away some of the brush.

 Tad: Question: do you choose characters because they will provide you with a viewpoint or something characterful?

GRRM: Actually, no. I try to give each viewpoint character an arc of his own, and ideally I would like to think that you could pull the material out – in the early books I was able to pull out the Daenerys chapters and publish them separately as a novella, and I won a Hugo Award for that. It'd be great if I could pull out each [character-arc] and it would resemble a story. In some cases a character died and that was a very short story. My prologue and epilogue characters always die but even then I try to give them a story.

 Your books, especially recently, are full of women trying to exert power in a male dominated world who have to compromise themselves along the way. Are you trying to make a feminist statement?

You could certainly interpret it that way. I don't presume to say I'm making a statement of this type or that type. But it is certainly a patriarchal society, I am trying to explore some of the ramifications of that. I try to write women as people, just as I try to write any other characters. Strong and weak, and brave and cowardly, and noble and selfish. It has been very gratifying to me how many women read my work and how much they like at least some of my female characters.

 The one thing I must confess to being frustrated by is the first Tyion chapter where you set up this expectation that he’s going to meet Dany, and I got excited. Then about 600 pages later I’m realizing, “OK, that’s not gonna happen, at least not in this book.”

Yeah, it’s the “kind of bring ’em together but don’t give them the confirmation.” In some ways it’s not so different than the sexual tension in TV shows — are Catherine and Vincent [on Beauty and the Beast] finally going to kiss? Same philosophy. This is the kind of stuff I wrestle with. I could have ended the next chapter: Tyrion gets off the boat and there’s Dany. But the journey itself has its own interest.

 There’s a point in the series where you feel like you’re reading a bunch of separate stories. Toward the end of Dance, you feel the threads starting to come back together. Is that accurate?

That’s certainly the intent, and always was the intent. Tolkien was my great model for much of this. Although I differ from Tolkien in important ways, I’m second to no one in my respect for him. If you look at Lord of the Rings, it begins with a tight focus and all the characters are together. Then by end of the first book the Fellowship splits up and they have different adventures. I did the same thing. Everybody is at Winterfell in the beginning except for Dany, then they split up into groups, and ultimately those split up too. The intent was to fan out, then curve and come back together. Finding the point where that turn begins has been one of the issues I’ve wrestled with.

 There was a fair amount of explicit sex in the series and some fans of the books were taken aback.

One of the reasons I wanted to do this with HBO is that I wanted to keep the sex. We had some real problems because Dany is only 13 in the books, and that’s based on medieval history. They didn’t have this concept of adolescence or the teenage years. You were a child or you were an adult. And the onset of sexual maturity meant you were an adult. So I reflected that in the books. But then when you go to film it you run into people going crazy about child pornography and there’s actual laws about how you can’t depict a 13 year old having sex even if you have an 18 year old acting the part — it’s illegal in the United Kingdom. So we ended up with a 22 year old portraying an 18 year old, instead of an 18 year old portraying a 13 year old. If we decided to lose the sex we could have kept the original ages. And once you change the age of one character you have to change the ages of all the characters, and change the date of the war [that dethroned the Mad King]. The fact we made all these changes indicates how important we thought sex was.

 References the chapbook with the first three Dany chapters from 2005 and that it offers insight as to how much the book has changed since then.

 There's been an interesting discussion on our forum concerning "orientalism" as it's expressed in your work, and one question it's led to among readers is whether you've ever considered a foreign point of view characters in Essos, to give a different window into events there.

No, this story is about Westeros. Those other lands are important only as they reflect on Westeros.

 Part of the difficulty of this particular novel was what you called the "Meereenese Knot", trying to get everything to happen in just the right order, pulling various plot strands together in one place, and part of the solution was the addition of another point of view character. Was this something where you tried writing it from a number of different point of views before settling on a new one? Did you actively resist adding a new character?

The Meerenese Knot related to everyone reaching Dany. There's a series of events that have to occur in Meereen, things that are significant. She has various problems to deal with at the start: dealing with the slavers, threats of war, the Sons of the Harpy, and so on. At the same time, there's all of these characters trying to get to her. So the problem was to figure out who should reach her and in what order, and what events should happen by the time they've reached her. I kept coming up with different answers and I kept having to rewrite different versions and then not being satisfied with the dynamics until I found something that was satisfactory. I thought that solution worked well, but it was not my first choice.

There's a Dany scene in the book which is actually one of the oldest chapters in the book that goes back almost ten years now. When I was contemplating the five year gap [Martin laughs here, with some chagrin], that chapter was supposed to be the first Daenerys chapter in the book. Then it became the second chapter, and then the third chapter, and it kept getting pushed back as I inserted more things into it. I've rewritten that chapter so much that it ended in many different ways.

There's a certain time frame of the chronology where you can compare to A Feast for Crows and even A Storm of Swords and figure out when they would reach Meereen and the relative time frames of each departure and each arrival. But that doesn't necessarily lead to the most dramatic story. So you look at it and try and figure out how to do it. I also wanted to get across how difficult and dangerous it was to travel like this. There are many storms that will wreck your ship, there are dangerous lands in between where there are pirates and corsairs, and all that stuff. It's not like hopping on a 747, where you get on and then step off the plane a few hours later. So all of these considerations went into the Meereenese Knot.

Then there's showing things after [an important event], which proved to be very difficult. I tried it with one point of view character, but this was an outsider who could only guess at what was going on, and then I tried it with a different character and it was also difficult. The big solution was when I hit on adding a new point of view character who could give the perspective this part of the story needed.

March 2012

If you listen to the CBC interview which you'll see the link for under General ASOIAF, much of what he said was repeated tonight. He admitted Tyrion was his favourite, and if he was having dinner with 3 characters, they would be Tyrion, Maester Aemon and then he thought of Arya, but feared she would throw food at him, so he'd go with Dany, because she's hot!

 June 2012

Near the end of the signing, a man presented Martin with two books and his daughter. “This is Daenerys,” he told Martin, “I sent you a letter about her five years ago.” Daenerys, a squirmy blonde in a pink jacket, looked about five years old. “Hello there,” Martin said, “do you like dragons?” She nodded, and they made room for the next fan.

Now that we know how the "Meereenese knot" played out, what was the problem with this? For example, was it the order in which Dany met various characters, or who, when, and how someone would try to take the dragons?

Now I can explain things. It was a confluence of many, many factors: lets start with the offer from Xaro to give Dany ships, the refusal of which then leads to Qarth's declaration of war. Then there's the marriage of Daenerys to pacify the city. Then there's the arrival of the Yunkish army at the gates of Meereen, there's the order of arrival of various people going her way (Tyrion, Quentyn, Victarion, Aegon, Marwyn, etc.), and then there's Daario, this dangerous sellsword and the question of whether Dany really wants him or not, there's hte plague, there's Drogon's return to Meereen...

All of these things were balls I had thrown up into the air, and they're all linked and chronologically entwined. The return of Drogon to the city was something I explored as happening at different times. For example, I wrote three different versions of Quentyn's arrival at Meereen: one where he arrived long before Dany's marriage, one where he arrived much later, and one where he arrived just the day before the marriage (which is how it ended up being in the novel). And I had to write all three versions to be able to compare and see how these different arrival points affected the stories of the other characters. Including the story of a character who actually hasn't arrived yet.

 October 2012

What's exciting to me about this session is that in this conversation, Martin talks at length about craft. He's been in the business of telling stories for many decades -- as a television writer and as a writer of fiction -- and he has a great deal to say about what works and what doesn't in different mediums. How is information conveyed to the audience (or the reader)? How do you keep sophisticated audiences on their toes? How do you create worlds in which most characters have to choose between the best of many bad options? How do you examine power from the perspective of outsiders, rejects and those who are constrained by conventional wisdom? Martin shared the insights of someone who has been contemplating these questions -- practically and philosophically -- for a very long time.

About midway through the podcast, there's a interesting discussion of his use of "close third person" narration and why that's effective in the creation of memorable characters. It's also interesting to note that he doesn't write the chapters in the order in which they appear in the books, and that he may write four or five Tyrion chapters before stopping and switching to another character. (Another fun fact that emerged -- and I'm sure hardcore "ASoIaF" fans already knew this -- Martin originally signed a contract for a book trilogy. I'm betting his publishers aren't sad he's now working on the sixth book in that "trilogy.")

Eventually, Martin zeroes in on his least favorite thing in any story: Predictability. But he admits that it's "very hard" to shake up the audience, which has grown more sophisticated with every passing decade. When he was writing for the revived "Twilight Zone" in the '80s, for example, network executives wanted the producers to end episodes with a twist of some kind, as the original Rod Serling series had often done. But the audience "could see all these twist endings coming a mile away," Martin said.

He also spoke about his fascination with power and with hierarchies that appear stable but are actually anything but. He mentioned reading a history of Jerusalem in which a mad ruler began killing dozens of courtiers and ordering the hands chopped off the women of the court.

"Why doesn't the captain of the guard say to the sergeant, 'This guy is [expletive] nuts?'" Martin said. "'We have swords! Why don't we kill him instead?'"

But loyalties -- clan loyalties, family loyalties, strategic alliances -- are powerful influences in the lives of Martin's characters, and their personal desires and their traditional duties or roles are often in conflict. And those kinds of unresolvable dilemmas are at the heart of what makes his stories resonate with those of us who didn't begin fighting with swords as children.

Paraphrasing Faulkner, Martin said "the only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself." And that's a scenario that is very familiar to anyone who's ever visited Westeros, either as a reader or a viewer of the HBO drama.

 Is A Song of Ice and Fire a parallelism or a criticism to our society?

No. My work is not an allegory to our days. If I wanted to write about the financial crisis or the conflict in Syria, I would write about the financial crisis or the conflict in Syria, without any metaphor. However, it’s true that in my novels appear several elements which we can find in world history. Things such as power, sex, pain… I have grown up as a science fiction reader, and it was my first love, even before fantasy. But science fiction, then, presented an idealistic world: the space, a bright future, but unluckily that optimism disappeared very quickly and the future wasn’t as good as we had expected. Nowadays, science fiction is very pessimistic and talks about dystopias: about a polluted world, about a rotten world… Of course I would prefer to be part of another world; a better world, but I can’t. Perhaps winter is not coming only to Winterfell, but in the real world.

 March 2013

The readers are unhappy with leaving out the five-year gap?

Well no, some of the storylines from Feast for Crows. I get complaints sometimes that nothing happens — but they're defining "nothing," I think, differently than I am. I don't think it all has to battles and sword fights and assassinations. Character development and [people] changing is good, and there are some tough things in there that I think a lot of writers skip over. I'm glad I didn't skip over these things.

[For example], things that Arya is learning. The things Bran is learning. Learning is not inherently an interesting thing to write about. It's not an easy thing to write about. In the movies, they always handle it with a montage. Rocky can't run very fast. He can't catch the chicken. But then you do a montage, and you cut a lot of images together, and now only a minute later in the film, Rocky is really strong and he is catching the chicken.

It’s a lot harder [in real life]. Sometimes in my own life, I wish I could play a montage of my life. I want to get in shape now. So let’s do a montage, and boom — I'll be fifty pounds lighter and in good shape, and it will only take me a minute with some montage of me lifting weights and running, shoving away the steak and having a salad. But of course in real life, you don't get to montage. You have to go through it day by day.

And that has been interesting, you know. Jon Snow as Lord Commander. Dany as Queen, struggling with rule. So many books don't do that. There is a sense when you're writing something in high fantasy, you're in a dialogue with all the other high fantasy writers that have written. And there is always this presumption that if you are a good man, you will be a good king. [Like] Tolkien — in Return of the King, Aragorn comes back and becomes king, and then [we read that] "he ruled wisely for three hundred years." Okay, fine. It is easy to write that sentence, “He ruled wisely”.

What does that mean, he ruled wisely? What were his tax policies? What did he do when two lords were making war on each other? Or barbarians were coming in from the North? What was his immigration policy? What about equal rights for Orcs? I mean did he just pursue a genocidal policy, "Let’s kill all these fucking Orcs who are still left over"? Or did he try to redeem them? You never actually see the nitty-gritty of ruling.

I guess there is an element of fantasy readers that don't want to see that. I find that fascinating. Seeing someone like Dany actually trying to deal with the vestments of being a queen and getting factions and guilds and [managing the] economy. They burnt all the fields [in Meereen]. They've got nothing to import any more. They're not getting any money. I find this stuff interesting. And fortunately, enough of my readers who love the books do as well.

 And meanwhile, you've got Daenerys visiting more Eurasian and Middle Eastern cultures.

And that has generated its controversy too. I answer that one to in my blog. I know some of the people who are coming at this from a political or racial angle just seem to completely disregard the logistics of the thing here. I talk about what's in the books. The books are what I write. What I’m responsible for.

Slavery in the ancient world, and slavery in the medieval world, was not race-based. You could lose a war if you were a Spartan, and if you lost a war you could end up a slave in Athens, or vice versa. You could get in debt, and wind up a slave. And that’s what I tried to depict, in my books, that kind of slavery.

So the people that Dany frees in the slaver cities are of many different ethnicities, and that’s been fairly explicit in the books. But of course when David [Benioff] and Dan [Weiss] and his crew are filming that scene [of Daenerys being carried by freed slaves], they are filming it in Morocco, and they put out a call for 800 extras. That’s a lot of extras. They hired the people who turned up. Extras don't get paid very much. I did an extra gig once, and got like $40 a day.

It's probably actually less in Morocco since you don't have to pay quite the same rate. If you're giving 800 Moroccans 40 bucks each, you're not going to fly in 100 Irishman just to balance the racial background here. We had enough trouble meeting our budget anyway.

I know for some readers, they don’t care about this shit. But these things are about budget and realism, and things you can actually do. You are shooting the scene in a day. You don't have a lot of time to [worry] about that, and as someone who has worked in television this kind of stuff is very important to me. I don't know if that is answer or not. I made that answer, and some people weren't pleased with that answer, I know. They are very upset about that.

 August 2013

Amid reports of a dramatic uptrend in babies named “Khaleesi” and tourism to Dubrovnik, Croatia (aka King's Landing), we're guessing George R. R. Martin doesn’t need much of an introduction.

 AC: How do you decide what you're going to work on, whose voice you're going to work in today?

GM: Well, I don't write the chapters in the order in which you read them. I get into a character’s voice. It's always difficult to switch gears, actually. When I do make that transition from one character to another, I usually struggle for a few days trying to get back the voice of the character I'm just returning to after some hiatus. But once I get into it, I tend to write not just one chapter by that character, but three or four. So I'll be writing Jon Snow chapters, and I'll carry that Jon Snow sequence as far as I can. And then at some point, maybe I'll get stuck or not be sure what I should do next, or maybe I've just gotten way ahead of all of the other characters in the books, so I need to sort of rein myself in and make myself switch from Jon Snow to Sansa or Daenerys or somebody like that.

 November 2013

We can't leave Martin without pressing him for his thoughts on which of his characters keeps the best table. Would it be the wealthy, sun-loving Martell family with their Mediterranean-leaning flatbreads, olives and spiced snake? The sensualist Tyrion Lannister? Or the moveable feast of the court of Daenerys Targaryen with its duck eggs and dog sausage?

"Oh, Illyrio Mopatis, the magister, no question. Just watch out for the mushrooms."

 March 2014

Was it a big shift for you, when you were writing the scenes that take place at Winterfell and suddenly you have the Daenerys scene, with an entirely different location?

Pretty early on, in the summer of ‘91, I had the Daenerys stuff. I knew she was on another continent. I think I had already drawn a map by then – and she wasn’t on it. I’d just drawn the map of the one continent that would come to be called Westeros. But she was in exile, and I knew that, and that was sort of the one departure from the structure. It’s something I borrowed from Tolkien, in terms of the initial structure of the book. If you look at Lord of the Rings, everything begins in the Shire with Bilbo’s birthday party. You have a very small focus. You have a map of the Shire right in the beginning of the book – you think it’s the entire world. And then they get outside it. They cross the Shire, which seems epic in itself. And then the world keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger. And then they add more and more characters, and then those characters split up. I essentially looked at the master there and adopted the same structure. Everything in AGame of Thrones begins in Winterfell. Everybody is together there and then you meet more people and, ultimately, they’re split apart and they go in different directions. But the one departure from that, right from the first, was Daenerys, who was always separate. It’s almost as if Tolkien, in addition to having Bilbo, had thrown in an occasional Faramir chapter, right from the beginning of the book.

 Although Daenerys is hooked into Winterfell, because we hear talk of her family, the Targaryen family, early on.

You see overlaps. Daenerys is getting married, and Robert gets the report that Daenerys has just gotten married and reacts to that and the threat that it poses.

 Fortunately, the books were best sellers, I didn’t need the money, you know, so I could just say no. Other people wanted to take the approach of, there are so many characters, so many stories, we have to settle on one. Let’s make it all about Jon Snow. Or Dany. Or Tyrion. Or Bran. But that didn’t work, either, because the stories are all inter-related. They separate but they come together again. But it did get me thinking about it, and it got me thinking about how this could be done, and the answer I came up with is – it can be done for television. It can’t be done as a feature film or a series of feature films. So television. But not network television. I’d worked in television. The Twilight Zone. Beauty and the Beast. I knew what was in these books, the sex scenes, the violence, the beheadings, the massacres. They’re not going to put that on Friday night at eight o’clock, where they always stick fantasies. Both of the shows that I was on, Twilight Zone and Beauty and the Beast, Friday night at eight o’clock. They think, "Fantasy? Kids!" So I wasn’t going to do a network show. But I’d been watching HBO. The Sopranos. Rome. Deadwood. It seemed to me an HBO show, a series where each book was an entire season, was the way to do it. So when I sat down with David and Dan at that meeting at the Palm, which started out as a lunch meeting and turned into a dinner meeting, and they said the same thing, then I suddenly knew we’re on the same wavelength here.

 June 2014

Q: What can you tell us about a warg dragon rider?

A: There is no history/precedent for someone warging a dragon. There is a rich history of the mythical bond between dragon and rider.  There have been instances of dragons responding to their riders even from very far away (hmm) which shows it is a true and very strong bond. We will learn more about this. Keep reading (we hear “keep writing” from the back of the room).

 Q:  What is your favorite line in ASOIAF?

A: I can’t single out one line but my favorite passage is Septon Meribald’s speech about war in… what was it?  (crowd yells out Feast for Crows).

 November 2014

For people who are not familiar with your work, the series takes place in an imaginary world. There is a struggle for control of the kingdom. This dynastic war is essentially one of three main plot lines. There are the other plot lines involving these sort of superhuman characters, and then there’s the exiled Targaryen daughter who seeks the return of her ancient throne. Why those three main plot lines?

Well, of course, the two outlying ones — the things going on north of the Wall, and then there is Targaryen on the other continent with her dragons — are of course the ice and fire of the title, “A Song of Ice and Fire.” The central stuff — the stuff that’s happening in the middle, in King’s Landing, the capital of the seven kingdoms — is much more based on historical events, historical fiction. 

 Pop culture has grabbed “Game of Thrones.” It’s been featured in “The Simpsons” and “South Park.” What goes through your mind when you see these references?

Well, I think it’s tremendously cool, of course. It’s nice to be doing something that everybody is so aware of and that has entered the cultural zeitgeist in that manner. The only aspect of it that really astonishes me is not that the characters and the story is being parodied or referenced in these various places but the extent at which I personally am. I mean, when I see myself as a character on “South Park” or I see Bobby Moynihan imitating me with the suspenders and the hat on “Saturday Night Live,” when I see companies selling Halloween costumes, not Halloween costumes to be Jon Snow or Daenerys but Halloween costumes to be me, that’s pretty freaky. That’s something I could never have anticipated, and I just don’t know what to think of it. 

 May 2015

Still, it’s only natural that there’s a few characters Martin would have liked to have seen on the show that did not make it in.

“Strong Belwas, who was part of Dany’s entourage,” Martin said. “I understand why he was cut, but I kind of miss him.” In the books, the massive eunuch warrior is a former pit fighter who joins Dany in Qarth. Belwas’ story elements have essentially been combined with the character of Daario, who is arguably more essential to Dany’s journey.

  June 2015

I explained that in my own head, Yandel is in King's Landing, clutching his book, showing up each day for an audience with the king... and each day being told perhaps the next day. Except on those occasions where, you know, they tell him the king's getting married today, and then whoops, Joffrey is dead, etc.

I also noted that of course, given how he wrote about the reign of Aerys and and the rebellion, that if Aegon or Daenerys take King's Landing he may indeed end up having his head chopped off... George seemed interested in the idea, I think. :P

 May 2016

4. GRRM and Picacio both made the joke about "you need to pay the artist" and such regarding general fan fiction. And then GRRM said he has issued some sub-licenses to things like art and games, etc. GRRM also mentioned that HBO owns the rights to the exact likenesses of the tv version of the story, meaning, no art can be made where Dany looks like Emilia. He was very careful in avoiding a real link in feeling between him and HBO even though he was asked about it twice. Then GRRM mentioned, and Picacio joined in, how GRRM knew the show would overtake the books. Not too much new.

Reactions after the episode

c. Dany on Drogon seemed random and a repeat of previous seasons.

d. Others loved Dany on Drogon.

 December 2016

And the most revealing: he said that for Winds, Winter is the darkest time 'where things die' and many characters will go dark places.

 At last I was able to ask him the question I had sent for the tombola. I have always been fascinated by how ASOIAF embodies the theories put forward by Acemoglu and Robinson about countries with extractive institutions (which hamper development). So my question was: Why do you think the political institutions in the Seven Kingdoms are so weak? His answer: the Kingdom was unified with dragons, so the Targaryen's flaw was to create an absolute monarchy highly dependent on them, with the small council not designed to be a real check and balance. So, without dragons it took a sneeze, a wildly incompetent and megalomaniac king, a love struck prince, a brutal civil war, a dissolute king that didn't really know what to do with the throne and then chaos. Interesting answer.

 July 2017

To a certain degree, also, it’s so intertwined, tragically and unfortunately, with the character histories. Daenerys doesn’t get to where she is unless she’s sold as a child bride, effectively a slave.

And I should point out, and you probably know this if you’ve read the books and watched the show, Daenerys’ wedding night is quite different than it was portrayed in the books. Again, indeed, we had an original pilot where the part of Daenerys was recast, and what we filmed the first time, when Tamzin Merchant was playing the role, it was much more true to the books. It was the scene as written in the books. So that got changed between the original pilot and the later pilot. You’d have to talk to David and Dan about that.

 I had all these meetings saying, “There’s too many characters, it’s too big — Jon Snow is the central character. We’ll eliminate all the other characters and we’ll make it about Jon Snow.” Or “Daenerys is the central character. We’ll eliminate everyone else and make the movie about Daenerys.” And I turned down all those deals.

 When you’re walking down the street in Santa Fe, do new character or historical details just pop into your head?

Sometimes it happens to me on long-distance drives. When I was younger I loved to take road trips, and get in the car and drive for two days to get to L.A. or Kansas City or St. Louis or Texas. And on the road, I would think a lot about that. In 1993, I think it was, I visited France for the first time. I had begunGame of Thrones two years before in ‘91 and I had to put it aside because television was happening. And for some reason, I had rented a car, I was driving all around Brittany and the roads of France to these little medieval villages and I was seeing castles, and somehow that just got me going again. I was thinking about Tyrion and Jon Snow and Daenerys and my head was full of Game of Thrones stuff.

 You’re in unusual territory, with your characters very much still in your hands but also out in the world being interpreted for TV. Are you able to have walls in your mind such that your Daenerys, say, is your Daenerys, and Emilia Clarke’s Daenerys is hers and the show’s?

I’ve arrived at that point. The walls are up in my mind. I don’t know that I was necessarily there from the beginning. At some points, when David and Dan and I had discussions about what way we should go in, I would always favor sticking with the books, while they would favor making changes. I think one of the biggest ones would probably be when they made the decision not to bring Catelyn Stark back as Lady Stoneheart. That was probably the first major diversion of the show from the books and, you know, I argued against that, and David and Dan made that decision.

In my version of the story, Catelyn Stark is re-imbued with a kind of life and becomes this vengeful wight who galvanizes a group of people around her and is trying to exact her revenge on the riverlands. David and Dan made a decision not to go in that direction in their story, pursuing other threads. But both of them are equally valid, I think, because Catelyn Stark is a fictional character and she doesn’t exist. You can tell either story about her.

 Is there anything we didn’t get to talk about?

I suppose there are issues we could have explored more with the whole question of sexual violence and women — it’s a complicated and fraught issue. To re-address that point a little, I do a lot of book signings, and I think I have probably more women readers than male readers right now. Only slightly, but it’s probably 55 percent, 45 percent, but I see women readers at things and they love my women characters. I’m very proud of the creation of Arya and Catelyn and Sansa and Brienne and Daenerys and Cersei and all of them. It’s one of the things that gives me the most satisfaction, that they’ve been so well-received as characters, especially by women readers who are often not served.

 August 2017

- My question about Daenerys was chosen as the third question (I was lucky!) but he refused to answer it lol … I asked “How old was Daenerys when she left the house with the red door, and was it located close to the palace of the Sealord of Braavos?” (thanks Butterfly for suggesting it to me) I don’t know why he refused to answer about her age, but about the house with the red door he said there will be more revelations about it in future books.

- He was asked to comment about the differences between the book and show characters, particularly Daenerys. GRRM ignored all the other characters and talked only about Daenerys - he said that the show one is older because there are laws in USA that prevent minors from having sex scenes so the decision was made to age Daenerys. Otherwise, book Daenerys and show Daenerys “are very similar” and “Emilia Clarke did a fantastic job”. (I guess he can’t really say negative things about the show, can he?)

- “Will Jorah ever get out of the friendzone?” (side-eyeing the person who asked this). GRRM: “I would not bet on it.”

 August 2018

Q: if you did have a child what would you name him or her?

A: “I don’t know... probably Not Daenerys”

 November 2018

“I have tried to make it explicit in the novels that the dragons are destructive forces, and Dany (Daenerys Targaryen) has found that out as she tried to rule the city of Meereen and be queen there.

“She has the power to destroy, she can wipe out entire cities, and we certainly see that in Fire and Blood, we see the dragons wiping out entire armies, wiping out towns and cities, destroying them, but that doesn’t necessarily enable you to rule — it just enables you to destroy.”

[...] “If you read Fire and Blood, you’ll know there’s definitely a bond between the dragons and their riders and the dragons will not accept just any rider,” says Martin. “Some people try to take a dragon wind up being eaten or burned to death instead, so the dragons are terribly fussy about who rides them.”

[...] The prince defeated the threat in the North by driving his sword through his wife’s heart. Will Jon have to do the same to Daenerys? Or is she the prince, Azor Ahai, reborn? Martin suggests all may not be as it seems.

“The Targaryens have certain gifts and yes, taking the dragons and dragon riding and dragon breeding was one of them,” he says. “But the other gift was an occasional Targaryen had prophetic powers and could see glimpses of the future, which they didn’t always necessarily properly interpret because, you know, they were fragmentary and sometimes symbolic.

“But to what extent did they share those gifts, what did he see, what prompted him to do all this? These are things I find really interesting to ponder.

 What was interesting from The Guardian interview you did, is this book — as daunting as it would seem for most authors to attempt, and as tough as Winds has been for you — this was curiously easy for you to write. Yes. Partly because it’s linear. Although it covers 150 years or so, it’s very straightforward — here’s what happened in the year 30, here’s what happened in 25. In Winds, I have like 10 different novels and I’m juggling the timeline — here’s what’s happening to Tyrion, here’s what’s happening to Dany, and how they intersect. That’s far more complicated. 

 August 2019

On the fame thing, does it ever feel surreal to stop and think about the reach that your work has had? I mean, couples meet through Game of Thrones, there are Thrones-themed wedding ceremonies, and babies are named after your characters. Is that something you ever dwell on and think to yourself  'God, my work has had this massive effect on people?'

It's very gratifying when you get letters, emails, and hear stories like that. They definitely do name children after my characters and send me pictures of their babies.

People also name their dogs, cats, iguanas, after my characters. Sometimes, it’s a little surreal. I often wonder about all the young Daenerys’ out there because kindergarten teachers will hate me because they have to spell it!

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

A Piece of You: Chapter 2

Pairing: Zen x MC

Synopsis: After the death of his sister, Zen is entrusted with raising her daughter. Six years later, MC has now settled into the RFA, but she just wants to be back on the roof with the love of her life like she was two years before. But dealing with teenage years, dragged out engagements and a lot of unsaid feelings, you start to lose a piece of you. Or, perhaps, find a piece you had that had been missing the whole time.

Warnings: Only that this chapter is beefy. I’m sorry but I couldn’t find a good place to end it earlier, so it is a little longer than usual! Next chapters probably won’t be this long don’t worry haha.

Song: Leaving My Love Behind - Lewis Capaldi

⇦  Previous Chapter

***

The dense scent of coffee intertwined with the fresh air that soared through the open windows of Jaehee’s car. The radio, though quiet, was babbling away to itself — not unnoticed, but not entirely present either. The two women sat in a weighty silence.

Jaehee sighed, “I’m sorry, MC, it hurts me to say this but I just don’t think it’s going to work out the way you want it to.”

To be honest, MC knew it was coming. She had been waiting for months for those words to be said to her by someone. By anyone. But it still stung.

To an outsider looking in, Jaehee’s words would have sounded cold, cruel even. But in MC’s eyes, her honesty was the most loving gesture she could ask from her best friend. MC wanted her honesty, needed it in fact. It was going too far.

Once Jaehee had finally opened up to the idea of Zen and MC being in a relationship, their friendship skyrocketed. The two could finally bond, with all guards down. It was like they were giddy teenagers again, having sleepovers and talking about boys — or rather, talking about one boy in particular. They would discuss for hours about ‘the look he gave her during the meeting’ and how he ‘doesn’t just take any girl onto his roof’; that he was ‘obviously interested in her!’

However, more time slipped away and their evenings of gossiping turned into nights of consoling. It had been two years since Zen took MC onto his roof to watch the stars, and nothing had escalated from that. Jaehee would reassure her, tell her that Zen just needed time to raise Gi and work on his career, that they had grown apart after MC spent months helping Saeyoung get Saeran back on his feet. She would tell her they just needed to spend more time together like they used to, and things would pick up again.

But they didn’t, and it had been too long. Two years of nothing, and Jaehee couldn't bare to see MC tearing herself apart anymore. She would constantly check her reflection before turning away with a gentle frown, she would type then re-type messages before throwing her phone away from her. Her smile faded, her light dimmed. MC hid it well, but they noticed, all of them did. Of course they noticed, but only Jaehee knew the reason why. It was time to stop this and allow her to move on. She had to before she faded away completely, becoming nothing more than a shell of what she used to be; what she could have been.

After a long sigh, MC finally spoke up, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“He still cares deeply about you, MC, you haven’t lost him. I know he still loves you, even as much as he loves Gi, he just might not see you in the same way you see him. You love each other equally, just differently.”

“…A bit like Newton’s third law of motion?”

“Oh my God I swear if Saeyoung doesn't stop giving ‘free physics lessons’ in the messenger I’m going to kick him straight into orbit.”

The women laughed, just like they always ended up doing, no matter what life threw their way. Jaehee knew how to cheer MC up and how to make her laugh until her tears ran dry. Jaehee stopped the car in front of Zen’s house before turning to her friend and giving her hand a comforting squeeze, “I don't think it’s as bad as you think. I think you just need to put yourself out there and I’m sure someone will come along and surprise you.”

MC looked back into her eyes, not finding an ounce of dishonesty in them. She knew deep down that Jaehee was probably right, she always was. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed Jaehee’s hand in return, “Okay, I’ll try.”

***

“Hey, Gi! Look who’s here!”

Gi had the biggest grin on her face as she charged towards the door and jumped into MC’s arms, almost knocking her over from the impact. MC scooped her up and spun her around, blowing raspberries into her tummy, making the young girl squeal and wriggle in her arms.

Gi was six now, and was four when MC met her after nearly being kidnapped in Rika’s apartment. From the moment Gi saw her, she instantly took a liking for her, constantly asking Zen when “pretty MC” would next visit — which made MC an absolute blushing mess when Zen revealed this in the chatroom.

Gi had also managed to worm her way into MC’s heart and made herself at home there. MC loved that child like she was family, which she was in all fairness. The RFA was her family, and therefore anyone they loved, she loved too. She was always up to babysit her or take her on girly days out whenever she asked.

Today was a little different though.

“How’s the little madam today then? You excited for your day out with Jaehee?” MC asked, still trying to hold on to the wriggling child.

“Yay! Where are we all going?”

“Well, I’m going to watch your dad’s rehearsal whilst Jaehee takes you out for ice cream and a movie, is that okay?”

Gi watched the two women carefully, before nodding confidently, “Okay, but you have to come next time!”

MC laughed, “Fine, diva.”

“I’m not a diva! Dad’s the only diva in this house.”

“HEY!”

The three girls burst into laughter, and MC watched Zen as he feigned offence, but he was unable to control the sides of his mouth as they curled upwards. His eyes locked with MC’s, and she felt her heart stop for a split second. When was that going to stop happening? He gave her a warm smile, which she happily returned before placing Gi back on the floor, ruffling her hair.

Gi then darted to Jaehee and embraced her leg, waiting to be picked up. Jaehee chuckled before granting her request, earning a satisfied chuckle from the excitable young girl. Both Zen and MC felt a pang of affection as they waved the two goodbye, Gi’s babbling fading away the she walked hand-in-hand with Jaehee on their way into town.

MC turned to Zen who was rummaging around for his keys. She chortled at him, “How is everything? Gi doing okay at school?”

“Yeah, she’s doing pretty well actually,” Zen replied, still searching for his keys, “She’s very popular, according to her teachers. Stirring up trouble though.”

“In what way?”

He sighed, “Well there’s a group of them, apparently, and they like to wreak havoc for the teacher’s and get up to all kinds of mischief. Hiding the teacher’s supplies, little things like that. They say she’s an angel when they talk to her one-on-one, but she likes to follow this group around, copying what they’re doing. They're in the older group I think,” Zen said as he sifted through the draws, and MC could see a crease form between his eyebrows. He was worried about her.

“I’m sure she’s just enjoying herself. She’ll grow out of it, I’m sure. She’s a bright kid.”

“I know, I should have more faith in her,” now he’s patting his jean pockets, “She’s getting good grades for her work anyway. You know, when she doesn’t lose her exercise books or pencil case or whatever.”

MC chuckled, grabbing his keys from the trinket box on the windowsill, “I wonder where she gets that from,” she said, chucking the keys to Zen.

He caught them with ease, grinning at MC, “Thanks. Ready to go?”

MC smiled back, though it didn’t feel as bright, “Ready.”

She turned to the door, but felt a hand on her bicep, turning her back to him. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and rubbed it with his thumb, “Hey, you okay? You don’t seem yourself today. Did something happen?”

MC plastered a smile on her face, beaming up at him, “Of course I’m okay! I’m just excited, that’s all.”

Zen returned the smile, although he wasn’t convinced by her answer. She slapped his arm playfully, “Come on, you. You can’t be late for your rehearsal,” she said, turning on her heal and walking out of the house.

He watched after her, wishing she would open up to him more. Just like he did with her.

Just like they used to.

***

The two walked to the theatre in a comfortable silence, the only sound heard was the leaves crunching beneath their feet and the wind rustling through the trees over them. MC closed her eyes briefly as she let the breeze caress her skin and her hair, a sense of peace washing over her.

“Thank you for coming to my rehearsal,” Zen said unexpectedly, catching MC a little off guard.

“You don’t have to thank me, I wanted to come! It feels like ages since I’ve seen you perform,” she exclaimed cheerfully, “Although, I admit the offer did come a bit out of the blue. What made you want to invite me now?”

“Well,” Zen started, scratching the back of his head, “you’ve always been so supportive of my career, more than anyone else I think…and I’m really proud of this show. I guess I wanted you to see that your belief in me wasn’t in vain, and all your support hadn’t gone to waste,” he stated, his eyes locked on the path in front of him.

MC stopped, grabbing his sleeve so he would stop and turn to her, “You don’t have to prove anything, especially not to me, you know that. As long as you’re happy, then it would have never been a waste, okay?”

Zen smiled fondly at her and let out a little chuckle, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side, “And that’s why I love you.”

And with that, MC felt like a bullet had shot through her chest. Because she knew what ‘I love you’ meant when it came to Zen, and it didn’t mean what she longed for it to.

Because yes, she loved him too. Painfully, hopelessly, quietly.

Equally, but differently.

***

When they entered the theatre, MC’s eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. The theatre was really very beautiful. It was old-fashioned, but had clearly been done up recently. She could tell by the even gold paint, the vivid red seating and the perfectly polished stage where the set that she had painted stood proudly.

Art and painting had always been a huge passion of MC’s, and she would often sketch Zen when he was focussed on playing with Gi when she would visit. She accidentally left a sketchbook open at his house once, and he was dumbfounded by her skill and artistry. Unfortunately, MC was never able to make a career out of her art, and she was also way too modest to sell her artwork, so Zen made it his mission to give her as many opportunities to express her art and passion as he could, just like she helped him. The company obviously paid her for her work, but Zen couldn’t help but feel that her art deserved a place in a gallery rather than a tucked away theatre. He told her numerous times to ask V for help, but she always refused. He wondered why.

Zen chuckled at her loss for words, “It’s amazing, right? Come on, I want to introduce you to the cast and director!”

“Oh, they must be busy, I don’t want to interrupt-“

“Don’t be silly! They are so excited to meet you!”

MC frowned, confused, “Wait, really?”

“Of course! Without you I might not even still be in this company, and besides, look at your beautiful set! You’re a part of this show too, MC. Of course they’d love to meet you.”

This theatre company was actually founded by Zen and the director, and it was well known for the way it defied typical theatre conventions. They didn't do a show every night of the week with a matinee on a Wednesday and Saturday, instead they did a matinee every weekday and an evening show on Saturday. Zen said that it was partly so that he could be take care of Gi in the evenings and work whilst she was at school, but also because it meant that schools could watch their shows during school hours, as an educational trip. He was always passionate about allowing kids to fall in love with theatre like he did. And to hopefully save some like it saved him.

Giving Zen a shy smile, MC finally let him lead her backstage. The cast were genuinely very lovely, praising and thanking her for the set and for being by Zen’s side over the last two years, making MC blush fiercely. Even the director said that he had heard so much about her and was glad they finally met. Did Zen really talk about her this much? She tried not to think about it too much.

Just when she thought they had spoken to everyone, Zen took her to his dressing room that he shared with the other male lead. His name was Chul, Zen told her, and he had given her a little talk before going in.

MC laughed, “What do you mean?”

“Listen, I love Chul to bits, but he is a man after all. You can imagine what actors are like, and male leads are even worse.”

“Aren’t you also a male lead?”

“Yes, but I also have sharpie on my kitchen wall and stuffed animals scattered across my living room. Did I also mention that I live with a six year old?”

“Fair play. But seriously, Zen, it’s fine. So what if he’s a bit of a flirt?”

“He can just get carried away sometimes, and I don't want him to get any ideas. All men-“

“-are wolves. And I’m a grown woman, Zen. You don't have to protect me like that, I can handle it,” MC chuckled.

“I know babe, just…if he bothers you you have to let me know, okay?”

“Fine, dad.”

Zen made a face at that and MC laughed even more. She knew how to push his buttons. But seriously, she wasn't a teenager, she could keep her cool in front of a man. Zen knocked on the door briefly and they both entered.

“Hey, Chul, I’d like you to meet my friend, MC.”

Oh, good Lord. She definitely should have prepared herself more for this. Sitting at his dressing table was Chul. Six foot tall, brunette, buff as hell Chul, getting his makeup done for the dress rehearsal. Did I not mention that he was also shirtless? Whilst a lot of women would be drooling at this point - understandably so - MC just felt embarrassed.

Catching his attention, Chul looked over at MC and gave her a bright smile, making her heart race and her face burn. He chuckled, standing up and heading towards the door.

“Ah, the famous MC! It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Chul,” he offered his hand for her to shake, which she did. His grip was firm, yet soft at the same time as he stared directly into her eyes. It was intense, to say the least, and MC mentally scolded herself for how red her face must have been.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Chul,” she replied, surprised at how smoothly the words came out of her mouth despite how flustered she was.

He kept his grip on her hand for a moment longer than necessary, making Zen strangely impatient, “Okay, great, well I have to show MC around the rest of the theatre so we’ll catch you later.”

“Of course, I need to finish getting ready anyway. I’ll catch you later, MC,” he said with a wink, returning back to his seat. MC could feel Zen’s blood boiling next to her, so she ushered him out of the room swiftly.

“He seems nice.”

“Hm.”

MC rolled her eyes at him and gave him a playful nudge, giving him the silent reassurance that he needed. Both of them continued on the tour, but inevitably Zen was called to the stage for the rehearsal to begin, leaving MC on her own.

“You can sit anywhere, babe. There’s drinks and snacks on the table over there, so help yourself. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Her smile grew at his concern. He really was very sweet, “Thank you, Zen, but I’ll be absolutely fine, don’t worry. Enjoy your rehearsal, okay? I can’t wait to see you get up there!” she beamed, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before he ran off to join the rest of the cast.

She watched him as he went, a gentle thumping in her chest and a numbness in her spirit.

***

The first couple of hours of rehearsal were truly fascinating. Despite what some may assume, whilst Zen was incredibly good-looking, his acting skills were definitely his biggest strength (apart from his parenthood, of course). MC had no doubt that he would have been successful regardless of his looks, and it frustrated her to no end that he was primarily praised for his face and body rather than his talent and hard-work. The way he could show so much emotion and character and make her feel so much through just one look was, quite honestly, extraordinary. For a moment, she forgot he was her best friend at all; she was completely absorbed in his character.

The scene they were currently rehearsing was one where Zen’s character confesses his love to the female-lead’s character — a woman stuck in an arranged marriage who longed for freedom. The scene ended in a passionate kiss, bringing MC back to reality. It sent an ache through her chest as she watched Zen fall in love with someone else. For goodness sake, MC, he was acting. He wasn’t actually in love with her. And even if he was, what would it matter? He wasn’t hers, and she wasn't his. He was free to kiss whomever he pleased.

The director called for a short break so he could discuss the scene with Zen and the female-lead, and MC took this opportunity to get a coffee and to focus her mind on something other than Zen kissing another woman. Ugh, stop being so pathetic. She had no right to be jealous. She had no right to regret what never existed.

She made her coffee and searched for the sugar, deciding that a little sweetness in her coffee might lift her spirits a little. However, even after scanning the table she couldn’t seem to find-

“Looking for this?”

MC turned her head to find Chul standing there, sugar in one hand and his own coffee in the other. She took the sugar, offering him a kind smile, “Ah, yes, thank you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chul watching her face closely. He frowned a little, an eyebrow raised, “Rough day?”

She chuckled, she tried her best to hide it but clearly she wasn't as good of an actor as Zen, “Nah, it’s just tiring watching other people run around and dance all day,” she joked. He laughed at that.

“What about you?”

“Well, my wife is currently over there making out with the gardener’s son so, yeah, I guess you could say it’s been a rough day,” he also joked.

Ah yes, he must have been playing the female-lead’s husband. MC looked over at the stage where the other two leads were making out again, sending a shiver down her back. Trying to conceal it, she laughed, “Arranged marriages, huh?”

“Tell me about it.”

They both chuckled before a silence fell over them as they drank their coffee, but MC couldn’t help the occasional glance at the stage. Chul turned so he was face-to-face with her, shoving one hand into his pocket, “You’re the one who painted the set, right?”

“I am indeed.”

“It’s really beautiful, you have an incredible gift,” MC could feel her face turning red again, so she turned away slightly.

“Ah, thank you, but I really don’t. I just…have a lot of practise I suppose.”

“You also have a lot of modesty,” he stated, nudging her playfully with his elbow, “we’re not used to that in this industry.”

She let out a small chuckle before sipping on her coffee again, trying to hide her smile behind the cup. Zen would be so mad if he saw them both right now.

But really, he had no reason to be mad. MC and Chul talked casually for around half an hour and it was harmless, enjoyable even. She discovered that they both actually had a lot in common. They both enjoyed painting and drawing, they had a lot of the same favourite bands, and they even went to the same high school.

“No, no way. I refuse to believe it. You were NOT the kid playing Oliver who fell off the stage during ‘Where is love?’”

“I absolutely am, and don't forget how I brought the whole set down with me.”

“I was so pissed off at you! I spent hours making that set!”

“Hey! I was seriously injured! I couldn't walk for a week after that, I’ll have you know!”

“Once a drama queen, always a drama queen.”

MC actually enjoyed laughing and joking with Chul, it felt natural somehow. She couldn't help but feel that Zen was wrong to tell her to be so cautious around him. He was sweet, and didn’t say anything suggestive or try to flirt with her once. She found it easy to talk with him, and she was even disappointed when he had to head back to the stage.

“Well, I really enjoyed our chat, MC. If I don’t catch you before you leave then I hope you get home safe. I’ll see you around,” he said leaning in for a hug which she happily returned. It was, she noted, a friendly hug. No agenda, no sneaky touches or grabs, just…comfortable.

He ran back to the stage and her eyes couldn't help but follow him. She felt a warmth inside her, mixed with a fondness and excitement after their conversation together. She hoped they could keep in contact somehow, maybe she’d ask Zen for his contact information later.

MC reached into her pocket for her phone to check the time, but she found a folded piece of paper in there too. She took it out, reading it’s contents:

I didn’t want you to feel pressured into giving me your number if I asked, so here’s mine. You’re more than welcome to ignore this if you’re uncomfortable, but I couldn’t let you get away without trying ;) If you want to contact me, I would love to talk more, if not, then no hard feelings. Take care, MC. C x

She tried to control herself, but it was no use. The corners of her mouth curled up as she read the note, and she bit her lip like she was a teenager with a crush. Sneaky bastard. She felt flattered though, and she noticed her heart thumping a little harder as she placed the note back in her pocket and took another sip of her coffee.

Sweet indeed.

***

“You were incredible, Zen!”

Zen twirled around to find MC running towards him at full speed. He caught her easily as she jumped into his open arms, “Thanks, babe. You didn’t get too bored or anything?”

“Of course not! I was at the edge of my seat the entire time! Ah, aren’t I lucky to have such a talented best friend.”

Ouch.

Wait…why exactly did that hurt? He liked that he was her best friend, didn’t he? Of course he did.

He mentally shook the thought away as he continued to hug her, his hold on her tighter than before,  “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it! I’m sorry for keeping you so long, I didn’t expect for us to run over time. Let’s get you back.”

Zen noticed MC had more of a spring in her step as they walked back to his house, and how she seemed more chatty than usual. Definitely a change from her mood that morning. Maybe she just really enjoyed the show; she always did have a soft spot for theatre.

When Zen opened his door, they both found Jaehee and Gi fast asleep on the couch. Gi was lying on Jaehee’s lap, surrounded by crayons, whilst Jaehee limply held an open children’s book. Zen looked at MC and they made eye contact, trying with all their might to suppress their laughter, both their hearts warming at the pure sight in front of them. MC moved carefully, gracefully towards the mess on the floor, “I’ll help you clean up and then we’ll wake them.”

He couldn’t help but smile as she started to pack toys away and collect crayons. She really was an angel.

About halfway through clearing, Zen noticed that she had stopped and was completely spaced out. He raised an eyebrow, “MC? Are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, right, yeah I’m fine. Sorry, just zoned out a little.”

Again, he wasn't convinced by her answer, especially since she had been acting strange all day. He knew her very well and had never seen her like this, so he continued to push, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know. Thank you, Zen. I just…,” she paused, considering whether or not she should continue, “I just don’t want to make you mad…”

Okay, that hurt a little. He didn't want or mean to make her worry about something like that, “MC, I don’t want you to be afraid to talk to me. I promise I won’t be mad, I just want to know what’s bothering you so I can help.”

MC watched him cautiously for a moment and then sighed, she would have to tell him eventually, “It’s about…Chul.”

Instantly Zen felt the hairs on the back of his neck shoot up, his hands already twitching to make a fist, but he held back. She gave him a pointed look, “Stop freaking out, silly. It’s not a big deal, he didn’t do anything wrong. He was actually very nice to me. He just gave me his number, that’s all. I don't even think I’ll call him, I just wanted you to hear it from me before you found out on your own and decided to kick his ass,” she laughed.

Wow, was he really that overprotective? He always warned MC to be cautious and all that, but he hadn't realised it got to the point where she felt the need to reassure him when a dude gave her their number. She was an adult, after all, and a very capable one. He made a mental note to go easy on her from then on, “Ah, I see.”

“But like I said, I probably won’t call him anyway so you don't need to worry.”

He paused for a moment, watching MC closely as she continued to pile up books. This was the first time she’d talked openly with him about dating. In fact, he didn’t think she’d even been on a single date in the two years he'd known her. She did always seem reluctant, perhaps even anxious to put herself out there, especially when it came to men. But finally, there she was with the opportunity to start something with someone. Someone who, he had to admit, would take care of her. Someone who gave her a spring in her step after what felt like months of dragging herself from place to place, and he wanted that spring to stay. He considered his words carefully, “Do you like him?”

“What was that?”

“Do you like him? Would you like to call him?”

MC cleared her throat, “Uhm, well, I've only known him for a few hours and we only spoke for a short time but, he seemed sweet and I enjoyed talking to him I suppose…but, I dunno…”

Her sentence drifted off, and he looked away. She’d always been so supportive of him, it was his turn to return the favour, “Well, if you'd like to start something with him, I think you should go for it.”

Her eyes shot to his so quickly he couldn't help but laugh. Yeah, he really needed to back off on the whole ‘all men are wolves’ thing, didn’t he? He gave her a soft smile, “I mean it. If it would make you happy, I’m all for it.”

She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her hair as she smiled, the action completely mesmerising Zen. She continued to clean up, breaking Zen out of his trance. It wasn't long before everything was tidied away and the two sleeping beauties were awakened from their slumber. MC gave Gi a warm hug before she left, a sight that always made Zen’s heart ache more than he cared to admit. She moved to hug him, and he held on to her more tightly than usual, only then noticing the smell of her shampoo and how perfectly she fit into his embrace. MC pulled back, looking him dead in the eye, “About what I said earlier, you sure you’re okay with it?”

His eyes stared straight back into hers, desperate to keep her from looking away. Why did the thought of her turning away hurt him so much? “Absolutely. Go get ‘em.”

Little did he know, that that was all she needed. All she needed to give up. She was so hoping he fight a little harder, that it would be more difficult for him to accept it. She was praying he would change his mind, that he would want her to choose him instead. But Jaehee had told her to move on, and now he had told her that too. There was no way she could justify it anymore.

In the car, Jaehee placed a hand on MC’s arm, concern etched all over her face, “MC? Is everything okay?”

She’d been asked that a lot that day. Maybe she actually wasn’t.

MC smiled sadly at her, blinking away any tears that dared to fall.

“Yeah, I just need to make a call.”

***

Zen sighed as he made himself and Gi their meal, absent-mindedly stirring the pan. He felt odd, almost unwell after his conversation with MC, but he pin point why.

“Is MC getting married?” Gi said sweetly as she continued her colouring at the dining table.

Well where did that come from.

“Um, no, I don’t think so. Unless I really haven't been paying attention.”

“But she will though, won’t she? She’s gonna marry that man from your work.”

Zen laughed, “No, sweetie, they are just going spend some time together. And…hang on, were you pretending to be asleep that whole time?”

Gi ignored the question and continued colouring, “Do they love each other? Like Prince and Princess?”

Zen started plating up the food,“No, not…not at the moment anyway,” he poured himself a glass of water, suddenly slightly bothered by this conversation.

Gi sighed, clearing away her things and setting the table, “That’s a shame. I was hoping you would marry her.”

He choked on the water, looking back at Gi who sat as sweet as a peach at the table. Little terror.

“You, little miss, need to stop watching so many movies. Come on, eat your food, you squirt.”

They ate as Gi prattled on about her day with Jaehee. Zen tried to listen carefully, but his attention wandered as he considered Gi’s previous confession. Why did the thought of Gi wanting Zen to marry MC make him feel so uneasy? Anxious…excited?

Well whatever it was he was feeling, for the sake of Gi and MC, he would have to endure it by himself until it went away. Painfully, hopelessly, quietly…

Equally, identically.

***

Masterlist || Next Chapter

[aleximedicusa]

welcome to why lewis’ moral stance is not very good and he should get off his high horse! under a cut because dear god this got long.

so, i do want to preface this by saying that the core of lewis’ stance has merit. he is right that adequate medical education requires access to dissection. we have evidence of that. wax casts and drawn diagrams just aren’t sufficient to learn the human body well enough to treat it, as a physician and especially as a surgeon, and any society that inhibits proper access to dissection will be causing severe detriment to society, and especially to the poorer classes. rich people can afford to pay for doctors who might have been able to travel abroad to get a better education; poor people just have to make do with the doctor down the street, and if the doctor down the street barely knows where your spleen is, that’s an issue. lewis is very justified in believing all of this. 

however. 

what this leads him to think and feel on the matter of bodysnatching is a lot less defensible. his anger with the legal systems in place has led to him having a really defiant stance: if they’re not going to provide the bodies, well, then anatomists are just going to have to get them, and illegal means for doing so are fair game. and he takes that further in thinking that the public has no right to get mad at them for how they get bodies. he thinks they should be angry at the government for not changing the laws, not at the anatomists. they’re just doing what they need to do, so why is everyone having riots at the houses of anatomists when they’re implicated in graverobbing? don’t they know it’s for society’s own good? 

and that, in turn, leads to him defiantly refusing to feel guilty about what he’s doing. and hey, lewis, that’s bad! he’s right that it’s not fair, and even dangerous, for the system to refuse to provide necessary materials for medical education, but that doesn’t mean that he should be let off the hook. he is treating the bodies of real people like they’ve got as much moral weight as a saw or a scalpel. he straight up does not care that what he’s doing is really horrible for the families of the deceased. there are some really heartbreaking stories of people finding the bodies of their loved ones half-dissected. i can think of one, specifically, where a guy found his sister’s head significantly mutilated in the dissecting room of a surgeon after finding out that her corpse had been exhumed and sold. there were mass cases where people found out about graverobbery in a certain cemetery and they frantically went to dig up the coffins of their loved ones to make sure they weren’t empty. and... a lot of them were. take a second to imagine how fucking traumatising that must have been for them. 

and that’s made worse by the fact that a lot of the public just really didn’t understand what surgeons did with the bodies. they didn’t understand that dissection was a necessity for basic medical knowledge. there were sensationalised rumours of surgeons making candles out of human fat, feeding organs to dogs, kicking bodies down stairs, etc. the general public seemed to view anatomists like drunken buffoons just hacking up bodies for a laugh. were there cases of anatomists mistreating the bodies? yeah, absolutely. but dissection was still a necessary part of the study of medicine. cooper points out that a lot of really intelligent, hard-working candidates were failing their exams to obtain their licenses because they just... didn’t know enough about the body. not because they didn’t study hard enough, but because they couldn’t familiarise themselves with the human body to the extent necessary for competency, and that familiarity can only come from dissection. but the public didn’t know that.

so is it really any wonder that everyone hated the anatomists so much? if you know that bodies are being stolen for anatomists to use, and you think that those bodies are just being hacked up for fun because you have no idea why dissection is an important part of medical education, then of course you’re going to be extra mad! that’s not to say that they wouldn’t be angry even if they fully understood (or to say that they’d be wrong for that anger), but the common belief that bodies were being dug up simply for anatomists to carve up for no real benefit exacerbated that anger a lot. 

and lewis doesn’t respect that. he doesn’t respect that even though the medical community is exploiting bodies against the wishes of the dead their families for genuine benefit to society, they are still exploiting bodies against the wishes of the dead and their families. if you tell him he’s being immoral, he’ll turn it right around on you and say that you can’t blame him for it because he’s just doing what the system is making him do. you will not be able to get through to him and make him understand that what he’s doing is wrong. even if he believes it’s a necessity and even if he believes that the system is the root of the cause, he’s still doing horrible things without accepting responsibility. 

there’s also the matter of how that turns into hypocrisy once the burke and hare case breaks. for those who haven’t read my posts about him, the novel has another character named connor morrison, who is an assistant to dr. knox and a friend of lewis’ (friend is a generous term, but... eh, it’s complicated). if you don’t know what the burke and hare case is, i did a quick rundown on it, so feel free to have a peek here. now, when the case breaks, everyone’s horrified, but lewis gets pretty angry at connor for giving the medical community a bad name by paying for murdered bodies. and connor points out that lewis... doesn’t really have a leg to stand on. every anatomist working at this time knows you don’t ask questions. why the fuck would you? you’re not an idiot. you know that the shady men coming to your back door at midnight with a body in a sack didn’t just pop down to b&q to get it. why would you ask about the details when you know the answer is that they got it illegally? you pay them and move on. that’s the way things are done. and now lewis is blaming him for not looking closer? not to mention, lewis is judging him for the morality of the bodies he used, when lewis is also exploiting bodies obtained immorally while explicitly refusing to feel guilty about that? connor was in the wrong for what he did, absolutely, but lewis isn’t in the right. 

and i get where he’s coming from, at least in part. being an anatomist kind of requires a certain amount of clinical detachment. if he got too bogged up in the identity of the bodies and the potential impact of what he’s doing, he probably couldn’t keep being a surgeon. but there are absolutely ways that he could acknowledge that what he’s doing is wrong. he could acknowledge his own guilt. he could acknowledge that the public have a right to feel the way they do. but he doesn’t. his stance is arrogant, callous, condescending, unapologetic, and sanctimonious. 

lewis is right that the law needs to be reformed and that the state of dissection needs to change. he’s right to push for that. but there’s a hell of a lot he isn’t right about. 

[yunaffie]

Second Life

Exchange fic for @trucywright as part of @fyeahghosttrick‘s Ghost Swap fanworks exchange.

Prompt: “free spot for any and all Alma content”

Happy Ghost Swap, dear recipient! Hope it’s to your liking!

Crossposted to AO3 here.

A shrill ring cuts through the cacophony of a babbling toddler and the thumps of her plastic bowl. Snapping her book shut, Alma follows the sound, anticipating her husband on the other end of the phone. A fierce growl emanates from her stomach, spurred on by the aroma of curry. 

"Hey, baby, it's me."

"Cabanela? Let me guess, Jowd's going to be late, right?"

"Well, that's not quite it. You see, things got pretty crazy today and now I'm callin' from the hospital-"

The word 'hospital' rings in Alma's ears, provoking a sharp intake of breath. Curling her fingers around the receiver, she utters a single whisper. "No."

"Whoah, it's okay, baby, it's nothin' serious. Just a leg wound, that's all. I think you should come down here though, not sure he's in any condition to drive."

Alma feels the thrums of her heart beneath her palm. "You had me scared for a moment. I'll be right over." Bundling Kamila onto the car, she takes off, keeping the speed limit in mind as she weaves through traffic. Jowd is putting his life on the line every day as an officer of the law but even knowing that, a little thing like him getting hurt is enough to steal away her breath. Swallowing, she blinks away the sudden onset of tears and focuses solely on reaching her destination. 

"Hey." Cabanela is right there. Alma seeks comfort in his warm chest, holding Kamila to one side. "Gods, what a day this has been." When he steps back, she notices how his usual vibrant energy has faded, leaving him with slumped shoulders and a haggard expression. "And it was all because of me. I'm sorry, baby. I screwed up, and Jowd got hurt."

"Don't be ridiculous." Alma's tone is stern. "Was he shot? Even if he was, that was in no way your fault. He knew what he was getting into when he joined the force."

Cabanela's head sways from side to side. "I'll explain it to you on the way."

Alma absorbs every detail with keen interest: an interrogation gone wrong, the suspect fleeing with gun in hand, Jowd in pursuit, a hostage situation, the meteorite impact out of the blue.

"A meteorite fragment? Are you serious?"

"Sure am. Jowd got to see a meteorite fallin' close up. Must have been an amazin' view. Sure wish I could have seen it."

"So he wasn't shot then."

"Oh, no. Thank the gods for that. I don't think I could live with myself if it was my own gun that hurt him."

"And what of the little girl? What happened to the man?"

"The little girl's fine. Jowd says the criminal peeled himself off a lamppost and threw the girl to safety while his own legs turned to jelly under a fallin' rock. Look, I don't understand it anymore than you do, baby."

"Wow." Alma bounces Kamila around in her arms. "You weren't kidding about things getting crazy."

"Nooope, I sure wasn't." Cabanela opens the door and gestures for her to enter.

Jowd is sitting on the bed, his leg swathed in bandages, with his folded coat beside him. Alma lets out a quiet gasp and Jowd's eyes meet hers. For a long second, husband and wife are caught in each other's stares, neither uttering a word. Alma breaks the spell, his name slipping from her lips as she thrusts Kamila into Cabanela's arms. Flying to Jowd's chest, she sinks into his comforting embrace.

"Alma... oh, gods... you're alive. You're okay."

Alma pulls back with a quizzical frown, finding herself the subject of an intense stare. His eyes are coated with a glistening sheen. "Jowd, are you alright?"

Fluttering his eyelids, Jowd takes in a breath and releases it. "I'm just so happy to see you, that's all."

Doubt radiates from her eyes. Those words had been heavy and loaded with meaning, spoken by a man deep in the throes of his emotions. "I can't believe you got hit by a meteorite." His facial hair is rough and tickly against her palm. "Just what are the chances of that?"

"I wonder. Probably less than being hit by lightning. Not that I ever got the chance to discover what that feels like." Jowd's chuckle rings hollow in her ears. The flash of mirth in his expression goes out like a light. His next words are directed at Cabanela. "Hand me my daughter, would you?"

"Heeere you go, baby."

"Daddy," Kamila burbles, stretching her tiny arms. Jowd holds her aloft under intense scrutiny before taking her into his embrace, bringing his lips to her head.

"Kamila. You're going to be alright now. I won't leave you ever again." 

His words are like a faint breeze flowing past Alma's ears. It might be she wasn't meant to catch them at all. 

Once he's in the foyer of his home, Jowd transforms into a statue, resting on his crutches. Alma peers at his face, mystified by the dazed look in his eyes.

"So I'll just hang this up, shall I?" Cabanela is already placing Jowd's coat on a hook.

"Hm?" Jowd's head twists toward his voice. "Oh. Yes, that's right. Cabanela, check my coat pockets, would you?"

"Sure. Huh?" Cabanela holds aloft a bundle of black fur. "What's thiiis?"

"Meet the newest member of our family. His name is Sissel."

A rush of protests flow forth from Alma's lips at the unexpected news. How could Jowd not tell them to buy the necessities for a cat on the way home, she asks. Jowd's response is not to worry about it but Alma isn't convinced. At the very least, she has to put out a bowl of water and a plate of leftover chicken, as well as some newspaper in a cardboard box. How can Jowd expect a kitten to go without food, water, or somewhere to do his business for an entire night?

They sit down to dinner, hearing Kamila's excited cries from the next room as she gets to know their newest family member.

Jowd lifts the spoon to his mouth, blowing on the curry before taking his first mouthful. "Ahh. This curry. It's just as I remember."

Eyes meet across the table, flashes of concern striking in midair. It was only a week ago that curry was last eaten in this house. Jowd brings one spoonful after another to his mouth with gusto.

"Calm down." A small laugh bubbles through Alma's lips. "You'll choke if you keep eating that fast."

Jowd takes a sip of water. "It's just so good." Capturing Alma and Cabanela in his intense stare, he continues. "I'm so glad. Being at home with my family, seeing you all happy, it's such a wonderful thing. I'm so thankful to have you all in my life."

"Jowd." Alma's hand covers his.  "Are you okay?"

"I nearly killed a man with my own hands and then got struck by a meteorite. On the plus side, I adopted a kitten so I guess it wasn't that bad a day." Jowd lifts his shoulders, his lips curving in a smile that fails to reach his eyes. "It could have been a lot worse."

Alma draws back her hand, lines furrowing her brow. 

When the time comes for Cabanela to return to his home, Alma follows him outside.

"Somethin' sure is straaange about Jowd, huh?" Cabanela rests a hand on his hip. "I don't know what's going on, but he does seem a bit off."

"I don't understand." Alma pinches her lower lip between her teeth. "That way he looked at me in the hospital and what he said. Did you see how he kind of froze up when we got home? Then the stuff with the curry. I think something happened in that park and it changed him."

"His near death experience might have sooomething to do with it. Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll tell us eventually. If not, we're just gonna have to coax it out of him, baby. No way we'll just let him suffer in silence."

"You're right. We're here for him." Rubbing her arms, Alma adds, "Tonight could have been so different."

"Well, fortunately, it wasn't." Cabanela grips his forehead. "Gods, I still can't believe I messed up like that."

"You made a mistake. It happens." Alma's words are like a gentle tide striving to wash away his guilt. "Don't beat yourself up over it too much, okay? Just learn from your mistakes and move on. That's all you can do."

"Right. I'll do my best to make up for it. Goodnight, Alma." Cabanela plants a kiss on her cheek before whisking away in a flurry of white fabric. 

Retreating inside, Alma discovers Kamila nodding off as she nestles in her father's arms. Sissel perches behind Jowd, looking over his shoulder as if taking an interest in this spectacle himself.

"I'll take her to bed." Alma extracts their sleepy toddler. After sending Kamila into slumber, she comes to Jowd's side. "So. Anything you would like to do tonight?"

Jowd tilts his head while several seconds tick by. "Music. Put on one of your favourite artists."

"Alright, music it is." 

As the music flows, Alma nestles against Jowd's warm bulk. His broad and gentle arm encircles her, filling her with overflowing love and comfort. Closing her eyes, she commits herself to the flowing melody. A splash of moisture against her skin draws her attention to Jowd. Two glistening trails are streaking down his cheeks.

"It's okay, sweetie." Alma presses her hand to his damp skin. Jowd's searching gaze ensnares her, pulling her into its twin wells of sadness. "I'm here, you know."

"You're really here. Alma." Jowd's words land heavily, laden by the weight of his emotions. 

"Mmm." Eyes lingering on her husband's visage, Alma traces the sharp contours of his well defined cheeks with her fingertips. In the corner of her eye, she catches the twitch of a tail and extends her hand. Sissel's dark fur is soft to the touch. Scratching the base of his ears, she offers him an invitation.

With a meow, Sissel stretches his legs, light rippling over his taut form before he hops gracefully into Alma's lap. As she strokes him, the vibration emanating from his body grows even louder.

"What a sweet little kitten. So, what made you decide to name him Sissel?"

"Hm. I suppose it just popped into my head."

"You know Sissel is usually a girl's name, right?"

"I don't think he really cares."

"Fair enough." The kitten has taken to lying across her lap. Alma's stroking continues, a purely mechanical motion kept up even as she drifts into her thoughts. So many things are off. Someday Jowd will surely tell her and she'll wait until then.

Silence falls over them with the music's end, a cue for them to turn in. Before the light goes off, Jowd takes Alma in his arms, "Goodnight, Alma." His warm breath caresses her face as he brushes his lips over hers. "I love you."

"I love you too," Alma says, with another kiss. "Goodnight."

During the days that pass by, Alma watches. She notices all the little things. Stares pinning her a beat too long. Eyes hazing as he drifts away on the tide of thoughts. Recollections beyond his grasp, as though no longer fresh but tainted by time that shouldn't exist. Her name passes his lips more often as do his declarations of love. His slightly cynical side seems to have amplified over time. The retorts he let loose are often darkly humorous in nature. Alma and Cabanela have many tales to share of Jowd's bizarre words and actions. 

Alma is frequently roused from slumber by Jowd's fitful mutters or the bed rocking in tune with his tosses and turns. Her name is spoken many times, infused with pain. She pulls him out of the nightmares and he clutches her like she's his salvation in the midst of a storm, soothed by her reassuring words. 

A painting has taken the place of the antique gun that was on display. Jowd's explanation is short and simple. He fancied a change. Nothing is said about what prompted him to make the change in the first place.

The sight of Kamila dangling Sissel and twirling one day provokes a gasp of horror from Alma, who immediately retrieves the kitten, issuing gentle admonishments. Sissel seems fine in spite of it all, not having made a peep as one would expect of a kitten at the mercy of a small child. It occurs to Alma that he has never scratched anyone. The house remains clear of his fur. His litter box is perpetually clean. Even his food and water bowls are never touched. 

There are times Alma will catch sight of Jowd and Sissel lost in each other's stares. Once, as they remained oblivious to her presence, she saw for herself how her husband's face changed or how Sissel would twitch various body parts. If she didn't know any better, she would swear they were having a conversation.

The mystery only deepens with the awareness that Sissel isn't growing over the months he has been with them. 

A year has elapsed since the park incident. Jowd has a grave look on his face as he announces that he has something important to tell Alma and Cabanela. Once Kamila is asleep, the three gather round the table. Sissel watches from the sill.

"So." Jowd puts his hands together. "Where should I begin?"

"The day in the park, right?" Cabanela's expression is grim. "Ever since that day, sooomething's been off about you, baby. Alma and I have been worried about you all this time."

"I know." Jowd's breath billows forth in a heavy gust. "I never had any intention of hiding this from you forever. Sissel wouldn't have allowed it either."

"Huh?" Alma shoots a glance at the kitten. "Wait, so you really have been talking to the cat?"

"It might be easier if I just get this out of the way first. Sissel, perform a trick, would you?"

Sissel collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. The soft hum of the overhead fan picks up, its guttural whine filling the room as it rotates faster, stirring the air and turning it into a strong breeze that wafts over them, ruffling their hair and clothes. 

"Ye gods."

"H-how..." Alma brings trembling fingers to her mouth. 

"That's Sissel's power. A ghost trick, a power of the dead."

It suddenly makes sense. The random noises heard around the house. Objects moved or transformed without explanation. It was the work of this supposedly dead kitten.

"But, but..." Alma struggles to call the words forth. "When? How did he die?"

"The meteorite. The fragment that pierced my leg is inside Sissel's body."

"But this makes no sense! How can he move around and stuff? Why isn't he, like, rottin'?"

"That's the meteorite's power. His body is immortal. Nothing can damage him. I could put him in the microwave for five minutes and he would come out of it completely fine."

Alma kneads her forehead. In the span of five minutes, she's learned the cat is dead and her husband has joked about microwaving him. She is tempted by the siren call of another glass of wine but quickly dismisses it. This is too important a conversation to be lost to the blurring effects of alcohol on the memory.

"That meteorite grants powers of the dead, even to those who merely die within its radiation. And now that you know all about it, it's time to tell you the story of an alternate version of events that went down in the park."

The man Jowd faced in the park was killed by the meteorite, a fact that drains all the colour from Cabanela's face. Sharp, spiky pain pierces Alma's chest, brought forth by the knowledge that Jowd blamed himself. How must it have felt, being consumed by that guilt?

It gets worse. Four years into the future, on Alma's birthday, Kamila made a surprise contraption and it was instrumental in her mother's death. Or rather, her murder, carried out by that man with the powers of the dead. Jowd is still speaking, his words growing increasingly tinny and distant. Alma cradles her head in her hands, her ears filling with a dull roar.

She was murdered by a man she had never met, his actions spurred by the desire to make Jowd feel pain. Heat and cold twist together in a fierce maelstrom, churning inside of her trembling body.

"Why?" Her voice quivers like a leaf caught in the wind. A veil of moisture sweeps over her eyes, transforming everything into a blur. "Why me? I didn't do anything. Why did I have to die? Jowd didn't mean to... he didn't put that man in the meteorite's path on purpose!"

"How could he?" Cabanela's words lash out, sharp as a whip. The table judders from the impact of his fist. "Taking Alma's life like that, making it look like that poor little girl's fault!"

"Alma, are you alright?" The weight of Jowd's hand settles upon her shoulder. "Should we stop here?"

"No." Alma dashes the back of her hand across her eyes. "Keep going. I'm okay." It's a lie, constructed for the sake of keeping this conversation going. No way will she put this off after waiting so long.

Jowd's next revelation hits like a punch to the gut. Claiming credit for Alma's murder, Jowd turned his back on their daughter, leaving her to someone else's care. By this point, Alma is completely numb. Jowd's agony radiates from every crevice of his face, simmering away in the hollow pools of his eyes. She sees all those moments she found Jowd standing over Kamila's crib in a whole new light.

Five years later, Jowd was to be executed. A saviour came to his cell; a ghost with the man's face in search of his lost memory. Said ghost would go on to become their beloved family pet. Alma watches Cabanela's face change as he hears detail after detail, ending in a look of relief over the revelation he was working to save Jowd all along. 

"But of course I was, baby. I would never, ever doubt you. Still, five years and me not even visitin' you once? What's up with that?"

"I'm so glad. You had people who believed in you, fighting for your sake." Tears spill forth, coursing down Alma's cheeks. "Thank goodness."

"Yes. No matter how much I insisted, they refused to listen, and I'm so very grateful. Thank you, Cabanela."

"No need to thank me, baby. You're one of my best friends in the whooole world and I would never give up on you."

"So, what happened next? What happened to Kamila?"

Jowd launches into the next part of the tale, detailing how his and Lynne's pursuit of the manipulator went horribly wrong. Alma covers her mouth, horror constricting her chest in its tightening band. Kamila sinking into oblivion within the freezing confines of a destroyed submarine. Jowd gunned down, also lost to the depths of the sea. Even with the odds against them all, they found the ray of hope in the darkness and it was down that path of light that they found salvation in the form of a whole new ten years.

"And so, here we are." Jowd's shoulders sag. "Any questions?"

"Gods." Cabanela rubs his forehead. "I don't even know where to begin."

Alma drags her gaze to the clock, observing the time. On cue, her mouth opens in a yawn. Despite the tiredness weighing her down, she doubts she'll sleep tonight. Bringing her eyes back to Jowd, a fresh pang pierces her chest. For a whole year, he held in all this pain, all these secrets. Embracing him from behind, she buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Oh, Jowd."

Cabanela comes to her side, joining her in embracing Jowd. "I'm glaaad you finally told us, baby. You did the right thing." 

Countless minutes tick by while they hold on, lingering in each other's presence. When they break away, Alma turns to the kitten and pulls him to her chest. "Thank you, Sissel. You saved us all. Thank you so much." Her gratitude is acknowledged with a mew.

The lateness of the night draws them all to bed. Jowd and Alma lie beneath the sheets under the cover of darkness, silence hanging over them like a heavy weight.

"You shouldn't have left her."

"I know."

"You should have been there for her. She needed you."

"I'll never abandon her ever again, I promise you."

"I believe you." Alma's chest rises sharply and falls, her breath rushing out in a great sigh. "To think I was just murdered, out of the blue, leaving you two well before my time, it's so awful. How could he do that? I know, you told me everything, and I do feel sorry for him, but I can't just ignore what he did."

"I understand."

"Gods. I wondered what you were hiding for so long, but I never imagined it would be anything like this. I don't know how you managed to keep quiet for a whole year."

"Having a therapy cat helped."

"Right, you had Sissel to talk to." Alma scoots closer, draping her arm over his chest. "Well, now we all know, so that's a load off our minds, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's a relief really, having it all out in the open at last." Jowd kisses the top of Alma's head. "I'm so lucky to have all this back. When you died, I just fell to pieces. I missed you so much. Sometimes I still can't quite believe it. I'll wake up in the morning and see you lying next to me and I just feel so incredibly relieved."

"Oh, Jowd." Alma seeks out his face, stroking her fingers along his stubbled cheek. A deep ache wells in her chest. It's okay, she assures herself, she won't die. Nobody is going to suffer from her loss. Their happy family life will continue beyond four years from now.

Dipping in and out of sleep, Alma emerges from a gruelling nightmare involving her being six feet under. Seeking out the clock display, she learns that it's five in the morning. 

"Forget it." Throwing on a bathrobe, Alma slouches downstairs.

Cabanela sits at the table. Little white wisps rise from the mug in front of him. "Hey, baby. Sleep well?"

"What do you think?" Alma peers at him through lowered lids, speaking in a voice as thick as syrup. 

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Cabanela stretches his arms over his head. "Didn't sleeeep so hot either. I just couldn't stop thinkin' about it. Anyhoot, I just boiled the kettle, so help yourself."

"Thanks." Alma pours herself coffee and joins Cabanela. The warmth of the mug seeps into her hands. Gazing deep into the murky brown depths within, she speaks.  "It's all so crazy, isn't it? To think all this stuff happened in another timeline. A different ten years. And I was dead for five of them."

A breath, heavy as lead, slips past Cabanela's lips, while he shakes his head. "I can't imagine how it must have felt. Your dying and Jowd's imprisonment. You two are the most important people in my life and I can't bear the thought of you both not being there anymore."

Alma takes small sips of the coffee. The searing liquid is as bitter as her thoughts. How could a man murder her on her birthday and leave her child motherless, with a lifetime of guilt in her place? Bile gushes up from her churning stomach, filling her throat. No use dwelling, she tells herself, best to put it out of her mind. "At least I got my life back." Meeting Cabanela's gaze, she offers him a weak smile. "I should be thankful for that. I've got a second chance."

"That's riiight, baby." Cabanela responds with a smile of his own. "So let's stay positive, shall we? Maybe we should think of something nice to do today, take our mind off things. Just get out there and enjoy life."

With another long sip, Alma dwells in silent contemplation. "Yes. I should think of it as an opportunity to do all the things I wanted to do. Better be realistic though, I don't think we could afford a luxury cruise to Hawaii."

"Probably not, but we can find other things to do. Maybe we can teach Jowd to dance."

"I said realistic."

Their exchanged laugh is accompanied by the heavy falls of Jowd's feet. "Hm? Did someone mention my name just now?"

"Hey, baby. So nice of you to join us. Ahh, the early hours of the morning, nooothin' like it."

"Definitely something easier to appreciate once you've had a cup of coffee," Jowd mutters, making his way into the kitchen. Brandishing his own mug, he joins them at the table. "Well, what a night that was, eh?"

"Thank you for finally telling us," says Alma. "We were so worried."

"I know." Jowd's smile does little to banish the sadness hanging over him. "Sorry for troubling you so much. It does feel better to finally have it out in the open."

"From now on, just tell us whatever you're feelin', baby. We're always here for you, you know that."

"Yes. I appreciate you both being so patient and understanding."

"Now, why don't we have a good looong chat about all the things we're going to do with our new lives?"

Their conversation continues through the long hours ahead, interrupted only by trips for more coffee. The presence of a fourth person approaches, signalled by the patter of tiny feet. Kamila rubs her eyes as she stumbles forwards, followed by a little black kitten. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," says Jowd. "How are you this morning?"

"I want juice. And I'm hungry."

Alma's swallows do little to banish the lump filling her throat. Emotion flows over her in a crashing wave, spurring her to lunge for her daughter and clasp that tiny body to her bosom in a fierce yet gentle embrace.

"Kamila. Oh, Kamila!" Alma's weeping voice gushes forth, flowing with relief. "Oh, my sweet little girl."

Kamila's tiny arms loop around Alma's neck. Hearing loud sniffles, her eyes fill with concern. "Are you crying, Mommy?"

"Huh?" Alma brings her fingers to her cheeks, finding drops of moisture clinging to her skin. 

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm just happy to see you." Alma rubs a thumb over one of Kamila's round, soft cheeks. "I love you so very much, Kamila, you know that, don't you?"

"Mmhmm." Kamila's head bobs, a smile spreading over her beaming face. "And I love you too."

Alma wipes her eyes, momentarily lost in the radiance of her daughter's innocent smile. Keeping her voice steady, she poses a question. "Juice and something to eat, then?"

"Yeah." 

"Here, why don't you come and sit in Daddy's lap?" Jowd pats his leg and Kamila scampers over. Alma's gaze lingers over them, renewed emotion blossoming in her chest, while she goes to fulfil Kamila's request. As she gets the juice and food, a  smile comes to her face, conjured by the thought of how they will live as happily as they can in the future granted to them by a miracle. 

Telling the truth has only partially erased Jowd's troubles. At least Alma and Cabanela now share his burden, ready to lend an ear even as they deal with the issues the truth has brought to them.

Two years have gone by since the reveal. Alma stands outside the prison building, trepidation churning within her. Jowd has been here to see that man several times. The two of them share a deep understanding, having been through so much. Alma knows the man isn't bad anymore and she wouldn't dream of judging Jowd for staying in touch

Sometimes she wonders, does she dare see him? Why hesitate, there's nothing to be afraid of, but no, it's too soon, She isn't ready.

A woman flies out of the building with her head bowed. Alma stumbles back, knocked off balance by the resulting collision. The woman's purse falls to the ground, scattering its contents over the sidewalk. 

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry." Alma kneels, assisting the woman in gathering everything up. "I didn't see you."

"No, it's alright, I'm the one who should be sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." The woman punctuates her sentence with an awkward laugh.

Alma's gaze is drawn to a bundle of scattered cards as she collects them into a neat pile. "Sissel?"

"Hm? Oh, my business cards." The woman takes them from Alma's outstretched hand.

It's no coincidence. This is her, the love of that man's life, the catalyst who drove him to cause Jowd the same pain.

"Thank you." During Alma's momentary daze, Sissel has got everything together and now she stands. "I really am so sorry about that. What a klutz I am."

"Please don't worry about it." Alma rises. "So, er, what is it you do?"

"I play the piano and sometimes I even sing. I get gigs here and there. Haven't managed to make it big just yet, but who knows, maybe one day."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Thanks." Sissel's gaze lingers on her briefly, diverted by a twist of her head toward the prison. "Are you visiting someone?"

"Oh. Oh no, I was just... er... I suppose I was just standing here lost in my thoughts."

"Oh?" Sissel tilts her head, a corner of her lip curving upward. "I see. So, was there something interesting about my name? You sounded pretty surprised."

"I've..." Alma pauses. "I've heard the name before." Meeting this woman came like a bolt out of the blue and now she has no idea what to do next. Go on her merry way or satisfy her curiosity? Settling on the latter, she speaks again. "Um, I hope you don't think this is a strange request, but would you like to talk some more? There's a cafe just down the street we could go to."

"I suppose it's better than standing around in the street waiting for more people to come bumping into us." Sissel laughs. "Sure, why not, it's not like I have anything else to do right now."

Finding an empty table at the café, they promptly order two cups of coffee. Sissel rests her chin in one hand. "Right, you know my name and job, so I suppose it's time I learned yours."

"I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Sissel shakes the offered hand. "Nice to meet you too."

"As for what I do, I work in a library. The one at the courthouse."

"Ooh, I see. A courthouse, then? Are you interested in law?"

"I've read quite a few books and studied it a bit. Law, criminal psychology, that sort of thing. Actually, my husband is a detective"

"Huh." Sissel lowers her gaze.

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, it's just..." Sitting back, Sissel folds her arms. "I'm sure you must be wondering who I was visiting and why they were in prison."

Alma keeps her expression neutral. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's alright." Sissel's eyes wander over the centre of the table where a meny sits. When they snap back to focus on Alma's, a sudden intensity burns within. "He's not a bad man."

Not now, no. Alma finds herself mentally replaying the excruciating details gleaned from Jowd as she has done so many times before. 

"He's really good at computers. They had him on a huge project, but then the police thought he might be a spy. He was brought in for interrogation. Then this fool detective-" Sissel's words are broken off by the arrival of their coffee. She takes a sip before continuing. "He pushed him so hard, even though he was innocent, made him lose hope, and then even worse, that fool left his gun in the room. Can you believe it?"

"It was careless." Alma rests the rim of her mug against her lips, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. "And then your loved one escaped. Another detective chased him down to a park where he took a child hostage."

"Oh, you've read about the case."

"Not quite." Alma's mouth twists. "That man who left his gun? My friend. The second man? My husband." Pinned to the spot by Sissel's stare, she tunes in to the hustle and bustle surrounding them. After a minute or so, the awkward feeling prompts her to speak again. "If you want to tell me exactly what you think of them or me and leave, I understand."

"Huh. What a coincidence."

Not quite, but 'I'm considering meeting your fiancé, who murdered me in another timeline' isn't going to go down terribly well, so Alma keeps her mouth shut on that particular subject. "They both went too far, and they really do feel a lot of remorse."

"I know, they were only doing their jobs. Yomiel's not holding it against them. Anyway, they spoke in his favour during the trial and I think that got him a lesser sentence, so I should be grateful, really." Her eyes flare with a deep sadness as she smiles. "Just a shame things turned out the way they did."

Alma's throat bobs.

Sissel brings the mug to her lips, taking another sip before setting it down with a dull thud. "All I can do is accept it. Yomiel wouldn't want me to be blaming anyone. At least he's alive, and he'll be out eventually."

"You must love him very much."

"Oh, yes, I do." Sissel's face transforms, lighting up with a radiant glow. "Yomiel is everything to me. He's so sweet, so thoughtful and caring. That day, he was so out of it, desperate, panicking. They made him think his life was over."

"I know."

"I just don't want anyone having the wrong idea about him. I visit him every day. It's hard, but I'm doing my best. Things could have turned out so much worse."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault." Leaning forward, Sissel rests her chin in her hands. "So, anything to tell me about yourself? I know you're married to a detective. Anything else?"

"Hm, well, we have a young daughter, and a cat." Realizing her error too late, Alma sends a prayer to the heavens, pleading for Sissel to not inquire about the cat's name. 

"Oh, you have a little girl? How lovely. What's she like?"

Alma stops herself from expressing her relief just in time. "Kamila is so precious. She's quiet as a mouse and she just loves making things, all these toys and contraptions. I never know what she's going to make next."

"She really sounds like a delight. How about your husband, what's he like?"

"Well, he's a wonderful man, though his sense of humour is a little twisted and his personality can rub people the wrong way. Jowd and Cabanela make such a pair together. Ah, Cabanela's the other guy. He's like a part of our family too."

"The ruthless interrogator?"

"He was trying too hard." Alma shakes her head. "He had just gotten admitted to the Special Investigation Unit and thought he would try to impress them."

"By interrogating an innocent man?" Sissel's lip curls as she lets out a derisive snort. "Ah, sorry, I-"

"Oh, no, no, be as honest as you like. Still, I wouldn't call him ruthless. I don't know what image you have of him, but if you saw the real Cabanela, that image would be quickly shattered. He's really unique, in a sense. He's easygoing, laid back, always dancing."

"Dancing?" One of Sissel's slender eyebrows shoots upwards.

"You have to see it to believe it. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm trying to defend them. I just want you to know they aren't necessarily the ruthless men you might think they are."

Sissel flashes a reassuring smile at her. "Really, it's okay. I get it." Draining the last of her coffee, she sets down the mug and stares into it, a cloud passing over her eyes. "I'm glad. It doesn't seem like you're judging my fiancé."

"No, I'm really not."

"Some of our friends didn't want anything to do with him anymore, or me when I defended him. They didn't even try to understand why he took that child hostage. There must have been so many people judging him and thinking he was a terrible person when it was in the news."

"I'm so sorry to hear it."

"Oh, well. I guess I learned who my real friends were at least."

"You have people you can still talk to, don't you? I'm sure it must be hard."

"I have some friends left. Anyway, it's enough that Yomiel is alive. I hate having to say goodbye but I know he'll be out one day. He was so badly injured back then." Sissel shudders. "I could have lost him. I don't know what I would do without him."

Alma averts her gaze, pushing back the lump in her throat. "Well, that's good that you have some support then." Checking the time on her watch, she adds. "Is that the time already?"

"I guess you should be going then? I'd better get off too, get some shopping done on my way home."

Outside the cafe, Sissel takes a card from her purse and holds it out to Alma. "Here you go. If you want to talk or meet up again, here's my number."

"Really? I almost thought you might not be interested."

"Well, I don't see any reason not to." Sissel tilts her head. "I almost feel like us meeting might not have been a total coincidence."

"Hmm. You know what, I don't think it was either."

"It was very nice to meet you. Well, then, hope to see you another time." Sissel walks away with a wave. Alma watches her blend into the distant crowd with a smile, slipping the card into her own purse.

At a later date, Alma gets in touch with Sissel. Their next meeting is at a restaurant where Sissel is performing. Alma is impressed by how well she can play the piano and sing. Their meetings continue well beyond that and they talk about all sorts of things, the subject of their loved ones in particular.

Five years past the meteorite's fall, Alma's birthday rolls around. Jowd announces that he's made plans for dinner, and even bought crafts to keep Kamila occupied. "If we can try and get off work early, that would be good too. Sissel's going to be around, so Kamila won't be lonely either. I want this day to be different."

"I understand." Alma doesn't feel ready to see the contraption in action either. They go to work as usual and come home with Cabanela, discovering Kamila deeply absorbed in craftwork under Sissel's watchful gaze. The evening is spent dining at Alma's favourite restaurant and they all have a wonderful time. When it's all over, Jowd and Alma fall asleep in their bed, snug in each other's embraces.

The years fly by. Alma enjoys her life with considerable vigor as does Cabanela. They remain conscious of how precious their time is, never forgetting for a single moment. Alma continues meeting Sissel and even makes a new friend in the Justice Minister's wife, who she introduces to Sissel. It doesn't take long before Emma is inspired to write a romance novel involving a jailbird. Seeing how well they get along, Alma is glad to have brought another person into Sissel's life. It's hard for Sissel, being separated from her loved one by prison walls, and Alma will do whatever she can to ease Sissel's pain, even if it's just a little bit.

Alma's birthday comes round, ten years after that fateful day. Coming home from work, Alma is the first to go inside. Greeted with a dark room, she reaches for the light switch only to freeze. Kamila has finally brought the contraption into existence, hasn't she? Alma wouldn't dream of spoiling her daughter's birthday surprise. Time to see it in action. 

"Here we go." Steeling herself, Alma flips the switch and light floods the room. The contraption plays out before her eyes. Cupid's arrow takes flight, its fiery tip striking the party poppers. Loud pops fill the air as streamers fly. She covers her mouth. Jowd's stories couldn't have prepared her for this. It's incredible what Kamila was capable of even five years ago.

Kamila bursts out of the cupboard and runs over to Alma with the kitten in hot pursuit. "Did I surprise you, Mom?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, wow. You really made that yourself?"

"Of course!" Kamila beams, throwing her arms around Alma's waist. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Embracing her daughter, Alma strokes her hair. "Thank you, Kamila. That was a lovely surprise." Behind her, the door opens. Jowd's puzzled expression quickly fades, a knowing smile taking its place.

Some time later, Alma gets a call from Sissel. Joining her husband on the sofa, she clears her throat. "Sissel's fiancé, er, Yomiel is out of prison."

"Yes, he was released a couple of days ago."

"I see." Alma's head tilts.

"Is there something on your mind?"

"I used to go to the prison and think about seeing him myself. Then I met Sissel and she told me all about him instead. If I keep seeing her, I might bump into him at some point."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose that's a possibility. Is it a problem?"

"The thing is, if I meet him for the first time, I want it to be with you, Jowd. I think I'm ready."

"Alright, I'll arrange something."

The next day, Jowd and Alma head to a bar that evening. They quickly spot Yomiel sitting alone in the far corner. It was decided that bringing his fiancée was too risky.

"Hello, Yomiel."

Yomiel stands up, responding with a curt nod. "Hello, Detective. It's good to see you."

"Yes, it's good to see you too. How's life treating you out of prison?"

"It's not easy, but I've got help." Yomiel turns his head slightly. "And you are..."

"Ah, yes, I do believe you already know my wife, don't you?"

"Uh..."

Ever since they came up to him, Alma has been lost in a trance, her thoughts tumbling around in a frantic whirlwind. Thick mud clogs her throat. Swallowing, she wipes her palms over her skirt before thrusting out a hand. "I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Her words cut like a blade through the tension holding Yomiel in place. Shaking her hand, he responds, "Nice to meet you too. I'm Yomiel."

"So, I finally got to meet the man himself," Alma says, as they sit down. Her repeated swallows do little to moisten her mouth. It's really him, that man who took her life and hurt her family, but he isn't that man anymore. That twisted creature who sought to hurt and even kill others is long gone. "I've heard a lot about you from Jowd, and Sissel. I mean, your fiancée. Not the cat."

"I see."

"Well, I suppose I should get drinks for us. Is that okay with you, Alma?" 

Seeing a hint of concern in Jowd's eyes, Alma responds with a smile. "Of course it is. A glass of white wine for me, please. Would you mind giving us a few minutes to speak alone?"

"Sure." Jowd's hand lingers on her shoulder before he walks away.

"You know everything, don't you." A statement, not a question.

"I do. Jowd told me about all of it. I know what you went through."

"Right." Yomiel clears his throat. "I really am so sorry for what I did to you and to everybody else. What I did was completely inexcusable."

Alma studies her interlaced fingers as they lay in her lap. "I know you're not that person anymore. What you went through was hell, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I was consumed by loneliness, by the desire for revenge. It transformed me. I could no longer see people for who they were. You and your little girl? Just tools for causing Jowd pain." Yomiel releases his breath in a soft whoosh. "I don't expect you to forgive me. If you want to tell me you hate me, well, I know I deserve it."

The laughter and animated chatter coming from the other tables provide such a sharp contrast to their serious conversation. While Alma's gaze roams over the other customers, she speaks. "I might have despised you for a while. The truth made me sick. I was hurt and angry, I tried to understand why you would have done it, and then I met your fiancée."

"You've been a good friend to Sissel. I was surprised to hear she had become friends with you."

Alma turns her full attention back to Yomiel. "I didn't seek her out on purpose. We bumped into each other outside the prison and I learned her name. I wanted to get to know her, maybe even hear more about you. I wasn't using her or anything. She's a fantastic woman and I can see why you love her so much."

"Yes, I really do."

"You're lucky to have each other. I hope you'll have a happy future together."

"Thank you."

"Anyway." Alma rests her chin in one hand. "I wanted to meet you in person. I think... I wanted to dispel that image of a murderous monster. To see you for the person you are now."

Yomiel's cheek twitches, his gaze remaining level with hers.

"I know you're not that monster anymore and you will never hurt my family again. I don't bear a grudge against you and I don't hate you either."

"I see." Yomiel bows his head, the words oozing from his lips like thick syrup. "You really are a very kind woman."

Amidst the conversation's lull, the rowdy noises filling the pub become painstakingly clear. "Well then, might as well get Jowd back over here." Alma seeks out Jowd, signalling to him with a wave.

Jowd joins them, setting down the drinks. "Well then, how did it go?"

"We had a pleasant conversation. I told him I have no hard feelings."

"That's good to hear. You were a bit nervous, weren't you, Yomiel?"

"Yes." Yomiel's head moves in an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm not sure I deserve so much kindness." Shifting his gaze to Alma, he continues. "I'm so grateful that you were there for Sissel also. My imprisonment was hard on her but now it's all over and we can look forward to our future together." 

"Well then." Jowd raises his glass. "Here's to us all not being dead or in prison."

With a roll of her eyes, Alma lifts her glass as does Yomiel, their glasses meeting in midair with a soft clink. They engage in conversation, the words falling from their lips ever so casually. Any resulting moments of discomfort are entirely on Jowd. Before they realise it, the glasses are empty and it's time to go. Bidding farewell, they set off back to their respective homes.

"Well, how did that feel?" Jowd asks on the way home.

"It was alright." Alma is relaxed, her body filling the contours of the car seat. "I was so nervous about meeting him but in the end, it all went fine. I can finally let go of all those feelings. It's like a huge weight off my mind."

"Is that so? I'm glad. The ten years are all behind us at last."

"Yeah."

Pulling the car into the driveway of their home, Jowd cuts the engine. Alma leaves the car and goes round to meet Jowd. Snaking her arms around his waist, she sinks against his chest, clasped in his strong embrace.

"I really do love you so much." Alma turns her head up.

Jowd kisses her on the lips. "And I love you too."

As they approach their front door, it swings open, revealing their smiling daughter. Sissel weaves around her legs, mewing. "Welcome back, Mom, Dad." With those words, Kamila steps aside, allowing them to enter together.