#granted i have only seen 14 15 and 16 release live

[dennistakesamentalhealthday]

i think s16 is the most excited i've been for a sunny season

[paulisded]

The Ledge #581: 2013

Generally speaking, when I do shows devoted to years of the past I go way back. Like, at the bare minimum 25 years, and as far back as 50 years. Looking at my shows from 2013, though, I decided tonight I'd do something a little different. Let's go through some of my favorite records from only ten years ago.

While I am one that believes there's great rock and roll released each and every years (despite what many of my fellow oldsters proclaim), 2013 was even better than usual. There's all sorts of lofi indie power pop from the likes of Mind Spiders, Bad Sports, and Fidlar. There's the discovery of a wonderful up and coming songwriter named Lydia Loveless. There's the second release by the reformed Superchunk (my favorite record of the year).

And, of course, there's also the return of The Replacements. Yes, this happened due to a tragedy, as Slim Dunlap had suffered a stroke the previous year. But what a joy to hear Paul Westerberg and Tommy Stinson quickly recording a handful of their favorite oldies. Even better was the Songs For Slim singles series which saw all kinds of Slim's friends recording their favorite Dunalp tunes.

As for this week's edition of "52 Weeks of Teenage Kicks", I once again have a band I wasn't acquainted with before. The Vamps are a UK band that formed in 2012, and over the next few years their first two records went gold in their home country. 2013 saw an EP called Can We Dance that included the live cover of "Teenage Kicks" that opens tonight's show. And like always, I must again plead with y'all for more versions of "Teenage Kicks". If you are a musician, or have any contact with artists that could record their own take on the classic, please contact me!

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE SHOW!

1. The Vamps - Teenage Kicks (Live)

2. The Replacements - I'm Not Sayin'

3. The Replacements - Lost Highway

4. Chris Mars - Radio Hook Word Hit

5. The Minus 5 Feat. Curtiss A - Rockin Here Tonight

6. The Young Fresh Fellows - Loud Loud Loud Loud Guitars

7. Grant Hart - So Far from Heaven

8. Two Cow Garage - The Little Prince and Johnny Toxic

9. Hickoids - If Drinkin Don't Kill Me, Kill Me

10. CTMF Wild Billy Chyldish - The Second Generation Punks

11. Tommy Keene - Have You Seen My Baby? (Flamin' Groovies)

12. Tim Timebomb - Honor Is All We Know

13. Pat Todd & The Rankoutsiders - Small Town Rock Ain't Dead

14. Wooden Shjips - Back To Land

15. Obits - Taste The Diff

16. The Night Marchers - Loud Dumb and Mean

17. FIDLAR - Cheap Beer

18. Warm Soda - Jeanie Loves Pop

19. Lydia Loveless - Boy Crazy

20. Bleached - Looking for a Fight

21. Shannon And The Clams - Rip VanWinkle

22. The Hillbilly Moon Explosion - Motorhead Girl

23. The Men - Half Angel Half Light

24. Mind SpidersInside You

25. Bad Sports - Wahed Up

26. The Dirtbombs - Crazy For You

27. Thee Oh Sees - Toe Cutter - Thumb Buster

28. Ty Segall - You're The Doctor

29. Mikal Cronin - Am I Wrong

30. Kid Congo & the Pink Monkey Birds - Killer Diller

31. The Connection - Wrong Side of 25

32. Shocked Minds - Kalamazoo

33. The Tall Boys - The Man Who Walked On The Moon

34. Terry Malts - Two Faces

35. Telekinesis - Empathetic People

36. Superchunk -FOH

[animecreator3000]

About the Boueibu iceberg

@delphoxqueen asked me to explain about my list for the iceberg so here it is. I might update this from time to time with links and stuff if I stumble across the original posts. This is all from what I know so feel free to add new info. Also, spoiler warning for RobiHachi and the Boueibu manga and novels. (This is like a masterpost it’s very long)

1. There’s a theory in tumblr about which decade the series is set in, using data like the friday the 13th calendar in s2 ep11. In HK we got a second number for when the next monthly Pretty Boy Contest was happening and using the one from Love it was theorized that around a decade had passed since then, which ended up being true.

2. The stage play had a few original songs and characters exclusive to it so unless you watched the full performance, you probably weren’t able to witness all of them. One of the characters is called “Robato Deniro”, as romanized in the stage play booklet I own.

3. The nurse and the cafeteria staff from the s1 mobile game appear in the background in around the first half of s2 ep3.

4. S2 had an unfinished manga that was only available online and was never released on physical format; it was centered around the defense club and sometimes the conquest club and Beppu brothers. All that’s left from what I know are the scans linked on magicalgirlsandcerulean’s blog.

5. This isn’t that obscure because it’s talked about in the anime, but I’m mentioning it because I think many people dropped it before the ova, where right at the beginning it is revealed that the alien that resucitated Mr. Tawarayama twice was, as described by Io, a “mulberry-colored naked mole rat-looking thing”, and was nicknamed “Moley-san” by Yumoto. At least in the anime, we had never heard before of who this was and it never appeared on screen nor was mentioned again.

6. In HK ep8, Karurusu promises the knights to grant a wish if they show him how earthlings spend summer. Kyoutarou reveals at the end of the episode that he wished that summer lasted one more day so he could spend it doing nothing, which prompts Ichiro to theorize that it’s the 32nd of august, and the next day is the second 1st of september.

7. The stage play was was held from march 10th to 13rd, of which the latter is Ryuu’s birthday. There’s an additional recording of a small celebration with cake focused on Ryuu and Io.

8. Atsushi mentions his older sister in the flashback at the beginning of s1 ep4, but she never appears or is mentioned again.

9. There’s a few posts on tumblr theorizing about what happened to the Hakone parents since Yumoto only says in s2 ep3 that according to Gora, “they are busy with their hot springs tour”. En mentions that it’s a bit suspicious, but it’s all the information we have from the anime. Posts talk about the parents perhaps passing away from an accident or an illness, thus the reason why Gora was so worried about Yumoto’s cold in s1 ep10, but from another post I think it’s implied in the second novel that they actually left their home when Yumoto was still a toddler.

10. It’s no secret that the surnames of the characters are all real onsens in Japan that even the seiyuus have visited, but apparently the Arima onsen has two different kinds of water, “kinsen (gold hot spring)” and “ginsen (silver hot spring)”, with different properties each, and the Kusatsu onsen water also has certain properties, both that were used to build the characters. Additionally, Ryuu’s favorite food are Sato Nishiki cherries, which are grown in the same prefecture, Yamagata, as his onsen, Zaou.

11. The press club lose relevance after s1, with only Kinosaki and Tazawa reappearing briefly in s2 ep2 to interview the Beppu twins after they arrive at the school. Tazawa doesn’t even have lines. Hireashi is mentioned by Zundar in ep11.

12. What the heck

13. Exclusively in the manga we see that Arima met Kinshiro and Atsushi when they were little and they were good friends, but when they met again as adults, Kinshiro seemingly didn’t remember Arima. Atsushi, however, stated that Kinshiro’s talent is remembering people’s faces and names, so Arima wonders if he’s just trying to distance himself from him. He also explains to Akoya that he follows Kinshiro and obeys him because as a child, he was fascinated by his radiant smile. This is never talked about in the anime.

14. Like the previous point, the anime never shows Akoya being bullied, at most just a slight dislike of his full name, but the manga shows that he was made fun of for it and how he actually hates his surname, to the point of introducing himself formally to the president and vicepresident of the student council as “Holy Angel Akoya”.

15, 16, 17, 19. Batonama lives were the livestreams done through the franchise by the defense club seiyuus on youtube and niconico. They’re all on youtube, without any kind of translation.

Love-ko is a girl with a shell bikini drawn on a piece of cardboard that was used as a girlfriend in the Batonama Love! lives, acted by the seiyuus themselves.

RobiHachi has one episode full of official Boueibu artwork and a parody of the series too, a Love-ko doll appears, and Wombat appears as well, named “The Don”. It received an english dub, so for a bit, people were excited that Wombat was going to speak in english too. Also, various mechas appear in both Boueibu and RobiHachi.

18. The director of Fairy Ranmaru (Masakazu Hishida if I’m not wrong) revealed in an interview that he was inspired by Boueibu and aimed to make a show like that.

20, 21. The website super-groupies.com has results for defense and conquest club lingerie sets, dc and VEPPer tote bags, the Beppus’ scarf rings, dc bath sets and the pumps magicalgirlsandcerulean mentioned. I’ve found the s1 Loveracelets and Caerula Adamas’ ring on different sites, the True Loveracelets on TheChara’s twitter and the Happybraces (apparently called “Hapibure”) on broccoli.co.jp but I’m not sure where exactly they were all announced and sold, so I’ll just drop that.

22, 33. Boueibu was originally pretty much a copy of Sailor Moon, I think they were all going to be called “Lackluster Moon” and that stuff and be literally Sailor Moon genderbent. They were all different from color palettes to physical features (except Yumoto’s), and Ryuu was a shota, even smaller than Yumoto. Their names were also very reminiscent of the five Sailor Senshis’. Even if they made it more original, the show is still clearly inspired by Sailor Moon (just look at Caerula Adamas lol) and Pretty Cure. It has also referenced, very blatantly, animes like Doraemon, Detective Conan, Aikatsu and even Vocaloid, when Kyoutarou tries to guess what Karurusu is saying with ““Just Google It, Asshole”?” in ep1.

23. Wombat’s real name and the name of his planet sound like gibberish to the earthlings and ends up being named after the Earth animal, but Zundar, Dadacha, Karurusu and Furanui all have original names. And I think Hireashi means “goldfish”?

24. If you google “zundar technology”, it’s actually a company in Shanghai, China. Aren’t Wombat and Zundar always talking about “advanced alien technology”?

25. Zundar and Dadacha are siblings, so are Karurusu and Furanui, and so are their father King Kamopapa and their uncle minister Wao, but neither are the same species and, except the first two, not even the same color. But they are supposedly related because they share birthmarks or something like that...

26. Everyone who’s in this fandom knows about the pixel blur and voice pitch censor from s1, but I’ve added it anyway because it’s so rare for mahou shoujo and shounen animes to explain why the heroes aren’t recognized when transformed.

27. A good while of s2 ep11 is spent discussing Zundar’s ex-wife and his problems to give child support. Naturally, he gets mad at this.

28. “Money doesn’t betray” (s1 ep6) and “The despair hidden behind your smile that comes from not being understood” (s3 ep11) are sentences that came out of nowhere and implied that the people they were said by (Io) or about (Taiju) respectively had some kind of angst going on but were never explained at all. They’re famous for just that.

29. The Beppu twins’ house in Andromeda shown in flashbacks had strange green circles that apparently are from another anime I don’t know but honestly I didn’t get it very well... It was revealed on a tweet from Takamatsu.

30. Alien language mostly appeared in s2 due to the many flashbacks of Aki and Haru in Andromeda, but in Boueibu s1, it appears on the Zundar Needle before it is shot on the human. It appears a lot through RobiHachi as well, due to being a story about travelling through space. There might be an alphabetical chart somewhere, but I can’t assure it exists, I might even have dreamed it.

31. Hikaru Midorikawa as the melon monster, Kousuke Toriumi as the bishounen monster, Yoshitsugu Matsuoka as the kotatsu and panda monsters and Takuya Eguchi as the remote controller monster in s1 and 2, before going on to voice the main cast in HK. Keisuke Koumoto voiced Hatchi Kita in RobiHachi as well as Akihiko in Boueibu, and the characters look similar.

A new addition is that so far Boueibu is the only anime I’ve seen where children weren’t voiced by female seiyuus, but by actual children. Personally, it’s charming and makes it so much more realistic, specifically since no women appear in the franchise at all either (not counting Protag-chan in the game).

32. Speaking of seiyuus, Can I Destroy The Earth? had a dub shown in ep11/12 (?) that made Gora the villain that wanted Earth to stay the same and not progress, against the monsters that supposedly wanted to bring good things to earthlings. Aki and Haru quickly dismissed this dub as fake. (I made a mistake in the title in the previous post btw)

34. As seen in the glossary in the Boueibu Mook (I think, but might not be the mook), Caerula Adamas’ speeches are based on an old japanese detergent commercial that went “Gold, silver, pearl, gift”.

35. In the manga there’s a short parody of the first chapter of Sailor Moon with “Pretty Boy Guardian Gakuran Akoya”. The conquest club manga was released before the anime, so I remember reading somewhere that a fake website appeared for the Gakuran Akoya manga, before turning into the conquest club manga website in the day of its release.

36. Cgi was used a few times in the anime: s2 ep10 for a short sequence of the defense club on a rollercoaster and the carousel monster, ep11 for a cenital shot of the Battle Lovers singing, and HK ep12 for the Honyalaland soldiers and the Wao mecha.

37. The toothbrush incident in s1 ep7. (It’s definitely well-known but it’s so weird lol)

38. “We hope we can see each other again someday!” Something along those lines was the last text to appear in the last episode of HK, implying a s2. We all know how that went.

[themurphyzone]

PatB AU: Pinky the Snowmouse

This is just one of those late night ideas that I wanted to post. It’s somewhat based off that Frosty the Snowman special from the 60s with a dash of Pinocchio. 

I haven’t actually watched either of these recently. My subconscious is just weird. 

1. After his fallout with Snowball, Brain continues to aspire for world domination, but finds that he’s hit a block when it comes to plans. He doesn’t have inspiration nor anyone to bounce ideas off with, but he tries to push past it and just continue creating. There’s bound to be a gem or two amidst all the duds, he tells himself. And he doesn’t need anyone else, he can rule the world on his own.

2. ACME Labs hosts a Christmas party, and they invite a magician for entertainment. Brain is in his cage, brainstorming ideas for world domination while the scientists gather around for the magician’s performance. Brain knows magic is all just sleight of hand and optical illusions, and rolls his eyes at the magician failing to even manage that. The scientists all mock the magician, and their laughter grows more when the magician fails to pull a rabbit out of his hat. 

3. The magician is laughed out of ACME Labs, and he swears revenge against all the scientists who work there. But he left his top hat on a table by Brain’s cage, and he doesn’t notice until later that night. ACME Labs closes, and Brain escapes his cage, glad that the party is finally over so he can get back to planning properly. 

4. But loneliness creeps up on Brain again, and he tries to dismiss it as the reason he can’t concentrate. So he goes outside, where a thick layer of snow has covered the ground. He starts kicking around snow and eventually builds a snowmouse, wondering if he’s gone mad since he’s partaking in an activity that’s usually reserved for children and not future emperors. 

5. He builds the snowmouse’s body first, using a stick for a tail and fashioning the head. Then he decides it’s missing some prerequisites to be a proper snowman, so he goes inside and gathers a bunch of buttons, a pink scarf, and lastly, the magician’s hat. He goes back to the snowmouse and dresses him up, then tosses on the hat as a finisher. 

6.  And boy, if Brain felt ridiculous before then now it was tripled since he decided to dress up the snowmouse like it was a real entity. He angrily starts berating himself for being distracted and that he needs to focus, because he can’t be like all those other scientists. 

He declares that their collective minds are nothing compared to the intelligence in his pinky, and a voice answers ‘yes?’ 

7. Brain thinks he’s just hearing things, then the voice goes ‘oh, i thought you called my name. Narf!’ 

Then Brain turns around and freaks out, because holy crap the snowmouse he built was alive and talking. Brain dismisses it as a figment of his imagination at first, but as the newly christened Pinky the snowmouse displays a rather glaring lack of intelligence, he can’t help but be curious about how snow can come to life. He circles Pinky and tries to figure it out, taking off the magic hat, and Pinky goes still and silent. Brain quickly puts the hat on Pinky again, and soon the snowmouse is dancing around once more. 

8.  Unbeknownst to either of them, the magician saw the hat bring Pinky to life and decides he can profit off the hat, then follows the two mice. 

9. Pinky gets distracted and wanders into town with Brain trailing after him and making sure Pinky’s stupidity and lack of awareness about the world doesn’t kill them both. To Brain’s dismay, he finds that Pinky takes in pop culture much faster than he does at science. It’s pretty ironic that Pinky already knows who Mariah Carrey is despite being alive for less than an hour, but he believes snowflakes are manufactured in an eco-friendly factory in the clouds. 

10. Pinky sees a pair of lovers hugging, then tries to do the same with Brain. Unfortunately, all this does is make Brain shiver with cold, and Pinky feels bad for hurting him like that. Brain shouts at him for hugging, but when Pinky apologizes, Brain realizes it was just an accident and tells him not to do it again. 

11. Pinky notices that images of Santa are plastered all over the place since it’s the holiday season, and wishes he could meet the big guy. This leads into inspiration for Brain to create his own line of toys and plant them in the elf factory for mass production and distribution. Brain praises Pinky for the inspiration. 

12. Brain creates the Noodle Noggin plans and together the mice stow away in a plane bound for the North Pole. However, it’s necessary for Pinky to stay in cold temperatures, so they have to remain in the cargo hold and away from the heated cockpit. Brain is freezing despite being dressed for cold weather, and Pinky feels bad for not being able to keep him warm. Pinky says he wishes he could be a real mouse like Brain, so that he can be his friend forever. 

Brain thinks the headaches Pinky gave him were pretty real, but the companionship and kindness were real too. He keeps quiet about this, unsure of what to say. 

13. The magician has also stowed away on the plane. 

14. The plane lands at the North Pole, and the mice head to the elf factory. They discover Pinky can’t enter the elf factory since it’s heated, so Brain goes in alone to slip the Noodle Noggin plans in with the other blueprints, while Pinky wanders off and explores the North Pole settlement. 

15. Before Brain can successfully slip the blueprints in, the magician ambushes and successfully captures him, and the Noodle Noggin plans are torn beyond saving in the struggle. Angered at the loss of his plans, Brain demands the magician explain himself. The magician declares he gets a two for one profit, with a talking mouse and a magic hat, then realizes the snowmouse is missing and demands to know where he is. 

16. Without the hat, Pinky can’t stay alive. Brain refuses to reveal Pinky’s location for any reason, and the magician tries to force it out of him. Brain is stubborn though and refuses to speak. 

17. Pinky finishes wandering around the village and goes back to check on Brain, thinking he’s taking an awfully long time in the elf factory. He peeks in through a window, discovering that a man is hurting a very distressed Brain, who’s still resisting. 

18. Pinky shouts for Brain, and gets the magician’s attention. Brain yells at him for drawing attention to himself, ordering him to run. But Pinky won’t do it, because Brain is in trouble and needs help. 

19. The magician demands Pinky give up the magic hat. But Pinky will only give up the hat if he releases Brain. The magician agrees, but Brain knows full well that the magician is far too greedy and will go back on his word, and Pinky is giving up the hat and his life for a promise that won’t be kept. 

20. With Brain in hand, the magician walks over to a fireplace and tells Pinky to come inside. The fireplace is bright and warm, and Brain orders Pinky to just leave, because the heat will kill him if he doesn’t. Pinky starts to melt as he comes closer, telling Brain it’s okay, he’s happy they’re friends, even if their time together was brief. 

21. When Pinky is in front of the fireplace, the magician snatches the hat off his head, and renders Pinky lifeless. Reveling in victory, the magician releases Brain who hugs and begs Pinky to wake up and stop being stupid, just wake up and say narf, Pinky. Except Pinky can’t see or hear anymore, and is nothing more than cold, melting water with a few accessories. Brain is left crying and pleading for Pinky to come back, clutching a wet scarf in his hands. The magician mocks Brain for believing that a pile of snow had thoughts and feelings. 

22. But the magician’s joy is cut short at Santa Claus’s sudden appearance. Angry that someone could take such mirth in murdering an innocent creature and cause so much grief in his best friend, Santa orders his elves to tie up the magician and take him away. The elves obey, and the magician is reduced to a pathetic mess. 

23. Brain barely notices the commotion. Santa decides to grant Brain one Christmas wish, just to give him a little comfort. And Brain ponders, knowing that he journeyed all this way for world domination, and while he can easily cut a lot of hassle by using his wish to make himself ruler of the world...he remembers Pinky’s sacrifice.

Pinky’s compassion. Pinky’s kindness. How Pinky provided the inspiration he needed. 

Brain admits to Santa that even if Pinky was made of snow, he still had the warmest heart he’d ever known. 

24. Brain asks if it’s possible for Pinky to be revived with a body to reflect his warm heart. 

25. Santa grants the wish. The puddle that used to be Pinky reshapes and forms into a living, breathing mouse with the softest, warmest fur imaginable. Pinky marvels at his new body and the mice have their first proper hug. Brain is overjoyed at Pinky being alive again, and Pinky is happy to be a real mouse at last. 

26. Santa lets the mice ride home in his sleigh (Pinky falls in love with Donner on the way home and Brain learns what jealousy is for the first time and hopes to god they don’t get invited to any Donner parties). Meanwhile all the elves are sobbing with their hot cocoa, marshmallows, and candy canes while watching all the drama unfold on their security feed because this is the best Christmas drama they’ve seen in years. 

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.28

a/n: aye have mixture of fluff and angst~ sorry for uploading late :c MY SCHEDULE IS SUCH A KILLER I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH huhuhu

warnings: this cannot be read solo

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21, part 22, part 22, part 23, part 23.5, part 24, part 25, part 26, part 27, part 29

Masterlist to my other fics: here :) (that has not been updated for how many months now... proceed with caution~)

“Is that really you, Inspector (l/n)?” The hero asked. With each step she took, you made sure Chisaki’s face wouldn’t be seen. “It’s late.”

“Hey, Enigma~” Lowering his head to rest on your shoulder, you smiled at the small quiet hero. “It is late~ We’re not causing a disturbance are we?”

“Of course not! But I don’t think this is the place to be…” She scratched her cheek and avoided your eye contact. “You know…”

“I know~ I apologize. He’s typically busy and we don’t get to hang out much.” You patted his back and continued. “He’s also very shy and doesn’t like to be seen in public.”

“Oh! I’m very sorry! But, if you don’t mind, would it be alright if the both of you continued elsewhere?”

“It’s fine! We were just going separate ways.” You consoled her and knew that her reaction was safe enough. At least you were fast enough to cover his face. “I told you, Shinoda-san. Heroes patrol these times of the night.”

“Forgive my rash decision.” He rested his head on your shoulder. Embarrassed that he had been this close to kissing you. Disappointed that it was barely a few centimeters and yet even such trivial things like these, the heroes would always disturb him. For now, all he could do was to wrap his arms around your body.

“Don’t wear your mask.” You whispered to him. He merely hummed. Gliding your hands on to his chest, he looked at you with cautiously eager eyes. Feeling how you pushed him he let you lead the way till the hood of his car hit thighs. “Enigma’s gone. You can turn around now.”

“I apologize for my actions.” Overhaul said as he took out his mask and wore it. “I was not expecting those bastards to roam this area at night.”

“You come here often?”

“Many years back. That apartment building, the third one.” He pointed it out. “Before the Shie Hassaikai was established, Kurono and I used to live there.”

“Wait, wait, wait… You and Chrono were roomies?” You stared at your companion, to the building, and back at him. A small pang of pain hit your forehead just as he had overhauled his glove back. “Well, no need to flick me, Chisaki.”

“Whatever it is your mind was thinking, no. We weren’t roomies.” He pinched your cheek and leaned on to the hood. “Neighbors. Pops owns that building. It’s one of the properties not involved with my business.”

“You know, I’d ask but perhaps we can schedule another meeting for that.” You took the vacant area beside him. With a bit of space in between, you placed your hand beside his. Just a reminder that the invitation still remains open.

“Of course.” Looking at your figure beside him, he furrowed his brows and shook his thoughts away. “Then again, we really should go separate ways. I hate having to take my mask off.”

“You know, you don’t have to take it off when you’re with me.” Elbowing him gently, you chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, though. I like looking at your face. I just don’t want people to see you. Especially not with how things are going.”

“Nah.” Not expecting that word to come out of his mouth, the both of you met eyes at the same time. Adjusting the cloth, he tried to hide the slowly creeping heat on his cheeks. “You’re rubbing off on me, (y/n). That aside, it isn’t really bothersome if I take it off when you’re around. Your expressions are worth breathing the horrid air.”

“Ugh. Smooth talker.” You pouted. Taking a peak at your watch, the time was now quarter to one. As much as you wanted to stay and get to know more of the man behind the name, he was right. Flinching at the sudden weight on your hand, you looked down and found his on top of yours.

The kiss may not have happened but if it were compensated with this small act of intimacy then perhaps it wasn’t that bad. Carefully interlacing your fingers, you were more than relieved when he moved along and held on to your hand tightly. Maybe it was fine if you were to lean on to his arm and rest your head on his shoulder?

Just as you were about to attempt, Chisaki pulled you closer to him.

“You’re too obvious…” He said as he rested his head on yours. “We already have to leave in a few minutes. If you won’t do it then I will.”

“I swear this feels like a fever dream…” You commented earning a ruffle to the hair with his free hand. “Alright, alright. It’s real. You better not bug me Chisaki or I swear I will block you.”

“Well, now that this has happened, shall we take our leave now?”

“Is it bad to say that I’d rather stay here?”

“Are you suggesting we sleep in the car?” He poked your cheek.

“And have you drowned in your car’s germs? I’d rather not.” Standing up straight, you took a few steps and only then realized he still had not let go of your hand. “If you don’t let go, I’ll have to rethink sleeping in the car. And frankly speaking, sleeping in cars is not the most comfortable experience.”

“Right again.” Letting go of your hand, he too stood up. “In that case, I shall send a message when I get back to the base.”

“And I’ll message you when I arrive home.”

“Fair trade.”

To which you did not. Right after both your cars went separate ways, your phone vibrated with a message from Tsukuachi. Parking at the nearest allowable area, you grabbed your device and read the message. Rereading the text, you clicked dial.

“Are you for real?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to read it now.” He stifled a yawn and continued. “Unfortunately yes. If you can drop by the precinct, I can hand them over to you so you can get a head start.”

“Nao, it’s 1am.”

“And yet here we are, talking on the phone like the rats we are.”

Letting out a sigh, you ended the call. Rubbing your face, you leaned your head on the steering wheel and stared at your hand. Chewing on your lip, you began to recall the moment that had happened a mere minutes ago. Being able to hold his hand out in public had a different tingle.

Not long after, you were now seated beside Tsukauchi. Accepting the small cup of coffee, you waited as he filed through some documents. Taking small peaks at some of the letters, you saw how some names of villains you knew of were written down and crossed out. When Tsukauchi stopped at a particular piece of paper, he handed it over.

“Damn. It really is happening.” You set the paper aside and took a sip of your now cold beverage. “Do you need any help for the preparations? I can pull an all nighter if needed.”

“Would it be alright? It’s bad enough the schedule keeps changing.” Glancing at the paper and to the calendar, Tsukauchi stared at your tired eyes. “With this, the Fukuo Kai case will commence a week from now. Are you ready to focus on Nighteye’s?”

“From the middle, I have been focusing on their case. I just didn’t expect it to happen too soon.” Playing with the hems of your sweater, you rested your elbows on your knees and covered your face. “Wanna go to the rooftop?”

“Not thinking of bailing now, are you?” Tsukauchi said as he began to clear his desk and stand up. “What’s on your mind, hmm?”

“I just met with 2 people I shouldn’t have any business with.” You weakly chuckle as you lead the way to the rooftop. Opening the doors, you felt your breathing grow heavy. The sudden claminess of the narrow pathway was not good for your running mind. Holding onto Tsukauchi’s sleeve, you were more than thankful he was willing to listen.

Taking the final step, Tsukauchi unlocked the hatch and granted access to the rooftop. The night sky was still dark and barely held any stars. Light pollution framed the horizon while the street lamps casted a yellow-orange glow to the roads below.

“What happened?”

“Levi specifically told the heroes not to mess with my work.” You began. “It went well but not for long. I had to bug the Shie Hassaikai after a few days Levi left. Only an idiot would refuse knowing my stance with the two parties.”

“Was it successful?”

“It was. The anon tip we had from before was Chronostasis. He gave me Overhaul’s sim card and I kinda just took the opportunity to let him plant the chip for me. It was going smoothly till a few hours ago. Nighteye told me that they were still getting feedback even though Chrono destroyed the device.”

“Where did things go wrong? It just seems like a loyalty test to me.”

“I don’t even know if I passed at this point.” Taking your phone out, you opened the gallery and showed him the picture of the hidden camera. “They bugged me. I’m not certain if they saw what went on inside my unit but the fact that they saw him entering and exiting as he pleases makes my blood boil.”

“Then it means they saw his face?” His eyes widened.

“As far as I know, he only took his mask off around the living room area, his room, or mine.” Trying to recall, each time he entered the kitchen he used the other door connecting to the living room. Thank the quirk gods your apartment was designed that way. “I don’t even know if it transmits audio.”

Squatting on the floor you rubbed your face once more and raked your fingers through your hair. Pulling on the clumps a bit, you released a small shaky sigh.

“I’m guessing the second person you met was the reason for all this?” Tsukauchi took the initiative and sat on the empty space beside you. “What happened with him?”

“He knew about Chrono helping me and about the other bug running around. Told me that heroes needed to have fun too. Bastard.” No matter how much you twisted your views, Chisaki Kai was always Overhaul first. “I… I just don’t know what to do anymore, Nao.”

Closing your eyes, a small whimper left your mouth as tears began to fall.

“Things are just so fucking complicated that I… I don’t even know what step I should do next. I want justice to prevail but no matter what I do…”

“You’ve really fallen down the rabbithole, huh?” Tsukauchi commented as he gave soft pats on your back. “Then again, who wouldn’t? You’re literally stuck in the middle and have to be on edge more than usual. Other than that, you held up pretty well.”

“I can’t even clear my name at this point. If things ever go wrong in the Shie Hassaikai raid, my name will definitely make it into the possible accomplice list.” You bit your lip and clenched your fists. “Gods I hate this so fucking much. I told him I had it under control when in reality I’m as stuck as a rat on a glue board.”

“Don’t go using that analogy.” Tsukauchi still continued to pat your back. “Think of us as hamsters. We’re pretty cute and intelligent. Just give it a bit of time and I’m sure you’ll think of something. I bet you wouldn’t want your dad to partake in any of your problems so best not to pop up in your estate.”

“I know it’s a law for heroes not to kill but what if…”

“I doubt he’ll die in battle. Overhaul is a B-Rank villain. The most that’ll happen would be for him to be knocked out unconscious or bloody at the end of the day.” Yet even as he said those words, Tsukauchi wasn’t too confident. It would be a lie on his part if he said things would be fine. “Who knows? He might have some sort of magical epiphany and surrender to lessen his charges.”

“Now that you mention it,” You wiped your tears away and sat down properly. “I’ve never really read what happens to higher rank villains after they get captured. The highest I’ve handled was just D-ranked ones.”

“Hmmm…” Now that the topic was open, he too hadn’t really thought too much about it knowing his and your department weren’t incharge of what happens after the dirty work. “Standard procedures. They’ll search the area once more and take proper inventory. Say that Overhaul is merely strained, they would pat him down and once he’s clear and in the precinct or designated area, he’ll have to sign a document signifying that the given list is all that he owns. He’ll be then taken to a private area to have his fingerprints, mug shot, and other necessary information.”

“He probably won’t get a hearing.”

“Right you are. He’ll most likely be sent to Tartarus if that’s what you’re asking.”

“If he does, who do you think would handle it? The HPSC?”

“Most likely. Still, they have a lot on their hands so his case would surely collect dust.” He paused and let out a yawn. “If it were you, would you grant him a second chance in life?”

“Heh, If it were up to me...” Looking at the now starless skies, you felt a chill run down your spine. “Personal emotions aside, of course not.”

“But?”

“You really think I’d break into Tartarus just to save one villain and give him a better life?” You smirked and stood up.

“Of course not.” He chuckled and stood up as well. “Even the dumbest person knows that’s suicide. Go home and get some rest, (y/n). We’ll handle this later in the day.”

Giving you some privacy, Tsukauchi excused himself first. Hearing the door latch click, you took your phone out and dialed a number. It only took 3 rings before the other line picked up.

“Well now,” The cheeky voice said. “What can I help you with dove?”

- - - - -

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased @infinite-universe-love @dirtypride @blackymomo03 @azzie @purple-rabanito​ @meximorrita @awesomeee19​​ @celestial-kanzakii​ @laure-lo​ @team-wang-puppy​ @aydience-world​ @choros-main-hoe​ @colorseeingchick​ @franko-pop​ @o-dragon05 @but-kairis-not-that-smart (i cant seem to tag again :( hope this lands in your timelines!)

I hope yall liked this chapter annnd if you want to be tagged feel free to comment :’) your comments make my day and make me happy huhu <3

[daddy-ul]

A Very Metallica Ask

So, basically I wanted real nerdy/strange/deep Met ask and here they are!

1. You win a Meet & Greet, but unfortunately you have time to talk to just one of the boys... which one do you pick?

2. Have you ever created Metallica related fandom content? (it can be covers, art, fanfic, meta, tumblr posts, playlists, etc)

3. Sandman of the Endless is fond of Metallica fans bc their singing keeps his powers fully charged, so he grants them a special dream: you dreamt that you were chosen to play with the band one song of your choice, playing whatever instrument you like, it doesnt matter that you can’t play it in reality, you will play it PERFECTLY in the dream. Which song, which instrument.

4. Beyond Magnetic: yes? no? would you put some song back in Death Magnetic?

5. Which Metallica song will get you absolutely rambling? Like, you listen to it and you want to talk abt it, to SHOUT about it from rooftops.

6. Pick a James Hetflield’s hairstyle (good or bad)

7. Through the Never: have you seen it? do you like it? thoughts????

8. One evening at the gym with Rob, doing yoga with Kirk, at the museum with Lars or hiking with James?

9. You meet Lars in the backstage, he is (as usual) mumbling about the setlist for tonight, he asks you what song would you like to hear, and you say...

10. Fave Metallica cover in Garage Inc.

11. Fave Metallica cover OUTSIDE Garage Inc. (including Rob&Kirk's doodles. if you need a list, go to the official site, under “songs” there are reported every song Metallica has recorded, even the covers)

12. Which Metallica song do you like more live than studio? Like, the one you dont even bother listening to the studio vers, just the live version.

13. In the last two decades Metallica has rearranged a lot of their own songs, so which “Metallica covers Metallica” song do you like?

14. Music Time Machine! You get a single opportunity to use this machine: it will take you on the day, hour and spot of every concert of your liking. So? What date will you put into it?

15. Fave Metallica's album sound wise?

16. Which Met song(s) will make you sing your heart out?

17. Do you have some Metallica merchandising?

18. Which piece of your Met merch is your treasure?

19. Metallica has awesome t-shirts designs, which one is the best?

20. There is something Metallica related that you absolutely want to buy, but still haven’t?

21. Hopefully in November there will be another AWMH concert, which song would you like to hear acoustic?

22. Also, S&M2 will finally be released! Did you see it live? At the movie theatre? What’s your thoughts?

23. Best performance on S&M2?

24. You are a lucky fan selected to interview the boys, 2 at time: who would you couple with who + what would be your questions

25. Fave HTSD lyrics

26. What Met riff is eating your brain today?

27. If you ever got the chance to see one of Met members on the street, what would you do?

28. Is your fashion sense more in line with which member? (you can also specify the era)

29. What’s your favorite story about Cliff?

30. Which member do you relate most to and why?

31. I’m very mean: pick a friendship

32. Do you read So What!? Do you like it?

33. Do you follow Metallica on social media?

34. Is there something that you would like to change in how the band is handled?

35. Is there a song of theirs that you skip most of the time?

36. St. Anger. Discuss.

37. Are there some songs that you love but can listen to only in specific moods? So you end up not listening to them as much as you like?

38. Talk abt something Metallica related that you mentally link to something that happened in your life

39. Do you have friends that are also Metallica fans? Do you talk abt Metallica with them?

40. Has Metallica ever been a copy mechanism to you?

[spacesnaill]

Holds you at gunpoint. Every question for Jupiter. (you can skip some if you want-)

i love you, you motherfucker 🔫

1. what is your character's relationship to the traveler?

jupiter is aether’s and lumine’s big sibling, so they all get along very well. i like to think aether and lumine are way more brash and “act before you think” kind of people, while jupiter usually is the one who takes lead (both because of the big sib energy and because they are way more analytical). that being said, jupiter is aware that the twins are very much capable of surviving on their own and fighting if there is any need for that, which is why even after losing touch with them in tevyat they know that the twins will manage somehow, they just need to find them

2. is your character proud of, ashamed of, or indifferent to their feelings towards members of a certain gender?

i’d like to think that the species/society the trio comes from doesnt give a fuck about gender and sexuality so jupiter would never feel ashamed or upset about their feelings towards specific genders. i dont think they would rlly label themself but they are definitely not straight. as to having feelings towards others: they are usually straight forward in their approach

3. what is your character's relationship with themselves?

jupiter knows their purpose and objective very well, but that often clouds their true desires. i like to think that they havent really been thinking for themself up until they were stranded in tevyat and had to rely on themself. they came to realize their own opinions and perspectives that they carry with themself everywhere they go. tho, their views are rather flexible, because they are very much willing to learn if an oppoturnity arises. that being said, they dont quite know themself well just yet, they are still learning after all

4. what is their favorite region? why?

with how much of the game is available rn, liyue is definitely their favorite so far. it’s culture is incredibly rich and full of fascinating stories and legends. i personally am looking forward to the release of sumeru, but what will come out of it is yet to be seen

5. what is their relationship with Zhongli? do they have one at all?

oh they very much do. while his charm and politeness are qualities that they very much enjoy, what originally drew them closer to him was his vast knowledge over liyue’s traditions and customs. at first during their stay at liyue harbor they would wait to catch him during his afternoon and evening strolls around the city to ask him things and carefully listen to everything he has to say. id like to think that zhongli appreciated having such an active listener and even a conversation partner at some point. eventually their little friendship grew into fondness for each other and they would seek each other’s company, until jupiter straight up confessed. id like to think their relationship is fairly innocent and very much founded on mutual respect and admiration. they both value honesty and communicate with each other rather well. and even though, zhongli hesitated before agreeing to travel with them, leaving liyue behind, he doesnt regret doing it

6. who is their love interest? If they do not have one, who is their closest friend?

while zhongli is both their love interest and their dear friend, venti is their first close friend. during the events of chapter I they both bonded. venti seemed like someone containing a vast amount of knowledge that jupiter was eager to discover. it quickly became apparent to them that the bard doesnt particularly like to talk about the past in detail, but venti still would surprise them with how much he knew about art and the culture surrounding it. they are both pretty light spirited so they always enjoyed each other’s company and their bond only grew stronger during their travels.

7. what do they think of Mona?

they are curious about and intrigued by her methods. they can also very much relate to her pursuit of lost/forgotten knowledge. they like to ask her about astrology and theorize with her, asking her to teach them little things for an exchange of a hot, homemade meal

8. what do they think of The Knights of Favonius?

their opinion on the knights is mixed. they can very much see that most of the people working for them are underqualified and not cut for the job or only doing it for the renown. while the idea of a city without a ruler is appealing, in practice the knights are the ones ruling over it and jupiter was left feeling sceptical when thinking about their methods and the possible future. they dont have anything against the individual people in the organization, but they do think their approach is highly flawed

9. wine is Mondstadt's most popular drink. do they drink wine?

while they do indulge in alcohol from time to time, they dont seem to be able to get drunk or even tipsy. they’ve concluded that since their body is built differently than a person of this world’s, its very probable that they dont react to certain foods and products the same way. alcohol is like any kind of a drink for them and many people are terrified when they see them consume it in large quantities

10. what do they think of Kaeya?

they like his playful nature and think he is a highly intelligent person, who doesnt show anyone what he is truly capable of. his methods, while very  cunning, seem rather brash, which somehow reminds them of their siblings. while they are very much curious about his motives and history, they dare not to pray if it isnt welcomed. during their stay in mondstadt they would often times catch kaeya lurking in the tavern and spending time with the local gangs and bandits in order to extort information from them while drunk. in the rarer occasions where he would be alone, they would sometimes keep him company, filling the night with talks about nothing in particular

11. if they were forced to make the choice between killing their love interest/friend or killing themselves, what would they choose? why?

that very much depends on when that would happen. pre-separation with their siblings, they would very much operate on the hard logic of “whoever has more information/more important information should survive”. however after spending time in tevyat and meeting its people, jupiter learns to greatly value life and their inicial stance would change to a more selfless one. the more they get to know about the world the more they are willing to put their life on the line to preserve life in it, especially if its the life of someone they hold dear

12. what do they think of Childe? 16. is there a canon character your character hates? why?

at first they were open to the idea of being childe’s friend, however with time they started noticing that something was wrong with his overt friendliness. when he revealed his true intentions, jupiter was not surprised, but learning what he had chose to do made them absolutely despise him. staying in liyue has taught them a lot and made them care about the people living in this world. however childe seemed to have no disregard to them. they will not hesitate to fight him if their paths do cross again

13. do they carry a lot of Mora?

having a large amount of mora is basically a requirement when travelling with zhongli and venti. jupiter does take on a lot of jobs and comissions, though mora is mostly a secondary issue for them. they do find themself owning quite a lot of it at times until they overspend with their companions and are forced to rely on their survival skills in order to save up enough to get a roof over their heads

14. does your character side with Kaeya, Diluc or neither?

when it comes to the family feud: neither. jupiter doesnt like to pry into family matters and they understand both kaeya and diluc never talking about their issues with one another. while they cant imagine siblings behaving like that, due to their own experience, they dont feel like its their place to judge.

when it comes to the knights of the favonius: jupiter slightly leans more on diluc’s side, recognizing the many weaknesses of the organization as it is, however they both come from different places when critiquing it.

15. what do they think of Venti?

venti has become their best friend and they value him deeply. they worry about him sometimes, aware of the origin of his appearance and the history behind it. they like how venti seems to perceive life in a very poetic way and are fascinated by it. they get along very well and venti often fill their time during their travels by his songs, both known and not yet named

17. how did they acquire their vision?

they seem to be blessed with the same ability as their siblings when it comes to being granted powers without aquiring a vision themself

18. what is your character's weakness?

their curiosity and hunger for knowledge

19. what is their strength?

they utilize the knowledge they have gathered into things they can use to their advantage be it in battle or daily life

20. what is your character's theme song?

pure gold by half·alive

21. what weather do they love the most? why?

they love when its sunny. jupiter very much enjoys the feeling of sunlight on their skin

22. what do they think of Paimon?

jupiter would be Ecstatic to get to meet paimon. her vast knowledge in all matters would make her a valuable companion. in the current story they have no idea who she is as of now though

23. what do they think of the Fatui?

while they do not approve of the fatui’s methods, they cant help but think that something much deeper must be going on. jupiter wants to believe that the tsaritsa cant be simply evil and that perhaps she has some other, hidden motivation for her actions. having spent time with and got to know the fatui in liyue, they also know that not all of them are cartoonish bad guys

24. what do they think of the archons?

overall the concept of archons seems very new and intriguing to them. they do try to get as much information about their godhood out of venti and zhongli. they wonder whether this world really needs the archons as much as it claims to

25. what is the worst thing that could happen to your oc?

either losing their siblings or losing their memory (its a great fear of theirs)

26. what does your oc want the most?

their long term dream is to write down all the knowledge they’ve gathered so far and make it accessible and understandable to anyone willing to read it

[omegangrins]

Chibnall, Children, Choice and Consequence

Allow me to introduce a companion piece to A Treatise on the Doctor:

It's pretty simple:

Chibnall knows what he's doing and is playing a long game to show how the Doctor needs to take more responsibility.

Let me start off with my favorite examples. That's right, plural.

Every single villain 13 faces is never defeated, merely pushed away from causing them any immediate problems. Tim Shaw being the prime example.

1&10. Seriously, Tim Shaw. Her plan was to use his own bombs on him and then teleport him off the planet. Even without Ranskoor Av Kolos, the Doctor should have thought to check in on him. Especially after The Ghost Monument showed the Stenza were a greater threat than she knew. She still hasn't even checked up on WHAT THE HELL THE STENZA ARE! They sound worse than Daleks but naw, let's go rain-bathing in the upper tropics of Canstano instead.

2. Ghost Monument. We saw the END of an interuniversal race. What the fuck is the beginning that got them there? Who is Illyn and how and why did he orchestrate a super race?

3. Krasko. Sent back in time. Really, Doc? Not gonna take a look at the device and see where Ryan sent the prick so you can double check that he's not gonna cause anymore damage?

4. President Trump analog. Ooooo, you looked at him menacingly, Doc, that'll show him!! Not like he's gonna KEEP DOING ILLEGAL SHIT LIKE THIS.

5. The Pting. She literally shunted it off ship to be dealt with by someone else BUT DOESN'T GO BACK TO BE THAT SOMEONE ELSE ONCE SHE HAS HER TARDIS. That's like leaving a living nuke floating around after sweeping it under the rug while you fly off to Paris.

6. The Pakistani-Indian conflict still happens and millions still die. Not her fault but still....

7. Kerblam. Sure, Charlie's terrorism was solved but not the underlying problem that led to it. Humans still can't work because corporations like profits over people.

8. Similar to the Punjab, how you gonna solve sexism, classism and all the -isms?

9. WHY WAS THE SOLITRACT THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??!! It's been around since before the universe. Why'd it decide to come back now? It's a whole universe trying to hug our universe to death. Maaaaaaybe we should check out why.

11. She's gets a pass on the Dalek. Fucking impossible to eradicate them.

12. The Master!!! Finally she checks up on something after the adventures... and it's horrible. With everything gone to shit in her absence. Seeing a pattern yet?

And Barton? And the Cassaven? They didn't disappear into smoke.

13. Multiple Earths being multiply fucked. Remember when I said the Doctor couldn't solve racism, classism, sexism, or any of the other -isms? Starting to look like she needs to TRY.

14. The Skithra FLY OFF after getting hit by a laser beam. That kind of thing tends to piss people off. Even if they're idiots using other's technology.

15. Jack. The Judoon. The Ruth Doctor. All things I'd start checking out if I had a time machine BUT

16. WE CAN'T cause the TARDIS emergency alert is going off and we need to hurry up and run and solve this problem before we run out of time in our TIME AND SPACE MACHINE. Leading to another problem the Doctor could help solve but won't. Plastic and over-consumption.

17. Oh yeah, let's trap two Eternals from another universe in the same place. There's NO WAY that could ever turn out bad.

18,19,20. And again. Cyberium. Pushed off Shelley onto herself and onto Ashad and onto The Master.

That's almost 20 "enemies" the Doctor still needs to deal with.

Oh, not to mention that they let UNIT go defunct because they didn't have the forethought to ask if they needed any money in their alien fighting budget. After asking for an office, a desk, and a job. Kinda funny that way, aren't they?

I hope by now you've gotten the idea that this is VERY deliberate. This is Chibnall laying down some very heavy pipe to smack the Doctor like a clothesline. There isn't a one of these situations that can't come around to bite her in the ass.

Barton, Roberts, Skithra. These are all very loose strands for a time traveller like the Doctor to get tripped up on. Chibnall's past episodes prove it. They're all about the Doctor learning how to take responsibility.

42: The Doctor almost gets Martha killed and almost gets himself killed trying to fix it.

The Hungry Earth: The Doctor (a thousand year old "adult") tells Elliot (a 10 year old kid) that "Sure it's totally fine to go get your headphones while we prepare for an approaching unknown alien force." And 11 rightfully gets his ass chewed for it by the child's mother when the kid goes missing because OF COURSE THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS, JACKASS!

Cold Blood: I could write an entire essay about the Doctor's guilt over the Silurian/Human conflicts they've witnessed, but I don't need to. Because every single Silurian centered episode written in the new era is from Chris Chibnall. And you can feel the sad knowledge of Classic Who spill through. He KNOWS how many times the Doctor has fucked up with the Silurians (about 8 times in television format. And it's rough everytime. Rough.) and he writes those episodes like an apology on behalf of the whole human race. And the Doctor. You know why people are put off by Warriors of the Deep? 5 releases a gas that melts the Silurians. And though it's cheesy, the idea and execution is still horrible.

Add to that if the Doctor hadn't stopped to check the crack, then Rory wouldn't have waited and been around to be shot then absorbed by the time crack.

Power of Three: An entire episode about how the Doctor has a problem slowing down and really taking account of the lives of their companions.

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship: The Doctor actually tries to be responsible and pick the right people for a job. For once. But gets angry when they realize it's too late and there's another bunch of Silurians they failed to save. Classic!

Like I said, if you can't see the pattern, you're not paying enough attention to your responsibilites.

Which leads me to the why.

When you fly around time and space for thousands of years, you develop a few duties of care along the way. In every situation, you're the oldest. Technically the only adult in terms of experience. You have a responsibility to act a little less rude and be a bit more aware than needing cue cards to tell you that you should be sad about things around you. And that's the purpose of 13. She's unlucky but learning. Like 12 telling himself something with his face he couldn't say out loud, 13's instincts are leading her to a new place for the Doctor: being a caring, responsible person. Not so much laughing hard or running fast, but being kind. It's the one thing they recognized as a problem in themselves when seeing 1. Being a Doctor is about being kinder than that. Just because you HAVE to saw someone's leg off, that doesn't mean you can't wait a little and comfort them before you do it.

You wanna know what gave me every faith in Chibnall showrunning Doctor Who? 13 staying for Grace's funeral.

Do you understand how unprecedented that is? This is the same person who never said Goodbye to Jo Grant as she got married and fucked off into the night. The same Doctor who said, "I don't do domestic.", did it with Rose a regeneration later, and then closed himself off to everyone but a married couple he felt guilty about who ended up birthing his wife. Have you any idea the number of funerals the Doctor should have the common decency to sit through? This many.

So for 13 to stay around for the death of a woman she has only just met and not only that, BUT call out Ryan's father for not doing the same, it shows tremendous character growth. It's taken millennia but they're still changing.

Something similar happens with Rosa and The Witchfinders. Realizing that there a lot of companions who have been in situations that are sometimes worse than aliens, but they still manage to make it through. So she needs to buck it up and persevere for everyone else.

That's where her anger comes from, and really it's one of my favorite traits on her. It reminds me of 7. Someone impossibly old and impossibly kind saying to hell with it and at least having some fun with the evils who drag us through the universe. And just like Cartmel planned for 7, 13's past will come to haunt her.

That's where children come in. Most of us are crying babies to the Doctor.

There's this thing you notice most in British shows about answering the question directly as asked. Someone says "Are you sure?", you answer "Sure". That's a direct acknowledgement that you heard the question, understood it, and processed it enough to respond in a manner directly correlating to the question asked. Yas and Graham got it and said "Sure" but Ryan missed it and said "Deffo". This is like Elliot with the headphones. The Doctor should have immediately been like, "Okay, Ryan, it's obvious that you're still dealing with the trauma of your grandmother's death and probably not processing things on a logical level. I said "Are you sure?" Not "Are you deffo?" Because we are most definitely not deffo, Ryan. Graham, you wanna help here?"

I'm being sarcastic for points sake but you understand the idea. The Doctor knows better and has a responsibility as such. She should've really sat down with Ryan and Graham and seen if there was a better way to process their grief.

Because I'm fairly certain that "Deffo" is gonna lead to Ryan's death and Graham's cancer resurging as time cancer (I don't know what time cancer is. I just know it's bad.)

And that is gonna piss Yas off. Which will give you all that character you think she's missing (she isn't. Her character is in her subtleties and silences.). That's WHY her character is a police officer (like how does no else see that the man who wrote Broadchurch wrote an inspector character companion?) Imagine you're Yaz and you see the Doctor flying around in a big, magic box that says POLICE. As a fellow officer, you're gonna expect some basic safety protocols.

Like do a background check on everyone flying in the TARDIS to know whether they're stable enough (mentally, physically, emotionally) for time and space travel. It's no picnic. These people are going to go through hell. A little vetting and planning like Time Heist or Dinosaurs on a Spaceship goes a long way.

Secondly, full fucking disclosure.

"Oh. I can't die because I change my body. Oh. I have arch enemies that will try to kill and torture us any chance they get. Oh. My home planet is full of the biggest assholes in the universe and I'm including my arch enemies."

Third, police like to do this thing called "check-ups" where they go back to the scene of the crime in order to see if there is any more information that can be gleaned which you might not notice when you are busy running around trying not to be killed... Like, the Doctor has the perfect machine to do this with, but nope. Adventure done, run to the next place!!

These are all things you'd expect any reasonable person to do and say when taking others flying off into time and space and "helping". Even if they are an idiot passing through and learning. Especially when you consider the Doctor is vastly older and more experienced than everyone they encounter. They SHOULD know better. And they've got the lifespan to slow down. It's not like they need to be in a hurry because they're going to die at any moment like humans. The Doctor could easily stay for tea and it would be less than a drop in their lifespan.

Now, as usually is the case when I make these theories, I have a parts 1,2,3,4 and 6. There's allways this 5th piece I miss but I manage to get at the end.

But the 6th piece is the Timeless Child. The Doctor isn't a Time Lord anymore. They're not beholden to those people and ideas anymore. Even moreso, those people basically raped her childhood for their own gain so it's not like you'd really listen to them and their "policy of non-intervention".

I'm sensing a coming Trial of a Time Lord season (even believing these two seasons are the opening statement and preliminary evidence of the trial itself) wherein the Doctor finally gets the turnaround 6 deserved. A Trial of the Time Lords, if you will.

"In all my travels through time and space I have battled against evil, against power-mad conspirators. I should have stayed here! The oldest civilization: decadent, degenerate and rotten to the core! Power mad conspirators? Daleks, Sontarans, Cybermen — they're still in the nursery compared to us! Ten million years of absolute power: that's what it takes to be really corrupt!"

This is what it's all coming down to. Chibnall's takedown of the Time Lords. And The Master is going to play the most crucial role of all.

They're going to be revealed as an Ux alongside the Doctor and show how the only constants they have in this universe are each other and it's about damn time they work together and tell these high collars to eat Schitt while they explore every star and planet they can find.

Come on, the episode is called The Timeless "Children". If it was just the Doctor it'd be called "The Timeless Child". The Master says as much with the misdirect line, "built on the lie of the Timeless Child." since we see two kids playing in that flashback.

"Since always. Since the Cloister Wars, since the night he stole the moon and the president's wife, since he was a little girl. One of those was a lie, can you guess which one?"

Now we know which one was a lie, we know the Master HAS known the Doctor since they were a little girl. THAT little girl...

But this is all just speculation. It's not like Chris Chibnall could have been thinking about this for the past 40 years and was given a blank slate to do whatever he wanted for five years on his favorite TV show. If y'all want to think he took those reigns and is choosing to make things worse...

Well then you don't know much about responsibility.

I'll let the man himself tell you about it.

"Very early in my career,” says Chibnall, “someone told me that you learn more from a failure than you do from a success. And then I lived out that phrase for a year in Los Angeles. I learned that I would not work that way again or be put in that situation again.” The essential lesson was: “You either have to be in total control of a show or working with people who share your vision and will work with you to achieve it. Also, never work with 13 executive producers.

“Camelot was the classic case of too many cooks. It wasn’t a harmonious set-up and I think that does manifest itself on screen.

“I had a fantastic cast but you have to be free to tell the story you want to tell in the way that you want to tell it. What ended up on screen was not what I wanted and so it is a blemish on my CV.”

Credit to @thirteenthdoc

“You immortals - so entitled, so spoiled. You never clear up after yourselves and you always leave stuff lying around.” - Thirteenth Doctor in Can You Hear Me?

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “From Instep to Heel”, Part 10

Rated Explicit.

“From Instep to Heel”

Chapter Ten: In Pieces

"In pieces does it go.

He may collect them bit by bit – he may clutch them tight to his chest, settle them side by side hoping for them to slip into place like jigsaws, but they will always stay as pieces.

This is how longing goes." -

Jon and Sansa. Like the curve of the horizon, when the moon breaks from beneath its bow.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 fin

* * *

"I hope you are enjoying Winterfell, my lord," Catelyn says with a nod Jon's way, eyes warm about the hall as their guests dance. Three days after he and Sansa's arrival, the Tyrell procession had made its way to Winterfell as well, and the festivities had begun in earnest. Amid the flood of bodies engaged in the hall, Robb twirls Sansa around merrily, and Lord Stark dances with Lady Margaery, while the rest of the Starks watch on from their places at the head table.

Jon raises a cup to Lady Stark in his seat beside her. "You've all been very welcoming, I thank you, my lady." Not that he would expect a Targaryen prince, even a bastard one, to ever be turned away. The Starks are too honorable for that, and too keen to the North's already shaky relationship with the crown.

Catelyn smiles shrewdly at his compliment.

Jon catches the motion, and thinks perhaps she understands better than any of them.

"You haven't even been to the training yard yet, Jon," Bran bemoans, picking at his meal.

Arya raises a brow at the casual address. "Oh, 'Jon', is it?"

Catelyn sends a reproachful look Bran's way. "That isn't proper, Bran."

"Well, he's our brother now, isn't he?" Rickon asks around a mouthful of food.

Catelyn tuts at her youngest's manners, a sharply raised brow sending the boy scrambling for a napkin to cover his mouth, a sheepish look adorning his face.

Jon chuckles beneath his breath.

"He lets me call him Jon," Bran argues, turning to him then. "Don't you, Jon?"

Jon leans back in his chair, setting his wineglass back to the table. "Aye, that I do."

"Except, of course, when we're sparring," Bran continues, attention turned back to his meal nonchalantly. "Then it's always 'my lord'."

"You could still do with a bit of deference, after all, little lord. And sparring requires discipline," Jon chuckles, bringing his glass to his lips when he sees Lady Stark glance his way again curiously.

"Ha! Discipline," Arya scoffs, head cocked Bran's way. "I'd pay to see that. This one has all the discipline of an ass – and the stubbornness, too."

Catelyn's chiding 'Arya' is a soft hiss of breath, and Jon wonders if this is what all Stark dinners are like. Something about it settles steady in his chest, an anchoring – an ease.

Bran glares at his sister. "Ser Jaime thinks I'm coming along well," he defends. "And he certainly knows better than your 'dancing instructor'," he mocks.

Arya's eyes narrow so quickly Jon almost misses it. The look is so strangely reminiscent of Sansa, but in a blunted, imprecise kind of way, that Jon is actually taken aback.

"Syrio could wipe the floor with your precious knight," she sneers back.

Bran opens his mouth to retort but Catelyn's voice cuts through the conversation then.

"Ser Jaime Lannister?" she asks, lips pursed tight.

Jon glances to her, watches her shoulders bunch minutely.

She wipes her hands over her skirts demurely, brushing away imaginary lint when she fixes Bran with a raised brow. "Your father hadn't informed me of that."

Bran almost looks contrite. "Jon helped me get the position. And Father did approve, eventually. Really, Mother, it's a good arrangement."

Catelyn shifts her gaze to Jon, cool and unaffected, but the lift of her chin tells Jon to be wary. "You had a hand in my son's squiring?"

Jon nods, fingers thrumming along the stem of his wineglass. "I did."

She purses her lips, hands bunching in her lap. "Ser Jaime Lannister, hmm? And you thought that wise?"

There's a current of something in her voice then, something Jon cannot identify, but it makes him no less apologetic. "It was the boy's wish," he tells her, no appeasement in his tone. Only truth.

Catelyn watches him for a moment longer, and then she offers a tight smile. "Sometimes it does to deny a boy's wish, my lord," she says meaningfully. "They do not always understand what they ask for, after all."

Jon nods, rolling the words along his tongue, before tilting his head toward her when he speaks, "The men they become understand well enough, my lady, one way or another."

A smile cracks the edges of her lips, a faint nod offered in his direction before she's reaching for her mug of ale. "I suppose you are right."

Jon takes another swig from his own drink in acknowledgement, a thrum of understanding passing between them unspoken.

"I'm not a 'boy'," Bran grumbles from the other side of Lady Stark, hardly audible.

Arya beams victoriously at him.

"I thank you all the same, my lord, for your attentions to my sons," Catelyn says, her shoulders easing somewhat as she settles back in her seat, her heavy mug held surprisingly delicately before her lips. "It was not them you were wed to, after all." She releases a graceful chuckle with the words.

Jon allows a small smile in return. "No, but," and he looks at Bran then, face softening, "They are my brothers as well now, are they not?"

Rickon beams around another mouthful of food. "Hear that, Mother? I'm brother to the prince!"

"You're an animal is what you are," Arya laughs. "Come here." She wipes at Rickon's cheeks with a napkin, shaking her head at him. He only takes another forkful, eyes bright as he watches her tend to him. She rolls her eyes and gives up, napkin thrown to the table, though she's trying desperately to hide her own amusement at his antics.

Jon watches the youngest Stark girl, her impulsive mothering of Rickon at strange odds with the snappish, forceful young woman he's seen of her thus far. It has him stilling his wineglass at his lips, gaze thoughtful, remembering –

My mother was a Tully, Sansa had told him once. Is a Tully, she'd corrected. As much as she is a Stark.

Jon thinks he understands now.

Family, duty, honor. Those were their words.

And all these last moons it's been Winter is coming. But perhaps they aren't so different.

(Yes, he thinks he understands now.)

For what does one do when winter comes?

You seek warmth. You seek each other.

Family – pack.

No, not so different. Not so blaringly apart. But Jon has been living in the in-between (between Targaryen and Stark, between Fire and blood and Winter is coming) for so long. that he doesn't know how to exist fully in either, how to be anything but split apart, a jumble of pieces. He doesn't know how to be one as much as the other.

(And maybe that is the point. Maybe they aren't supposed to exist equally. Maybe this is the choice he was always meant to make.)

Arya rolls her eyes at her youngest brother, but she's already shoveling the rest of her unfinished pot roast onto his plate. Jon notices Catelyn smiling fondly at the motion, hidden somewhat by the mug in her hand.

Jon clears his throat, squashing the tumult of emotions lighting in his chest. "You train, Lady Arya?" he asks instead, brow piqued.

Arya gives him a devilish grin, settling back into her seat now that Rickon has tucked into his food once more. "I do, my lord."

Bran scoffs, drawling his response with a fork waved vaguely at his sister. "Our father's indulgence."

"Don't be jealous," Arya says primly.

Bran shakes his head, fork tipped back to his plate. "Jealousy requires an envious subject." His eye roll is accompanied by a faint smile though, and Jon's chest aches inexplicably at the sight.

He glances to the Lady Stark to find her rubbing at the space between her eyes. "Seven, give me strength," she mumbles, barely audible.

Jon barely suppresses a laugh.

Arya leans forward suddenly, arms linked over the table, eyes bright. "Would you spar with me, my lord? I should like to test myself."

Jon's eyebrows rise into his hairline. "You wish to spar?"

Rickon looks up at the exchange with a mouth full of pork.

Arya is practically bouncing in her seat. "If you would have me, of course. I daresay I'd present a far better challenge than my brother here." She hooks a thumb toward Bran and ignores his glare, even as he stuffs a buttered potato into his scowling mouth.

Jon does laugh this time, raking a hand through his hair. "If your lady mother should approve," he grants, eyes flickering toward the Stark matriarch.

Catelyn's shoulders pull back, lips pursed at the address. She arches a brow Arya's way, only to find a pleading expression that instantly has her shaking her head and chuckling, eyes heavenward. "I suppose I can hardly decline a prince," she says with a mock sigh, eyes glinting when she looks back to her daughter.

Arya's mouth breaks into a wide grin, words at the tip of her tongue, sitting straighter in her seat when –

"After, of course, you finish your sewing lessons with Septa Mordane," Catelyn finishes archly.

Arya slumps back into her seat, instantly deflated.

Catelyn takes a sip of ale to hide her smile. "You see, my lord," she begins, eyes glancing back to Jon, "Parenthood is often compromise."

Jon is quiet then, fingers tightening over the stem of his wineglass. He thinks of his father's hands at his shoulders, along his cheeks, eyes set on his.

Not so much a compromise as a demand.

One he would have been eager to meet, before.

Before –

"Something you may learn yourself, soon enough," Catelyn finishes, a nod set his way.

And then it is Sansa's hands at his shoulders, at his cheeks, eyes set to his. The warmth of her beneath him, the spread of her copper hair along his pillows, the hook of her legs around his waist, the throaty moans she never bothers to smother, the heady flush of her pleasure at his fingertips, along his tongue, wrapped tight around his cock, the unspoken promise between them, when his hands light along her stomach and she presses flush against him, when he's spilling hot and frenzied inside her, the slow-growing hope branching through his lungs each time he spends his seed within her.

Jon shifts in his seat, throat clearing subtly. He glances across the floor for her form, catches a flash of red along the dance floor, his chest rising steady and slow with his inhale.

"'Soon' is exactly the word," Bran bemoans, his fork speared through a potato, "If what I've heard is anything to go by." He fights a grimace.

Jon snaps his gaze to the young man, heat rising to his cheeks without his bidding. His mouth tips open but no words follow.

Bran scrunches his nose. "You can only be so quiet in tents," he supplies, returning to his food.

Jon takes a long, deep swig of wine, decidedly not looking at Lady Stark, especially when Rickon bursts into laughter and Arya releases a disgusted noise.

Gods, but he could kill the boy.

Jon barely resists the urge to push from the table and never look back, or perhaps to slink down beneath it.

"Bran," Catelyn censures dryly, "You're being too informal. And your sister is a married woman now. She has a duty to her husband."

Jon's throat tightens, his wineglass stilled halfway between his mouth and the table, a grimace overtaking his lips before he can stop it, the word a visceral reminder.

Duty,

It seems a dirty thing, now. To think that anything between them could be described as 'duty'.

Not when she rests her fingers tenderly along the nape of his neck, and not when she presses her mouth to the hollow of his throat, and not when she curls into his side and rakes a hand over his chest when they are sated and drowsy.

Not when she falls asleep facing him, implicit in her trust, her openness, her wanting of him.

Not when he wakes with her bundled in his arms and the light of dawn cascading over her form and every line of her body is molded perfectly to his.

Not when she is every horizon he never dared to reach for.

Jon's eyes wet instantly, without warning. He blinks it back harshly, mouth a tight line, and when he glances back up, he finds Lady Stark staring at him, an unrecognizable look to her face. Her mouth tips open, but then –

"She likes you."

Everyone stills.

Jon blinks unfocused eyes toward the youngest Stark, watches as he shovels another forkful of pork into his mouth.

Arya raises a brow his way, patient for his explanation.

Catelyn shifts in her seat, her mug of ale returned to the table.

Rickon looks about the table, at the expectant faces turned his way after his comment. He shrugs, swallowing back his food. And then he motions to Jon. "She made it for you, didn't she? That cloak?"

Arya glances back to Jon with a perusing eye. Bran is silent as he eats, a knowing smile at his lips. Lady Stark is unnervingly still, her gaze settled on him once more.

Jon finds his hand reaching for the strap at his chest, fingers edging over the leather gently.

The wolf beneath. Just on the flipside.

Jaw clenching, hand retreating from the strap, Jon nods at Rickon. A single, swift assurance.

Rickon waits a moment, head cocked. And then he smiles – brilliant and wolf-bright. "She likes you," he says succinctly, turning back to his plate without preamble.

Jon feels the breath rake from his chest without warning. He watches the boy, throat parched, words stilted along his tongue.

Catelyn taps a thoughtful finger along the handle of her mug.

"She doesn't sew me cloaks anymore," Rickon tacks on grudgingly, suddenly sullen.

Arya barks a laugh, and it's like a crack of wind, a welcomed rush of air.

Jon feels it unwind from his chest, suddenly - a slow-thawing winter.

Catelyn sighs. "Perhaps if you stopped ruining them," she replies sagely, a meaningful look her son's way.

Rickon grins cheekily at her. Bran snorts a laugh into his fist.

And Jon is blessedly, inexplicably –

Content.

* * *

"Oh Sansa, it's beautiful," Margaery sighs beside her, trekking into the clearing of the godswood, eyes alighting the heart tree.

Sansa watches her make her way toward the ancient weirwood, a subtle smile gracing her features, following shortly after her.

Margaery glances back at her, silken hair slipping over her shoulder. "You were right. I would love to be married here."

Sansa settles along the edge of the pond just inside the clearing, a thin layer of ice already forming over the water, a gentle drift of snow layering everything. Sansa takes a deep, crisp breath, lets it fill her lungs, exhales it just as cleanly. She bundles her gloved hands before her, looks up at the overarching branches of the weirwood.

A red shadow overtakes her vision, slips of light falling in prisms through the blood-toned leaves.

It is not the temple of her mother's gods, not the sept where she falls to her knees in worship, but there has always been something ancient and intimate here, something greater than oneself. She understands the draw of it, the weight of it, the way it fills the lungs with wonder.

Margaery presses a gloved hand to the rough bark and stares at the touch. Sansa watches her from her place at the edge of the pond.

Someplace greater than oneself. It always seemed an appropriate place to marry, to become something greater than oneself. A part of a whole.

Sansa's throat tightens, her smile watery.

Would she have taken Jon for her husband here? Of her own choice? Would she have wed him in the sight of the old gods?

"May I tell you something, Sansa?"

Margaery's voice is soft, brittle in the gentle wind. It barely reaches her ears. Sansa takes a step closer. "Anything," she promises her.

Margaery's hand slips from the tree, but she stays turned to it, gaze shifting up to glance overhead at the swaying branches. "I don't think your mother likes me overly much." It's a chuckle that leaves her with the words, but it's far shakier than Sansa expects.

Her brows furrow. "Robb is her firstborn. Her son." Her gaze turns soft. "She is cautious."

"Does she find me scheming, do you think?"

Something about the words throws Sansa – the tremor with which they're said.

Margaery still will not look at her.

"Margaery - "

"She would be right," she gets out, strikingly sure, finally turning to Sansa. Her eyes are wet, her smile like glass. "She would be right, you know."

The wind seems to stop. A steady beat of silence passes between them. They stay staring at each other through the filtering snow, still and waiting – precariously close to a ledge Sansa has only ever glimpsed at from a distance.

She sucks a shallow breath between her lips. "What are you...?"

And then Margaery clears her throat, stalking back over to her, taking her hands in hers suddenly. "Sansa, I love your brother. I love him so dearly now, but I – I did not always." She shakes her head, takes a breath, looks back up at her. "Do you understand me?"

Sansa stares at her, watches the shadow of flickering leaves break across her features, tendrils of hair sweeping across her earnest face with a Northern gust. Her heart clenches in her chest.

She went for the next best thing: the heir to Winterfell.

Sansa remembers the words, even now. Hadn't admitted to the home they made in her heart, even as she refused them. That lingering doubt.

But Sansa has always taken people at more than their intentions.

Margaery shifts her eyes between hers, searching, narrowed. "You must know, Sansa. Somewhere inside, even if you won't admit to it, you must know." She swallows thickly, hands tightening over hers. "That I approached you with this goal in mind – from the very start." Her gaze breaks, her eyes fluttering down, focused on their joined hands. A heavy breath leaves her.

She understands though. She gets it now. There is no protection for women in this world but the kind you marry into, and is it a sin for a woman to choose that protection? To have a hand in it? To not sit idly by?

She is a faithful daughter, yes, and she heeded her parents' wishes for her own marriage. Her father's wishes. And perhaps she is luckier than most that her husband seems genuine in his regard for her, in his desire to protect her, but this cannot be the case for all. She sees this now.

Her own mother had no guarantee of love or affection when she married her father, but protection at least, was ensured. Her father has always been an honorable man, after all. And maybe Sansa had always taken that for granted, had always found the ease in such a marriage, never knowing the trials.

King's Landing was an awakening, to say the least.

Part of her resents that Margaery had such designs on her brother, of course, but she thinks she understands now. That resentment is more for her situation than it is the woman in particular. For the world that forces her hand so. For the cage she is just now seeing the bars of.

And yet always, her words echo in her ear.

Duty is all well and good, Sansa, but will it keep you warm at night? Will it weather the years with you? Will it grow old and grey beside you?

They each long for love, even if Margaery does not say it in so many words. They will do what they must to survive in this world, yes, but she knows Margaery has tasted loneliness. She knows she has yearned for more.

Anyone who could say such words, after all, must yearn for more.

It is not a crime Sansa finds unforgivable.

"I would be lying if I said I hadn't suspected it," she says slowly, finally, licking her lips with her trepidation. She takes a breath, lets it taste air. "But I would also be lying if I said I hadn't suspected more."

Margaery glances up at her again. The snow falls soft around them.

"I chose to believe you were more than that, and you have proven that belief worthwhile."

A sound escapes Margaery's throat, her lips parting. She shakes her head again, a sharp furrow to her brow. "Sansa, how can you...?"

Sansa steps into her. "I was right to trust you. So trust me now."

The other woman blinks salt-tinged eyes at her, mouth pursing closed, riveted.

"Give her time. My mother will see what I see. She will see the love you bear her son, and she will welcome you whole-heartedly. Family, duty, honor, you remember? Always family first." Sansa sets an imploring gaze on her, nodding, a steady smile branching across her lips. "So love my brother. Just...love him. The way I know you already do. And everything else will follow, I promise."

"Sansa - "

"You did not have to tell me this, and yet you did. I thank you for that."

Margaery wipes at her eyes, heaves a breath. She keeps her other hand firmly clasped in Sansa's. "Gods, but can you forgive me?"

Sansa laughs, short and bright – nothing incredulous about it, only warm. "I don't think you need my forgiveness, but you have it nonetheless."

Margaery nods, thumb grazing over Sansa's knuckles. She glances back to the weirwood, steady and looming behind them. The snow never stops falling, and the cold stays always in the bones up here, but it is an embrace Sansa has missed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she finds Margaery swallowing back a shaky breath, her eyes wet, her shoulders tight. Sansa uncurls her hand around the other woman's so that she may instead thread her fingers through hers.

She sighs, the air crisp on her tongue. "You make my brother happy," she says, surprised at the choke behind the words, the threat of tears lining her voice. "And for that, I think I could forgive you anything."

Margaery's free hand goes to her face, covering her sob, her crumbling features. Sansa tugs her toward her by their joined hands, embracing her before the watching weirwood, letting her bury her face in the fur at her shoulder. "Welcome to the North," she breathes into her hair, smile widening, "Sister."

Margaery curls her hands around Sansa's shoulders, sighing against her, a watery laugh leaving her.

The shadow of the heart tree stretches ever wide across their forms.

* * *

"Not much for snow, are you, my lord?" Robb jests as they ride their horses along the banks of the wolfswood.

"It is...cumbersome," Jon grumbles, hands twisting in the reins.

Theon barks a laugh on his other side. "I think the capital's made you soft, my lord," he sneers.

Jon throws him a baleful look. "And you're a Stark now, are you, Lord Greyjoy?" Jon snaps back, irritated at his presence already, and their hunt has only just begun.

"Iron and snow, my lord," Theon replies glibly. "The two go hand in hand. Takes a special sort to weather either."

"Aye, you're a special sort," Robb laughs, shaking his head.

Jon's mouth opens in retort but then Ned's horse goes thundering past. "Quickly now, boys, if we plan to bring anything back in time for dinner."

Bran and Rickon follow shortly after, taunting each other as they race, and Robb glances back to Jon one last time with a wide-set grin, before urging his horse on.

Jon sends a final glare to the smug-looking Theon before he's off as well, his horse's hooves kicking up snow and dirt. Hounds and men follow behind them, racing deeper into the wolfswood in search of game.

Jon clenches his jaw at their company. Men of the North. Some of whom have made their distaste of a Targaryen bastard, even one of Northern blood, not so hidden. Jon hardly expected a warm welcome when he'd arrived, but in some small measure, he'd hoped for it.

Perhaps it's the Starks who've made him soft.

Jon urges his horse on.

Lord Stark had made it abundantly clear that his nephew was welcomed amongst Winterfell's halls during the first night's feast, and Jon had glanced around the room at Lyanna's mention, cups raised solemnly in answer, before hearty men dipped their heads and downed their glasses in thunderous remembrance, bellows echoing throughout the hall, fists on tabletops, and Jon had never seen such a thing before.

Even when they still sent him wary glances, even when they grumbled their distaste, even when they refused to be shy about their opinions on his presence when he attempted to converse with some of the lords, even then - for all its boisterousness and impropriety – Northern court felt uniquely intimate. They would follow their lord, that was abundantly clear, but they didn't have to be quiet about it.

It almost makes Jon want to laugh.

And yet, there is no true dissension in their ranks. Ned had not bothered trying to silence them, and though Jon first took this in with a mark of concern, he finds now that he should have taken it with a mark of respect. For so long, he's watched his father silence his opposition with a ruthlessness he once admired, a single-minded vision, and consequently, he has watched their empire crumble, bit by bit, with whispers and deception, with his family's own weapons used against them. There is nothing of the sort here. Here, a man says what he means. And he says it loudly. There is no intrigue or courtly manipulation. There is no hidden meaning beneath one's words, nor hidden ambitions beneath one's actions. There is only a man and his lord. A service unto each other.

And he finds his father was right to fear the North.

"She make that for you?" Theon asks him when they've slowed to a trot, motioning to the heavy cloak adorning his shoulders.

Jon remembers the smell of her when she'd wrapped him in the cloak's warmth, the feel of her cheek against his beard, the soft curl of a smile tugging at her lips.

He arches a brow Theon's way.

"Sansa," he clarifies, though it needs no clarifying.

Jon doesn't like how he says her name, nor the casualness with which he says it. He grumbles his ascent, wondering why the Greyjoy has lined his horse with his. Up ahead, Bran and Ned are trailing the hounds, and behind them, Robb is teaching Rickon how to sit astride while pulling a bow.

Theon tips his head in thought, mouth pursed. "Figured she'd always make a dutiful wife."

"Not yours though." It's petty of him, he knows, but he can't help the words as they leave his mouth.

Theon rests his arms over the horn of his saddle, leaning forward slightly with a glint of amusement in his eye, the reins held leisurely in his hand. "No, she was never meant for me," he says.

Jon is acutely aware how the man does not deny any desire on his part though, and his hands tighten over his reins at the thought.

"Always thought she'd be a queen though," Theon continues, glancing ahead.

"Not a bastard's bride, hmm?" Jon says archly.

Theon laughs. "Your words, my lord. Not mine."

Jon leans back in his saddle a bit, watching him. "And you think you could offer her better?"

Theon glances back to him, straightening in his seat atop the horse. "Does it matter now?"

Jon clenches his jaw, teeth grinding, eyes flitting ahead at Lord Stark's hollering. The hounds have caught a scent.

Jon takes a deep breath, gathering the reins in his fist. "She deserves far better than either of us," he answers beneath his breath, before he's digging his heels in and racing after his uncle.

He misses the look of surprise on Theon's face.

Later, when they're chasing down an elk, his arrows missing by a hair's width, Robb's teasing egging him on, he's not particularly surprised when Theon's arrow hits the mark right between the eyes.

He glances across the snow-capped ferns at the Greyjoy, Bran and Rickon already bounding over to the felled beast. But Theon isn't looking at him. He doesn't look at him the entire ride back.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf is howling.

"Direwolves," Rickon tells him as they make their way back to Winterfell, nodding up toward the far hills, the sun dipping down along the horizon in a streak of red against white.

Jon glances up to where the youngest Stark motions, eyes scanning the horizon, but nothing emerges. Even still, he knows he is right. Something tells him to trust the boy.

Something tells him to trust the North knows how to bare its teeth as well as any beast.

* * *

"Ha!" Arya shrieks, her sword clashing against Jon's, before she's pushing off, twirling her sparring blade in her grip, taking a lower stance.

Jon shakes his head, smile blinding, curls clinging to his forehead with sweat. He changes sword hands, notes the flicker of unease in her eyes when he does so. "Never let your enemy read your movements."

Arya purses her mouth, a frown marring her features, and then she's lunging again.

Jon pivots away, striking out, catching her swing mid-arc, but she recovers quickly, thrusting again, and Jon barks a laugh as she pushes him back, pure delight at her enthusiasm, swift and agile as she is.

She tips left, and he catches the arc of her blade with his own, stepping into her lunge, grabbing at her other wrist with his free hand, ignoring her shriek of surprise and yanking her off balance. She stumbles toward him, sword up, but he's braced for the impact, twisting to use her momentum, letting her tumble into the dirt, his sword swift at her throat when she scrambles onto her back.

She lays there huffing, staring up at him, and Jon's chest is heaving as well, he must admit.

A mischievous smirk breaks across her face and she shoves a hand into the air, expecting his assistance without word, and he grants it, grasping her arm, hauling her back to her feet with practiced ease.

Arya dusts off her leathers, picking her sword up off the ground. "Alright, Jon, time to come clean,"

Jon wipes at his sweat-laced brow, leaning back on one foot with an inquisitive brow arched her way. "About what?"

"After all these spars, you've got to see that I'm better than Bran."

Jon chuckles, waving her over to the nearby bench. Along the yard, Rickon trains with Ser Rodrik, and on the other side, Bran is sinking arrows beneath the deriding teachings of Theon. Jon places his sparring sword back along the rack, taking up his own sword as it lays unattended along the bench, unsheathing it and laying it in his lap. Arya watches him quietly a moment, following suit shortly after. Her own blade is thin and short, closer to a dagger than a sword, and though Jon had, at first, chuckled at the sight, he sees now its value in such a hand as hers. Not all blades are made for blind destruction. Not all warriors are made for blunt force. This teacher of hers, Syrio Forel, knows more than he'd originally given him credit for.

Jon takes an oiled cloth to his blade, the motion always soothing to him after a fight. Clean. Clipped. A smoothness to the even swipe of his hand along the blade, something grounding. His heart settles back into an easy pattern quickly, gentled by the motion. Arya takes after him almost on instinct, and he smiles inwardly at the sight, watching her unsheath her blade with a reverence only a true swordsman would have for their weapon. But he keeps these musings to himself. He doesn't think his wife would particularly appreciate his encouraging of her sister's aggressions.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her own oiled cloth gliding smoothly over her blade. "It's true though, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm better than Bran."

Jon spares a chuckle. "You're...different."

Arya huffs, eyes back on her blade. "That doesn't mean 'better."

"Doesn't mean 'worse' either."

Arya silences then, continuing in her cleaning. She straightens suddenly, hand stilling while she glances out across the yard. "You know, it took me years to convince Mother I could train as well as the boys."

Jon hums a noise of acknowledgement. "I can imagine."

Her face narrows, a scoff leaving her. "I doubt it. Men have never had to prove themselves like women have."

"No, but bastards have." He doesn't know what compels him to say the words, but they make it to air regardless, and he cannot take them back.

More than that, he doesn't want to take them back.

Arya glances at him a moment, silent and musing.

It's unnerving, he realizes. And he finds he's not particularly fond of Stark women peering at him. Makes him feel undone in his own skin.

Jon clears his throat suddenly, hand harsh in its swipe down his blade. "I mean, I think I understand you."

Arya nods slightly, a thoughtful lilt to her mouth. "Aye, perhaps you do."

"And what, you never thought to live the life of a lady? Never thought to make yourself comfortable in some man's castle?" It's not said derisively, just curiously, and he wonders at this newfound ease he finds with her.

"Is Sansa comfortable?" she asks without pause.

Jon stills at the question, shifting toward her.

Arya does not look at him, just continues the motion of her hand along the blade.

Jon swallows thickly, glancing out over the yard, eyes alighting on Rickon when he falls back into the dirt, a frustrated grunt breaking from his mouth.

A lick of his lips, his gaze flickering away, his hand resuming its motion, Jon replies, "I should hope so." It's not said with the sort of confidence he would have liked.

"Shouldn't you know? Being her husband and all?" she asks derisively.

Jon sighs, shaking his head. "Marriage isn't so clean cut, Arya," he says lowly, "Especially not in the capital."

"Then make it clean cut," she pushes.

He arches a brow at her.

Arya huffs, focus resumed on her blade. "You're pack now – to each other. And the lone wolf may die but the pack survives, so...survive. Whatever you need to do. Survive. Together." She glances at him with a dark look, the familiar grey of her eyes startlingly clear. "She can be a wretched thing, believe me, I know, but – but she's my sister. My sister. She's..." Arya trails off, glancing away from him, mouth pursed in a tight line.

Jon heaves a breath, finds the word easy on his tongue. "Pack?"

She looks back at him with a raised brow.

Jon nudges at her shoulder, turning back to the cleaning of his blade, unable to keep her eye. "You Starks aren't so hard to read," he says on a laugh, throat tight without knowing why.

Arya releases a similar chuckle, shaking her head. "We Starks, you mean."

She says it so easily, and there again, that clench in his chest, that hitch of air in his lungs.

Jon swallows back his retort, because it seems pointless now – now when he's sitting here with his little cousin, polishing blades, sweating even in the frigid Northern air, the laughter of her brothers filtering through the chill toward their ears. A great many things seem pointless suddenly.

Jon breathes deep, lets it fill his lungs, exhales slow and steady.

They continue on in silence for a time, a contented silence that Jon doesn't remember ever feeling in his own home, especially not in his own training yard. No. That place is reserved for sharpened barbs disguised as brotherly taunts, for an overseeing eye, for scrutiny in every corner and praise so hard to come by he'd beamed beneath even the faintest of his father's smiles.

Jon doesn't know how long they sit like this, only that the shadow of the sun has shifted over his shoulder, blaring bright even through the crisp winter air.

"You trained under Ser Arthur Dayne, didn't you?" Arya asks softly.

Jon is grateful he doesn't falter in his motions, nor stutter in his words when he answers her. "For a time."

"He why you're so good?"

Jon laughs at the question, even more so at the unladylike way she pieces the words together. And yet, it suits her. It suits her just fine. "He's a large part of it, yes."

"And the other part of it?"

Jon's lips thin into a tight line, his teeth grinding. "Ambition." He swallows, glances to her. "Perseverance."

She considers him quietly, returns to her blade with a thoughtful look. "I hear he was a great swordsman." The words are soft, compassionate.

Jon is grateful for it.

"He was more than that." His words are a croak, and he has to clear his throat before he continues, eyes focused on his blade lest he lose himself. "He was the greatest man I ever knew."

Arya stills her hand along her blade, watching him. "The greatest man you've ever known?"

Jon nods silently, throat bobbing.

"Not your father?"

Jon's hand halts mid-swipe, his lips parting. He turns to her swiftly.

She's looking at him expectantly, one brow raised, eyes unblinking.

Jon swallows thickly, schooling his features back to impassiveness. "My father is a king," he grinds out.

Arya turns to him more fully, her own blade forgotten in her lap. "Is he not also a man?"

Jon sends her a warning look, back straightening.

Arya seems to read the stiffness in his posture, the furrow in his brow, because she's turning away from him then, disappointment shadowing past her features, a resigned scoff leaving her. "Are you not also a man, simply because you are a prince?" she grumbles out.

Jon stares at her, mouth parting over words he doesn't know how to bring to air. But he doesn't get the chance to voice them, nor the tangle of emotion left withering in his throat.

"Targaryen."

Jon looks up to find Robb's grim face framed by sunlight. He nods for him to follow. Jon grabs for a clean cloth to wipe down his blade. "What is it?"

"Deserter from the Night's Watch," he says solemnly. "Come on. Time you saw a bit of Northern justice."

Jon stands, sheathing his sword. He glances back to Arya, who's already standing herself, sighing as she tosses her rag aside. "Not that Father would ever let me join."

"Arya," Robb admonishes, but it's with a tender sort of resignation Jon hasn't heard before.

Arya waves him off easily. "I know, I know." She sighs heavily, nodding up at her eldest brother. "I know, Robb."

Robb chucks her beneath the chin, a soft smile sent her way, before he's urging Jon after him. "Bran, Rickon," he calls across the yard. The boys look up simultaneously. Theon seems to somber when he catches the look on Robb's face. "Father needs us."

Jon follows the Starks and Theon wordlessly, Ser Rodrik sighing as he racks the sparring blades and trails after them. Glancing up, Jon catches sight of the afternoon sun hanging low over the ramparts. Even now, he can tell the snow will still fall come nightfall.

Even now, he can feel the crawl of winter.

(It is coming.)

He looks ahead, keeps his stride.

(It's been coming for such a long, long time.)

* * *

Sansa trails her hand over the hilt of Jon's sword as it lays sheathed along the rack in their chambers. She'd known about the execution earlier that day, known about Jon's presence with her father and brothers when the sentence came down. Arya had told her upon her entrance to the hall midday, where Sansa sat sewing with Jeyne, shoving a bread roll into her mouth after the news.

Dinner was a quiet affair.

Now, alone in their chambers once more, Sansa can't help thinking of it. In the flicker of firelight from the hearth, she can see the etched lines along the hilt of his blade, the simple decoration. No dragons. No flames. Nothing to tie it to its master, truly. In a way, it's settling, though she can't precisely determine why.

"There's a thought in that head dying to get out, I can tell," Jon chuckles from his seat at the edge of the bed. He drops his boot to the floor, finally free of the day's trappings, his leather jerkin laying over the back of the nearby chair, clad now in only his breeches and untucked tunic.

Sansa turns to him at the comment, a brow raised.

He quirks a smile, leaning back on his hands, watching her. "I'm not completely unobservant, you know."

Sansa shakes her head, a soft smile at her lips. "No, you certainly are not." She turns back to the sword, hand gliding over the thick sheath, contemplative.

Jon watches her in silence, taking her in.

And then she sighs, turning back to him, her hand slipping from the blade. "I don't understand Arya's fascination with it. With killing, fighting, all of it."

Jon nods thoughtfully a moment, eyes drifting to the racked sword when he asks her, "Are you sure that's what the fascination is?"

Sansa furrows her brows, mouth pursed.

He glances back to her, straightening up. "Take it."

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. "What, your sword?"

Jon chuckles at her, motioning toward it. "Aye, the sword."

She eyes it doubtfully a moment, giving him one last incredulous look, but at his expectant expression, she squares her shoulders, brushing her hands over her shift in nervousness before reaching for it. It's far heavier than she expects, and her elbows buckle slightly as she lifts it from its place on the rack, unprepared for the strain.

Behind her, Jon smothers a laugh into his fist.

"Don't you dare mock me, Jon Targaryen," she warns him with a sly look over her shoulder, hefting the sword in her grasp.

Jon clears his throat, looking abashed, though amused still, and Sansa finds it in her to smile at the expression when she turns fully to him. She grips the blade by the hilt, the other holding up the sheathed end of it. She tips it back and forth in the light, glancing down the length of it. When Jon continues his silent watching of her, she peers up at him, shoulders shrugging. "What now?"

Jon shifts so that he's leaning with one elbow over his knee, dark curls falling over his brow, and the way the fire flickers over his face, suddenly somber and focused, has Sansa heating in her own skin. "You feel the weight of it?" he asks her, low and steady.

She nods, voice lost, taken abruptly by the image of him.

"That weight means something. Something more than the killing or the fighting. It's a responsibility."

"What responsibility?" she whispers, swallowing thickly when she finds her voice hoarse.

Jon tips his head, eyes intent. "To protect what you love."

Sansa clamps her mouth shut, unable to say more.

Jon leans back, motioning toward him. "Come here," he says softly, the words a gentle entreaty. It still feels like a command though, when her limbs go to him of their own accord. He stares up at her, hands going for her hips.

Sansa continues to watch him in keen anticipation, his sword still gripped tight between them, and then he's turning her, edging back along the bed a touch, drawing her down to sit between his legs, his chest pressed to her back through the thin material of her shift and his tunic. Sansa settles the sword in her lap, throat parched as Jon drags his hands down her arms to clasp over her own hands, pulling the blade slowly from its sheath. She feels his breath at her cheek, the scratch of his beard along the juncture between shoulder and neck, and she stiffens at the intimacy of the position, her chest constricting.

Jon seems unaware of her state, continuing to draw the sword out until it pulls fully from the sheath, glinting in the firelight, and he tosses the sheath aside. Sansa draws a deep breath in, eyes fixing to his hand when he takes her free one and turns it palm up, settling the cool steel of the blade atop her palm, the hilt still held tight between their joined grasps. His fingers thread through hers, hand braced beneath hers to hold the weight of the sword.

She can't deny the sense of potency she feels with it in her grasp, the might that fills her, a dark kind of satisfaction with something so deadly cradled in her palms.

"You see that?" he breathes at her ear.

Sansa nearly jumps at his voice, so lost in the sensation she had been. She licks her lips, turns slightly to him over her shoulder. "What?" It's a breathless exhale that passes her lips.

Jon's hand leaves hers beneath the blade, gliding up the length of it, skirting the edge, just a slice away from bleeding. Sansa's breath catches in her throat at the motion.

"The sharpness of it. The thickness of the blade," he rumbles at her ear, hand treading back to hers. "There's power in such a thing. The kind of power that can end a man's life."

Sansa sucks a sharp breath between her teeth, twisting to look at him, but his eyes aren't on her. They're fixed to the blade as he settles it along her lap, dark and glazed over, lost somewhere she may never know.

"It's not a light burden, believe me. And it never should be."

Sansa stills at the words, watching him, face softening when his gaze flickers back up to hers, seemingly just noticing her attention on him, and he dips a reassuring smile to her shoulder, lips warm even through her shift.

"Jon."

"You know, today, when your father had me accompany him to sentence that deserter," he begins, stopping suddenly, licking his lips before he continues, "He told me 'If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

Sansa blinks at the words. She's never heard the like from her father, but even now, she can hear his voice in them, his solemn bearing, his noble urging. Yes, it's exactly something her father would say. She finds a warmth in her chest she hadn't thought to find before. Gently, Sansa extracts her hand beneath Jon's around the hilt, lifting it to his cheek instead.

He glances at her, their faces only a breath away.

"I think I understand," she whispers, hand cradling his jaw, and she catches the way his gaze falls to her lips briefly, before shifting back to hers.

Jon clears his throat, looking back down to the sword from over her shoulder.

Sansa's hand slips from his cheek, her fingers tingling, winded somewhat. "Where did you get this sword?" she asks in a breathy whisper, cursing her faltering voice. She winds her hand back around the hilt, anchoring it to her, anchoring him to her.

Jon unthreads his hand from hers and slides his calloused palm over her thigh, up toward her hip, settling there with ease. He sighs into her shoulder, watching the shadows that flicker over the blade. "Ser Arthur commissioned it for me." His voice grows small, his hand curling over her hip. "Years ago. Before I was truly ready for it."

Sansa leans back against him, taking a deep breath. "You miss him."

There is silence at her shoulder for many long moments, his thumb rubbing circles along her hip in some measure of comfort, she knows. And then his other hand leaves the hilt of the sword in her grasp, fingers gliding over the tops of her thighs, and then dragging back along the swell of her hips, rolling her into him, a low groan leaving his chest at the motion.

Sansa arches slightly at the touch, mouth parting.

"Aye, I do," he rumbles into her neck, nosing at her hair. "But right now," he gets out on a rasp, fingers tugging the edge of her shift up over her thighs greedily, "I'm missing something else."

Sansa hums appreciatively, head lolling back along his shoulder, as she rolls her hips in his lap, reveling in the impatient huff that leaves him. "And what is that?" she manages through her hitched breath, lip caught between her teeth.

He bunches her shift at her waist efficiently, hand dipping down between her thighs. "This," he groans out, fingers sliding over her slickness, a curse grit out against her shoulder when he finds her without her smallclothes.

Her smile curls devilishly across her lips, unseen. She arches back against him, mewling when he slides a finger into her cunt, and she can feel his hardening cock at her backside, bucking against her with a low moan.

"Sansa," he manages in a croak, lips at her throat, a second finger sliding alongside the first.

She gasps, legs spreading over his lap, eyes slipping languidly shut. "Hmm?"

"Put the sword down," he growls out, pumping his fingers slowly in and out of her, his other hand dragging her back along his cock in a steady motion.

She hums in thought a moment, turning her head so that he has better access to her throat. "I don't know," she gets out between pants, smirk rising. "I rather like the feel of it in my hands."

Jon presses a long groan into the skin of her throat, teeth baring over the flesh, his fingers digging painfully into her hip when he grinds her back along his length, hard and aching for her. His fingers curl inside her, his chest pressed tight to her back when she gasps at the touch, at his hungry mouthing at her neck. "Careful," he snarls beneath the cover of her hair. "You might hurt yourself."

Sansa blinks back the haze, one hand leaving the sword in her lap to wrap around his at her hip. "I trust you," she whimpers, cunt clenching around his fingers.

Jon's hand stutters in its motion for the briefest second, his breath catching at the shell of her ear, and then he's pressing into her, forehead braced to her temple, a ragged sigh leaving him, and Sansa feels it all throughout her, a quiver beneath her skin, an ache between her legs that thunders all the way out, to the edges of her fingertips, to the tips of her toes, to the place where his mouth stays pressed to her sweat-dampened skin.

"I trust you," she whispers again, hand leaving his to tug pointedly at the material of his breeches, lifting her hips at the motion, and his hand leaves her hip to tug at his laces immediately, already keen to the meaning, fumbling to rid himself of them, and she laughs at the motion, leaning over the side to set the sword down as gently as she can against the edge of the bed with his fingers still inside her and his breeches being dragging down over his thighs, Jon unwilling to lift her fully from his lap and lose the feel of her. "But just to be safe," she giggles, releasing the hilt and letting it fall, forgotten, jostled to the floor when he tugs her back against him, fingers driving deep inside her, eliciting a sharp gasp when she braces a hand along his thigh to steady herself.

"Fuck the sword," he growls out, grinding against her, panting into her neck, and Sansa laughs again, fumbling for his cheek at her shoulder – anchoring.

* * *

The night before the wedding, Ned takes Jon down into the crypts.

He'd seen the entrance before, caught sight of the twin direwolf statues standing like guards before the darkness.

"The family crypts," Sansa had told him at his side, arm in his as they made their way toward the main courtyard upon the Tyrells' first arrival. He'd slowed to a halt at its edge, her whisper still in his ear.

"And all the Kings of Winter," she'd gone on to say, something wistful about the words, and he'd turned to her, recognized the tender look on her face, that one she always donned when recounting her tales and songs, her age-long loves. He'd been unable to do anything but share her awe, and he hadn't even stepped foot in them.

And yet now, when Ned claps a hand along his shoulder, a heavy sigh leaving him, nodding toward the darkened entrance with a gravelly "Come on then", Jon finds his feet rooted in the dirty snow. He stares long down the corridor, the flicker of torchlight casting faint, eerie shadows across the threshold, and he thinks maybe some things are supposed to stay dead.

But he can't seem to stop drudging up graves he hadn't meant to ever dig, and his mother's is only the first.

He thinks Ned knows this, in some regard, in some small measure. Because he stops to look back at him when Jon does not follow, and the sharp crease to his brow, the gentle dip of his frown, it all seems terribly, terribly unfair.

And Jon could laugh at such a thought.

"You owe this to her, boy," Ned says in a rough voice, and Jon hasn't even the mind to rankle at the address. Ned softens then, a hand wiping down his mouth with a sigh. "You owe this to yourself," he finishes, and after a moment's pause, he turns back to the crypts, striding in without waiting to see if Jon will follow.

He must know he will, though. He must know.

And he would be right.

There are torches propped along the wall at intervals all throughout corridors, the heat of them bleeding into the dirt and stone, suffusing him as he stalks on, following the dark image of his cloak-lined uncle, eyes flitting to the stone statues all along the way.

He does not recognize any of the faces, and he wonders if he should. But then, stone has never done a man justice, and so Jon looks on, follows Lord Stark silently through the turns of shadowed halls, until they slow finally, coming upon a woman who must be his mother, he knows, and yet, could be anyone down here in this haunting tomb.

Jon swallows thickly, coming to stand beside his uncle as he looks up, notices the fresh wreath of winter roses placed along his stone mother's hands.

Ned releases a soft chuckle beside him, and Jon glances toward him, brow raised in question.

Noticing his look, Ned nods to the flowers atop her open palms. "Must've been Sansa," he says.

Jon's eyes prick with tears before he can stop them, his gaze shifting back to the stature with a swiftness, his throat tight when he sucks a harsh breath between his teeth. He rocks back on his heels, bunches his hands into fists at his sides, takes a moment to steady himself.

They stand staring at the statue for an immeasurable amount of time.

Jon is beginning to think it's up to him to say something, but nothing makes any sense to say, and so he stays quiet. And so, he just breathes in the dark.

Lyanna, they called her.

The name feels wrong in his mouth. Nearly as wrong as 'mother', but for none of the right reasons.

Jon hangs his head.

"You know," Ned begins, voice hoarse from disuse, clearing it before he continues, "I realized today that I'd been angry with her for all this time."

Jon looks up at him.

He's staring at his sister's stone visage, chin high, eyes blinking furiously. His mouth is a thin line, a winter's cut, and there is grief there, Jon realizes suddenly. The kind of grief that never leaves.

The kind you lay down beside your bed at night and take up again every morning, like a mantle.

"For leaving us," he says, jaw clenching.

Jon turns his gaze back to the floor. "And angry at me," he finishes for him lowly, barely a whisper.

For killing her, he doesn't say.

Ned turns his heavy grey gaze upon him, jaw still clenched. "For a time," he tells him.

Some part of Jon is grateful for the admission. Grateful that Ned does not spare him the lance of his honesty, biting though it is.

The torches flicker around them. The heat settles slow into their bones.

Jon stays staring at the ground.

"I almost lost my wife when Arya came into this world," Ned says suddenly, voice tight.

Jon licks his lips, takes a steady breath. He does not lift his gaze.

"I remember thinking," Ned begins, throat constricting, shaking his head, "'How can such a small...such a small, helpless thing, ever be a killer?'" The words are a struggle, his voice cracking with them, his hand going over his face for a blinding, breathless moment.

Jon finally looks up at his mother. She is unmoved. Everlasting. He imagines she is cold to the touch, even with the blaring heat of the torches at their sides.

Something comes undone inside him, splintering out.

"You didn't take her from me," Ned says finally, hand drawn down over his mouth. "The gods did. And for whatever reason, I cannot fathom, but – but this I know. You did not take her from me." He turns then, watches Jon in the dim shadows, eyes a harrowing grey.

Jon takes a breath, holds it tight in his lungs, uncurls the fists at his sides. He can only nod, his voice laying slaughtered in his throat. He does not trust it to air.

Ned sighs deeply, turning back to Lyanna's statue. "I know you have questions. And I'm afraid I have very few answers. I never saw her again after she left Winterfell with Rhaegar. I never...never got to say goodbye. I mean, I don't - I don't even remember what words we last spoke to each other." He shakes his head, clears his throat.

Jon finally looks to him, and when their eyes meet, he finds the tears are already hot along his lids, his mouth a trembling line, the breath raking from him in short, shallow bursts.

It's a keen sort of longing. The regretful kind.

Jon feels it curl tight around his heart and tug, splitting all those years of resentment into shards that will never fit together properly again – that will never make a whole.

In pieces, Jon realizes.

In pieces does it go.

He may collect them bit by bit – he may clutch them tight to his chest, settle them side by side hoping for them to slip into place like jigsaws, but they will always stay as pieces.

This is how longing goes.

It is never whole.

"I cannot tell you what she hoped for in leaving, or what she hoped for in your father," Ned says on a rough exhale, shoulders pulling back. His eyes return to his sister, eyes softening somewhat.

Jon is lost somewhere between them.

The shadows make for fine comfort here.

"But I can tell you this," he says, voice sure suddenly, a step taken toward him, the brush of his shoulder just barely registering to Jon, his hand anchoring along the back of Jon's neck like a ghost, "She would have loved you."

Jon blinks up at him, unable to stem the sob that tears through his exhale, nor the quiver to his lip. "Uncle."

"As fiercely as she loved any of us, she would have loved you," he tells him, hand tightening over his neck, "Above all else," he promises, eyes intent on his, head dipped toward his nephew's, the tremble to his jaw staggering Jon where he stands.

He misses her, Jon realizes. And he doesn't know how.

He misses her more than he's ever missed anything.

'Lyanna's boy', they call him.

And oh, how he yearns for it now.

Lyanna's boy, Lyanna's boy, Lyanna's boy.

Like a song. Like a promise.

He thinks he would have liked to have a mother, after all. Maybe especially her.

Ned takes a soldiering breath, drags his hand from Jon's neck. Many moments pass as he stands staring at his sister's statue once more. And then he takes a step back, glancing at Jon one final time. "Take your time," he says, and nothing more. He lays a hand along his shoulder, a gentle squeeze, and then he's gone, disappearing the way he came, and Jon is left staring at his stone mother, this silent ghost, this reminder of everything he'd never thought to want.

He doesn't know how long he stands there. He only knows that the shadows of the torches have shifted when Sansa makes her way slowly toward him. He sees her in his peripheral, has become attuned to her footsteps.

He would know her anywhere, after all.

"My lord," she greets, voice a gentle lull, and he cannot help the breath that leaves him at the words.

Like a lullaby. Like a cradle of winter wind.

Jon closes his eyes and breathes deep.

"I'm sorry if I've intruded," she says, halting just out of reach, her hands bundled tightly before her.

"You haven't," he tells her, a slow shake to his head, and the words are raspy for their disuse.

Sansa stays standing just outside his reach, watching him quietly, and he stretches a hand out toward her, eyes opening to fix once again on his stone mother.

She comes dutifully, a whisper of a promise. She takes his arm, settles against his side to stare up at her aunt, a reverent silence overtaking the both of them.

His eyes drift to the winter roses immediately, but his tongue is still heavy with loss, still unused to these words. They start and stop and start again along his tongue, only to be swallowed back with uncertainty.

Sansa stays quiet at his side, mindful of his turbulence, unobtrusive in her presence.

He grips at her arm with a need he doesn't know how to voice.

"I don't know what to say to her," he croaks out finally, a breath catching jagged and tear-laced in his throat.

Sansa tips her head up toward him, gazing at him quietly, before she brushes a loose curl back from his forehead, her hand grazing his temple in a slowness that has him leaning toward the touch, his mouth parting silently.

She settles her hand at his shoulder, her gaze still fixed to his profile. "Then say nothing," she tells him. "Or say everything – all of it."

Jon clenches his jaw, eyes blinking furiously through their salt-sheen.

Sansa sighs beside him, her hand dragging down from his shoulder, along his arm, settling against her other hand held in the crook of his elbow. "Say what you must. There is no need for more."

Jon screws his eyes shut, a shuddering breath leaving him.

Did you know all this would happen? he means to ask her, as though that is the question that matters.

Jon shakes his head, frown deepening.

And more than that –

More than that, he cannot stop the way it all comes frothing to the surface.

Did you know what you risked when you did it? Did you ever regret it? Did you wish for me, or was I simply an accident? Did you welcome me when you finally knew? Did you sing to me? Did you laugh when I kicked? Did you call me yours?

And this is where he breaks.

Did you suffer, in the end? Did it hurt beyond imagining? Did you resent me for it? Did you wish I'd never been? Did you even hold me before the end? Did you want to?

Jon sucks a sharp breath through his teeth.

And did you cry?

Gods, but he hopes she didn't. He hopes beyond anything else that she didn't cry for him. Not for him, not for – him.

Jon's head dips down, a hand braced to his mouth.

Sansa stares at him with tear-filled eyes, a soft sniffle leaving her, and then she wipes at her eyes, pulls her hand from the crook of his elbow, smoothing down her skirts in a nervous, self-conscious habit that he has grown far too accustomed to now to ever dismiss again.

"I'll not intrude any longer, my lord," she says on a shaky whisper, turning to leave him.

And did you hope, in the end? Even through the pain – did you hope? Like I have?

Jon reaches out, snatching for her hand before she can step any further.

Sansa stills in his grasp, glancing down to his touch, to the needy curl of his fingers along hers.

"Stay," Jon rasps, eyes still fixed to the statue before him, still unwavering, still tear-laced.

Sansa opens her mouth, closes it, stares at him in the flickering torchlight of the crypt.

"Please," he manages, voice barely more than a choke, "Will you stay?"

She stays watching him in the faint light, her hand limp in his trembling grasp, in his fervent grip.

Eons and epochs and the long wind of winter passes through them before she breathes again, before she steps toward him, before she turns her palm and threads her fingers through his.

"Okay," she says simply, stepping into his side.

Jon nods, unable to look at her, face crumbling, hand over his eyes when the first sob takes him. "Okay," he says, a tremulous gasp, hand gripping hers.

Sansa nods, nose pressed to the furs at his shoulder. "Okay," she says.

And so they stay.

And so he weeps.

And so it goes – in pieces.

(Bit by bit, it falls away. Bit by bit, they make a whole.)

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,567

Tag List: @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432

Chapter 32: Waste It On Me

“And I know there’s no making this right, And I know there’s no changing your mind...”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Seoul – Cheongdam; Gangnam District South Korea

The bigger you are, the harder you fall.

Jimin was aware of this saying and held it close to his heart more often than most. It was his way of maintaining a sense of humility. He tried to impart humble actions to others, remaining as sincere as he could and as it was allowed. Praying and fighting. Fighting and praying. It was a daily routine for him for the last ten years.

But now it was over and while he wasn’t suffering from a lack of purpose, there were other things that troubled his mind. Seemingly insignificant to some and very important to others. Jimin worried below the surface, attempting to hold onto a sense of calm despite the chaos that always seemed to erupt around them. Rain or shine, snow or a hurricane; none of it mattered. Because they’d overcome worse in their lives and this new path they walked would be no different.

Seeing Eden in the hospital – hearing that the Jade Fangs were the ones responsible – ignited something new inside of Jimin. A feeling he wasn’t aware that he could feel. One that he never knew simmered deep within the dark recesses of his own heart.

It was anger.

The feeling shocked him at first; the realization even more. Jimin couldn’t think of a time outside of his elementary years where he got angry. Annoyed? Of course. Irritated? Absolutely. But never anger.

Not until he’d seen Eden’s arm in a sling.

His eyes narrowed as he paid the cab driver. The bigger you are, the harder you fall…

Stepping out of the cab, he closed the door behind him and approached the Cha Gangnam Medical Center. The sliding glass doors automatically pushed open, granting him entrance to the main lobby. He looked around, smiling politely to the receptionist as she waved at him. Brushing his bangs off his forehead, he looked around to see if Raelyn was around. Not long after he shuffled in, she came around a corridor and stopped short upon seeing him.

For a moment, neither of them could say anything. Jimin watched her press her clipboard to her chest, the two of them sighing in tandem with each other. Raelyn did her best to put on a smile that he probably assumed she thought was believable.

It wasn’t.

“Jimin-ah,” she called softly, her voice almost lost in the noise of the lobby, “what are you doing here?”

She crossed over to him and he smiled at her. “I was just coming by to check on you.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “Are you about to go on break?”

Raelyn looked at her watch, then nodded. “Sure, I can go on break now. Follow me.”

The two of them walked side by side as they made their way down the hall. Several orderlies and nurses greeted Raelyn, as well as a few doctors who were wrapping up their shifts. They rounded two corners and she paused in front of a room, pushing the door open and peering inside. Her shoulders seemed to visibly relax before turning to look at him while fully pressing the door wide.

“It’s just us. Come in.” Jimin followed her and Raelyn stood in front of one of the vending machines. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Pressing the button for two hot canned coffees, the machine dispensed the items and Jimin thanked her for the drink. They took their seats at a small round table near the back of the break room where they could talk. However, instead of talking, they opened the coffees and said nothing. Jimin wasn’t sure what was weighing so heavily on Raelyn’s mind, but he had a pretty good idea. The difficult part was broaching the subject in a way that wouldn’t set her off or, worse, cause her to build a wall even higher around her feelings.

“Noona?” She lifted her face to look at him and he could see her eyes shaking, as if Raelyn already knew why he was there. “Can I ask you something?”

Raelyn tried to put on a brave face, her fingers wrapping around the can of coffee. “Sure, Jimin-ah. What is it?”

He took a breath, pressed his lips together in a thin line, before releasing a puff of air from his mouth. “…is your freedom still important to you?”

There was a slight tink of sound as her nails scraped along the aluminum.

She scoffed, trying to brush off his question. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”

“Because your reason for ending things with Hoseok Hyung stemmed from the world we lived in; the cloak of shadows that we wore.” Jimin laced his fingers together as he rested his hands on the table. Raelyn’s façade faltered. “We’re not in the shadows anymore, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t people who will do whatever it takes to drag us back. We are working to continue our path of success and to do it the legal way.” His eyes narrowed slowly. “And you’ve been actively seeing Taehyung-ah, knowing that people are still trying to grab at our ankles.”

Raelyn frowned this time. “What are you getting at, Jimin-ah?”

“It’s only going to get worse before it gets better.”

His tone was flat and his expression matched. Raelyn’s eyes widened, her brows raising simultaneously. Her hands slid from the can to the table and Jimin lifted his coffee to his lips. He knew how intelligent Raelyn was and so it wouldn’t take her long to figure out where he was headed with this conversation.

“Do you remember what those days were like back then, Noona?” He didn’t tear his gaze from hers. “I know you do.”

“Park Jimin, you—”

“I hope you’re prepared, because now that we’re walking the legal path, there’s no stopping what the others are planning to do. You’ve already seen for yourself what they’re capable of. What lines they’re willing to cross. We can’t just beat them back with chains, whips and knives. Not like before. Not anymore.”

This was the path they were striving to walk on. It was the way they wanted to continue living their lives from now on. Jimin didn’t have to ask his older brothers what was making them feel so uneasy. The bridge they were crossing was rickety. There was no guarantee they’d be able to make it to the other side before burning it behind them – preventing anyone else from breathing down their necks. Ten years of hard work could potentially incinerate in the palm of their hands. Determined to walk the righteous path, to bathe in the sunlight, meant giving up the tools they used when shrouded in darkness.

Money could only do so much. But what it could not do was buy loyalty.

It finally seemed to click for Raelyn, the realization of what Jimin was attempting to get through to her apparent now on her face. But he also knew that if she valued her freedom as much as she claimed, then now was the time for her to make a choice. There would not be another opportunity for her to backtrack. This was the only way out that he could present to her.

“Noona,” he called, his voice gentle and a touch warmer than it had been earlier. She sensed it immediately. “If you’re serious about Taehyung, about any of us, then I won’t interfere, and I will respect your wishes. We prepared for a lot of things, but we didn’t prepare for anyone to try and stop us from leaving.” He sighed, turning his head slightly to avert his gaze. “What they did to Eden Noona? I’m sure it’s just the beginning. They’re trying to make a point.”

“W-What point?” Raelyn’s voice shook only slightly, but he could hear the hint of anger tacked on at the end. “What do they think they’re gonna accomplish by fucking around with our lives?”

Jimin had a few ideas, but he wasn’t willing to voice them. Not out loud. Not yet.

“They’re trying to tell us we can’t keep anything we care about safe.” He craned his neck to look back at her. “Not anymore.”

He watched Raelyn sink back into her chair, as if someone had taken all the wind out of her sails and left her stranded out at sea.

Jimin rose from his chair, taking the can of coffee with him. He slid one hand into his pocket, pivoting on his heel as he turned toward the door. He paused, casting a sidelong glance over his shoulder to look back at her. Raelyn was still staring at the table blankly, trying to process what he’d just said.

“If your freedom is still important to you, then you need to push us away. All of us. For your sake more than ours.”

She blinked rapidly, turning to look at him as though she was seeing him for the first time all day. No, for the first time since she’d known him. Jimin offered her a soft smile instead. One she would recognize and hopefully take comfort in.

“Take care, Raelyn Noona.”

He bowed his head toward her and turned to head out the door. He didn’t look back as he was worried about what his warning meant to her. Would she take it to heart, or would she remain steadfast at their sides?

Will she make the same choice that Eden Noona has?

Seoul – Hannam; Yongsan District South Korea

The drive back to the house was quiet. The taxi driver must have sensed that Jimin had a lot on his mind and left him to his thoughts in the backseat. As traffic melded on the streets, many lights blossomed and painted the windows and streets of Seoul bright colors. Jimin heard pedestrians milling around, some holding conversations that were loud enough for him to hear through the window. He tuned most of it out, however, his own concerns going off like air horns in his brain.

Soon, everything passed by in a blur of colorful lines.

When Jimin walked through the main entryway of the home he shared with his brothers, he felt more exhausted than normal. Like he’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He announced himself, kicking off his dress shoes and loosening his tie before sliding into his house slippers.

A set of feet shuffled in and he turned to see it was Yoongi, a glass of scotch in his hand. “Just you?” He took a moment to peer over Jimin’s shoulder, as if someone had followed him. “The others?”

Jimin pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw texts from both Jungkook and Taehyung; one saying they’d be home late and the other saying they’d be home tomorrow. “Seokjin Hyung is still at the office with Anastasia Noona. He sent me home early. Namjoon Hyung and Hoseok Hyung are at a business meeting at the hotel.” He peered at Yoongi curiously. “You’re home early.”

Yoongi hummed in response as he took a sip of scotch. “Investors from overseas flew in so I saw to their needs. The official business meeting will be tomorrow. Hoseok-ah wanted to give them a chance to rest before going over paperwork.” He turned to head into the kitchen and Jimin followed after him. “What about the other kids?”

Jimin sat at the kitchen island, watching as Yoongi began pouring him a drink. He waited until the glass was set on a coaster in front of him before speaking. “Taehyung-ah is going to be late.” Reaching for the glass, he ignored the tinkling sound it made when his rings knocked against it.

Yoongi sidled up next to him, raising his glass so they could tap them together in a silent ‘cheers’ fashion. “Jungkook?”

The glass hovered near Jimin’s lips, not sure if he wanted to give him the answer. But he also knew he had no real reason not to. “He said he’s coming back in the morning.”

He saw Yoongi’s expression darken and Jimin sighed, not wanting to get into this conversation at all. But when he remembered what Eden said to him that day at church, as well as Jungkook’s own concerns, he knew he couldn’t avoid it. Jimin was also curious about something and the only way he would get the answers was by asking the person who’d hurt Eden the most.

“Yoongi Hyung?”

Yoongi shook his head, setting the glass down on the coaster and he tried to throw a casual smirk to Jimin. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Him least of all.

“Hm, what is it, Jimin-ah?”

“I know why you did that to Eden Noona.” Jimin stared into his glass, refusing to meet Yoongi’s gaze. “I get it more than you probably think I do.” A sad smirk passed over his features. “You were trying to keep her safe in your own way. I’m sure she’ll understand that someday, if she doesn’t already.”

Yoongi laughed but the tone was off; bitter and cold. “It doesn’t matter. She has Jungkook looking after her now.”

“Noona can take care of herself, you should know that.” Jimin continued staring into the glass, the pads of his fingers pressing into its cold surface. “You regret it, don’t you Hyung?” He turned his head to see Yoongi glaring down at the marble counter top. “You regret not trusting her.”

Yoongi blinked, his head moving slowly to look back at Jimin with confusion in his eyes. “What?”

“You didn’t let her into our world because you were afraid she’d get fed up with it. Not hurt by it.” Jimin paused, watching Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Eden Noona is strong, you’ve seen that for yourself, Hyung. Her environmental safety wasn’t what you were worried about.”

“Ya, Park Jimin,” said Yoongi quietly, the warning clear.

Jimin had no plans to heed it.

“What you were actually scared of was Noona seeing the real you, weren’t you?” Jimin frowned. “You couldn’t trust her to stay with you when she found out. But now you see that isn’t the case, because she’s with our younger brother now, in spite of everything.”

Yoongi’s fist slammed into the marble, causing their glasses to rattle. The sudden action didn’t even make Jimin flinch. Instead, he placed a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. The two of them said nothing and it wasn’t until Jimin gave it a reassuring squeeze did he let out a sigh.

“You’re scared she’s going to get hurt for real this time. And it won’t be by any of us.”

He watched Yoongi drain his glass and set it back on the table. “This is just the beginning. Those bastards have barely started scratching the surface.” Yoongi placed a hand on his forehead, turning to look at Jimin and his eyes looked more tired than they had just a few minutes ago. “…but you’re right, Jimin-ah. I’m scared. I’m scared of what they’re planning to do next.”

Jimin nodded, his hand sliding off Yoongi’s shoulder to return to the counter top. The two of them held their glasses; one empty and the other untouched.

“Me too, Hyung.” There was a heaviness in Jimin’s voice that he hadn’t meant to let slip. But it was too late to take it back and there wasn’t really a point to it. “…I’m scared too.”

[callunavulgari]

YEAR-IN-BOOKS | 2020

So. Last year I read 112 books. The year before that I read 89. The year before that I read 39. This year I have (thus far) read 87 books out of my goal of 75 and will likely at least one or two more before the end of the year. So, click below if you want rambly book recs!

1. a book you loved?

This year has been rough. Like, I’m looking back at the books I read in January and am genuinely horrified to realize that I read them a scant twelve months ago when it feels like I read them at least three years ago. I’m glad I kept my limit lower this year, because enjoying anything this year has been harder than usual. I did read some decent books though, and I think the one I loved the most was Gideon the Ninth (and it’s sequel, Harrow the Ninth). They’re both fantastic books, and so deeply unexpected. Reading the first chapter or so of Gideon’s book is like getting whiplash. You go into it expecting angsty lady necromancers and get a crossdressing bee that secretes hallucinogenic substances and pulsates in time to the music in your head. Literally, Gideon’s dialogue is so out of left field that I spent half the book delightedly confused. But it is genuinely funny? And lesbian necromancers in space is just.. such an underutilized concept. Harrow’s book was a little harder - her head space is weird and everything is intentionally fucking with you so you really are confused for 90% of it, but I think the pay off was more than worth it.

2. a book you hated?

I was deeply, DEEPLY disappointed by The Secret Commonwealth. I finished it near the end of January and was just so fucking mad for days. Because the thing is, my expectations were not super high. I was excited for it, mostly because a grown up version of Lyra is something that I thought I would only ever experience in fanfiction. Now, I wish I’d only experienced her in fanfiction. Graphic attempted rape, retroactively confirming a rape happened in a previous book (one where it was implied that the victim got away in time), retroactively raping a character from the previous trilogy... like. I’m sorry. But fuck that noise. Fuck Philip Pullman. Fuck any douchebag asshole who thinks a woman has to be raped in order to write compelling fiction. I was riding the high of the new HBO series (which was good) and I guess I just... thought the author would have some goddamn integrity.

3. a book that made you cry?

We Are Okay was a really gorgeous, tender little book about grief that I read in one sitting in my bed when I really should have been sleeping. I read this book in March, when things only kind of hurt for me. When things were still largely okay. Before the bulk of covid hit my side of the world. Before self-isolation was an every day thing, not just something in books. Before Mal. Before getting covid. But ultimately, this was a book about healing. It aches, yes, but it also soothes.

4. a book that made you happy?

Both Beach Read and Written in the Stars made me pretty happy. Both romcoms done right, the first is a book about a romance writer falling in love with a thriller/mystery writer. They’re staying at neighboring beach houses and spend a summer getting themselves out of their comfort zones by challenging the other to write in the other person’s chosen genre. It’s sweet. It’s sexy. Over all, a really fun read, with enough depths to keep me engaged.

The second book is a meet-cute that involves astrology, fake dating, and lesbians. It’s written phenomenally well, and gave me a brief surge of happiness when I needed it most.

5. the best sequel?

Probably Harrow. The Dragon Republic is a great second choice though. Again, it’s a hard book, and I wouldn’t have been able to read it any later in the year than I did, because it is... not a happy book. But it is, in my opinion, a good one. And I am still excited about the third.

6. most anticipated release for the new year?

I am hoping to get the as of yet Untitled sequel to Ninth House in 2021. I am also hoping to actually be able to read The Rhythms of War in the new year, since I doubt I’ll get a chance in 2020. I’m looking forward to Mister Impossible, the second book in the Ronan trilogy by Maggie Stiefvater. I’m looking forward to the Hourglass Throne, which I think is coming in 2021? A Desolation Called Peace in March. The Thorn of Emberlain might actually be out in October, which will be wonderful it doesn’t get pushed back again. Rule of Wolves, the King of Scars Duology in the Grishaverse will also be March. One Last Stop by Casey McQuistion in May!!!!

7. favorite new author?

Defintely Tamsyn Muir. I will also be keeping an eye out for Alexandriua Bellefleur’s stuff...

8. favorite book to film adaptation?

Uh, can I say MDSZ/The Untamed without actually having read the original text? Well, I’ve read a few chapters, but damn.

9. the most surprising book?

Taproot. It’s this little graphic novel about a gardener who can see ghosts. And like. It still makes me warm to think about how tender it is.

10. the most interesting villain?

Does Loki: Where Mischief Lies count? Since Loki is technically a villain, even if he’s only villain adjacent in this book.

11. the best makeouts?

I... don’t know? I didn’t real read any of these books for makeouts. Not this year. 

12. a book that was super frustrating?

Boyfriend Material. It has great ratings! It has fake dating! But the story was very so-so for me. 

13. a book you texted about, and the text was IN CAPSLOCK?

I think I yelled at Nick a few times about how pissed I was at the Secret Commonwealth.

14. a book for the small children in your life?

The House in the Cerulean Sea is a book about a case worker at the department in charge of magical youth and he is charged with traveling to an island and making a very important decision about the children living there. It was adorable and I wish I’d had a book like it when I was young.

15. a book you learned from?

That is not the sort of book that I was reading in 2020.

16. a book you wouldn’t normally try?

I read a couple mysteries. Some were good. Most made me remember why I don’t read mysteries.

17. a book with something magical in it?

Call Down the Hawk, because all of Maggie’s books are at least a little bit magical. And while this definitely didn’t hit quite the same vibes that the Raven Cycle did, it was still very, very good.

18. the best clothes?

Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth have the best goth aesthetic I have ever seen in a book. Also, The Invisible Life of Addie Larue, because Addie’s clothes always sounded cute and comfortable.

19. the most well-rounded characters?

The City We Became had some fantastic characters. It was really interesting to see Jemisin get out of her typical fantasy setting and this novel was so out of this world. 

20. the best world-building?

Deeplight! It’s described as Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea meets Frankenstein and that is pretty accurate. Old gods that traversed the sea tore each other apart and now the world tries to get a hold of their corpses for amazing powers. It was really, really cool and probably the best book I could have chosen to read at the beach.

21. the worst world-building?

Eh. Most of the books I hated I didn’t keep reading this year.

22. a book with a good sidekick?

I really like all of the characters in the Tarot Sequence. There are some solid characters, even if there’s basically no women. Also Graceling.

23. the most insufferable narrator?

I was not a fan of The Mysterious Benedict Society, mostly because of the narrator. It was so boring and I quit halfway through.

24. a book you were excited to read for months beforehand?

Return of the Thief. Which... was still mostly good. But the ending felt lackluster for me. I may go back and reread the series and see if it feels more genuine after I’ve read them all together.

25. a book you picked up on a whim?

I literally picked up Written in the Stars because the cover was pretty and it looked like the romance was between two girls. And it did nooooot fail me.

26. a book that should be read in a foreign country?

Shrug emoji.

27. a book cassian andor would like?

I still don’t know what to make of this question.

28. a book gina linetti would like?

Shrug emoji.

29. your favorite cover art?

Gideon and Harrow, honestly. I also really liked Under the Udala Trees.

30. a book you read in translation?

I genuinely don’t know.

31. a book from another century?

Teeeeechnically The Great Hunt?

32. a book you reread?

I reread the Diviners and the Captive Prince series near the beginning of the year. They were still delightful.

33. a book you’re dying to talk about, and why?

Into the Drowning Deep was fucking amazing. I love Mira Grant’s work anyway and there’s this scene where a character pilots a submersible into the Marianas Trench and experiences your first face-to-face encounters with the sirens and like. AHHHHHHHHHH. It was so spooky and beautiful and just genuinely amazing.

TLDR; 2020 sucked, most books still couldn’t pierce through the depression, but there were a few bangers.

[daprefected1]

I Envy Them

An answer is immediately owed when someone says something like that. “Envy who”, “Why do you envy them”, that kind of thing. Well, let me first explain myself.

I’m thirty-seven now. I’ve been in about one serious relationship my entire life. I’ve had some that have meant the world to me and yet they didn’t last over six months. I wouldn’t call them “summer flings” but I would call them “puppy love”. You know, one of those situations where you swear you love her? You know good and well this relationship is no good, you can almost feel God shaking His Head at you as if to go “Really? This is what you choose?” and you’re like “Yes God, this is what I choose and You know what, You will deal”. Yeah? Really? Newsflash. This is God. You, sir, will deal and God will have the final say. I learned that the hard way.

Every relationship fell apart. Sometimes I felt nothing. I walked away with nothing more than a Kanye shrug when one of them imploded. I had seen that coming a mile away and prayed that not only God’s Will be done but also that He grant me peace. He answered in spades. I didn’t care. I cared for her but I knew it wouldn’t work so what was the point in fighting? The second time I cried. I knew I was to blame. I knew I was wrong. I knew we wouldn’t work. It didn’t take the pain away. And really it wasn’t just pain. It was a question that I asked myself and even God. “Why”.

I grew to envy them. All of my friends, coworkers, associates, everyone happily married with children, why couldn’t I be like them? “Why God, why do You hold me back?” So this is the way the world is. You meet women. You fall for them. You know the Bible says not to be yoked with unbelievers. You bend. You know you’re wrong. You bend anyway. Some aren’t exactly unbelievers so much as not really practicing Christians. They’re Christian in word but deed? Whole different ballgame. Is that wrong? “Well, I mean, maybe I can get her to go to church with me right?” Wrong. Try it buddy. It won’t end well. “Who am I to judge? I didn’t go to church once so I’m not casting any stones”. Doesn’t matter. You go to church now don’t you? So stop bending. Stop going along with the world because sooner or later you’re going to learn that you’re either all in or all out. God wasn’t playing when He said you either love Him or the world. Sooner or later the world is going to ask you who’s side you’re on. I’m standing for God. I praise God that He nipped it in the bud before the world grabbed me.

Even so I cried. I knew that I should be praising Him for that relationship falling apart and yet I cried. “Why God. Why did you let me fall for her to begin with”. That’s when a little voice in my mind might kick in with “Of course, it’s all God’s fault. God didn’t have you lie down with her, did He? God didn’t kiss her for you, did He? Where does God take the blame? No, I’m sorry, that’s all you.” My conscience never was one to pull punches.

Whoever may be reading this, you may be asking that I get to the point. This began as a rumination but I do have a point. I’ve never been one to believe in God revealing things through the Bible. Never. I believe in God. I believe in the Bible. I believe Jesus died for my and humanity’s sins yet someway, somehow, the very thought that God could cause the Bible to flip open to a story or verse that would pertain to my situation just struck me as outright ridiculous. One day I was sitting in my room bored. I haven’t honestly studied the Bible in years. I prayed to God, “Let me just get this Bible right quick. I don’t believe You’re going to show me anything but I’m going to go on ahead and flip it open anyway”. I flipped it open and it landed on a story.

Isaac and Rebekah

24 Abraham was now very old, and the Lord had blessed him in every way. 2 He said to the senior servant in his household, the one in charge of all that he had, “Put your hand under my thigh. 3 I want you to swear by the Lord, the God of heaven and the God of earth, that you will not get a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I am living, 4 but will go to my country and my own relatives and get a wife for my son Isaac.”

5 The servant asked him, “What if the woman is unwilling to come back with me to this land? Shall I then take your son back to the country you came from?”

6 “Make sure that you do not take my son back there,” Abraham said. 7 “The Lord, the God of heaven, who brought me out of my father’s household and my native land and who spoke to me and promised me on oath, saying, ‘To your offspring[a] I will give this land’—he will send his angel before you so that you can get a wife for my son from there. 8 If the woman is unwilling to come back with you, then you will be released from this oath of mine. Only do not take my son back there.” 9 So the servant put his hand under the thigh of his master Abraham and swore an oath to him concerning this matter.

10 Then the servant left, taking with him ten of his master’s camels loaded with all kinds of good things from his master. He set out for Aram Naharaim[b] and made his way to the town of Nahor. 11 He had the camels kneel down near the well outside the town; it was toward evening, the time the women go out to draw water.

12 Then he prayed, “Lord, God of my master Abraham, make me successful today, and show kindness to my master Abraham. 13 See, I am standing beside this spring, and the daughters of the townspeople are coming out to draw water. 14 May it be that when I say to a young woman, ‘Please let down your jar that I may have a drink,’ and she says, ‘Drink, and I’ll water your camels too’—let her be the one you have chosen for your servant Isaac. By this I will know that you have shown kindness to my master.”

15 Before he had finished praying, Rebekah came out with her jar on her shoulder. She was the daughter of Bethuel son of Milkah, who was the wife of Abraham’s brother Nahor. 16 The woman was very beautiful, a virgin; no man had ever slept with her. She went down to the spring, filled her jar and came up again.

17 The servant hurried to meet her and said, “Please give me a little water from your jar.”

18 “Drink, my lord,” she said, and quickly lowered the jar to her hands and gave him a drink.

19 After she had given him a drink, she said, “I’ll draw water for your camels too, until they have had enough to drink.” 20 So she quickly emptied her jar into the trough, ran back to the well to draw more water, and drew enough for all his camels. 21 Without saying a word, the man watched her closely to learn whether or not the Lord had made his journey successful.

22 When the camels had finished drinking, the man took out a gold nose ring weighing a beka[c] and two gold bracelets weighing ten shekels.[d]23 Then he asked, “Whose daughter are you? Please tell me, is there room in your father’s house for us to spend the night?”

24 She answered him, “I am the daughter of Bethuel, the son that Milkah bore to Nahor.” 25 And she added, “We have plenty of straw and fodder, as well as room for you to spend the night.”

26 Then the man bowed down and worshiped the Lord, 27 saying, “Praise be to the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who has not abandoned his kindness and faithfulness to my master. As for me, the Lord has led me on the journey to the house of my master’s relatives.”

28 The young woman ran and told her mother’s household about these things. 29 Now Rebekah had a brother named Laban, and he hurried out to the man at the spring. 30 As soon as he had seen the nose ring, and the bracelets on his sister’s arms, and had heard Rebekah tell what the man said to her, he went out to the man and found him standing by the camels near the spring. 31 “Come, you who are blessed by the Lord,” he said. “Why are you standing out here? I have prepared the house and a place for the camels.”

32 So the man went to the house, and the camels were unloaded. Straw and fodder were brought for the camels, and water for him and his men to wash their feet. 33 Then food was set before him, but he said, “I will not eat until I have told you what I have to say.”

“Then tell us,” Laban said.

34 So he said, “I am Abraham’s servant. 35 The Lord has blessed my master abundantly, and he has become wealthy. He has given him sheep and cattle, silver and gold, male and female servants, and camels and donkeys. 36 My master’s wife Sarah has borne him a son in her old age, and he has given him everything he owns. 37 And my master made me swear an oath, and said, ‘You must not get a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, in whose land I live, 38 but go to my father’s family and to my own clan, and get a wife for my son.’

39 “Then I asked my master, ‘What if the woman will not come back with me?’

40 “He replied, ‘The Lord, before whom I have walked faithfully, will send his angel with you and make your journey a success, so that you can get a wife for my son from my own clan and from my father’s family. 41 You will be released from my oath if, when you go to my clan, they refuse to give her to you—then you will be released from my oath.’

42 “When I came to the spring today, I said, ‘Lord, God of my master Abraham, if you will, please grant success to the journey on which I have come. 43 See, I am standing beside this spring. If a young woman comes out to draw water and I say to her, “Please let me drink a little water from your jar,” 44 and if she says to me, “Drink, and I’ll draw water for your camels too,” let her be the one the Lord has chosen for my master’s son.’

45 “Before I finished praying in my heart, Rebekah came out, with her jar on her shoulder. She went down to the spring and drew water, and I said to her, ‘Please give me a drink.’

46 “She quickly lowered her jar from her shoulder and said, ‘Drink, and I’ll water your camels too.’ So I drank, and she watered the camels also.

47 “I asked her, ‘Whose daughter are you?’

“She said, ‘The daughter of Bethuel son of Nahor, whom Milkah bore to him.’

“Then I put the ring in her nose and the bracelets on her arms, 48 and I bowed down and worshiped the Lord. I praised the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who had led me on the right road to get the granddaughter of my master’s brother for his son. 49 Now if you will show kindness and faithfulness to my master, tell me; and if not, tell me, so I may know which way to turn.”

50 Laban and Bethuel answered, “This is from the Lord; we can say nothing to you one way or the other. 51 Here is Rebekah; take her and go, and let her become the wife of your master’s son, as the Lord has directed.”

52 When Abraham’s servant heard what they said, he bowed down to the ground before the Lord. 53 Then the servant brought out gold and silver jewelry and articles of clothing and gave them to Rebekah; he also gave costly gifts to her brother and to her mother. 54 Then he and the men who were with him ate and drank and spent the night there.

When they got up the next morning, he said, “Send me on my way to my master.”

55 But her brother and her mother replied, “Let the young woman remain with us ten days or so; then you[e] may go.”

56 But he said to them, “Do not detain me, now that the Lord has granted success to my journey. Send me on my way so I may go to my master.”

57 Then they said, “Let’s call the young woman and ask her about it.” 58 So they called Rebekah and asked her, “Will you go with this man?”

“I will go,” she said.

59 So they sent their sister Rebekah on her way, along with her nurse and Abraham’s servant and his men. 60 And they blessed Rebekah and said to her,

“Our sister, may you increase    to thousands upon thousands; may your offspring possess    the cities of their enemies.”

61 Then Rebekah and her attendants got ready and mounted the camels and went back with the man. So the servant took Rebekah and left.

62 Now Isaac had come from Beer Lahai Roi, for he was living in the Negev. 63 He went out to the field one evening to meditate,[f] and as he looked up, he saw camels approaching. 64 Rebekah also looked up and saw Isaac. She got down from her camel 65 and asked the servant, “Who is that man in the field coming to meet us?”

“He is my master,” the servant answered. So she took her veil and covered herself.

66 Then the servant told Isaac all he had done. 67 Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he married Rebekah. So she became his wife, and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death.

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+24%3A1-67&version=NIV

This story is taken from Genesis in the NIV. Now imagine that you’re me for a moment. I’m done crying. I’m a bit frustrated. I grabbed the Bible just to say I read it and push on. Not that anyone is demanding this of me, moreso just to say I did it to myself. I’ve never been one to believe in women being predestined for men. It sounded a little too romantic to me. I mean we can hope all we want but the world just doesn’t work like that, right? Yet here we are reading the Bible and what is this? Look closer.

24 Abraham was now very old, and the Lord had blessed him in every way. 2 He said to the senior servant in his household, the one in charge of all that he had, “Put your hand under my thigh. 3 I want you to swear by the Lord, the God of heaven and the God of earth, that you will not get a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I am living, 4 but will go to my country and my own relatives and get a wife for my son Isaac.”

5 The servant asked him, “What if the woman is unwilling to come back with me to this land? Shall I then take your son back to the country you came from?”

6 “Make sure that you do not take my son back there,” Abraham said. 7 “The Lord, the God of heaven, who brought me out of my father’s household and my native land and who spoke to me and promised me on oath, saying, ‘To your offspring[a] I will give this land’—he will send his angel before you so that you can get a wife for my son from there. 8 If the woman is unwilling to come back with you, then you will be released from this oath of mine. Only do not take my son back there.” 9 So the servant put his hand under the thigh of his master Abraham and swore an oath to him concerning this matter.

The scene is set. Abraham sent his servant to find a wife amongst his family for his son Isaac.

10 Then the servant left, taking with him ten of his master’s camels loaded with all kinds of good things from his master. He set out for Aram Naharaim[b] and made his way to the town of Nahor. 11 He had the camels kneel down near the well outside the town; it was toward evening, the time the women go out to draw water.

12 Then he prayed, “Lord, God of my master Abraham, make me successful today, and show kindness to my master Abraham. 13 See, I am standing beside this spring, and the daughters of the townspeople are coming out to draw water. 14 May it be that when I say to a young woman, ‘Please let down your jar that I may have a drink,’ and she says, ‘Drink, and I’ll water your camels too’—let her be the one you have chosen for your servant Isaac. By this I will know that you have shown kindness to my master.”

15 Before he had finished praying, Rebekah came out with her jar on her shoulder. She was the daughter of Bethuel son of Milkah, who was the wife of Abraham’s brother Nahor. 16 The woman was very beautiful, a virgin; no man had ever slept with her. She went down to the spring, filled her jar and came up again.

17 The servant hurried to meet her and said, “Please give me a little water from your jar.”

18 “Drink, my lord,” she said, and quickly lowered the jar to her hands and gave him a drink.

19 After she had given him a drink, she said, “I’ll draw water for your camels too, until they have had enough to drink.” 20 So she quickly emptied her jar into the trough, ran back to the well to draw more water, and drew enough for all his camels. 21 Without saying a word, the man watched her closely to learn whether or not the Lord had made his journey successful.

22 When the camels had finished drinking, the man took out a gold nose ring weighing a beka[c] and two gold bracelets weighing ten shekels.[d]23 Then he asked, “Whose daughter are you? Please tell me, is there room in your father’s house for us to spend the night?”

24 She answered him, “I am the daughter of Bethuel, the son that Milkah bore to Nahor.” 25 And she added, “We have plenty of straw and fodder, as well as room for you to spend the night.”

26 Then the man bowed down and worshiped the Lord, 27 saying, “Praise be to the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who has not abandoned his kindness and faithfulness to my master. As for me, the Lord has led me on the journey to the house of my master’s relatives.”

The servant is now in the town of Nahor. He asks God to give him a sign that this is the woman for Isaac, whoever that may be. God comes through in spades but we’re not done yet. He goes to eat with the family, the table is set and he refuses to eat until he tells his story. Let’s skip forward a bit to verse 42 as he’s telling the story to the family over dinner.

42 “When I came to the spring today, I said, ‘Lord, God of my master Abraham, if you will, please grant success to the journey on which I have come. 43 See, I am standing beside this spring. If a young woman comes out to draw water and I say to her, “Please let me drink a little water from your jar,” 44 and if she says to me, “Drink, and I’ll draw water for your camels too,” let her be the one the Lord has chosen for my master’s son.’

45 “Before I finished praying in my heart, Rebekah came out, with her jar on her shoulder. She went down to the spring and drew water, and I said to her, ‘Please give me a drink.’

46 “She quickly lowered her jar from her shoulder and said, ‘Drink, and I’ll water your camels too.’ So I drank, and she watered the camels also.

Right there. Verse 44.

44 and if she says to me, “Drink, and I’ll draw water for your camels too,” let her be the one the Lord has chosen for my master’s son.’

I froze. I literally froze where I sat. Seriously? People, this is the last thing I expected to see. I expected to read a chapter, say “God speaks to everyone but He ain’t speaking to me” and keep on about my way. Right there, in my face, was cold hard proof that God is involved in us getting women. Now you, reader, may interpret this differently but to me? I read it as God does have someone chosen for me. I need to stop settling for whomever, wherever. I need to stop justifying accepting whomever whenever when I know I’m wrong. Above all I need to “Let go and let God”. Enough is enough already. I’m tired of crying.

I admit I’ve never been to seminary and I don’t know much about interpreting verses. Religion was my Minor in college and I have studied various others but that doesn’t make me an expert on the Bible. However I feel that God was reaching out to me that day and now, whenever I talk to a woman I think twice. I like to think that He does have a woman for me, that day and that story is proof and all I have to do is wait. Somewhere, somehow, she is waiting as well. He’ll bring us together soon enough.

[justoneday-namjoonii]

It burns, doesn’t it? [Pt. 18] | sneak peek: millions burning

 Genre/au: Mafia!au, Mature, Fluff, Angst…so much angst. Violence and all that good mafia stuff. Warning: This story contains graphic imagery, mature subject matter, improper drug usage, self-medication, including but not limited to crude/unnerving behavior, intensity, bloody, v slight-gore, etc.

Members: Jungkook x Yoongi x Namjoon x Jin x Hoseok x Jimin x Taehyung Feat. Got7

→ Pairing: Jungkook x reader x ( ? ) →Summary: Why am I hurting alone? Why am I in love alone?

word count: TBA

author’s note: there will be a taglist for the next update! please comment on this post if u want to be tagged💜

release date: TBA

| Prologue | Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | P. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14 | Pt. 15 | Pt. 16 | Pt. 17 | Pt. 18 | Pt. 19 | Pt. 20 

FLASHBACK

A cigarette burns in the ashtray on the desk, smoke wafting in the atmosphere as he paces. His voice is resounding throughout the room and the person waiting to enter is waiting in the doorway.

“We imported two shipments last month. The portions have been distributed by now, tell me how the fuck sales went down 23% on the south side in less than a month. And don’t tell me clients aren’t buying, they kill for their sugar down there.” The person on the other end rambles on, trying to explain to his boss that he’s just as confused as he is and is looking into the matter. “If your dealer is fucking around with the product, I’ll make his life a living hell. Relay that message for me.”

He hung up the phone and calmly placed it on the desk. That’s when he looks back at the girl in the doorway, awaiting her granted entry.

“Come in,” He beckons her inside, walking behind his desk to take a seat an offering her the one in front of him, “does he know that you’re here?”

“He’s in Japan, that’s the only reason I’m here. If he were here, I would be nowhere near this fucking place.” She bites, eyes narrowing at the stack of papers next to Yoongi. “You know that…”

“It’s been three months since you’ve seen him, yeah?”

“Yeah, not since, you know-…” Her eyes lower and she fights the urge to cry, that’s not why she came here. She takes a deep breath and looks up at him. “I didn’t come here to talk about him, I’m here to ask you a favor.”

He looks up from the business proposals he received yesterday morning. “Okay, what is it?”

“But promise not to tell him about this.”

He gazes at her, expression unchanging, but interested in what she had to say nonetheless.

“I want to leave all of this. The group, the mafia, everything that has to do with it, and I don’t want any ties to me at all…I’m moving and I don’t want Namjoon to know anything about it. My parents swore not to tell him either, now I need your word.”

“Geongmin,” Yoongi disregards his papers to peer at her, “He made a mistake, the situation was fucked up. That’s worth cutting him off to you?”

“Don’t fucking judge me Min Yoongi. Getting my best friend killed was more than a mistake!” She abruptly stands to her feet, eyes burning with how much pain that reminder brought her. 

“If it wasn’t for him, she would still be here.”

“It wasn’t his fault that she ran in there, he may have been there when she died but that doesn’t mean he didn’t try to save her. He doesn’t talk about it, and that should be some indication that there was nothing he could have done. I don’t know if you realized this, but they were closer than you knew-”

“That’s bullshit. She was my best friend, and she never said she felt anything Namjoon.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “She would have told me something like that.”

“Geongmin, do you even hear yourself? Of course she never said anything to you, look at you.” Yoongi jeered, looking up at her impetuous posture decreasing as she stayed standing. “You’d go against Namjoon until your dying breath, why on earth would she tell you that she had feelings for him?”

Yoongi stands to his feet and walks around the desk to stand directly in front of her, but she doesn’t move an inch. Unlike many people who cross his path, he’s never intimidated her. That’s why she talks to him the way she does, she doesn’t fear him. She narrows her dark eyes, “What’s your point? I’m about 30 seconds away from walking out.”

“She made her choice, and you blame him for it.” He sighs, shaking his head in pity for the kid.

“He won’t talk about how she was killed exactly, not even with me. He told me how you ran in there after things settled down, and you went ballistic when you saw what had happened to her, they had to carry you out. And Taehyung, they said he wouldn’t even look.” Yoongi sighs, seeing that her frown was ever-present but he could tell she was biting her tongue to keep from crying.

Namjoon always said she hated crying in front of people, said it made her feel weak. But the longer they stare at each other, a tear escapes her eyes and she immediately turns away to wipe it.

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Since I couldn’t make it to the funeral, I went the next morning to pay my respects and I saw you crying at her gravestone, I waited an hour for you to leave but you stayed there, I didn’t want to disturb you so I just left. I know that it hurt you…” Yoongi tilts his head a bit and wipes a stray tear from her eye with his thumb. She backs away, just as he expected and he goes back around the desk to sit down. “You don’t have to do this, I know you can’t stand him sometimes, believe me, I get it. But you can make it right between you two-”

“You know what?” She cuts him off coldly. “Are you gonna help me, or not? I didn’t come here for life advice.”

“Well, you sure as hell need some.” His remark doesn’t go unnoticed, but she could care less at this point. Yoongi has never been one to sugarcoat things for Geongmin.

“Look, I’ll help you because I understand what you’re going through. I’ll pull a few strings and get your name out of the system, but that doesn’t mean I agree with your decision.” He pulls out a form and writes his signature on it and a few other things.

“Lucky for me, I didn’t ask for your opinion, so you don’t have to condone any choices I make.” She pats under her eyes and waits for Yoongi to hand the paper to her.

“Fill this out and take it to Heize, she’ll take care of everything else.” She reaches for the paper but he snatches it away.

“Yoongi, what-”

“Take care of yourself, Geongmin.” He looks up at her, still seeing her as the rowdy little girl who was always challenging Namjoon in grade school. “You hear me?”

She holds a special place in his heart and she knows it, she knows that he sees her as a little sister—she’s family.

“Thank you,” Her expression softened, “I will Yoongi…”

She took the paper and left the room.

That’s the last time he saw her face-to-face and he kept his word. Namjoon never found out about their exchange and that’s about the only thing he’s ever felt guilty for until you came along.

* * *

[verdiprati]

Looking ahead . . . in spite of it all

The last time I published an unofficial list of Dame Sarah Connolly’s upcoming performances, it was with hesitation, knowing that she had months of treatment for breast cancer ahead of her and that she might need to withdraw from some of her performance engagements. That was in late October, 2019. I had, at the time, no inkling that a then-unknown respiratory virus would begin infecting humans over the winter and rapidly break out into a deadly pandemic, resulting in the widespread closure of public spaces and devastating the performing arts.

The change log appended to my previous unofficial schedule post shows that on March 23, 2020, I made the first round of edits to reflect corona-cancellations. Since then, I have been quietly monitoring the status of Dame Sarah’s scheduled gigs and crossing them off as their cancellations have become known to me. 

I have also picked up on a few new dates that we can very tentatively look forward to. It is hard to say how long the coronavirus crisis will go on; even when large, indoor public gatherings become possible again, some arts organizations may have had to slash their offerings—or may have succumbed completely—due to the financial fallout of the pandemic. In the meantime, we are starting to see some companies like the Bayerische Staatsoper, Wigmore Hall, and the Royal Opera House offer small-scale, live musical performances with no live audiences, just online streaming. 

Now that Dame Sarah is about to perform in one such livestream-only concert—tomorrow’s Das Lied von der Erde in Covent Garden, also notable for being her first live performance since withdrawing from the stage for cancer treatment over the winter—it seems like the right moment to refresh my list of her upcoming performances and start anew. 

See my current list after the jump.

This is the point in the post where I normally give a condensed list highlighting the cities where Dame Sarah is scheduled to appear in live performance, so that readers can tell at a glance whether she is coming anywhere near them. This list must now be read with a giant asterisk, as some performances may be online-only (so it doesn’t matter where you live), and others may be much more prone to cancellation than normal! 

That said—British performance sites on the horizon at the moment are the Royal Opera House (for online viewing only) and Wigmore Hall in London, plus the Lieder Festival in Oxford (also online only). Audiences in continental Europe might get to see Dame Sarah in Barcelona, Berlin, Hamburg, Amsterdam, or Luxembourg. An as-yet-unconfirmed operatic run may be in store for the 2021-2022 season in New York.

The usual disclaimers:

This is not an authoritative list. These are the upcoming performances by Dame Sarah Connolly that I have been able to learn about from Dame Sarah’s new website, Dame Sarah’s agent's website (Askonas Holt), Operabase, Bachtrack, Dame Sarah's Twitter, and generally ferreting around the web.

I sometimes list concerts that are not yet officially confirmed; you should of course check official sources before making plans and be aware that cast changes and cancellations can happen at any time. This obviously goes triple in the COVID-19 era.

I have added links to venue, ticketing, and broadcast information where available. Tips on new information are always welcome! Please contact me via email (verdiprati [at] selveamene [dot] com), Tumblr messaging, or ask box (plain prose only in the ask box; anything with links or an email address will get eaten by Tumblr filters) with corrections or additions.

[Livestream only] Mahler, Das Lied von der Erde at the Royal Opera House, London, June 20, 2020. With David Butt Philip and members of the ROH orchestra; Antonio Pappano conducts. The performance will be livestream-only; no audience will be seated in the house. Tickets are £4.99 and grant you not only live access, but also the ability to view the concert on demand for two weeks following the performance.

[New!] Recital at Wigmore Hall, London, September 16, 2020. With Malcolm Martineau, in the Wigmore’s 1:00 p.m. “lunchtime” slot. Songs by Poulenc, Roussel, Mahler, and Bridge, capped by a pair of songs newly written by Bob Chilcott for Dame Sarah. At the time of this writing, Wigmore Hall expects to admit live audiences of 10%-20% capacity during the autumn season under socially-distanced reopening guidelines, but the situation for live performance in the UK remains fluid, to put it mildly. The website says that “More details on how to access tickets will be released in the coming weeks. All concerts will go ahead, with or without an audience.”

[Livestream] The recital, like all the others in Wigmore Hall’s autumn 2020 season, will be streamed for free on their livestreaming site. It appears that you can also use this YouTube link.

[Canceled] Recital at Wigmore Hall, London, September 30, 2020. With Roderick Williams and Julius Drake; the first concert of the Wigmore’s Mendelssohn and Liszt series. Public booking is scheduled to open on July 14. UPDATE: As of July 31, this recital is no longer listed on the Wigmore Hall website. Update, August 22: see above for a newly-scheduled Wigmore recital by Dame Sarah.

[New! Livestream only] Handel, Solomon (title role) and Foundling Anthem with the English Concert, October 1, 2020. Also starring Sophie Bevan, Soraya Mafi, and James Way; conducted by Harry Bickett. Selections from both works will be performed as part of a concert titled “Handel – The Philanthropist.” Tickets to the livestream are free; donations are requested to both The English Concert and Bart’s Heritage, the fund for renovating St Bart’s Hospital, which will be the venue for the performance. 

[Livestream only] Recital at the Oxford Lieder Festival, October 10, 2020. With Eugene Asti (pianist) as well as “emerging artist” William Thomas (bass)—apparently part of Barbara Hannigan’s Momentum initiative, which is supported by both Dame Sarah and the Oxford Lieder Festival. Schumann’s Fraunliebe und -leben and Mahler’s Rückert-lieder bookend an assortment of songs by Haydn, Arne, Bush, Quilter, Howells, and Britten. The livestream ticket (£12, or £5 for under-35s) includes access to a post-performance Q&A session with the artists. Video will remain available until November 1. Notably, the £250 “Pioneer Pass” for the whole festival gets you bonus goodies including “Two guest tickets to Dame Sarah Connolly’s recital, to share with friends” and “Exclusive artist interviews and other content.” 

[New!] “Pappano & Friends” chamber concert at the Barbican, London, November 1, 2020. With Ian Bostridge, the Carducci Quartet, and Antonio Pappano. Tickets are being sold separately for a limited live audience (£20) and for a video livestream of the performance (£12.50). The listed program comprises just two works: Ralph Vaughn Williams’ song cycle On Wenlock Edge and an arrangement of Ernest Chausson’s Poème de l’amour et de la mer. I don’t really know either work, but a little googling suggests to me that Bostridge will sing the RVW and Dame Sarah will sing the Chausson. Tickets go on sale to the general public on September 11 at 10:00 a.m., and a few of the live audience tickets will be held back from the earlier Barbican members’ sale for the general sale, so if you want to try to attend in person, be ready to act swiftly at that time.

[Livestream] As mentioned above, there is a fee of £12.50 for access to the livestream. The Barbican website says, “We advise you to watch the performance live, but the stream will be available to watch back for 48 hours after the live broadcast.”

[New!] Mozart’s Requiem with the English National Opera, London, November 6 and 7, 2020. Fellow vocal soloists are Elizabeth Llewellyn, Toby Spence, and Brindley Sherratt. With the ENO Chorus and Orchestra conducted by Martyn Brabbins. As of this writing early on September 15, the ENO website says “Ticket details will be announced soon.” ENO plans to perform for a live, socially distanced audience; livestreaming has been mentioned only as a backup option in case government restrictions make it impossible to host a live audience in the Coliseum. 

[New!] Forum participation, International Vocal Competition, 's-Hertogenbosch, Netherlands, December 2, 2020. Having postponed its opera and oratorio competition until 2022 due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the IVC announced that it would sponsor a multi-day series billed as “IVC Mozart Masterclasses & More” late in 2020. Masterclasses will be led by Vesselina Kasarova, Roberta Alexander, and Thomas Oliemans; Dame Sarah doesn’t seem to have the same role, but the IVC promises that she will be among several “leading professionals” who will “talk with the participants about the future of their profession” as part of “a forum ... about the future as it now looks for (young) singers.” Singers who were born no earlier than December 5, 1987 and who can cough up €500 for the experience may register by October 1, 2020. Members of the public may buy tickets to the events beginning “at the end of August.”

Handel, Agrippina (title role) at the Dutch National Opera, Amsterdam, January 17-29, 2021. The production is Barrie Kosky’s (previously seen at the Bayerische Staatsoper and the ROH, and later moving on to the Staatsoper Hamburg). Ottavio Dantone conducts; co-stars include Ying Fang (Poppea), Franco Fagioli (Nerone), Gianlucca Buratto (Claudio), and Tim Mead (Ottone). As of this writing (June 19, 2020), single ticket sales are indefinitely suspended due to the coronavirus crisis.

Stravinsky, Oedipus Rex (Jocaste) at the Dutch National Opera, Amsterdam, March 10-27, 2021. In a double bill with the new commission From ‘Antigone’ by Samy Moussa. Other singers in the Oedipus cast include Sean Panikkar (Oedipus), Bastiaan Everink (Creon), Rafał Siwek (Tiresias), and Ramsey Nasr (Speaker). Erik Nielsen conducts; Wayne McGregor directs. As of this writing (June 19, 2020), single ticket sales are indefinitely suspended due to the coronavirus crisis.

Stravinsky, Oedipus Rex (Jocaste) with the NDR Elbphilharmonie Orchester, Hamburg, April 10 and 11, 2021. Even though these concert performances follow on the heels of Dame Sarah’s engagement for the same opera in Amsterdam, the two gigs appear to be administratively and artistically unrelated. Her co-stars in Hamburg include Brenden Gunnell (Oedipus), Tomasz Konieczny (Creon), and Sir John Tomlinson (Tiresias); the MDR Rundfunkchor Leipzig supplies the men’s chorus. Alan Gilbert conducts. The program also includes Le sacre du printemps. Under a special policy instituted in response to the uncertainties of the coronavirus pandemic, tickets can be pre-ordered starting May 26, 2020, with payment due when it is confirmed that the performance will go forward, no later than six weeks before the concert. There’s some background information about the Stravinsky pieces on the NDR website.

Stravinsky, Oedipus Rex (Jocaste) with the NDR Elbphilharmonie Orchester at the Philharmonie Luxembourg, April 19, 2021. Co-stars, conductor, and chorus are the same team as in the Hamburg performances, and the Luxembourg program likewise includes Le sacre du printemps. Tickets go on sale February 22, 2021.

[New!] Recital for St Luke’s Music Society, London, May 8, 2021. With Joseph Middleton. Repertoire TBA. Note that “during the COVID crisis tickets may be restricted to Friends only.” Tickets are £18 and Friends membership is £35; the tickets for Dame Sarah’s recital go on sale December 13. 

Recital at the Concertgebouw, Amsterdam, May 18, 2021. With Julius Drake. Songs by Mendelssohn, Liszt, Elgar, Debussy, Ravel, and Chaminade.

Elgar, The Dream of Gerontius with the Berliner Philharmoniker, Berlin, May 27, 28, and 29, 2021. With Allan Clayton and Roderick Williams, as well as the Rundfunkchor Berlin; Simon Rattle conducts.

[Livestream] The concert on the 29th will be livestreamed on the Berliner Philharmoniker’s Digital Concert Hall platform.

[Unconfirmed / details TBA] Tour with the Wiener Symphoniker, October 2-5, 2021. Dame Sarah’s name appears along with that of conductor and violinist Andrés Orozco-Estrada (who will take over as music director of the Wiener Symphoniker in the 2020-2021 season) in this list of orchestra tours on the website of agents Dr. Raab & Dr. Böhm. Details of the repertoire and cities for the tour will presumably be revealed when the Wiener Symphoniker announces its 2021-2022 season.

[New date!] Recital at Sant Pau Recinte Modernista [PDF], Barcelona, November 15, 2021. With Julius Drake. Part of the LIFE Victoria series of recitals; originally announced for November 27, 2019, but postponed due to Dame Sarah’s treatment for breast cancer; rescheduled for October 2020, and further postponed due to the coronavirus pandemic. Themed as a “Viennese journey by the hand of Alma Mahler,” the recital includes songs by Brahms, Wolf, Debussy, Alma Mahler, Gustav Mahler, and Zemlinsky. 

[Livestream? TBC] This article in the Catalan newspaper La República says of the combined 2020-2021 season that “Tots els concerts es retransmetran en streaming, independentment de si pot assistir-hi públic o no” (“All concerts will be streamed, regardless of whether the audience can attend or not”). I have been unable, however, to confirm this detail on the LIFE Victoria website or in the PDF of the combined season announcement. 

[Unconfirmed / details TBA] Brett Dean, Hamlet (Gertrude) at the Metropolitan Opera, New York, sometime in 2021-22. Allan Clayton, who starred in the title role of Brett Dean’s Hamlet at Glyndebourne in 2017, mentioned in an interview with the Telegraph that he would be reprising the role at an unspecified date and venue in the US. When prompted on Twitter, Dame Sarah indicated that she would be participating in the revival, too (“I shall be misunderstanding my confused boy again”). In a later interview with Opera News, Clayton reportedly specified that he would reprise Hamlet at the Met. The Future Met Wiki places the production at the Met in the 2021-2022 season (as does this New York Times article). Hat tip to Christopher Lowrey, who sang Guildenstern in the original production at Glyndebourne, whose tweet praising Allan Clayton brought the Telegraph interview to my attention. (No indication whether Lowrey will also be cast in the American revival.) Additional hat tip to the Tumblrer who submitted information on this topic via the ask box.

Previous versions of this list can be found under the schedule tag on this blog. This list published June 19, 2020. Updated June 22 to reflect the further postponement of the LIFE Victoria recital. Updated July 22 with the new date of the LIFE Victoria recital and the addition of the IVC forum. Edited July 28 to correct the closing date of DNO Agrippina to January 29 (not 27). Edited August 1 to reflect the cancelation of the September 30 recital at Wigmore Hall. Edited August 22 to add the September 16 recital at Wigmore Hall and update the Oxford recital with more details. Edited August 29 to add the English Concert livestream and fill in the repertoire for the September 16 Wiggy recital. Edited September 8 to add the Barbican “Pappano & Friends” concert. Edited September 15 to add the ENO Mozart Requiem and belatedly fill in some details on the Oxford Lieder Festival recital. Edited September 21 to add the recital for St Luke’s Music Society. I may continue to edit this list as I receive new information.

[marshmallow-phd]

Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: Soon after your second birthday, your parents were killed and you were adopted by your father’s best friend, taken away to their home country where you lived your life in peaceful ignorance. As far a as you knew, your parents simply left you large fortune to be released to you once you reached your twenty-third birthday. At least, that’s all you thought you were inheriting. When a famously ruthless mafia boss discovers your existence, you are left at his mercy. While under his roof, you learn more about your father than you ever wished you had, including the part of your inheritance that made you the most valuable person in the underworld. Hidden in a bank in New York City were files that held the darkest secrets of the mafia families and everyone in their pocket. With another terrifying leader’s eyes trained on you, you’ll learn to watch your back… and guard your heart, before your father’s past becomes your doom.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I Final

**

You didn’t get to have that insightful dinner with Mr. Martin. Junko insisted on leaving for Korea right away and the jet was ready to go before the sun began to set on the horizon. Less than twenty-four hours you’d spent in the one place you could have really been able to know your parents, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be sorry about it. Hopefully, you’d have another chance in the future. If not, then that was just your fate.

Over and over, your father’s words echoed in your mind. The way his eyes softened when he told you that he loved you, that you were the most precious thing in the world to him. If anyone else had told you that he’d said that, you would have laughed in their face. There was no fathomable reason he would feel that way about you.

And yet, you’d judged the man too quickly. You’d made assumptions about someone that you never knew, who worked so hard to bring you into this world. The only way you could right your thoughts and make it up to him was by fulfilling his last request: to not let Junko get ahold of the files.

Right now, as you pretended to be asleep, Junko was pouring himself over the fake files by the dim overhead light from the jet’s ceiling, ignoring the beautiful sight of the darkened sea below. He took in every word like it was the holy script, murmuring unintelligibly to himself, marking certain key phrases and paragraphs with a red pen. Eventually, you drifted off to the sound of fluttering paper.

You were awoken rather roughly when the plane landed back home over fourteen hours later. There was no gentleness as the bodyguards escorted you off the plane and into the waiting car. Junko said nothing to you, simply rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Apparently, he hadn’t gone to sleep at all, too obsessed with memorizing the details of the files that were now locked safely away in the briefcase by his feet to bother with the important human function. It may be a little petty, but you thought the least you deserved was a “thank you”. Threat or no threat, you still got him what he wanted. A little appreciation would have been nice.

You scoffed at yourself internally. There you were, pouting about not being thanked when you were planning on sabotaging him.

After you arrived back at the mansion, Junko split off from you, heading in the opposite direction of the bedroom on the second floor, briefcase in hand. Shaking your head, you kept on until you reached the bed. You collapsed on top of the covers, barely putting in the effort to remove your shoes before falling asleep once again.

**

You hardly saw Junko over the course of the next few days. The few glimpses of him you did get were just in passing, making him seem like a ghost haunting the hallways that you could only glimpse at from the corner of your eye. In a way, you were overly relieved that he was spending so much of his time absorbing the files in what room you could only guess was his study. You never woke up to him next to you in the bed again. If he was sleeping there beside you during some point in the night, at least you were never aware of it.

Even though you hardly saw Junko, his presence, the fact that he was still near, was always constant. The flash drive had stayed hidden in your purse. You’d through about putting the purse away, but thought better of it. If it was discovered, someone would be extremely curious as to why it was being hidden and most likely would go through it, ruining your golden hand.

Granted, having the flash drive was only part of the lineup. You needed to somehow get the drive to Junmyeon. But you were locked up in this stupid mansion, eyes watching you whether they were obvious or not. Servants and guards were constantly in passing by or glancing your way, taking in every move you made. Reflecting suspicion would be hard enough given your lack of poker face without you also trying to play super spy.

This morning at breakfast, however, you might have been given your chance.

“Junko wanted me to inform you that he’ll be out of the house most of the day, but will join you for dinner tonight.”

Looking up from your breakfast, you noticed Quan – one of Junko’s favorite guards – standing at the other end of the table. While he may have been high on Junko’s list of trusted associates, he had been a bit kinder to you than the others. Sure, that margin of kindness was slim, but a little could go a long way in your book.

You nodded. “Thank you, Quan.”

He bowed his head and left the dining hall.

The wheels in your head began to turn as you forced yourself to slowly finish up your breakfast. Scarfing it down might raise the alarms, sentencing you to your room before you’d gotten your chance. A weight was now gone, giving you a lighter feel as you thought about your next course of action. During the day, you’d usually waste away in front of the TV or walk around the pool in a pathetic attempt at some exercise. But now you could explore. Not out of wonder, but in order to find a possible computer or office where you could think of your next step. Getting in touch with Junmyeon might still be difficult, but you had to try.

Plate finally empty, you rose from your chair, and left the dining hall, a maid servant rushing behind you to clear the away the mess. Back in your room, you dug through your purse, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder every five seconds. With the flash drive now in your hand, you flipped it over continuously, contemplating where to hide it. Then you put it in the one place you knew you could get away with. The plastic poked at your skin, but it was perfectly hidden under your loose blouse, held in place by the cup of your bra. You cringed a little at the fact that you’d slipped it in there rather than your pocket, but you needed it in a place that couldn’t be seen even just by a glance.

You knew your time was limited. However, you still had to take it slow. Hightailing it straight to the study would get you in hot water. So, instead, you wandered the halls, poking your head into different rooms, pretending to just be exploring and familiarizing yourself with the house. You did this for about an hour or so, nodding to the maids as you passed them by, even stopping by the kitchen for a quick snack. Then, you gave in.

The door to the study squeaked as you slowly pushed it open, the hinges crying out desperately to be oiled back to perfection. Your heart was holding onto all your nervousness, releasing it only enough to pound in your ears. As quietly as you could, you walked across the thick carpet towards the imposing desk. No personal items decorated the area, making it seem more like a display at a furniture store or showroom rather than the office of a mafia leader who was proud of his family.

Slowly, you lowered yourself into the leather chair and turned to face the computer. Your jaw dropped.

The screen was open to the desktop, no locks or screensavers to prevent any unwanted eyes from skimming through its secrets. Was this a trap? Would Junko really leave himself vulnerable like this? He had to have turned off the sleep mode in order for it to still be up like this. Or the computer was recently used within the last fifteen minutes. But who else would have been in here?

You pushed the thought away. Right now, you needed to focus on sending the files to Junmyeon. Unfortunately, you didn’t know how to do that. There had to be some way to send it to his phone using only his number, right? Thank goodness you’d taken the time to memorize his number in case of emergencies.

You started to click on the internet icon to try and find a way to do that when a folder caught your eye labeled with your last name. Logic would have told you to hurry and find how to send the information to Junmyeon and then click on the folder. But logic hadn’t driven your actions for a long time.

Double clicking to open the folder, you were met with rows and rows of saved emails, screenshots, and even a few voice files, presumably from phone calls with your father. You clicked on one of the emails lower on the list, dated a few months before your parents’ death. Skimming over the paragraphs, you concluded that your father was wanting to back out on his deal with Junko’s father involving you marrying his son.

She’s my little girl, Lee. I watch her grow every day. I want her to live life the way she chooses. If she chooses Junko on her own, for good reasons, then I’ll let her go. But I prefer for her not to be involved in this life. When I look at her, I see all the possibilities, all the paths she could go down. I can’t limit her to a life of standing next to your son, surrounded by bodyguards and never able to go about how she pleases. That’s not a life. So, please, reconsider. I’m begging you.

Underneath that was simple, one sentence reply.

Deals are meant to be kept or there will be consequences.

Your father was one hundred percent right to be weary of the Lees. There was no doubt that Junko’s father meant his little warning.

That should have been where you stopped. That should have been where you closed the file and found a way to Junmyeon’s phone. But you didn’t. Because at the very bottom, the very last little square had that telltale triangle in the corner. What footage was being held behind that icon?

The curiosity was too strong to fight and you opened the file. It gave you one last chance to turn around, but you clicked play anyway.

Before you on the screen was footage from an old surveillance camera pointed at an intersection. Everything was fuzzy and age showed through the simple black and white images, but you could still recognize your parents standing under the streetlamp, waiting for the crosswalk signal to turn and allow them to continue on their way. It was dark, late at night, like the night your parents died.

As soon as the walking man was glowing, your father started to walk your mother across the way. Out the bottom of the screen, a black car zoomed into frame, striking your parents down and hitting them hard enough to send them flying back several feet. You gasped at the impact, trying to quiet the noise with your hand as you watched in horror.

After coming to a stop, the man in the car stepped out, walking casually over to your parents and checking each of their necks for a pulse. Satisfied with his work, he turned, waved at the camera and drove away scot-free.

They were murdered. Just like your father had assumed in his video. There never was a drunk driver who got scared and ran away. It was all deliberate. The man who you were now forced to live with was the son of the man who took your family away. Was that your curse? To constantly have your family, your safe space taken away from you by the Lee’s? Would you ever truly be free of them?

“All choices have consequences. Some a little harsher than others.”

You gasped and turned in the seat.

Junko was leaning up against the opened door, inspecting his fingernails. How did you not hear that squeaky door with his arrival?

“Your father was warned about what would happen if he went back on the deal,” Junko said, as if he were talking about a child being scolded for stealing a cookie from the forbidden jar. “He made his choice.”

“I am not a piece of property to be bargained with,” you spat. “And your father was a monster that-”

Junko charged forward, pushing your chair back until he hovered over you, a hand on each armrest to lock you in. Fear pulsed through you as his eyes bore down into yours. They were filled with fire and if you weren’t careful, you were going to burn up into ash.

Through clenched teeth, he hissed, “You don’t know anything about my father. He is the only reason that you even exist. Maybe you should learn from your father’s mistakes and be grateful for that fact.” Straightening up, he exited out of the folder and sighed. “Too bad you couldn’t pass my little test. Now you’ll have someone with you at all times. Especially at the party tomorrow night.”

“Party?” you gaped at him. “What party?”

“Oh, just a little function for the different families. A place for business deals and negotiations. I’ll have a dress and shoes for you tomorrow afternoon that I expect you to wear. Until then, perhaps you should just stay in our room, hm?” He headed out for the door, stopping just before the hallway to throw over his shoulder, “And remember: you’re never fully dressed without a smile.”

**

Junko kept his promise to keep you locked up in his room. Breakfast and lunch were brought to you on a trays, though you couldn’t really bring yourself to eat much of either meal. Your brain was too focused on what Junko had said. This party was supposed to be for the “families”. Being well versed in their lingo by now, you knew he was talking about the different mafia groups.

Which meant Junmyeon might be there.

Junko had warned that a guard would be on you at all times, but if the venue was crowded enough, you were sure you could manage to get away. The real trick would be getting the flash drive to the party in the first place.

When the dress and shoes arrived around one o’clock, you started to sweat. It was very much a dress meant to show you off, like a freaking trophy. Its golden chiffon cloth was shaped to cling to your every curve, the back fully exposed, the thinnest of straps holding it all together. You were already dreading having to wear it. But a little relief was granted when the maid said that the hair dresser wouldn’t be around for another few hours, giving you some more time to prepare.

There was nowhere in the dress for you to even think about hiding the drive. Your saving grace, however, was the shoes. Rather than the stick thin heels you’d been expecting, the dress came with a golden wedges. An idea that definitely was stolen from too many spy movies formulated in your head. Taking one of the heels, you shut yourself in the bathroom, searching for your razor. It was a struggle to break the plastic apart without cutting yourself, but eventually you got the blades free and turned to the shoe.

Slowly, you cut away at the bottom of the shoe, over and over again in a rough rectangle big enough to hold the drive in place. Soon enough, you were able to break through into the hollow space. Perfect.

Now rummaging through the cabinet under the sink, you pulled out the one box you were sure no one would ever think to look in. Before you moved in, a maid must have remembered that you would need certain products and had them stocked in the bathroom for you. While you hadn’t needed to open the box for that specific bodily function yet, you did find it handy in hiding the flash drive. It was an easy switch from the box to the wedge and the bottom was staying securely in place.

You barely made it back in time to pretend that you were just looking at the shoe when the hairdresser and her assistant – the same ones from your wedding day – entered the room without even knocking. You obeyed each request they had, closing your eyes when they asked, stopping your fidgeting when it became too much. Before you knew it, the torture was over.

Junko simply gave you a once over as you descended the stairs, approving with a curt nod before lending you his arm and escorting you to the car waiting outside. Apparently, the idea of being a happy couple in love – or maybe you just being a submissive wife – was beginning to fade from Junko’s mind. Or maybe he just had other more important things on his mind. Either way, you were happy as he left you alone to your own thoughts on the ride to the venue.

Secrecy was not a priority this time around from what you gathered.

The “party” was being held in one of the grand hotels of the city, valets waiting patiently outside to direct the drivers on where to park the cars while the guests were let out right in front of the grand stairs. Junko was quick to jump out of the car, rounding it to help you out as well. Neither of you smiled or acknowledged any other patrons as you ascended the stairs and entered the hotel.

The ballroom occupied the entire twelfth floor, even sporting balconies on each side. Over a hundred people were already milling about the space, chatting and sizing each other up in small gatherings as they sipped at the drinks in their hands. Junko dragged you from group to group, introducing you as his wife and smirking when someone recognized your name. Yes, he’d finally gotten what he wanted, but if you had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t have much to brag about for too much longer.

While Junko was feigning laughter at an older gentleman’s terrible joke, your eyes were scanning the crowds, searching desperately for Junmyeon. Then your heart sped up.

Towering over a majority of the crowd was a familiar crop of firetruck red hair.

Chanyeol!

You had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming out for the gentle giant who’d promised to keep you safe. As much as you wanted it, him marching over here and snatching you away wasn’t the brightest move. Besides, you wanted – no, you needed to see Junmyeon.

One by one, shuffling through the crowd, you saw each of the boys, save their leader. None of them were talking or laughing with the other families. They seemed more like zombies, just wandering the floor, careful not to bump into anyone. Where was-

There!

You barely caught a glimpse of Junmyeon sneaking out onto the left side balcony. You needed to get to him, but how did you lose the guard whose eyes were glued to the back of your head?

Cradling your lower stomach, you scrunched your face up as if you were in pain. “Junko,” you whispered, adding a groan into your tone. “I don’t feel well.”

“You’re not going home,” he hissed quietly, still maintaining the welcoming smile on his face.

“Just five minutes in the bathroom,” you pleaded.

His eyes flickered to one of the guards and then he nodded. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Quan ended up being the one to follow you to the bathroom. Any warm feelings you’d had towards him were long gone after he lied to you about Junko being out of the house. But you didn’t run away from him, keeping close until you reached the women’s restroom. It was located in a small enclave near the back of the ballroom, out of the way and easily hidden. You watched Quan back up so he wasn’t blocking the narrow entrance from others who wished to use the wash rooms before pushing open the door.

Once alone, you didn’t know what to do from there. You needed to hurry before Junmyeon left the balcony and your chance was missed. Then your opportunity came in the form a group of women who all entered the bathroom at the same time, laughing about their wonderful luck in dates tonight. You stepped out of the way as they took over the mirror space, primping and fixing their hair and makeup, which wasn’t out of place to begin with from what you could tell.

When they were done, you made your move.

Crowding in as closely as you could to them, you tried to blend in and go unseen as you all exited the bathroom. Walking past Quan without your name being called or pulled out of the group seemed to mean that it worked.

Once you were far enough away from the restrooms, you split off from the group, squeezing through to the other side of the crowd until you reached the same door that Junmyeon had passed through. He was still there on that balcony, leaning his forearms against the railing as his head hung low from his shoulders.

“Junmyeon!” You couldn’t stop yourself from running towards him. At the sound of his name, he turned around, shock dropping his jaw and widening his eyes as you threw your arms around him and buried your face in his chest. But while you held your vice tight around him, he never lifted his arms to hug you back. Looking up at him, you frowned. “Junmyeon?”

Composing his face and releasing a heavy sigh, Junmyeon gripped your arms and gently pushed you away. “What are you doing here, (y/n)?”

You pulled your eyebrows together, unable to understand why he was acting this way. “Junko brought me, probably to-”

“I didn’t mean here at the hotel,” he interrupted. “I meant out here? You should be inside with your husband. He wouldn’t want other people to talk.”

Was that what this was? An attempt to avoid arousing attention. Shaking your head, you took off your wedged heel and pulled out the homemade compartment. “Listen. My father put the real files on this drive. He had fake files made, the ones I gave to Junko. You can take this drive while Junko thinks he has the real ones. That should give you plenty of time.” You held out the small plastic device for him to take, but he didn’t.

His eyes were down on your open palm, his face unreadable. When he finally met your own gaze, he said, “Go back inside, (y/n). Junko will come looking for you soon.”

You dropped your hand to your side. How could he act so distant all of a sudden? “What is going on with you? I’m trying to give you what you’ve wanted this whole time. To help you. Did he… do something to you?”

“A man recognizes when he’s lost, (y/n).”

“You haven’t lost!” you yelled. “Why are you giving up?”

“Because he knows it’s useless.” Junko walked up behind you, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you in close. With his other hand, he forced your fist open and took the drive, giving you a kiss on the cheek before putting it away in his pocket.

Junmyeon stayed stone face through the whole thing. “Congratulations, Junko.”

“Just like school, Junmyeon,” Junko purred. “Some things never change. I’m glad to know you’ve finally learned that.”

Taking a few steps forward so he was now nearly shoulder to shoulder with you, Junmyeon whispered, “Just accept the hand you’ve been dealt. Perhaps, it was always meant to go this way.” Leaving you with that, he walked back inside.

You tried to turn around to go after him, but Junko kept you firmly by his side.

“Quan?” he called out. “Take (y/n) home. I think everyone here is now fully aware of the power I hold.”

With a tight grip on your arm, Quan pulled you away and back into the ballroom. He didn’t glance at you once as he all but dragged you out of the hotel. You huffed when he put you in the back seat of the car, crossing your arms.

You were so confused. What happened to all those promises to protect you? To always come for you when you called out to him? Were they really all so empty? Were they the true definition of sweet nothings? You’d put so much faith in him, relied on the fact that you thought he would come to your rescue. Never would you have imagined that he would just stare at the physical manifestation of his ultimate goal. The goal he’d originally took you in for. How could he let it go so easily? How could he let you go without so much as a fight?

As soon as you were alone in your room, you shuffled over to the window, still in a daze. The moon shined down from the cloudless sky, giving you enough light to see by. You fell down to your knees, staying like that for a second before shifting back so you could bring your knees up to your chest.

And I promise you this: whenever you ask for me, I’ll be there.

You scoffed. “You’re a liar, Kim Junmyeon.”

The tears began to flow down your face and you didn’t bother to try and stop them. Instead, burying your face in your knees while the world that you thought you knew came crashing down around you.

[blankdblank]

Anaticula Pt 50

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 21b - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 -  Pt 27 - Pt 28 - Pt 29 - Pt 30 - Pt 31 - Pt 33 - Pt 34 - Pt 35 - Pt 36 - Pt 37 - Pt 38 - Pt 39 - Pt 40 - Pt 41 - Pt 42 - Pt 43 - Pt 44 - Pt 45 - Pt 46 - Pt 47 - Pt 48 - Pt 49 -

From Kings Cross home again you felt yourself pulled through the house to the distant Southern Wing. Between the torn edges of the tapestries that straight on glimmered like new under its enchantment to reveal themselves only to your bloodline and fading of the portraits half cast in shadows all curiously peering out you with scowls breaking from their face. Each of them wondering what brought their youngest relative to this wing.

Aloofly you released your braid that slid down over your back. Your head tilted back in front of the red double doors etched with golden accents above which you read the name ‘Ignus’ you recognized as a cousin for your ancestor and former Headmaster at Hogwarts Phineas, opening the door you looked around eyeing the entirely golden room with bright red wooden furniture inside making you whisper, “Someone was colorblind.” Stepping inside you heard someone coming up behind you while you moved to the alcove in the wall shifted into a small study still packed with notes and random trinkets.

Neville behind you asked, “Snooping for anything in particular?”

You shook your head saying, “No, just, had to come in.”

Neville walked to your side peering up at the books on the shelves, “Does it ever get old?” You glanced at him with a curious grin, “Sensing things?”

Chuckling to yourself you replied, “At times. This is different. Just have to find out why.” Making him chuckle and help you flip through each book and skim over every page, the second shelf of which when reached found Draco curiously joining you.

Draco skimmed his fourth book asking, “What are we looking for?”

You shrugged then reached out for another book only to miss the spine and knock your knuckle on the shelf, soft echoes of a memory tried to play for you but it was too worn from years of dusting on the shelves. Sliding your fingers along the shelves you crouched down until you found a tiny scuff in the wood. 

Turning your head you peered around the books there until you found a tiny groove, emptying that portion of the shelf with the help of the guys around you a clear outline was discovered. Without a lever or button to press you simply pressed on the back and heard a click, retracting your hands you eased the shelf out only to pause seeing the back was a false back. A sliding latch there like on the back of a picture frame was turned and it easily came free revealing a leather binder that you turned over in your hands.

Across the front of it you read the message in latin, ‘A Black in Need Has a Friend in Deed.’

Draco’s brows furrowed, “In Deed, why the space?”

You shrugged and grabbed the leather strap on the side untwisting it from the securing fob to open the binder revealing a stack of Deeds to various properties, “Wow.” Easing back you sat down and crossed your legs while you set them all out, “The Paris Manor.”

Neville, “This one’s in Rome.”

Draco, “These are in Russia.”

With furrowed brows you eyed the others, “Barbados?” Flipping through the twenty reading from Barbados you left the others to the boys, who read off one in every continent including one in Antarctica as you got up and moved to the large map along the wall. Tracing the longitude and latitude lined your fingers paused on empty ocean making you shake your head, “There’s nothing there.”

At that the boys turned and climbed to their feet joining you, Neville said, “Maybe they’re unplottable now?”

“Maybe…Phineas might know.” Turning around you spotted the knight in the portrait on the wall and asked, “Would you be able to get a message to Phineas through his portrait in Hogwarts, we have a question for him? Please, thank you.” His head bowed and he raced off. In his absence you drew out one of your Thestral items to locate the islands on the map, a task coming up with the tiny creature simply circling the empty ocean in that same area.

Behind you Phineas’ voice sounded clearly, “I was informed you requested my aid?”

With a nod you turned, “Yes, um, we found these deeds, and these twenty,”

He nodded, “Yes, the sanctuaries.”

Your brow inched up and you three asked, “Sanctuaries?”

He nodded, “Yes, my cousin had an interest in magical beasts, those islands hold a variety of them.” As you took notes he listed all he could remember of them then he added, “All the islands are connected by archways with settlements on each sitting empty. Also bit of a nutter, expecting the world to collapse, though, best you find those now, seems it might come in handy.” His head turned to the right and he said, “Was that all? Albus is calling me.”

You nodded, “Thank you very much, yes.”

Phineas nodded and said with a grin your way, “Do not worry, before you dug those up none but Ignus and I knew of those islands.”

With that he left and you glanced at the pair of them making Draco smirk, “Anyone up for an exploration?”

Neville grinned, “They did say we would be on our own till dinner.”

You nodded and after hiding the deeds again and righting the shelves and books you left the room to go find the twins. Excitedly through your enchanted doorway you eyed the tropical paradise, with brooms in hand you soared overhead tracing the miles of land on each forming crude maps for each mimicking the one for Hogwarts to mark the creatures there. None that could be traced by Muggles and docile for those with magic, at your side Draco said, “Think of how many we could hide here.”

You nodded, “Exactly.”

Magical condos were set up on each complete with self sustaining greenhouses and water systems, upon returning you began to formulate plans, already you had a list of names of possible targets, and with the space needed to hide them you could now begin to form a plan. Back in your room you set out the maps then glanced at your door saying, “K?”

Across your bed you were all settled and popping up at the foot of it K eyed you all asking, “Yes, my Mistress?”

“I have a question to ask you, that might upset you, but please hear me out.”

“You can always ask me anything my Mistress.”

You wet your lips then asked, “How would one go about finding another House Elf in need of a house to serve?”

You could catch his momentary flinch and inhale before answering, “There are listings, in certain unsavory places you yourself should not wander through. Though it is easier for a fellow Elf to send out word for others. You are wishing for another Elf, Mistress?”

Scooting the maps closer to his view he climbed up onto the bench at the foot of your bed and looked them over, “We own these lands, and soon there will be a great many to protect. A task greater than the Order can handle on its own.” Wetting your lips you continued, “We have ways to find out who would be taken next, if we could get House Elves to assist in the gathering and tending to those living on these islands I think we could outlast this. What do you think?”

In a relaxing exhale he looked you five over then nodded, “It sounds like a remarkable plan. I will send out word for as many Elves as possible. Once bound none can spill your secrets, even when cursed. Word has spread of how our family treats our Elves we should have plenty of applicants by the end of the week.”

“Thank you K.”

He grinned and nodded his head, “Anything for you, my Mistress.”

.

The Pears would be arriving for New Years instead of Christmas granting you a bit more time and saving you the hassle of having to guide Petunia through their interrogations on how your mother had grown up. 

In a fresh snowfall you stepped through your doorway and out into the empty park and took the brief stroll through the empty streets to the Dursley home. Since Marge’s last visit did not go as planned Vernon was called to go out to their family home out near Shropshire freeing Dudley and Petunia to come and stay with you. A knock on their door had Petunia animatedly opening it to usher you inside, “Come in, come in, just rounding up the last bits. Dudley!” Upstairs shuffling was heard and she flashed you a quick grin, “You are certain there will be room for us all?”

“The Black Family home isn’t much of a home, per se,” her brow ticked up, “One of the oldest families in the Wizarding World, there’s a lot of money behind it and it’s more of a castle than a house.”

“You live in a castle?”

“It is safe, mostly between there and the Weasley home we spend our time. Their home is around the same size as yours. It was more about a safe place to hide that no one could find. But no, there’s plenty of room, much needed since the Malfoys and Tonks’ will be coming over this year again.”

She nodded again, “And they know we’re coming?”

You nodded, “Yes, trust me, no one is going to give you a hard time. You’re family.”

In a few moments Dudley was down the steps with his bag in hand asking, “Harry’s gonna be there? We haven’t had a Christmas with Harry in years.”

“Yup. You ready?”

Petunia nodded then asked, “How are we traveling?”

“I can call the doorway if you like unless you’d like to take the scenic route through to London for the Grimmauld Place entrance.”

Dudley, “Doorway? Like when Harry left last time, just going through our door?” You nodded, “How do you do that?”

With a chuckle you asked, “You’ve seen Howl’s Moving castle?”

Dudley nodded, “So it’s like their doorway then, with a dial and all?”

You nodded, “Something like that, more with runes than with color wheels, and only certain people can call the doorway or pass through it, any intruders are sent off to the marshes.”

To the doorway you led the duo and into the dimly lit hall they followed you trying to read the runes etched into the worn and faded wallpaper along the walls until the stained glass door before them was opened and they both gasped in the first sight of the main hall you led them into. Behind them the door was closed and looking around they took in all they could in following you through it to their rooms, “I’ll show you to your rooms then we can pop back down for some tea.”

Along the way to the matching silver, yellow accented rooms you pointed out a great deal of what was along the way until they entered their assigned rooms to inspect them and eagerly come back to your side for the walk to the window coated sitting room where tea was waiting for them. There Petunia asked in taking her seat as Dudley peered up at the painting with penguins chasing butterflies, “Are you alone here?”

You shook your head, “No, my cousins Draco and Neville are sleeping. Neville’s baby sister Nellie just had her tonsils out so they had a late night ice cream party when she got home. Their parents are upstairs sleeping, Draco’s parents should be along after work, they work with Dad, Regulus and Remus. There was an incident in the Ministry yesterday so they all got called in early. The Tonks’ should be in tomorrow. The Weasleys, well, Harry’s at theirs till lunch helping to shift everything to come over by lunch, had some big snow and they need to get some repairs on their sheds and pig pens, small stuff.” 

You giggled softly serving the tea, “So no, not alone, just the only one up right now. Oh, and you remember Severus,” she nodded, “He’s coming too, along with Barty, another of our Professors. Hagrid should be along too with Minerva and sometimes Dumbledore drops by if he’s up to a crowd, usually avoids family gatherings.”

Petunia, “You really get on with all of your Professors then?” Lifting her cup for a sip as you added a sugar cube to yours.

“Yes, most of them are like family. When I had to play dead I spent a lot of my time with them.”

Dudley asked sheepishly, “Those creatures, over the summer,” he wet his lips, “Are more of them coming?”

You shook your head, “No.”

Petunia caught the moment of tensing you had and asked, “What about the ones who sent them?”

“Umbridge sent them, hoping to get Harry expelled. She has been suspended, and there are others, who would come after Muggles, we’re doing all we can to keep as many safe as possible. It’s happening again, just like before. The war is starting up again.”

Dudley, “What happens if they come after us again?”

“We’ll come and get you.”

Petunia, “To live here? What would we do then?”

You wet your lips and lowered your cup to its saucer on the table, “You could, or we could take you to one of the islands we’re setting up for the people we are hiding away. Sort of like a resort when we’re finished with them.”

Petunia, “How much would that cost?”

You shook your head, “Not a thing, it’s all self sustaining. It’s a sanctuary from the war.”

Dudley, “But it’s your war? Why would it affect us?”

With a sigh you answered, “Every was has its innocent casualties. Bystanders sucked into it. Our worlds are so intermingled with yours that it would be impossible.” In a reach into your pocket you brought out a trio of chains with a clear pendants filled with bubbles and tiny rubber duck they both accepted, “Which is why I wanted you to have these. If you ever feel anything, if you’re ever in need of help or just get a gut feeling of being unsafe give the pendant a squeeze and we’ll come to check on you.” They nodded and adjusted the chains in their hands to put them on as you said, “I do hope you never need them, but just in case…”

Petunia’s eyes met yours as Dudley asked, “Who’s going to come for you, if you feel unsafe?”

Forcing a grin onto your face in a poor mask of your misty eyed reaction, “None of us are safe. We’re all targets, any and everyone they can hurt they will.” After a quick sniffle you raised your cup again at the quiver of Petunia’s lip, “We just have to be smarter and faster than them.” Sipping on your drink.

Through the door Fred and George strolled through grinning at the guests and filled the empty seats saying, “Store room is all good. Most of Diagon Alley is shut down already.”

You nodded and Dudley asked, “Store room?”

“We have a shop.”

.

Before long a full spread on the Daily Prophet’s first page was another look into Scrimgeor’s stances on certain topics reading a lot like déjà vu for Fudge all over again. With it came a stack of letters, Charlie’s included a lengthy promise of coming home this year. Sebastian’s letter along with others from friends and your distant pen pals, including Fleur, who would be moving to England soon after a lengthy search for a suitable position to warrant it. 

Long and oddly distant Sebastian’s letter read packed with details including a full update on his baby sister and the season so far that was taking him out to Spain next after the Holiday break. Him and Viktor both were excited as ever hearing that you were joining one of the teams for Ireland and both had questions of the premier for your first film they both asked if you and Hermione would be going there and were in need of dates again stirring a grin onto your face.

By lunch more relatives had shown up and the duo mingled getting to know your new family with special curiosity towards the Grangers, who shared a bit with Petunia on more of the Wizarding World and how they had adjusted to it. Though of course when K, Dobby came through their curiosity was attempted to be masked but at the first sighting of Idris and Opal Dudley broke into a barrage of questions for you and Harry leading to a lending of a set of creature books for beginners to help show them more of what creatures you could have handled in your travels.

From dinners to a nightly film selection the Dursleys enjoyed their time with you especially how ordinary your gifts seemed to be, past the expensive earrings the Pears had sent you for the premier, mainly books and clothes to their surprise. Two nights they enjoyed your company then had to go home again leaving you anxious in the interlude of a night separating them and the Pears. With a wide grin you met the couple at the station and led them back to your home where they settled in and got straight to asking about your plans for your next film.

Two already had been filmed and with a number of directors asking to audition you for roles with a pile of scripts you had been sent on just talk of your work ethic and personality alone there seemed to be no lull in the promising career you seemed to be beginning in their eyes. Along with Quidditch you seemed to be building quite the public image and in the past months Bernadette’s manager had graciously taken the task of taming the request for even odd modeling jobs from magazines and agencies your mother used to work with in hopes of helping you find your start.

.

On your final night at home in a loss for sleep after your spending the day checking in on the shop Oliver would open again in a few days the sound of a conversation inside the family tree room had you waiting in the shadow along the wall of the open doorway listening in out of sheer curiosity.

Harry, “Sirius, what is this?”

“This is the Black family tree from my parent’s house in Grimmauld Place. I hated the lot of them. My parents with their pure-blood mania. My mother did that after I ran away. Charming woman.” He said pointing at his burn mark over a branch with a small bud with your initials by it.

Harry, “Where did you go?”

“Round your dad's. I was always welcome at the Potters'. Long as James’ whims were seen to, liked to get his way and when he didn’t,” he let out a puff of air, “There wasn’t a county large enough for the both of us. More than half of every year he sent me out of our dorm. I see him so much of his good side in you, Harry. The rest from Lily. You are so very much alike the best of both of them.”

“I'm not so sure. Sirius, when I was...When I saw Mr. Weasley attacked, I wasn't just watching. I was the snake. And afterwards, in Dumbledore's office there was a moment when I wanted to...This connection between me and Voldemort. What if the reason for it is that I am becoming more like him? I just feel so angry all the time. And what if, after everything that I've been through something's gone wrong inside me? What if I'm becoming bad?” A silent tear streamed down your cheek and you shifted into a Demiguise to cross the doorway unseen then shift back again.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person who bad things have happened to. You understand? Besides, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are.”

“I don’t feel very good sometimes.”

“When all this is over, we'll be a proper family. You'll see.”

“Really?”

Sirius nodded, “You’ll see, no more hiding. We can stop looking over our shoulders. So you just dig in and we’ll see the other side of this, you’ll see.”

Continuing on you headed for the kitchen to get a cup of apple cider you carried through into the film room to sit up watching yet another film of your grandmother’s. In doing so you seemed to be picking up on more of her memories trapped in the films filling in your mental image of who she once was. Not so far from yourself as it turned out making you wish you could have met her assuming she would have liked you.

After days of being unable to form a sentence to you after your last time speaking in the Triwizard Tournament Charlie settled onto the cushion beside you with an offered blanket and a mug of his own simply hoping his presence would help you even in silence. Though morning found you soon enough snuggled against his side stirring at his alarm to get ready for his flight back, a stolen hug and peck on the forehead later and once again he was gone completely aware of the tears in your eyes and sniffle pitifully hidden in your stroll back to your room to get some more sleep.

.

The third week of January found you back in Hogwarts and onto the days leading up to the Ravenclaw vs Slytherin match. Already in the final year of so many players mini tryouts had been held with those players asked to practice with the seventh years to pick up where they had left off in the following year.

Hogsmeade again came after with similar mini winter themed sales and treats for you all. The first exams were held and you were back into prepping for your NEWTS in May.

.

Valentines rolled around again and this time without news from Sebastian but a care package from Charlie. Dragon themed candies and a fuzzy blanket coated in tiny hatchlings blowing flames and sneezing icicles had you sitting up on your bed sniffling after a few giggles before you wrapped it around you and waited out your gap between Arithmacy and lunch in a try for a nap while the twins were with Katie and Angelina.

To the sound of the clock ticking away you tried not to think about anything past the dragons on your blanket. The opening of your door opened your eyes in the closing of it again. Up your steps someone climbed, barely felt footsteps and a hop over your legs lowered your gaze to Crookshanks who trotted for your arms and crawled into the blanket you raised turning to plop down in front of you. Contently he purred through your kiss on his head mumbling, “Hey Crookshanks.” Covering yourselves again at the drop of a pair of shoes, right behind you the waft of a familiar perfume announced Hermione in her move to lay out behind you with her arm draped across your middle. “Hey Hermi.”

Weakly she chuckled and settled behind you saying, “Thought you could use the company.”

“Charlie sent me a care package.”

“I noticed, nice blanket. I see he’s sticking to the dragon theme.”

You nodded then levitated the gossip magazine on the bed in front of you, “Take it you read the gossip.” Meaning the article containing pictures with Sebastian out on the town with one of the Veela from their cheer team including one of them kissing in the lift of their hotel. “I knew he would find someone else. Had the dream before he even left the school. I’m ok, just a bit tired today.”

“I’m glad you’re not torn up about it. Though I did want to ask, have you dreamed anything about those two again? The ones trying to impress me?”

Weakly you chuckled and shifted to your back waving your sketch book over ensuring Crookshanks wasn’t disturbed in doing so and showed her a couple of the sketches you had on the duo. Flipping through the book she asked, “So, you just have these dreams, about everyone’s lives? Is that normal, for Seers I mean?”

You shrugged, “Trelawney says some are more open than others. Sort of like that old fable, about the weak man drawing a circle around himself, then those drawing one around his family, and the greatest drawing a circle around many, even strangers, and seeing to all their safety. Just depends on how strong they are, the closer they are the more you see. But most of mine are on the blondes still and the boys.”

“I’m sorry.” Your head turned to catch her eye when she looked at you, “I know it must be hard for you to sleep, with all this. Is it still an every night occurrence?”

You nodded, “Even with the Occlumency lessons. Some are less draining than others, mainly those closest to me. It’s the ones on strangers that take the wind out of me.”

Her head tilted in another glance at the pair, “So, roughly three years. At least I’ll have graduated.” You nodded and she set the book down, “I can’t imagine being here without you.”

“You’ll do wonderfully.”

She shook her head, No, I mean, you helped get me here, into this world. All they sent me was a letter, you actually welcomed me and my parents into this world. Gave us literature on it, invited us to your homes and families. I will never forget that, and even with Ron and Harry here, I still can’t imagine being here without you. It won’t be the same.”

Weakly you giggled and said, “I can’t imagine not coming here next September. Having to let go of it, it feels almost as much home as, well, home is. I mean, what would you do?”

She shook her head, “I don’t know. I know something has to be done about the Ministry.”

You nodded and giggled, “Anyone could handle it you could.”

Softly she giggled as you did again, “I’m certain you could do a great deal more.”

Shaking your head you said, “I think it best I’m not in charge. I can enforce the rules, but making them, I doubt I could trust myself with that.”

.

Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor came up the following weekend. Gryffindor loses in twenty-two minutes, 240 to 230, even though they caught the snitch. A stunning yet much needed quick match in the growing storm worsening the aim of their chasers in trying to score goals against the icy winds.

Pt 51