#inexcusable you had all the information and power

[bloobluebloo]

Ganondorf Should Have Never Become the Demon King

Or: The many instances where Ganondorf should have been stopped right in his tracks.

-At the very beginning, when Ganondorf's body was first discovered, it was apparent that the Master Sword could damage Ganondorf. However, since SOMEONE had to inform our dear Demon King that a man with a magic sword named Link was going to stop him, well, he got the jump on Link before Link could even register what the fuck was happening. If Ganondorf was unaware, he would have been focused on Zelda (since he knew Zelda for sure) and Link would have at least had the chance to do something.

-On the sky islands, when Link wakes up, Rauru could have explained to Link what had happened. Rhoam literally did this for Link. Alas, for ✨plot reasons✨ Rauru doesn't even inform us he was the King of Hyrule and we just get to know him as the "Source of the Right Arm" which is hilarious in retrospect and maybe a bit of penance for that whole doxxing incident. I mean, at least he could have been warned not to trust any Zelda appearances?

-When Hyrule was literally attacked by Moldugas. Even if we really, REALLY, want to assume that Rauru did not see Ganondorf but Ganondorf somehow with his super duper eagle vision could oogle the Secret Stone, where else would a Molduga attack possibly come from? Who else could possibly order a hoard of Molduga to attack? There is only ONE nation that has made it a point to ignore all your invitations Rauru. -When Zelda hears the name Ganondorf and can probably sense his magic because ya know, she only spent 100 years shacking up with him she would probably know who he was just from the way he breathes at this point.

-When Rauru clearly states that he knows the man is evil, and decides that he will keep a close eye on him, but then even fails to do that because somehow, his wife and Zelda ended up confronting Ganondorf alone.

-When even the servants of the castle state that there is some weird Zelda lurking in the castle which suggests that Ganondorf's puppet wasn't even a convincing one

-When Zelda and Sonia lure him? Or did he lure them? ANYWAYS THEY BOTH WERE AWARE OF EACH OTHER, and I mean I guess puppet Zelda was shitty enough of a puppet that they were aware of its presence. I mean if the servants noticed it... -OKAY MAYBE THIS IS A STRETCH but, when Zelda was faced with a hacked Guardian that was about to kill Link it unlocked her Hylia powers which is what she subsequently used to keep Calamity Ganon at bay for 100 years? And this was literally the birth, the infancy of the Demon King's power? He just killed your adoptive mom Zelda, you could have JUST HNNNNNNNNN

-When Zelda literally tells Rauru that confronting Ganondorf at this stage may be a bad idea because she knows the present. She knows Link was injured when he confronted Ganondorf. Maybe she could have figured out how to unlock her powers that held the Calamity back? So that he doesn't become a problem in the present? Hello Rauru she’s sort of hinting that Link could not handle Ganondorf’s power but nope! “We rely on your knight and that legendary sword he carries.” Zelda: “Well about that-“

Anyways look, I get it, suspension of belief and whatnot but honestly, this game? Coming off of BotW as its sequel? Ganondorf got stupidly lucky. He got openings as wide as the Grand Canyon and information he should have never had to begin with like please, how did he know that he should invest in a puppet Zelda? Also Rauru is so terrible at listening to any advice because Zelda only pointed out several times that Ganondorf was a problem until she decided to confront him herself with Sonia.

[ohsalome]

In April 2014, during a hot phase of the war, the Kyiv International Sociology Institute surveyed the public opinion among the citizens of the eastern regions of Ukraine. The results showed chaos in their heads and a rise in anti-Ukrainian sentiments, but still, the majority was pro remaining within Ukraine. The situation was objectively difficult, but not hopeless.

According to the results of the survey, 70% of citizens of Donbas considered the temporary government of Yatsenyuk and Turchynov illegitimate, but also 60% considered Yanukovych to be illegitimate. 65% considered Maydan to be a western coup, 45% believed that Yanukovych should have used violence against the rioters, and 35% were against this scenario.

43% blamed Yanukovych and his party for the murders of the protesters, and 48% blamed the opposition. 55% believed the police had no right to use violence against the protestors. Here is a paradox: 60% believed that Pravy Sektor was a "myth" and a "marginal group" that had no real power and should be demilitarized, but approximately the same amount of people believed that Pravy Sektor controls the government.

All those statements are so contradictory their co-existence can only be explained by the influence of russian propaganda.

Besides, nowhere in the regions could you find aggressive anti-Ukrainians beliefs. Only 10-15% supported the seizure of administrative buildings, and about the same percentage of people were neutral on this. But 72% in the Donetsk region and 59% in the Lugansk region disapproved of it. About half of the people believed it to be inexcusable, and about a third justified it by the precedents in other Ukrainian regions. A quarter believed it to be "the last chance to be heard by the central government".

What were these people afraid of?

Most of all people were afraid of the economy crashing (43%), breaking economical contact with russia (36%), and the rise of criminal activity (50% in the Donetsk region and 30% in the Lugansk region). Other worries - loss of pensions, nationalism and radicalism, and potential civil war worried about 27-29% each. The risk of civil war specifically worried about 40% of people in the Donetsk region. It should be noted that NATO membership, loss of russian TV, singular official language and potential visa regime with russia concerned almost nobody - only 7-10% of citizens noted these topics among the list of their worries.

The sociologists also asked directly about the separation of the eastern regions and their union with russia. Around 30% were fully or partially supportive of the idea, while the majority - over 50% - wanted to remain in Ukraine. Among 10% wanted russia to send their troops. In the middle of an active war with russia, 55% believed that there is no war and about the same percentage expected a civil war to come.

Practically no one was eager to fight either. 55% were ready to pick up arms only for self-defence, and 30% were against any fighting in any circumstances. Only 6% were willing to go to war with the "Kyiv junta". About 20% expected military help from russia, and 55% were against it.

This research was done in April, just after the takeover of the SBU building in Lugansk and Igor Girkin's russian mercenaries appearing in Slovyansk. By the end of the month they cut off Ukrainian tv, and the only information remaining for the people was russian propaganda. The main sources of info for the majority of the population were russian social networks "Odnoklassniki" and "VKontakte" (controlled by the FSB - transl. note), and russsian state TV.

The research done by the KISI is probably the most reliable we will ever have. Even if you consider the potential percentage of people who might have been afraid to talk about separatism honestly, there still is no ground for talks about the "overwhelming separatism of the Donbas region". Even the leaders of the separatists themselves would later admit it, accusing them of being too passive, not loving russia enough and not supporting the militia. 

// Denys Kazansky, Marina Vorotnytseva. "How Ukraine was losing Donbas"

[anotheruseronthissite]

Demon Slayer Role Swap - Hashiras: Akaza Edition

Plot Points

His backstory in canon is the same as in here, just that it happened in Taisho Period Japan

Instead of Muzan finding him, Kyojuro Rengoku does, having had come due to reports of a demon attack on a local dojo.

( Kyojuro has yet to become a demon by the time. I think you know who actually commited the dojo mass murder)

Akaza, or Hakuji by this time in the story, explains to Kyojuro all that happened

Kyojuro: " While I can understand why you did it, it's still inexcuseable that you took human life so carelessly!"

Also Kyoujuro: " Become a demon slayer and save humans from demons!" as a suggest for reconciling the mass murder thing

Thus Akazas trains, becomes a demon slayer, then becomes the Fist Hashira

Then Rengoku becomes a demon, and later Akaza has to fight him. With literal Yoriichi there and Akaza being Akaza, they are able to defeat Rengoku with no casualities.

Demon!Rengoku: " Hakuji! You are so powerful! Just think of that power as a demon! Become a demon!"

Hashira! Akaza: " No! Why don't you become a demon slayer once more?"

Demon! Rengoku: *confusion*

Genya, Kaigaku, Yorichii, and Michikatsu: *extreme confusion*

Time skip to the Infinity Castle Arc: Akaza faces off against Demon!Gyomei

( He would have helped against Upper Moon 1!Nezuko, but she a woman so...)

Akaza dies in the process, but Gyomei is defeated.

Akaza gets to reunite with Koyuki and Keizo in the afterlife, so happy ending for him. =D

Character Info - Akaza

Age - 18 yrs old at beginning, 22 at the end

Appearance - Short black hair with blue eyes and weird pink eyelashes. He wears the normal demon slayer uniform, although all but the bottom most buttons are unbuttened, along with a pink vest. Strange curved lines come from the the left and right sides of his face, 3 per side.

Weapon - Nichiren brass nuckles; small blades located in the shoes, similar to what Shinobu has in canon

Breathing Style: Fist Breathing

Slayer Mark? - Yes

Species - Human

Additional Information -

Akaza changed his name. Mainly because he's a wanted criminal as Hakuji.

He still has Kyoyuki's hairclip. He usually leaves it at his estate in fear of it being destroyed, but he did have it with him while facing off against Gyomei.

"Fist Breathing" is a fancy term for "being so good at marital arts that you can just beat the demons to death"

Akaza attained his mark in the fight against Demon!Rengoku

Akaza is in a similar situation as Muichiro: "hes' a prodigy and is really good at demon slaying as a result." But except of developing breathing style, he's just strong enough to beat demons to death

Akaza fought Gyomei mostly solo until Yoriichi and Douma showed up.

Unlike in canon, people do remember when he recked the entire dojo, documentation, proof, everything. It's a very popular story.

[finleycannotdraw]

yes syanna deserves punishment but her stupid sister won't punish her. We know this from the dialogue with Dandelion in the ending where Dandelion visits Geralt. No one denies that syanna suffered a lot and undeservedly but she absolutely does not deserve to be forgiven for the crimes. and this is what happens in the 'good ending' syanna had psychopathic tendencies even before she was diagnosed with the curse. For those who choose Yennefer because of books, Syanna's death should be canonical. syanna is Renfri created for the dlc. What did Geralt with Renfri? Butchered her in the middle of Blaviken. He should do the same with syanna. She is my most hated character from the entire witcher universe. Dettlaff is not completely good character but psycho sisters are not better than him. the perfect ending for me would be with both sisters dead and alive Dettlaff. But I only had with syanna dying. Dett deserve a second chance just like Regis in the books

Okay, so, you’re making the issue black and white when it clearly isn’t. Syanna and Dettlaff were both hurt and made bad decisions, and I think Dettlaff deserves more sympathy than he’s given by the game and the fandom, but you’re arguing that.. Syanna is just the villain, straight up, full stop? Yes, what she did was inexcusable. But one of the main ideas in the witcher is that there is no lesser evil, it’s just people and their choices! That was the whole point of Renfri’s story!

Your comparison to Renfri disregards and disrespects the point of the character and the message of her death. Yes, Geralt kills her, but it was based on a decision at a moment’s notice and he regrets it later. He carries her brooch with him for over two decades! He was prompted to choose the lesser evil, but truly, it was just different evils. He did what he thought was best with the information he had! We all do this, every day! This happens with Syanna as well, because yes, they are parallel characters. One difference is that Syanna had power over Dettlaff, but Renfri never had power over Stregobor. Dettlaff and Stregobor are not parallels the same way Syanna and Renfri were written to be.

You said, “syanna had psychopathic tendencies even before she was diagnosed with the curse”. She wasn’t diagnosed with anything! She was born, and the time of her birth made everyone think that she was a monster. That’s not her fault! What are the “psychopathic tendencies” you’re talking about? Lack of caring about others? First of all, that’s insensitive, and second of all, she’s an insecurely attached rich princess who was thrown out of her home for reasons she had no control over. She doesn’t know how to be a person. That’s why I think she deserves to live and learn.

Also, what’s the point of bringing up Yennefer???

Same with Anna Henrietta! Why do you think she deserves to die? According to story canon, she’s a beloved leader! Toussaint is prosperous under her leadership! Yes, her priorities are skewed, and she should see that Syanna is punished, but she’s blinded by the fact that her sister is alive! Anarietta was not only one of the reasons for Syanna’s banishment, she was also hurt by the way their parents treated her! Her reaction to learning that Syanna is alive is completely reasonable, and wanting to protect her is too. At this rate I think the issue is yours and not the game’s.

You’re allowed to hate her. I’m not saying you shouldn’t. But none of this is broken up neatly into right/wrong, black/white, good/evil the way you seem to believe. Come back when you understand that people (and all stories about and portrayals thereof) are more complicated than that.

[theautisticchangeling]

I saw this video, and it made me want to cry. In the video, an Irish person tears down a Palestinian flag hanging off O'Connell Bridge in Dublin. Have the similarities between what is going on in Palestine and what Ireland endured for centuries been forgotten so quickly?

Let me explain what similarities I'm talking about.

First, we have the An Gorta Mór (the Great Hunger), known colloquially as the Potato Famine. It is often agreed that this was a man-made hunger, not a famine (many have called it a genocide, but that is debated, given that it wasn't explicitly planned). Basically, only one crop, the potato, failed. However, food continued to be exported to Britain. People died from hunger, yes, but also from disease. Conservative estimates put the death count at ~1 million.

Currently, in Palestine, over two million people are facing food shortages, and about half a million are experiencing acute hunger. Humanitarian aid has not reached Gaza, in fact, it is being blocked by Israel.

Another similarity we can see is the mass exodus of the Irish during An Gorta Mór, with people trying to escape the starvation and death. But there were also people being forced from their homes by famine clearances- where landlords evicted hundreds of thousands of people from their homes and farms. There are undeniable similarities between these events and the Nakba- an ethnic cleansing where Israel forced hundreds of thousands of Palestinian Arabs from their homes.

(Neither of these events were as long ago as you might think- my grandmother's grandfather lived through the An Gorta Mór. I have family friends whose parents whose parents were displaced from the Nakba.)

There is a lot of information on how religion was part of the English subjugation of Ireland- how they justified it in the Tudor Era, and how they arguably used it to justify the effects of the famine*.

(*Please note that this particular source is undeniably biased in favor of Ireland, but I struggled to find a source that was about how Irish people in Ireland were being viewed by England, as most sources were about Irish immigrants were viewed in America.)

To be clear, the Israel-Palestine conflict is not a religious conflict, but there are efforts to make it seem as though it is one, and it is a propaganda tool that Israel uses, so I do think that it is worth bringing up religion in this post.

Now let's fast forward through history. My Great-Grandparents were all, to different extents, involved in the Irish fight for independence. I had family members in the IRA during the 1920's, and later, the organization was considered a terrorist group. But my ancestors were fighting for a free Ireland, and to have rights in their own homeland.

If you don't know the history of Hamas by now, you can read it or listen to it here. But what strikes me is that they were voted into power by people who wanted to be free in their homeland, just like my great-grandparents. Palestinians are fighting to have the same thing Ireland fought for. And Ireland was not peaceful about it. They were loud, and bloody, and engaged in guerrilla warfare.

Let me be perfectly clear: I am an American. But I grew up with the stories of my family who fought for freedom in Ireland. And when I see the video above, with the speaker off camera saying that seeing the Palestine flag makes them "sick," I want to cry.

Where is the compassion? Do you not see how the hurt of the Palestinians is the same hurt my great-great grandfather endured? If Ireland's quest to regain control of their home is honorable and justified, why would the same not be true for the Palestinians?

Colonization and oppression are inexcusable, no matter where they happen, and the only way to fight it is with solidarity.

[msfbgraves]

Does Terry think Daniel deserved his treatment of him that night where he raped him or? Does he think it’s okay and Daniel is making a big deal over what was nothing more than a hard fuck?

Disclaimer: as Terry has come to realise himself, his behaviour that night was inexcusable and "he's not that man anymore."

Well then: who is that man? What changed?

Imagine you're Terry Silver. You're an Alpha in a world that writes that word with a capital letter (and beta and omega look like this). You have gone through life taking what you want, by either smarts or violence. And then you took on a Don with an organisation several sizes too large for you, but you struck him at his weakest because you're smart like that, and you emerge with an alliance and an omega, at your age, and you feckin love that little brat, you have your first pup before the year is out because you're just that good. You're top fucking dog, literally, because not three months after the first you have him with pup again, so even there you're doing everything right, you're just that awesome. You're even a good boss with a very loyal crew and your sister, through your mechanations, is a Duchess. A Duchess! Through her, you're directly blood related to the 1% that would have spat on you coming up. You are an Alpha among Alphas.

Ah, but then.

Those Italians seem to think they're better than you. Even your boy has an attitude on him, and that's cute on him, but his siblings, especially that beta. He can't feckin get them to do what they ought to, which is what Terry Silver wants. All the little compromises they force him to make, the parallel loyalties going on. They're so tightly knit. He can't always put his finger on it, how they work. It's not his world. He's jealous. And that beta resists him, and is hard to play. But he, Terry, he won, didn't he, in even getting here? Why isn't he treated with the respect he's feckin entitled to? How does that Italian read him so well? That's his trick. Are they conspiring against him? Is his mate feeding his beta brother information? Who do any of them think they are? That boy is supposed to be a prize, a sacrifice to his power, and if he can't own the brother, he will own their beloved little family princeling. Because that boy is his and he'll show them... He took him before and he'll take him now, it's his feckin right! (He feels a bit muddled and amped up and ready to punch someone at this point but luckily sex is instinct, not reason, and lust and rage make a very potent cocktail.)

And he's firing on so many cilinders when he fucks, he's pure sensation, a raging conqueror, he's so fucking high. This could be heat sex, it's so intense. There's an edge of fear around it, but Terry Silver should be feared. And when he's fucked it all out he straight up drops, maybe even passes out.

Wakes up feeling like shit. Where's Daniel? Danny always makes things better...

And then he finds him clutching Robby, reaching out to Gianni in his little cot, and bodily on him, his three eldest loves, in full on protective mode, and that is when the first Alpha instinct pierces him ...

This is very bad. If anyone else had put his Danny in such a state, he'd be burning down the town to find them and bash their skulls in right now.

But there's nobody else. It can only have been him.

And there's rationalisations galore to be had in the aftermath of this. He might want to convince himself that this was a harder fuck than usual, no big deal. But right now, he's still mostly running on feral mode, which he knew he chose to let get the better of him, the way he usually only does when fighting an enemy. No mercy.

But this Danny. It's his mate.

And he fucked up and he knows. In his gut. Even the pups know.

This is bad.

That moment when he fucked him? He didn't care what Daniel thought because he wasn't thinking of him at all. And now, deep at night, his brain is not online enough to lie to himself about what is right in front of him - his omega in acute distress.

And this isn't the whole story, he'll tell himself a host of things in the coming days but it doesn't take away the horror of what he can see and feel is his own, terrible, fault.

[deafchild2000]

So, I was talking to a friend and told her that Alyssa is a lot like Hope but it seemed like everything about her character (once she appeared) was half-done.

Alyssa must have a powerful affinity for magic otherwise her entire house would not have been blown up - as well as her parents in the process. And think about it: A powerful witch with no parents? Sounds like Hope, only while she thinks she's alone, Hope has family and judging from Alyssa's backstory, her parents were all she had.

And this is where things get (imo) funky. Hope is still going by "Marshall" by this time, but Alyssa is freshly brought to school and you can't tell me her arrival wasn't the biggest news around! Treated like a ticking timebomb, no one wanted to be friends with her. Not to mention the girl had a temper that developed over time. So it makes things worst when her scenes always involving her in trouble or causing trouble, especially with the Saltzman twins.

But why did the three not get along in the first place? Honestly, I have a very good idea of what happened and it goes by two words:

Josie. Saltzman.

Considering this is a girl who looks like an angel but has no problem going behind her twin's back and making fun of her while low-key alienating her, I truly believe back when the sisters were equally footing the Mean Girls role, Josie might have started things with Alyssa and caused it to make Lizzie look bad.

Lizzie makes herself a bad guy and I won't blame the bipolar disorder! She needs her sister to side with her and make her feel validated even when their parents don't.

So for an Asian witch whose Hope's foil, we get a clear idea of what Hope would had been dealing with if her identity at Salvatore was always known.

How I see it going down: Because I believe the circumstances around Alyssa's enrollment would have been in her private file, I believe one or both of the twins found out about Alyssa and spread it throughout the school. So when Alyssa got there, everybody knew.

So, Alyssa has to go through the initial first days hearing everybody talk and maybe either ask her upfront or talk behind her back while they avoided befriending her. Considering she likely didn't know the twins' involvement, Alyssa likely tried to befriend them but in a way only children can be, it might have went badly. And then there's the jealousy: The twins live in a school basically built for them and their parents run the place and most of all, they have parents. If Alyssa couldn't communicate her jealousy of any affection Caroline or Alaric showed them, she expressed it through her magic.

This didn't get better over the years and the girls are still Mean Girls. (Cue Alyssa and the popcorn scene as preteens).

But here's where I'm stumped. The incident involving the delayed linking explosion and Alyssa nearly ending up in the Prison World. Does magic give you a whole lotta power to do stupid shit? Hell yeah! But why the explosion spell? And why just Lizzie? Wouldn't it be more in character to attack both twins?

My theory: Alyssa found out the circumstances of her isolation due to the leaked confidential information upon her arrival from Josie, who made it look like Lizzie was completely to blame and Alyssa was so angry, she was blind to Josie and set the bomb on Lizzie's notebook.

(Look, I acknowledge how "kids can be kids" can be inexcusable but I also acknowledge how cruel they really can be. And this is anti-Josie because as good as they try to make her look, without someone to keep her in check, Josie's a girly version of Kai in the making who secretly bullied and isolated her sister behind her back and made ableist comments left and right! I'm calling this shit out because I can completely see Alyssa's bad reputation she unintentionally created through the hidden machinations of the Saltzmans and Josie!)

[wheredafandomat]

Safeword ⛓ P25 ⛓ Who’s been messing up everything?

Previous Chapter

As time went on, y/n was trying her hardest to keep sane. She’d have blackouts and wake up in excruciating pain. She thought maybe she was dissociating whenever the guards would come back with nothing but violence to offer. The harshness of the guards caused y/n to start to like this mysterious woman. Y/N mistook the woman’s need to keep y/n alive for kindness. Whenever the woman would come, y/n would be spared brutality.

Crying herself into a dreamless sleep, y/n would think back to Loki. His gentle touches. His subtle glances. The way he felt against her. She yearned to see him again. Touch him again. Tell him how much she loves him again.

It had been another three days before the woman came to visit y/n again. Instead of being her usual submissive self, y/n tried her hardest to look stern as she questioned the woman. She was determined to get out.

“You say I’m not the only one with powers, so, who are you?”

“Why do you trust I’ll tell you the truth?”

“Because I trust you”

“Trust me” she laughed “Stockholm syndrome really is true”

“Who are you?” Y/N asked again

“Harkness”

“Harkness?”

“Agatha Harkness”

Finally, y/n thought, she could finally put a name to the face.

“What do you want Agatha?”

“I keep telling you. I want power”

“No. What do you really want”

Taken aback by y/n’s question, Agatha knelt down to y/n before looking into her eyes

“I want control”

“Why?”

“That’s enough questions for today dear” Agatha said clearly becoming upset

“Agatha, what has happened to you?”

“STOP WITH THE QUESTIONS!” Agatha demanded

“What is if that you can’t control? What do you want to change?”

“EVERYTHING!” She shouted as her voice began to break

“I want to change everything y/n. You have the power I need to change it all” she said sadly

Y/N saw the change in Agathas demeanour. The balance had changed. Y/N held all the power.

Trying her hardest to look sincere despite her weak, bloodstained face and sullied clothes, y/n started talking again-

“Agatha, what happened?”

Looking down at y/n, Agatha couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by y/n’s genuineness, her sympathy, her concern, her warmth. When you’re a villain, no one ever takes the time out to hear your truth. Y/N had a friendliness about her that made Agatha know she’d be willing to listen.

Meanwhile, with the help of Mjölnir, A Hulk and some of Starks tech, Thor managed to restrain his brother. He knew Loki was hurting but his relentless killing was inexcusable. The team did not once stop searching for y/n despite all the dead ends they encountered. Sometimes, they thought the worse but regardless of whether not she was alive, they had to bring her back. They just had to.

Upon hearing that the team had received another anonymous tip, Loki commanded Thor unhand him so he could accompany the team on the mission. Despite Loki’s own doubt of finding y/n after countless failures, he still held on to hope.

“When I was a young witch, I had a coven, a family, a mother. Whilst learning how to control my abilities, I grew eager to learn of other abilities. The more I delved into ancient books and fed on the information I got from them, the emptier I felt. I always needed more. Noticing the change in my behaviour, the withdrawal from the coven, my mother warned me of the dangers of researching such things but I had a ravenous craving for more power. I began practicing dark magic. It consumed me. It was a thirst that could never be quenched. The coven grew scared as I obtained more and more power and they planned my demise. As they drew the power out of me, my mother joined the cause. The hurt I felt, the betrayal, it was too much. Conjuring up all the power and strength I had, I released myself from my restraints and took out the coven, my mother with it. It felt as if I was in a trance.” She said before taking a deep breath whilst wiping the stray tears on her cheek.

“You ask me what I want y/n, I want control. I want to escape to a reality where that didn’t happen. Where the satisfaction of my own powers was enough. Where my mother, my coven, were all alive and well”

“And you need me to do it”

“Yes”

“Let me help you Agatha. Release me and I can help you”

“No, you’ll betray me. Everyone always does. I prefer to harvest your power and do it myself”

“No Agatha. You have my word. Just help me leave and I can go back to the team, back to Loki and he can help me control my powers and I can help you. I promise you Agatha. Without me, your plan may fail. What if you don’t have enough power to forge the reality? Let me help you” Y/N pleaded desperately, saddened by Agathas confession.

After a pause, Agatha started talking again

“You’d really help me? After everything I’ve done?”

“Yes. You have to trust me”

Y/N had managed to convince Agatha to help her escape. She promised she’d help Agatha. She knew how it felt to be away from everyone you love. She knew that Agathas curiosity was her demise. She deeply regretted what she had done and y/n knew she had the ability to help her, she just needed to know how. She just needed Loki.

A/N: It’s been Agatha all along 😂😂 Did you like this chapter? Let me knowwww and if you’ve gotten this far into the series, thank you from the bottom of my heartttt 💚💚💚💚

Tag List:

@kingtwhiddleston

@littlemortals

@d1a2n389

@ladykotoko

@mad4marvelloki

[mrs-march-ahs]

Kai Helps You Find a Purpose

Summary- A blue-haired stranger helps you overcome the feeling of being lost after you quit your job. He seems fascinated by the rage in your body and shows you how to use it in an unconventional way.

Warnings- Murder, rape, knifes, blood, Kai Anderson. Words- 1.8k shorty:)

I’ve had this idea in my head for the longest time, so I really appreciate any feedback! I love doing my own ideas but if you prefer when I write requests then I wanna know! Enjoy! :)

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You slam the glass door behind you as you exit your job. Well, old job. No matter how hard you work, your boss refused to see your potential and when you asked him for a raise for the final time and he said no, you gave him an ultimatum. And now you are left to walk out of your old job to the carpark with a backpack full of your belongings. To be honest, you hated that job anyway, and despised the sexist boss. He crossed a line by underappreciating your hard work, even after hours and constantly giving praise to the other fuckers who could barely make a cup of coffee. You walk over straight to his white Mercedes and pull out your pocketknife, hoping that in the dark of the evening nobody will witness your crime. As you squat down to the level of the front right tire and stab it powerfully with your knife, you can feel the feminist rage in your body deflate. After you do the front left and go towards the back one, you see a figure of a broad man standing at the front of the car, watching you. Although you saw him, his voice catches you off guard. And frankly, pisses you off too.

“If you slash all four tires then insurance will pay for it”, he states, assuming that you didn’t know that already. “Slash three”. The mansplaining makes you groan.

“Do I look like I need advice, asshole?”, you reply, rolling your eyes. Contrary to what you expected, the man stays stood watching you and laughs at your remark. When you push the blade from your knife particularly deep, you sigh in satisfaction, but fail to pull it out. You wriggle it around a little before looking up at the man.

“Are you gonna just watch me or at least are you gonna help?”, you ask, tugging at the knife.

“You don’t need my help”, he says quietly and ominously. “Use your strength, work smarter not harder”. The useless advice made you sigh in anger and push the knife in deeper, before practically ripping it out of the tire. He stands leaned over the hood of the car to watch you slash the tire, and smiles widely when you manage to do it by yourself. You stand up and look at him, and he stays smiling, and compliments you on your work.

“See? You don’t need help, you’re strong”, he whispers at you. You can’t help but smile back at the support and at the relief that he won’t snitch on your vandalism. When you take a step towards the curb to walk home, he puts his arm out to stop you and unexpectedly offers to buy you a coffee. You timidly say yes, but when he walks towards his car and opens the door for you, a red blinking alarm goes off in your mind and you kindly refuse to get in a stranger’s car. Although he laughs, he understands, and the two of you walk a mere 2 streets to a restaurant that he claims is owned by his friends. When the two of you walk through the front door of the packed restaurant and he asks for a table and instantly gets it, you have no reason to not believe his connections. You sit awkwardly across from the stranger who introduces himself to you, before praising you on your inexcusable actions.

“It takes a lot of strength to notice when you’re not being appreciated, it takes even more strength to just slash his tires instead of slashing his fucking throat”. His words are so serious that you don’t question how he knows what happened. “What do you want to achieve?”

“I want to make the world a better place in any way I can… I volunteer at soup kitchens all the time… dog shelters… I know it sounds horrible but no matter what I do, it doesn’t feel satisfying or like I’m achieving anything”. He exhales in amusement and you defensively expand.

“It’s like I’m waiting for some good karma to come to me, but all I feel is guilt because I’m doing good things for the wrong reasons”. You look down and swirl around your coffee with a spoon as you wait for him to judge you. All you felt was guilt, you wanted to be a good person and you knew you shouldn’t wait for good things to happen to you just because you’re volunteering. He puts a finger under your chin and makes you look at him. His big black eyes hypnotize you and you wait anxiously for him to speak.

“You need to put your rage towards something good. Anger doesn’t help anybody, but I saw today that you are capable of rage”, he coaxes you quietly. “A strong rage can be used as unlimited energy and shouldn’t be wasted, but put towards something useful… what fills you with rage?”

“The sexism at my work”, you immediately respond. “None of my male co-workers get harassed on the job. They don’t get told to smile or unbutton their shirts for tips. They get raises that they don’t deserve. As long as that keeps happening, I will always be filled with rage”.

The blue haired man hums in agreement and smiles at you. “That’s a solid source”. He drinks the end of his coffee and offers to drive you home.

When the two of you sit in his car, he proposes that instead of going back to the motel you lived at, you come over to his and the two of you could share a drink.

“No, I’m sorry. I need to go home and scream into my pillow”. Although you laugh after saying that, Kai doesn’t.

“What are you achieving with that? That’s like working hard to get money for gas, just to pour it down the drain”, he scolds you and raises his voice with every word. “You have this rage; we’re going to use it for something good!”, he shouts.

“Yes, but how!”, you reply, and watch Kai take a few turns before driving around the same couple of blocks a few times. You sit silently and hope he’ll explain the plan, but he doesn’t, instead he slowly drives down the streets, carefully inspecting the alleyways. Finally, when a short hum escapes his lips, he pulls his car over and points towards an alleyway on the other side of the street.

“Look what’s happening”.

You narrow your eyes trying to see down the dark alleyway and unbuckle your seatbelt to lean over closer to Kai. A man down the side of a building is stumbling slightly with a gun in his hand, pinning a woman against the wall and forcibly pulling her clothes off, only for her to try to push him away.

“Wait… is he uh-”

“What is your feminism fuelled rage telling you to do?”

You look Kai dead in the eye and his black eyes and clenched jaw silently ask you whether you’re willing to do what it takes. Saying that you want the world to be a better place means jack shit if you’re not ready to singlehandedly protect your sisters and put your rage towards making the world cleaner and safer. Not tomorrow, not in years to come, but now.

Without another second of thought, you jump out of the car and run to the alley, Kai following closely behind. Kai grabs the drunk man by the shoulders and rips him off the wall, allowing you access to push the woman out of the alleyway and onto the street, letting her immediately start running. The drunk attempts to fight Kai, throwing hard punches that all miss. Not wanting to steal your spotlight, Kai throws the man into the wall, letting you take out your feminist rage on his face. You put your hands in his hair and grip tightly, repeatedly smashing his face into the brick wall, leaving instant blood stains and scratches. Hopefully, a lifetime reminder of the scum he is. In order to save him the disgust of having to look at himself in the mirror, you drag his face along the wall, hoping that the cracks in the wall will be enough to leave his face bleeding.

“Work smarter; not harder”, Kai reminds you.

You release the man from your grip and watch him stumble and lean against the wall for support, giving you enough time to take your pocketknife back out and plunge in straight into the mans crotch. As he sloppily yells in pain, Kai grabs the gun out of his hand and throws it over a fence, just in case he gets any ideas. The intoxicating high of seeing this rapist bleed and cry in pain gives you one last kick of confidence, which you use to twist the knife in his ball sack before ripping it out. Kai stands watching you, smirking and almost hard, listening to the beaten-up motherfucker pant and sob. Kai pushes you out of the way and shoves him to the ground one last time, before grabbing your hand and legging it to the car.

When you sink to the car seat, trying to catch your breath, not a single thought coming to your mind for the first few seconds. The adrenaline of assault makes your heart want to jump out of your chest. But when you look over at Kai, expecting him to mirror you, he sits calmly, waiting for you to calm down. Your head is blurred with disbelief at what you just did, but despite knowing in your mind that violence isn’t the answer, you sit there as Kai starts driving and wait for the guilt to overpower your body. But it just…doesn’t.

“I’m so proud of you”, Kai says and puts his hand on your thigh giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m waiting for the guilt to kick in”

“It won’t”, Kai informs you. “You don’t care about the homeless or animals”

“What?! Of course, I do-”

“No, you don’t. You care about sexism. That’s what powers you. How many statistics do you know about rape? How much do you know about rape prevention? Feminism? Malala and Michelle fucking Obama?!”, he yells.

“That’s what fills you with rage, and that’s what begins the unlimited cycle”. Although his words sounded so sure and factual, you just couldn’t accept it.

“I don’t want to do it with violence”. Your voice weakens which makes Kai huff in amusement. He parks his car outside your motel and turns to you.

“You just made the world a better place. You saved that woman. That scum will never be able to reproduce. If you weren’t doing the right thing, you’d feel guilty”. You look up at him with worried eyebrows and he gives you a warm reassuring smile. You can’t deny his words, and the adrenaline and sense of accomplishment overshadow any speck of guilt you’re meant to feel. Just as you’re about to open the car door to get out, he puts his hand on your shoulder and looks at you once more.

“I’ll come by and get you tomorrow, I want you to meet my friends”

[procrastinatorproject]

One More Thing to Atone For

The Psychology of Dr Agnes P Jurati (Part 1)

[Author’s Note: this essay got very long. If you prefer to read your meta on AO3, I also posted it on my account there (link in my blog description).]

[Content Warning for psychological trauma, manipulation, discussions of murder, and spoilers for the entirety of Star Trek: Picard season 1]

Over the last two years, ever since the end of Star Trek: Picard’s first season, I’ve seen a lot of people criticize the character of Agnes Jurati. A common refrain has been that people don’t understand how Rios, Picard, and the others could trust or forgive her after they found out she killed Maddox, and that we should have seen her face prosecution for her terrible, inexcusable crime.

On some level, I understand where these people are coming from. The show barely contradicts this point of view. Agnes herself says she’s going to turn herself in to the authorities, and there is only a single instant where someone speaks up to defend her. Briefly.

However, I think this is a deep disservice to the complex character of Agnes Jurati. When you actually sit down and look at the situation she found herself in, I don’t think the way the show and many viewers treat her is fully justified. Let me explain.

The story of season 1 as seen through the eyes of Agnes Jurati goes something like this:

Doctor Agnes P Jurati, Earth’s leading expert on synthetic life, is working at the Daystrom Institute in a research field that has been all but banned because she and her colleagues developed the androids that went rogue and caused unimaginable destruction on Mars.

One day, Admiral Picard, retired, drops by her lab and explains that her former mentor, Bruce Maddox, managed to build two sentient, flesh-and-blood synths, but one of them has been killed by Romulans.

Jurati gives Picard all the information she can on Maddox’s work, so he can try and contact him. She has tried it herself, but never had any success.

Shortly after this, Jurati is approached by the head of Starfleet Security, Commodore Oh. Oh tells her that the creation of sentient synthetic life is a threshold, similar to breaking the warp barrier. History has shown that when a society reaches this threshold, a force of über-synths, powerful beyond all comprehension, shows up and causes massive devastation, bordering on the destruction of all organic life.

Oh has evidence for this, in the form of the Admonition. A terrible, devastating record of the history of an ancient civilization who experienced this devastation and left a warning so nobody else would fall victim to the terrible über-synths that destroyed nearly every member of this ancient civilization.

Oh not only shows Jurati a recording of this history, but dumps it into her brain via non-consensual mind meld, a procedure that in itself is extremely dangerous and can have devastating consequences on the human psyche.

Oh then proceeds to tell Jurati that the only way to prevent this devastation from happening again and this time destroying the Federation, is by making sure they never reach this terrible threshold. This means they need to destroy the existing sentient synth, Dahj’s sister, and need to take out Bruce Maddox.

Jurati has proven that she is willing to abide by the law that bans the creation of androids. Bruce Maddox, however, has proven the opposite. He went into hiding and continued his work despite the ban on synthetics. If a galactic treaty was not enough to prevent Maddox from creating sentient synthetic life, no order from Starfleet or reasoning from Jurati ever will. If he isn’t stopped, and permanently, his work will alert the über-synths who will rain down destruction on all organic life in the galaxy.

Oh tells Jurati to swallow a viridium tracker and follow Picard on his quest to find Bruce Maddox and the second synth. Picard has been turned down by Starfleet, and they won’t be able to track him easily. But Jurati is uniquely positioned to fulfil this mission. She knows Maddox, she’ll be able to find out from him where the second synth sister is hiding, she’ll be able to infiltrate his lab and destroy his research — or tell Starfleet Security the location of his lab so they can do the rest. She can come close to the second synth and deactivate and destroy her, too.

Jurati, overwhelmed by the terrible vision of history that is about to repeat, believes Oh and agrees to go on this mission.

For good measure, Oh puts in a psychic block that would prevent Agnes from talking about the Admonition — probably under the guise of protecting her from exposing the mission if the stress gets too extreme or something along those lines. As Oh said, this mission is going to require terrible sacrifices from Jurati — but she’s doing it in the name of Starfleet and to prevent the extinction of potentially all sentient organic life in the galaxy.

Presumably that same day, Jurati goes to La Barre to convince Picard to take her along on his mission. (I assume it’s the same day because she has changed her jacket but not her shirt.) She hasn’t packed anything, she might not be expecting to leave right then, depending on what Oh told her.

As she arrives, she walks in on a Romulan death squad attacking Picard. She grabs a weapon and kills one of the Romulans, saving Picard’s life. As terrible and shocking as that is, it perversely gives her one more argument in her arsenal to convince the Admiral to take her along on the trip, so she rolls with it.

She manages to get onto La Sirena, where Raffi reveals they are headed to Freecloud, where they’ll find Bruce Maddox.

The journey to Freecloud (via Vashti) takes anywhere between a week and two weeks. Jurati is in deep psychological distress, but she manages to compartmentalize. She pushes aside her devastation and finds ways to still have moments of fun and levity. Partially, I’m sure, to appear innocent, naive, and unobtrusive, but partially out of a desire to feel something, anything, beside devastation, panic, and pain. So, she waters the plants she finds in sickbay, she flirts with the roguishly handsome captain, she jokes around with the rest of the crew, and she tries not to think too hard about the existential pain of living with the consciousness of death.

Actually, the roguishly handsome captain, who is trying desperately to pretend he’s unlikeable and misanthropic, is really warm and kind, and also handsome and kind of funny. Hanging out, joking around, and flirting  with him is a good way to feel a few fleeting moments of much-needed happiness and levity.

The closer they get to Freecloud, the more nervous Jurati gets. When they prepare for their big Stardust City caper, she’s already a little subdued, and not really in a mood to learn how to operate the transporter controls. Obviously, she’s an expert in AI and robotics. Figuring out how to transport people is not hard. But it gives her a convenient excuse to blame her ever-increasing nervousness on.

This comes in handy when her psychological distress becomes extreme enough to trigger the ship’s EMH. It’s debatable whether he only notices her distress so late because Rios has changed the EMH activation algorithm (actively or through years of yelling and rebukes) so Emil won’t activate for every occurrence of bad PTSD symptoms (heavily hinted by the showrunners), whether Jurati was the one meddling with his activation sequences, or whether it has something to do with the deletions Rios made in all the Emergency Holograms’ codes. Whatever it may be, if anyone asks why the EMH activated, Jurati can blame it on nerves about transporter duty and worrying about Bruce.

The others actually manage to rescue Maddox, and he gives Picard the location of the second synth sister. Jurati, sensing her opportunity, sends Picard away and uses the fact that Maddox is badly injured to kill him in a way that will look like natural causes. His injuries were just to grave. There was nothing she could do. She got an MD, once upon a time, before she went into the field of synthetic consciousness. Picard and the others trust her medical knowledge enough to leave Maddox in her care, rather than activating the EMH. They are not going to question her.

When the EMH activates again, Jurati sends him away, and finishes the job Starfleet sent her to do. It is a small way for her to atone for her part in the devastation synths have caused — and are going to cause if she cannot prevent it.

Afterwards, Jurati is devastated. Outwardly, she manages to keep it together; uses the fact that she had an affair with Maddox once upon a time (An Issue™ onto itself) to explain why it’s hitting her so hard. Beyond “he was my colleague and mentor, I was unable to save him, he died before my eyes”, which would be horrible enough for anyone. The others don’t question her. Raffi might have been suspicious, but Raffi is lost in a mire of snakeleaf, liquor, and misery.

She knows she needs to hold on until they find the second synth, because she needs to finish her mission. Starfleet needs her to destroy the second sentient synth sister in order to prevent galaxy-wide calamity. But the weight of her actions (not just the two killings, but also her part in creating the synths, her life’s work, and knowing it will mean the end of all), and the psychological and neurological trauma of the Admonition are starting to wear her down.

It’s getting much harder to find even brief moments of distraction or relief. When Jurati happens upon Rios one night, playing football, looking stunning, she almost falls in bed with him because she’s lonely and scared and she just wants to feel something. Anything. But she stops herself, because that would probably be a bad idea. Except then this man turns around and instead of being annoyed at her pulling back or leaving her to her misery, he’s incredibly kind and caring and warm. And it no longer feels like a quick fling, this feels like a genuine connection. It’s probably still a bad idea, but she goes for it anyway.

The next morning, they arrive at the Artifact. Jurati is prepared to go on board and get Soji out (or maybe find a way to dispose of her there and then), but her conviction is wavering. Oh told her this mission would demand sacrifices, and she is realizing the sacrifices are too big. She doesn’t want to be the one who has to kill Soji. She doesn’t want to be the one who has to save the world. That’s why she’s relieved when she can’t go to the Artifact with Picard.

After everything goes to hell on the cube, she cracks for a moment and nearly gives herself away when she asks Raffi and Rios whether they really want to go to Nepenthe. Because she is done. She doesn’t want to do this any more.

In that moment, Raffi is kind to her and takes pity on her, getting her cake and chocolate milk, being nice and understanding.

On some level, this makes Jurati feel better. Here, on this ship, for the first time in a long time, she has felt that she is part of something. Of a crew. But it’s all a lie.

This becomes painfully clear when the Romulan scout ship reappears as they’re trying to get to Nepenthe.  Initially, Rios and Raffi assumed the scout had simply been following them when they were allowed to leave the Artifact, and Rios was sure he’d be able to lose their tail. Except the scout ship reappears. Almost like he is tracking them, somehow.

And suddenly, Jurati starts to suspect that the reason the scout sip was able to find them again, is her. That he is following her tracker. The tracker Commodore Oh gave her.

And the implications of that hit her hard enough to make her throw up her cake. If a Tal Shiar agent is following her tracker, that means that, at the very least, Starfleet is cooperating with the Tal Shiar. It means Commodore Oh has passed along the information of how to track La Sirena to the Romulans. Or, though this is truly, horribly absurd, Commodore Oh might be a Romulan agent herself, and Jurati wasn’t working on orders from Starfleet at all. Either way, she has been lied to and manipulated from the start.

The enormity of this revelation leaves Jurati shaken, but perhaps she is wrong. Perhaps their tail was just lucky, or he tracked them some other way. Commodore Oh is the Head of Starfleet Security! She can’t be working with the Romulans, the Federation’s oldest enemy, right? She can’t possible be a Romulan agent, can she?

Now, Rios is taking her to sickbay, being kind, being understanding… And he has no reason to suspect Agnes could have anything to do with their being tailed. If it were Agnes, that would mean the Romulans must have been tracking her since Earth. It would mean the attack on Château Picard was faked, because the Tal Shiar wanted to track Picard, not kill him. It is too enormous to consider, much more likely that someone slipped Raffi a tracker, or someone is blackmailing her through that mystery kid of hers.

But it’s not Raffi. Jurati cannot shake the thought, more certain with every minute, that it’s not Raffi. It’s her. The Romulans are tracking her.

And then their scout ship returns. And Jurati knows. She knows it was all a lie. Commodore Oh betrayed her. Used her. Manipulated her. Without realizing it, she has been working for the Romulans all along. And now they are tracking her to find Soji.

And she still believes the creation of sentient synths could bring about horrible devastation. Might destroy all sentient organic life in the galaxy. She has seen irrefutable evidence that it has happened before. But she also knows she has been ruthlessly manipulated, brainwashed, and used. And she is going to put an end to that.

She replicates a substance that she believes will deactivate the viridium in her system. If the Romulans are following her, this will get them off La Sirena’s track. It might also kill her, but at this point, that’s a price she’s willing to pay.

And so, Agnes P Jurati breaks through the brainwashing and manipulation and puts and end to her involvement in Commodore Oh’s plot to exterminate any trace of sentient synths in this galaxy. Come what may, end of the world or no, Agnes is done being used.

The aftermath of this is… a lot. Picard doesn’t believe that Commodore Oh could be working with the Romulans and he blames Jurati for killing Maddox. And he should. She was working for the Romulans. She didn’t know it, of course, she thought she was acting on orders of Starfleet, but she wasn’t. Or it was Starfleet that was cooperating with the Tal Shiar. Either way, it was wrong and she deserves to be punished for it.

And then she meets Soji. And Soji is a marvel! More beautiful, more human, more perfectly imperfect than Jurati could have ever imagined. And any thought of trying to destroy her or anyone like her becomes preposterous. They are people. They have a right to exist. And there has to be a way to prevent whatever happened to the ancient civilization from happening again without killing Soji and her people. And if there isn’t, if destruction is inevitable, then let the chips fall where they may. Jurati is done. She is going to turn herself in and that’s that.

And then she finds out all the rest of it. That this conspiracy goes so much further than she ever imagined. The Tal Shiar — or rather the Zhat Vash — agent Oh was not only responsible for the murder of Dahj, she was ready to destroy Rios’s entire Starfleet ship, the ibn Majid, just because they had discovered sentient synths. And worse, much, much worse than that: She and the rest of her sisterhood orchestrated the devastating loss of life on Mars. The event Jurati has probably felt at least a little bit responsible for for fourteen years. It had nothing to do with anything she did after all. It was all Oh.

And even after all this, after finding out how thoroughly she has been manipulated, after finding out the depth to which she has been violated (beyond the non-consensual mind-meld and having the Admonition dumped in her brain), Jurati is still prepared to face the authorities. She has her bag packed and is ready to turn herself in — except they haven’t landed at Deep Space 12, they suddenly find themselves in orbit over Coppelius, home of the synths.

And although on Coppelius Jurati is faced with more attempts at guilt-tripping and manipulation, this time from Soong and Sutra, she is using the inner strength that has kept her going through weeks of absolute abject horror, to resist them. To decide for herself that she won’t support the synths’ plan to summon creatures that will end all organic life in the galaxy. That she won’t condone murder because ‘there is no alternative’ and ‘it’s us or them’. She has learned from her experiences, and she is going to trust in Picard and his ability to find a different way.

And in the end, this trust is rewarded.

So, this is my take on Agnes P Jurati, MD, PhD, Earth’s leading expert in synthetic life, adorable nerd, victim of horrendous abuse and manipulation, beacon of perseverance, saviour of Picard and potentially all organic life in the galaxy. And this is why, in the end, I don’t think any of the takes decrying her as manipulative, duplicitous, evil, morally worse than any of the other characters we see killing people throughout Star Trek: Picard (to say nothing of wider Star Trek canon), are missing the full picture. As I pointed out at the start, I do empathize with that view, in my opinion the show failed to give us even a brief acknowledgement of the sheer depth of Oh’s betrayal where Jurati is concerned. But I will still vehemently defend her as a good character, and insist that it makes sense for Rios, Raffi, and especially Picard, who knows a thing or two about being forced to kill people against your better judgement, are willing to trust and forgive her.

Part 2

[solohux]

After finishing the mandalorian i’m obsessed with Great single dads of star wars. Could you write a single dad kylo ren prompt? Hux Goes in to kylos chambers to yell at him for being late to a meeting But stops when he sees kylo holding his crying young daughter just talking to her softly and rocking her. Hux can only watch in awe, he has never seen the knight so gentle and soft!

The sheer audacity of the Master of Ren astounds General Hux. He mutters foul curses to himself whilst marching to Kylo’s chambers with his datapad clutched tightly in his hands with the relevant evidence present of his inexcusable absence of both of today’s important meetings. As supposed co-commander of this ship and Hux’s supposed equal, Kylo is obligated to attend the same conferences and take part in the same presentations but he has chosen to miss both the budget and armoury meetings today, and Hux has had enough.

Kylo is about to be on the receiving end of a very irate General Hux, one who won’t hesitate to report his shortcomings to the Supreme Leader and demand that Kylo be removed from his post and sent back to the playpen where his immature attitudes belong.

Luckily, Hux’s master-override code works on the lock of Kylo’s chamber doors too.

“Master Ren!” Hux announces loudly upon entering the Knight’s private rooms, clearing his throat and readying himself to thrust his datapad in Kylo’s face and show him the day’s schedule. “I demand an answer—uuhh.”

Hux freezes on the spot and his anger stiffens along with him, turning into confusion. The Knight is dressed in such casual attire that he’s almost unrecognisable, wearing soft greys instead of all black for once and his hair tied back from his face. But the most puzzling thing is what’s sitting in his lap; a young girl, no older than 3, is crying quietly with her face pressed against his chest.

“Ren?” Hux manages to squeak out his co-commanders name but Kylo throws his palm up to silence Hux, and the General obeys.

“Deep breathes, Mira,” Kylo says softly, sitting back against his fire-red coloured couch, cuddling the girl and kissing her head of dark hair. “Close your eyes. The darkness will help.”

“Hurts, Daddy,” the girl—Mira—says, rubbing her forehead. She’s dressed in soft-looking pyjamas, her little socked toes wiggling with her obvious discomfort.

“I know, sweetheart.” Out of the corner of Hux’s eye, he sees a pink, plaid patterned blanket floating from the adjoining bedroom and into Kylo’s hand. As soon as it’s in his hold, he drapes it over the girl’s body and wraps her up, rocking her gently as he talks quietly. “Daddy used to get headaches like this when he was little.”

The girl opens her eyes, and Hux sees their bright blue shine, “You did, Daddy?”

“Yeah. My powers hurt me sometimes too.”

“Did your Daddy make you better?”

Hux cocks his head, frowning as he sees such strong emotion flicker in Kylo’s expression. The usually-fierce Knight looks lost right now, hurtful memories obviously playing back in his mind.

“He did,” Kylo says, forcing a smile. “He always made my headaches go away.”

Hux knows very little about Kylo’s life before he came to the First Order but what he does know, he thought of it as being spoilt and uptight. The son of two rebellion heroes? Surely Kylo would have had it so cushy that he would have been crazy to leave such wealth and power behind him—despite the Order being the right side to be on, of course—but from the distant look in his eyes, Hux realises that he may have misunderstood his co-commander all this time.

“Try to sleep, Mira,” Kylo says, whispering to his daughter. “Hush, sweetheart. Daddy’s here.”

Hux’s heart melts. Even though she’s in such pain, Mira smiles as she closes her eyes and nestles against her father’s chest, drifting off to sleep with the sounds of him humming softly to her. In his heart, Hux almost feels jealous at witnessing a child so loved and protected when he has never known a love like this, never protected by his father or held when he cried. Mira is clearly a loved, happy little girl.

And Kylo Ren is everything that Hux believed him incapable of.

When Mira is finally asleep, Kylo stands up slowly with the girl in his arms and carries her into the adjoining room—which Hux assumes to be a bedchamber—before emerging again without her.

“None of your officers know that she exists,” Kylo says in a hushed tone, clearly not wanting to wake his sleeping child. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

“She’s…your daughter?”

“Incredible observation skills, General Hux,” Kylo retorts, sitting back down on the couch.

“Your biological daughter?”

“Do all Imperials ask such personal questions?” The Knight raises a frustrated eyebrow but Hux isn’t intimidated. “Yes. She is.”

“I see,” Hux says, pondering the implications for a moment before gathering himself. “And, her other parent?”

Kylo’s confident gaze falters as he shakes his head. “Not here. It’s just me. It’s always just been me.”

A single parent. Hux now understands Kylo’s absences, “You have my word that I won’t divulge a single detail about her to anyone.”

Kylo nods courteously, “Thank you. She woke this morning with a headache and I couldn’t leave her. They’re caused by her Force sensitivity, she can’t control her powers properly yet.”

“I gathered. Just like you when you were young?”

“Exactly like me. They’re debilitating if you leave them for too long.”

“And what is the cure, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Kylo seems to hesitate for a moment before answering, “Close contact with someone you share a close Force-bond with.”

“Ah,” Hux rocks back on his heels. “Then I suppose that’s why your own father was such a help with your own headaches.”

Kylo looks down, swallowing hard. “What did you want, Hux?”

“Oh. Yes. Uh.” Hux looks down to his datapad and sees the schedule still waiting to be used in evidence against Kylo’s absence from the meetings but it seems rather redundant now, having seen the gentle side to Kylo that Hux never knew existed. “The…uh. I just came to inform you of what went on in today’s briefings.”

“The budget and armoury meetings,” Kylo says, sitting forward. “I would have been there but Mira—”

“No, no. I understand, Ren. If I had a daughter, she would come first too.”

The Knight’s young face becomes unreadable as he stands up and closes the gap between them, standing so close to Hux that he’s able to count the moles on his face.

“Your understanding means a lot to me, General Hux,” Kylo says, sounding more like the co-commander that Hux has come to know instead of the soft, fatherly voice that he’s just been speaking in, making Hux feel almost privileged to have heard it. “I hope…I hope we can improve our relationship from now on.”

Hux has to resist the urge to flinch when Kylo thrusts his hand out at him, thinking that he’s going to hit him but he’s offering a handshake, clearly one of truce in their bickering wars.

“I hope so too, Master Ren,” Hux takes Kylo’s hand and shakes it, feeling as though he’s meeting the young man for the first time.

Their gaze holds longer than socially acceptable for two people who aren’t lovers but it doesn’t make Hux uncomfortable in the slightest; he welcomes Kylo’s beautiful eyes upon him.

“I’d better be leaving,” Hux says, pulling his hand free of Kylo’s. “I’ll have the briefings summaries and sent to your datapad for your reading.”

“Thank you,” Kylo smiles.

Hux turns and leaves before the bright red blush can take over his face, now enamoured by Kylo instead of angered. Their reconciling handshake may have built bridges between them but it also seems to have carved out a soft spot for the young, single father. And as he walks back to his office, Hux wonders what the perameters are for courting someone who is a feared Knight and a gentle father. He’s going to make it his mission to spend more time with Kylo; his budding feelings for him demands it.

Back in his chambers, Kylo finds himself smiling like a fool at the door when his daughter’s voice disturbs his thoughts.

“Daddy?”

Kylo turns around, finding Mira hugging the doorframe, standing on her tip-toes as though trying to be as tall her father.

“What is it, little one?” Kylo scoops her up and holds her on his hip, kissing her cheek.

Mira looks to the door, “I like him.”

Kylo smiles, following her gaze and sighing. “Me too, sweetheart.”

[eternally6pm]

To Distraction

Rating: T

Characters: Jakob, FCorrin, vague mention of various occupants of the Northern Fortress, Corrin’s Nohrian siblings.

- almost to a state of madness -

A/N: These are two old reposts mashed together. In a stroke of serendipity on my old blog, I had received two four-word prompts that happened to inspire two scenes with some sort of continuity. This takes place pre-Fates, with a number of assumptions: that Corrin and Jakob arrived in their adolescence having already developed strong feelings for one another; that Jakob, being the older of the two and a pessimistic sort of young man, wanted to do the practical thing and attempted to distract himself from the horrifying realisation that he was falling in love with his master - and that this failed miserably.

One of my favourite things about master-servant relationships is that even when there are hard lines and clear expectations, on closer inspection, you can never be sure who really holds power over the other.

---

Felicia could not find any clean hose. Knowing that the maid had not only a tendency to misplace but to also overlook things, Corrin joined her in her search and was very soon just as perplexed – not a single pair could be found.

As Felicia excused herself and ran off to find her sister, Corrin sat uncomfortably before her mirror, still laced in the leathers that she had worn to combat training that afternoon. She judged herself to look somewhat foolish, her tightly braided hair in disarray, her jerkin having ridden up so that the edge sat too high, the thick, stiff leather digging into the flesh of her stomach as she tried to sit on her chair.

She was going to have to ask for a new one. Her current jerkin just didn’t fit over her hips anymore, and the space in the chest was too small. There was pain in her back when she tried to stretch upwards, and if pushed a little too hard, she found it difficult to draw breath.

Gunter had been dissatisfied with her progress today, having knocked her onto her back several times without much exertion. Her left wrist smarted when she tried to flex it and she realised that she must have landed too heavily upon it while trying to soften her fall in a clumsy attempt to spare her sore backside from additional bruises to the ones that had already darkened there.

Corrin sighed, shifting slightly in her seat as she saved all these thoughts for later, when she saw Jakob. He was a soothing thought, a welcome presence who always came after Flora and Felica left, bearing a tray with her dinner and a gentle smile. At her request, he would stay to lend a patient ear to her complaints, and she always felt slightly guilty, keeping him from his duties, but never guilty enough to deny herself the part of the evening she looked forward to most.

Come to think of it…

Jakob would know. He knew where everything was.

With a wince, Corrin planted her hands on the seat and heaved herself from the chair, her already stiff muscles protesting the movement. Reaching for the bell, she rang for assistance.

It was not uncommon for her summons to go unanswered. There were few servants at the Northern Fortress, and often, they were distracted by either Felicia setting fire to something, or were simply occupied with something else.

Corrin waited only long enough to work her gauntlets and wrist guards loose and shed them where she stood before dipping her hands into a basin of (cold, goodness, Felicia,) water to wash the grime from her fingers. Drying her hands on a soft cloth, she left her room.

The Northern Fortress sat on the border of what was historically, heavily contested land. As a result, the fortress was structured as simply that – austere, heavily fortified barracks for housing soldiers in preparation for war. Now that the borders of Nohr stretched far beyond this point, it had been repurposed as Corrin’s home – though it often felt more like a prison than a home.

Fortunately, the nature of the Northern Fortress meant that servants were given the unusual benefit of being granted individual rooms, and the privacy was a privilege so great, not a soul cared to complain of the size of their quarters.

Corrin knew where Jakob slept. It was a piece of knowledge that she guarded jealously because she knew that Gunter would take a riding crop to Jakob’s wrists and shoulders if he ever found out that the princess was visiting his chambers in the dead of the night to trade books and whispered conversations when she couldn’t sleep.

Lately, Jakob had been more reluctant to open his door to her – he spoke constantly of propriety and what was appropriate, and Corrin, well-read and suitably informed by her sister, had more than just a vague notion of what it all meant. However, she also knew for certain that she didn’t like being told that she wasn’t allowed to spend time with him, especially now, when she realised suddenly that she would rather be around no one else.

She found that she liked to watch him whenever she could, studying his profile when he focused on work or catching a glimpse of him when he sparred with the other boys. Not that she could really call Jakob a boy anymore… she couldn’t remember when things had started to change, but now when he spoke, his voice was deeper, a low, wonderful sound that sank like hot liquid into the depths of her chest, and he had put on a lot of height, towering head and shoulders over her in a way that made her want to crawl into his lap and steal the warmth from his skin.

Thinking about him made her feel sick with delight.

Even now, as she approached his room, her stomach flipped like she was falling, and she had to inhale deeply to slow the rapid pulse of her heart. She was irrationally nervous. All she had to do was ask if –

“Oh!”

Corrin’s shoulder was knocked backward, unprepared for the sudden contact, and an arm reached out to steady her, a maid who immediately gasped in recognition and released her hold, dropping into a deep curtsy.

“Princess! A thousand apologies, Your Highness!”

Corrin waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s quite all right. My attention was elsewhere.”

“As was mine, milady. Forgive me for being inexcusably clumsy.”

“Think nothing of it. There is nothing to forgive.”

The maid lifted her gaze, smiling and Corrin could not help but notice that she was remarkably pretty, with blonde hair and eyes the colour of the sky on a fine day. She folded her hands neatly upon the front of her apron and politely inclined her head. “Can I be of assistance, my lady? Do you seek Flora?”

“Jakob, actually.”

“Oh.” At this, the maid directed her eyes downward again, and seemed to hesitate, the tips of her fingers worrying the edge of her skirt. “He is in his room, Your Highness. Though I believe him to be presently occupied.”

The sensation of falling returned, but this time, Corrin felt dread clench about her gut.

“Th-thank you…”

“Clara, Your Highness,” she curtsied again, colour rising into her cheeks and Corrin felt suddenly ill, nauseous as the maid’s words seeped into her skin, crawled into her pores with little thin legs to wriggle and bite.

“Thank you, Clara.”

She curtsied once more, but Corrin had already turned to continue her path, her steps quickened by fear or anger – she could not tell which.

She found his door ajar, and in her urgency, forgot to knock, pushing it open and letting herself in as his name left her mouth in a bark.

“Jakob!”

Dismay struck her square in the chest like a blow from Gunter’s shield, and she was winded, her heart still and all sound stifled as she watched him turn in shock to face her, his hands grasping at his half-open shirt for decency as he stammered unfinished words and excuses.

“Lady Corrin! I am not – I didn’t hear –“

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t speak.

“Apologies, milady, if you could spare me a moment, I could – “

The air smelt stale, acrid with the scent of something unseen, warm like the heat of two bodies.

I believe him to be presently occupied.

Her chest heaved against her inanely ill-fitting leathers and swallowing the bile that sat at the back of her tongue, she willed her lips to smile through the pain of her heart cleaving in two.

“Do not concern yourself, Jakob, it is only me.”

A burden, a chore.

“I came to ask you something.”

It was a tone Camilla had made her practice, repeat so often that it came with only slight effort.

Still his fingers fumbled at the buttons and Corrin stared jealously at the smooth skin and taut muscle that he hid away – a sight for someone else.

But never for her.

“Felica cannot find any clean stockings. Are you able to assist?”

The question sounded foolish and trivial. In that moment, Corrin could not have cared any less if she caught her death walking barefoot through the halls of this damned fortress.

“She sent you to fetch me?” Irritation caused his brow to furrow. “Is she insane?”

“Felicia is not at fault, I came of my own accord.” And oh, how she regretted that decision.

“Nonsense,” he muttered, and Corrin hated the way she enjoyed watching him knot his cravat, neat and pleasantly high upon his neck.

Did he remove it himself, or did she help him?

Where did she touch him?

Do you love her?

The questions prickled on the tip of her tongue and frustration wrenched an empty substitute from her lips. “Who were you with?”

“J-just a friend, milady,” it was the same blush, the same downward glance.

Why did she have to be so beautiful?

All of a sudden it felt like her lungs were bloated with water, her throat tight. Corrin was drowning and she had to leave, lest she retched and spite was expelled from her mouth.

“I’m sorry I was a bother, Jakob. I’ll see if Flora can help.”

She did not care to hear what else he had to say, turning to leave, and wandered blindly, until she returned to her own rooms where she gave no replies to Felica and Flora’s concerned questioning.

She nodded numbly as Flora explained that her stockings had simply been moved, and there were plenty, so there was no need to fret.

Silently, she let the sisters undress her and climbed into the bath they had prepared, sinking beneath the surface where it was warm and she could not tell the scented water apart from the tears that she shed.

“Felicia. Please inform Jakob that I do not want dinner. He is not to disturb me tonight.”

She curtsied, but hesitated. “Milady, you must eat.”

Corrin pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms about her legs as if she could hold herself together through sheer force of will alone. “Please, Felicia.”

At length, she curtsied again. “Yes, Lady Corrin.”

In the silence, Corrin sat still, shut her eyes as Flora’s cool, slender fingers threaded through her hair and pressed firm strokes against her neck and scalp.

“My lady, do not punish yourself for the sorrow that others might inflict,” she advised quietly. “They are not deserving of your suffering.”

Corrin sighed. “Thank you, Flora.”

“If I can aid you in any way, milady, you have but to ask.”

For a long moment, Corrin considered being benevolent, gentle and forgiving, but she had not the strength, and it was too easy to speak the words without conscience, draw a line in the air across her throat and call for blood.

“The maid, Clara. Do you know her?”

“Yes, she works in the kitchen.”

“Her efforts are to be commended. I wish to recommend her for promotion.”

There was silence as Flora ceased her ministrations and reached for a pitcher. “An excellent suggestion, Lady Corrin. I shall put a good word through to Gunter.”

---

The motion was a small one, almost casual. Camilla laughed softly as the young Duke spoke of studding horses, her long fingers neatly grasping the edge of Corrin's glass and whisking it away from the server before he could attempt to pour more wine.

“Wait, sister –“

There was not a single word spoken in direct response, but Camilla smiled brightly, her eyes narrowing as she laid a hand firmly on the satin of Corrin’s skirts.

“I think I’ve heard quite enough about the size of a stallion’s member, don’t you?”

Corrin stared vacantly at the man beside her, almost surrendering to the urge to frown. “Yes. One might presume to expect too much.”

Laughter cut through the low chatter and Duke coloured indignantly.

He asked her afterward, his voice low as he bent to speak softly, unpleasantly close to her ear, if she would be so kind as to honour him with her company as he had never been to Castle Krakenburg before, and would very much like a tour of the grounds.

Corrin would have been more interested had she been shown the underside of a slug.

But she could hardly say as much, and simply gave him another empty smile, evading a touch to her shoulder like she would the glance of a blade and excusing herself to retire with the other ladies from the dining hall.

With absolutely no intention to stay, she bid Camilla and Elise a good night and left without a word to anyone else, not caring that they would whisper of her cold and graceless behaviour, unbefitting of a princess of Nohr.

Her fingers closed upon the neck of a tall, unattended pitcher of mulled wine, and with the same motion she had just learnt from her sister, took it gently away, her only companion as she thought miserably of Jakob and how he was probably somewhere else, seeking comfort in the arms of a friend he had made years ago at the Northern Fortress.

---

The first sign that something had gone awry was the sound of shattering glass.

Jakob jerked in shock in his seat, the needle slipping between his fingers and he quickly dropped the hem of the cotton blouse, mere moments before a bead of crimson formed and began to run.

He released his breath in a long, hissing exhale, pulled the thread taut with his teeth and slowly, silently, counted to ten. He got as far as six before the clomp of heeled shoes reached earshot.

She was getting better at anticipating disaster, even if she hadn’t a clue on how to avert it.

It was certainly dire, he realised, as the door swung open without so much as an attempt to knock, and she stumbled into his temporary quarters with the momentum of the movement.

“Where’s the fire, Felicia?” He asked dryly.

She shook her head. “No, Jakob – it’s Corrin – Lady Corrin. She’s had far too much to drink.”

He stood at once, sewing forgotten. “Where is she?”

Felicia was nothing if at the very least, quick when it came to requesting aid. She hurried back out the door with Jakob on her heels, passing through a short corridor that connected their much smaller rooms to the solar of the guest suite.

The princess was found standing in the centre of the darkened room, still and staring as though lost. In one hand she held a metal pitcher, which she mindlessly released, letting it clatter hollowly and roll over the remains of what appeared to be a broken crystal statue of a swan at her feet. There had been a function at the palace that evening and she was laced up in a gown of pale blue satin with a neckline that dipped in such a way that made Jakob forget for a moment how to breathe.

“I dropped it,” she explained, smiling, and Jakob barely managed to completely close the distance to catch her by the shoulders before she could reach down to pick up the shards with her bare hands.

He gestured to Felicia. “Take her to her room and put her to bed,” he instructed, already planning how he would clean the jagged glass they trod upon.

Felicia nodded and tried to reach for Corrin, but with a sharp, petulant whine of irritation, the princess swatted her away.

“Horrible! Unhand me. I won’t allow it.”

Felicia turned to look at Jakob, shaking her head helplessly. “I’ve tried already. She won’t listen to me.”

Honestly, if you wanted something done right…

“Come now, Lady Corrin,” he soothed, pressing a hand between the blades of her shoulders to gently propel her towards her room. Suddenly obedient, she took to his encouragement without any resistance and Jakob flicked a hand at the mess they left behind so that Felicia might take the cue to clean it before he returned.

However, Corrin had other ideas.

No sooner had Jakob eased the door shut, he felt her hand upon his back and alarmed, spun immediately to face her, stepping away.

“Ah,” she frowned, reaching for him again, and he barely managed to catch her by the wrists, forcing her back, trying to get her to stand straight, to not… tempt him with her bare shoulders and neck exposed by her dress. By the moonlight, he could see that her cheeks were flushed red, and there was the scent of fruit and spice on her lips as she spoke.

“You weren’t so shy before. Let me hold you.”

It was a cruel joke, he realised, much too late, standing alone with his mistress in her bedchamber as she swayed, intoxicated on her feet and mistook him for someone else.

“Lady Corrin, stop. It’s me. Jakob.”

“Good,” she giggled softly, and the sound wove like a net over his heart. “Come here, Jakob.”

“No,” he replied firmly. It was a reminder to them both that she was senselessly drunk and knew not what she spoke; an order to maintain his distance. He gripped her wrists tightly and tried to ignore the writhing anxiety that came with the guilt of knowing. Of wanting.

Gently, he attempted to guide her towards the bed, to have her seated in a bid to escape from this nightmarish trap of his own devising so that Felicia (the gods themselves never could have imagined the day he required her help!) might rescue him.

With a motion trained and too swift, Corrin turned and threw her arms about his shoulders, throwing her entire weight upon him. Unprepared, he stumbled and could only reach for her out of reflex as they both toppled upon the bed.

“Lady Corrin -!”

There was a flurry of motion, a delectable confusion of bare skin and satin as she giggled again, pressing herself close to him and in that moment, Jakob was powerless to fight, because being touched by Corrin felt like being burned by a fire he couldn’t contain, like being drawn by the weight of the moon and drowning, euphoric in the tides.

“Just a taste,” she sang softly, so warm and pliant in his arms.

He couldn’t.

How many times had he fantasised of such a scene? Of having her witless and willing, because nothing else would ever allow the suggestion of impropriety. However, now confronted with it, the reality was horrifying, both in the possibility of having his wicked desires realised and in the fact that he found it utterly reprehensible. He could never forgive himself for such a dire lapse in judgement, for dragging the reputation of the one person he held dearest down into the filth of rumours whispered behind the flicker of a fan, about princesses with no honour who deemed to take their own servants to bed.

What would have been the point in resisting, in dressing his affection in decorum and drowning his desire in another girl?

What would be the point of his duty if he couldn’t even protect her from himself?

“My lady, you must stop.” He gently took her arms and pushed her back, rising from the bed and shaking his head when she tried to reach for him again.

“Why?” She asked, her voice plaintive, and her expression crumpled with dismay. She sat up, gathering her long skirts in both her fists and folding her knees to her chest. “What did I do wrong? You don’t mind kissing other girls, but you… You don’t want me.”

Jakob felt his heart wrench as she pressed her hands to her face and started to weep.

Who had done this to her? What deplorable scum had abused her kindness and corrupted her joy?

Slowly, he knelt before her, waiting until she lowered her hands and looked at him, her breath ragged with sorrow, her face wet with tears.

“You are mistaken,” he told her.

Do I dare?

“You cannot possibly know -”

How much of this will she remember?

“- how much I want you -”

This… is a mistake.

“- to only be mine.”

Smile for me, Princess.

Her lips were soft, her face warm. He felt her hand grip the fabric of his waistcoat and she leaned against him, a small, sweet whimpering note hummed in her throat, pushed onto his tongue. He tasted wine in the heat between her parted lips, and it was enough to intoxicate him too.

He parted the kiss with a sigh, stood and stepped back, his heart a storm of fear and elation, pierced deep with guilt.

Jakob couldn’t explain why he had decided to do this, only moments after convincing himself that it was a doomed choice, treacherous and lonely. He didn’t know why he felt the compulsion to flee, as though the longer he stood there, the greater the risk of being caught out, called traitor, exposed as a fraud.

“Felicia!” He growled as he strode out of the room, hiding behind a veil of irritation. “Lady Corrin is now calm. Kindly assist her.”

The maid scampered past him, barely acknowledging his words.

All he knew was that he was miserably weak, and for all the pain and suffering he had ever seen in his life, he couldn’t stand for a second to watch his princess cry.

[a-student-out-of-time]

So you did research. Congratulations. Is this the part where we finally duke it out?

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’d rather not.

Really...? I mean...you came all this way, and with a lot of company too. I would’ve figured you at least...I dunno, wanted a chance to take a shot at me.

You have an island full of robots, security measures and who knows what else. I figured you were hoping for a fight.

Fair enough. But is this it? You came all the way here just for what? For me to put a bullet through your skull without so much as a fight? You’re leaving our audience pretty disappointed, y’know.

I’m not doing this for them or even myself. This is all for you.

Aww, I never knew you cared so much!

I’m being serious. I don’t need weapons for this; everything I need is right here.

*Kyoji sets the case on the ground and slides it over to him*

Why don’t you see for yourself?

...

Hm?

How do I know this isn’t a bomb?

*He slides it back*

Alright, I’ll open it for you.

*He opens up the briefcase, slides it back and Storm picks it up and looks inside*

Alright, let’s see what-

...

Huh...?!

Wh-what is it?

Nakamura, hehe...this...this is a joke, right? You made this up, didn’t you? You came out here to show me a funny joke?

Because if not...

I’m completely serious. What’s in there is absolutely real.

Can someone quit being cryptic and tell us already?!

Alright. Nanami-san, Ise-san, you two weren’t around for this, but I made sure to inform the others. When our “gracious” host was in middle school, he was in a relationship with a girl named Hayley Arai.

Nice girl, overall. Very pretty. You remember her, don’t you? She certainly hasn’t forgotten you.

Not since she was paralyzed in that shooting...or when her daughter was born.

Both: What...?

Yeah, I thought it was strange too. As far as anyone knew, the story of her pregnancy was a rumor. And even if it were true, the shooting that left her paralyzed also lead to termination.

But it turns out we were all wrong.

...Where are they? Tell me!

Don’t bother. You’ll never find either of them, trust me. I made sure to warn them what you’ve been up to and what to look out for. I know all your tricks, Storm, and now they do too.

You...

“Me” nothing. You didn’t even try to figure out what was going on with her after that incident, did you?

You manipulated her brother into committing it, treated her maiming like a triviality, then abandoned her and moved on with your life, never even considering the possibility that maybe she really was carrying a child. Your child.

And oh my, how ironic is that? After all, that’s almost the exact same story you fed to these two about Ise-san’s birth.

You...You hypocrite!

You...You took her from me...if I’d known, I would’ve-

Would’ve what, Storm? Raised her? Cared for her? Treated her like a human fucking being?

You know what the funniest part about that is?

I actually believe you.

What?

You girls did hear about the things he’s claimed responsibility for, hasn’t he? How he drove every foster family he’s had to suicide? How he convinced Arai-san’s brother to engage in a shooting? The pain and misery he inflicted on Hope’s Peak?

Well, I can confirm the latter certainly happened.

But what about the rest?

...

Storm, I’d like to know: did you really drive those families to the brink? Or were you really just there when it happened? And you saw it happen over and over again?

Did you really drive Arai-san’s brother over the edge...or did you just take responsibility for it? Did it help you cope? Did it make you feel powerful? Can you answer me why?

And for Arai Hayley herself...was your relationship just about power? Did you really feel nothing for her otherwise?

Or did you really love her? It would’ve been so easy to assume you forced her into it...but maybe it really was consensual?

Seeing you and Ted-kun together, it really made me wonder if you cared about him too.

And that’s why you do it, isn’t it? The insults, the bigotry, the cruelty...it’s all just a game to you. Something to make you feel stronger, getting a rise out of people. You don’t even really feel that way, do you?

No, you just thrive off the toxicity. You love seeing people upset, one way or another.

This whole time, I looked at you as the embodiment of evil...a man who fully embraced every dark, sick and inhuman part of his soul. But now, after looking over all the data carefully? Now I see you for what you are.

And I want to ask you, Storm: what happened to you? What could make a man hate and fear his own sense of compassion? What’ve you kept hidden and bottled up from the world? What could make you want to be this horrible?

Whatever it was, I’m sorry it happened. But it’s inexcusable. All the things you’ve done as a result, the people you’ve hurt...was that your way of coping? Was it just a choice you made? Was this villainous cult leader some persona? A new life you decided to embrace?

…

No answer? That’s fine. Your silence is enough.

Because even after all this time, you can’t escape from it. No matter what you try to do, how much you try to control, no matter what kind of identity you might try to embrace, it doesn’t change what you’ve always been. What I can finally see you as now.

Just a scared, angry little man who never got a break. One who can’t stand that anybody else did.

[my-darling-boy]

Alistair, today I was outed to my parents by a faculty member at my school. They did it through an anonymous letter and now I've got to grapple with not only my parents, but also with the pain of having one of the most important moments of my life taken away. Do you have any suggestions on how to cope with stuff like this?

That is plain awful, I’m sorry that happened to you! At every place I’ve worked at, I’ve been outed by management, even by Human Resources??? Not only can it feel like you’ve lost control over your own personal information, it can also really derail your sense of security. It is also a direct breach in privacy and a violation of your rights as a student.

Not only that, but a school faculty outing you against your will is against the law in the US. Taken from the ACLU’s website on outing:

I’m quite confrontational when it comes to trans issues, so I would 100% write to the staff and explain not only how dangerous and completely inexcusable their actions were, but would demand a formal apology, mentioning that outing a student is illegal in the US and if the person who wrote the letter is identified, they can and should be fired. But I do understand that some trans people don’t choose to take this action, especially if you are a minor or have enough problems facing discrimination as it is, so a couple things I’d suggest that may help bring you closure:

• Know that what the faculty member has done, even if they can’t be identified, is illegal regardless. It was a direct violation of your rights and privacy as a student

•You may encounter folks who say your outing was no big deal. This is something cis people say because many insist it is their personal right to disclose a trans person’s identity. It is not. It IS a big deal, and you have every right to feel violated and upset

• Remember that you still have power over your information and how you go about disclosing your identity in the future. When this happens, you can feel helpless to control what is said about you. You are still in control of you, no matter what happens

•You can let your story come from your mouth instead. One thing I did after being outed at work was I went to my coworkers and told them face to face that I was trans, and told them the manager that outed me had violated my rights as an employee and that it is not okay to disclose a person’s identity. I found support in employees who helped me to file a complaint with HR and open a conversation about discrimination in the workplace

•You have the option of sitting your parents down and talking about it, regaining control over what biased or wrongful information may have been contained in the letter. Talking with your parents about your identity gives the chance to say things from YOUR mouth, not from some staff member. Let them know the magnitude of the situation: this could have put you in danger, and there are potential legal consequences for the staff having done this. Sometimes this can be a wake up call for some adults that trans identities—and consequences for those who violate those identities—are very real and should be taken seriously

•Build a support system with those you trust. When you’re outed, you might feel all alone, people might not take this seriously, they might not listen to your frustration, people may react badly to what they have learned about you. Reaching out to friends or those you trust and talking about what has happened and allowing them to show support for you can often feel very relieving: that while some people don’t respect your identity, there are people who do and who will stand with you

•Know that you aren’t alone: this is an unfortunate thing that happens often to trans people, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay. It can be frustrating and scary, and sometimes our legal steps and voices get swept under the rug, but there are lots of trans people and allies who have your back when these things happen

Stay safe, and if you have any more questions, I’m here to help how I can!

[abysslarchived]

kaeya’s relationship with the corrupt generation of ordo in his teen years. cw / tw for mentions of racism, and grooming.

         early headcanons that i've written on kaeya frequently touch upon the fact that kaeya has an interestingly disdainful relationship with his job, both in comic and in his voicelines, commenting that reaching the position of cavalry captain was not a big deal. a son of crepus, he was raised to respect, and trust the knights to the same degree that crepus did, even if his instinctive paranoia about keeping people close didn't lead him to be quite as ambitious as diluc when it came to advancing in rank. as said before, with my kaeya, ascending to cavalry captain wasn't only a pre - planned move ( not on his part ) but also an act done in spite ( although that part was mostly kaeya’s spite. )

         the temptation to quit the knights on the same day as diluc was obviously there, but kaeya's natural inclination for strategy recognised staying with the corrupt ordo to gather information on the investigations was more advantageous. eroch, who had already been preparing kaeya to induct him into the kreuzlied ( which meant a higher position of power, ie. cavalry captain ), would be far easier to manipulate if he thought that kaeya was naive to his ploys ... and kaeya knew how the corruption of that ordo generation worked because he was already a victim of it. shifting the system to expose many of the corrupted knights who not only kept the secret of crepus' murder investigation from the public, but tried to damn his reputation would be a fitting recompense for what they'd done.

          despite the ordo favonius being founded on the grounds of freedom from the corrupt aristocracy put in place by gross, old, white men — then found to be corrupted once again by gross, old, white men — it's plain to see that any given institution can be fallible despite the principles that it was built on. kaeya's experience with the ordo wasn't pleasant by any means, and it has noticeably made him disinterested in much of the work involved besides hunting down criminals. kaeya was paid special interest to by the upper echelon of the ordo from as young as sixteen, which is around the time they start recruiting members. not all of the reasons were because of natural talent with a sword or his immense wunderkind - level of intellect. early on, kaeya’s propensity for attracting trouble as well as keeping secrets was preyed upon by eroch, deeming kaeya suitable for higher positions of power where he could perpetuate the next generation of toxic ordo members.

         by the last generation of ordo, kaeya has frequently been described as " exotic. " both sides of the nepotism when it came to kaeya's ranking were traumatising experiences ; one of them being that any of kaeya's achievements when progressing among the knights was primarily due to his father's wealth and influence, and the second being that if kaeya tried to report the come-ons and harassment it wouldn't only reflect negatively on him but his family. rumours ran rampant amongst that generation of the ordo, poisoning the new one, and it was frequently made apparent that because of kaeya's status, he was not considered a "true ragnvindr" and because of it, less important. inappropriate comments about kaeya's person, from his appearance, to the way he talked was often sexualised inappropriately, both because of kaeya's nature as an attractive foreigner lacking traditionally stark masculine traits, and that he was in more of a position to remain quiet, seeing as kaeya did, canonically, stand in diluc's shadow for most matters.

         up until this point, kaeya merely excused the treatment, justifying it by the fact that no one had tried any physical advances on him, in which case it would be acceptable for kaeya to use violence as a means of self defence. but kaeya was seventeen when one of the casual crushes he had on one of the previous captains was taken advantage of. four years older than kaeya, handsome previous cavalry captain before diluc, charming, descendant of one of the less notable mond clans, romancing kaeya and gently coercing him into being intimate started a slew of rumours that perpetuated the idea that he was easy, that he was attempting to sleep his way up the ranks, meanwhile kaeya was nursing feelings of betrayal over being used for bragging rights.

         the rumours at this point were harsh, but, they'd been more intense sentiments that had already been echoed before. kaeya's already adaptable personality decided to not necessarily perpetuate the rumours, but not debunk them. this was the beginning of kaeya's tendency to smile when he is both sad and furious, smiling when uncomfortable became a habit he finds difficult to break. his charming and easygoing image, with often flirtatious wording is now used to put people at ease and give up their secrets. this, as well as kaeya’s adeptness at lying, was the reason eroch eventually provided enough evidence for kaeya to expose his deeds to better knights, varka, and the mondstadt public. he utilises the idea from old or particular gossip - mongering citizens about kaeya's bedding habits to his advantage, losing count of the so - many times that he's been underestimated because many fail to believe that kaeya is completely capable of keeping a professional relationship, or intelligent enough to understand what they’re doing to him. his induction into the kreuzlied secret society / intelligence network as a result of exposing eroch has only made him more dangerous.

         tldr: kaeya absolutely uses the rumours about his unprofessionalism, his personal life, the nepotism, and whatever might be at his disposal to his advantage. he absolutely loves to be underestimated, because proving people wrong is something that he's very good at.

         as a separate, but not entirely unrelated note, both the church and the main governing body of mondstadt being so closely related is problematic to say the least. the concept of freedom is often taken too far, acts of insidiousness excused as expression. kaeya is often one of the knights notified to break up barbara's rowdy fanclub when he is available not only because their families were, at one point, close but because he asked them to notify him, to keep tabs, as he always does on figures of note, on certain members. the unapologetically creepy behaviour of many adults in barbara's fanclub is inexcusable to him, but he doesn't particularly know what to do except temporarily keep them at bay because he feels as if he's been in similar circumstances, oppressed by adults meant to care and guide you instead of make you so uncomfortable. kaeya feels the most protective of klee and barbara out of all mondstadt kids, primarily because of their association to favonius.

[pendragyn]

Darkness and Light

This is an excerpt of my WIP Ineffable Bastards (the entirety of chapter 3 lol) that I felt really fits with the 'Dark' and 'Light' themes of this year's Good Omens Celebration.

(sorry for the formatting errors, tumblr being tumblr. adding a readmore since it's 4k words, also the real angst is below the cut. Hopefully it works! if not you can read it all at AO3)

Chapter 3: Tuesday ∞ Unbinding

A brief stab of pain jolted Crowley awake, and they froze for a moment to get their bearings. The shop was wreathed in deep shadows, lit only by the lamp by Aziraphale’s desk, and the only sounds were of Aziraphale working on the manuscript and a clock ticking faintly in the dimness. The back of their neck tingled with uneasiness.

Ignoring the sensation, Crowley eased upright and bit back a curse, too distracted by the ache in their back to notice the pale tartan blanket they’d been tucked under. Ugh, is this couch made of rocks? They prodded at the cushion, but it was as lofty as the day they had miracled it into being some thirty years earlier. At least, they assumed it was still only thirty year ago. Just how long did I sleep for?

As they could both go days without shifting a muscle, only knowing it was night wasn’t a particularly useful metric. Crowley had slept for the better part of a century after all, though that had been on purpose, while this... They checked their watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on the face so checked their phone’s time instead, and still had to squint and rub at their eyes before the time and date finally swam into focus. Midnight. Just hours, not days.

They stood and stretched to try to relieve the ache in their back, but if anything that only made it feel worse. While demons might not be able to instantly heal themselves the way angels could, they did heal at a far faster rate than humans did, and weren’t exactly prone to chronic back pain, or any pain at all, if injury wasn’t involved. It was becoming obvious that something was very wrong, but Crowley still hesitated to bring it up.

Haven’t I dragged them through enough? They turned to watch Aziraphale, highlighted in the darkness by the glow from the lamp. They were wearing their favourite old cardigan instead of their coat, which was as informally dressed as Crowley ever saw them in recent memory, and looked like nothing more than the contented bookshop keeper they played at being. They looked serene, happy even, and utterly enthralled by their project.

Just tell them about the spells and go,Crowley decided. “Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“How long ‘til you’re done?”

“Just… there, finished. Perhaps we could go get dinner at the café while things dry?” Aziraphale suggested hopefully, looking up from the manuscript and blinking a few times when they saw how dark it was. “Oh, I was at that a while, wasn’t I? Dreadfully sorry.”

Crowley shook their head at the apology. “It’s after midnight.”

“Oh, they’re long closed then. Well. Perhaps another time.” There was something in Crowley’s expression that made a lump of dread form in the bottom of Aziraphale’s stomach. They dragged their eyes away to focus on putting things away, not wanting to waste any of the precious materials through carelessness, while a million things clamoured in their mind to be said. It felt like everything was going wrong again and they hurried to fill the silence. “I do hope I did right in not waking you earlier? You seemed quite exhausted and…” I didn’t want you to go. Aziraphale swallowed the words down and gave Crowley a smile. “I do have to concede that you were right about today, well yesterday now, I suppose. It did turn out to be a rather good day after all.”

Crowley blinked, taken a little off guard by the admission, and tried to figure out how to broach the subject of the alarms. “Oh, er, yeah? I mean, yeah, it was good. But I, er-”

Aziraphale ploughed on, almost afraid to know what Crowley was going to say. “Having my hands occupied helps ground me, I’ve found, helps me sort through things that otherwise seem too big a mess. Not that we’re out of this mess, I know, but taking the time to let things settle really helps me put things into perspective. I just need a little breathing room sometimes and-”

“And alarms.”

Aziraphale looked up in confusion. “Alarms?”

“I mean, I, uh, I set up some alarms around the shop while you were working, to warn you, us, of intruders. Passive alarms,” Crowley hastened to assure the angel when they frowned, “nothing dangerous. Just… You know, in case.”

Aziraphale was momentarily at a loss for words. They felt it would be inexcusably rude to ask what had motivated Crowley to do such a thing, though that was the second thought that came to mind. First was just how nice kind an act it was. “I… that is, well, that, that was very kind of you. I hadn’t even considered, but I suppose it is best to be prepared for retaliation of some sort. But you… you’ll have to at least let me treat you to dinner to repay-”

“No.” Aziraphale’s face fell at the blunt denial but Crowley explained, “I mean it’s too late. Now. Tonight. But…” Crowley hesitated. Although things hadn’t gone the way they hadn’t even let themself admit to hoping for, they knew Aziraphale would want to help them if they needed it. Another sharp stab of pain decided them. Whatever they were dealing with, they had to deal with it soon, and the shop was not secure enough in it’s current state. “How would you feel about going to the flat? I’ve got plenty to tide us over and, I, uh, I’ve got something I need your opinion on.”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale quickly stood up and grabbed their coat, but made a token protest, wanting to give Crowley an out of their clearly impulsive offer. “But I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“’Snever an imposition, Aziraphale, to share a meal with you,” Crowley murmured, moving towards the door when Aziraphale looked up in surprise at their serious tone. “’Sides, you’ve been slouched at that desk too long.”

Aziraphale trailed along behind them and tried to puzzle out what was really going on. “As long as you’re quite sure, Crowley.”

“Always.” Crowley could see Aziraphale’s confusion but ignored it, slipping into the driver’s seat and clasping very tightly to the wheel while the angel got in the passenger’s side. The ache was getting worse and a headache was beginning to pound behind their eyes. Unsure what else to do, Crowley sped off towards the safety of the flat.

Aziraphale watched Crowley with a small frown of concern, but could tell from their expression that they weren’t in the mood to answer questions. As it was, the strange foreboding itchy ache in their back was distraction enough, and when a surreptitious healing failed to alleviate the sensation, a worrying thought popped up. If this isn’t a physical injury, then it must be metaphysical in nature. Could this be from what we did? From what happened? Did I… could I have absorbed some of Crowley’s… demon-ness while borrowing their corporeal form? Or been poisoned by some remnant of the hellfire? Or from just being in Hell at all? But that means-

Aziraphale risked a glance at Crowley. The demon pressed back against the cushion and shifted uncomfortably in their seat, like there was an itch along their spine that couldn’t be reached. -Heaven or the holy water or my angel-ness contaminated,poisoned, Crowley in the same way. Oh, oh no. I didn’t even think to do more than a cursory cleansing before we switched back! What to do, what to do? They whirled through a dozen ideas but just as quickly discarded them all as unless, a knot of grief forming over their heart.

There must be something! But nothing came to mind. They wiped at their stinging eyes, refusing to let the tears fall and returned to twisting the golden ring on their pinky, before they were struck by an idea. Maybe I can fix this.

“Hey.”

Aziraphale jumped when Crowley spoke, quickly shoving their balled up fists into their coat pockets, and tried to smile reassuringly when Crowley frowned. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Just wondering where you were. We’ve been parked for like five minutes.” Crowley tried to tease, to keep up appearances should anyone be observing, but the aching itch was making it almost impossible to think. Another stab of pain had Crowley pressing a hand to their throbbing tattoo with a hiss. When they pulled their hand away, there was a smear of blood on their fingers. Shit. Outta time.

Aziraphale’s heart dropped at the sight and they instantly reached out, but Crowley shook their head and shoved out of the car before they could attempt a healing. Aziraphale hurried after them, up to the flat, jumping a little when Crowley slammed the door shut behind them and set all the locks with a snap. “Crowley-”

Another jolt of pain sent Crowley reeling back against the door but they shook their head again when Aziraphale reached out to heal them, their bleak expression showing they also knew it wouldn’t be enough. They were out of options and the little voice said, Last chance to fix it. Now or never. Crowley pulled off their glasses and spoke the words they never thought they’d say again, to the only being they’d ever trusted enough to say them to. “I desire a boon, Aziraphale.” The Celestial words crackled with power in spite of the pain in Crowley’s voice.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the shocked gasp that escaped but didn’t hesitate to reply in kind. “Ask and be heard, Crowley, I attend you.”

There was so much that needed to be said, that Crowley desperately wanted to say but the ceremony didn’t allow for deviation and the pain was worsening. They stared into their best friend’s wide golden-green eyes and hoped they would understand. “I seek to mend all rifts and reforge our bond.”

After everything, they still… Aziraphale nodded, eyes stinging with tears, and it took a second to swallow down everything they couldn’t say to be able to say the proper response, “Such forged has lain quiescent but was never sundered. By our efforts combined shall these rifts be mended.”

It was never unspoken. They never broke it, even after... Crowley’s eyes burned with tears they’d been cursed to never let fall and they offered their hand in agreement. “Shoulder to shoulder?”

Mind brimming with words there was clearly no time left for, Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s hand and spoke the final phrase. “My wings to yours.”

Occult power swept through them, renewing the bond and knocking the breath from both of them. Unable to wait a second longer, Crowley bolted through the flat, stumbling into the spacious marble bathroom mortared with every type of magic against scrying and magical attacks and filled to the brim with all manner of tropical plants. Their own little replica of the Garden.

With a ragged gasp Crowley activated the spells and let their wings flash into being. The ink-dark feathers repelled the warm light shining down from the false sky-lights, and they flapped, once, twice, but neither the spells nor the movement did anything to ease the sensation that was going from searing itch to freezing ache. Desperate, feeling as though they were suffocating inside an icebox, they flung off their clothes and slapped on the water, wings spread wide as droplets began to pour from the ceiling.

Aziraphale paused only long enough to set a very unpleasant surprise by the door for anyone who tried to break in before following the sound of running water through the sparse bedroom to the gleaming bathroom. “Crowley?” They were horrified to find Crowley shivering under the downpour, hair and feathers drenched, blood seeping from the mark on their temple. They dashed to catch Crowley before they could collapse to the floor, unfurling their own wings to shelter them from the downpour. “Hold on! Talk to me!” Knowing it was futile Aziraphale tried another healing anyway, swearing when all that changed was the rapidly worsening ache in their own back and wings.

The sound Crowley made was both bitter laugh and heartbroken sob. “Sorry, angel. Guesss they found a way after all. Sssshould’ve known… they wouldn’t… let us get away.”

Aziraphale cradled Crowley close, shaking their head in denial, mind full of recriminations. Do something you stupid angel! Anything! But they couldn’t think past the pain of their heart breaking. “Crowley, please-”

“Never meant… t’hurt… you.” The burning frost was pervasive and growing, seeking the soul embedded within the living vessel that trembled from the freezing cold searing pain. It seeped through muscles and around bones, piercing eyes and lungs and heart, which failed under the onslaught.

“NO!” Aziraphale’s wail turned into a roar of rage and anguish when Crowley’s lovely eyes went dull and sightless. For the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale didn’t hold back, didn’t toe the line, didn’t do what was expected of them, and power the colour of a bronze sword sharpened with noonlight coruscated around them and their rapidly greying wings. “You can’t take Crowley from me again! I won’t allow it!” Those quick clever hands darted towards the now obvious source of Crowley’s torment, into inky feathers gone heavy and grey with icy embers of sanctified hellfire. “Fuck. You. All.”

If either side had seen Aziraphale at that moment, they might have understood why they were the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

Crowley was wreathed in pain and loneliness and despair, on the verge of losing themself to the agonizing emptiness, when a brilliant ray of golden-bronze light slashed through the void from a glimmering horizon that hadn’t existed until that moment. They wasted no time hurling themself towards the familiar shining beacon until it overwhelmed their senses with light, and eventually the light resolved itself into the fixture in the ceiling of their bathroom. They soon became aware of the feeling of Aziraphale’s hands raking urgently through their feathers and swamped with the terrible understanding that it was already too late, slurred, “Azsheraph, no...”

But Aziraphale was implacable and continued to extinguish the freezing embers clinging to Crowley’s feathers. “I must.” They ignored the pain of handling the sanctified hellfire and the building cold fire of Heaven’s unholy judgment, only giving in when they sensed the last of the embers vanish in a pathetic puff of smoke.

Crowley marshalled enough energy to move just in time to break Aziraphale’s fall. “Wha-, Aziraphale, did they-” The angel nodded, eyes pressed shut as a shudder passed through their failing body. “No no nononono.” Thoughts still muddled Crowley had sense enough to do one thing.

snap

Water, stopped, midair, crystalline and gleaming in the odd light of out-time.

Aziraphale reached up to press a shaking hand to Crowley’s right cheek, the tips of their fingers resting over the still bleeding hellish brand on Crowley’s temple. Too much left to say, to do, to make up for. Time enough for just one last thing...They stared into Crowley’s lovely eyes, irises blown wide with shock, and as their last desperate heartbeat passed, breathed out, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale was gone before Crowley could respond, having used the last of their power to remove the binding mark on Crowley’s temple, and Crowley’s face crumpled and contorted with fury and despair, eyes burning like a star gone nova. “You can’t leave me, you bassstard, not now, not after all thisss!” They called up power from the core of their being, power they didn’t even know they had, and dragged lightning-edged talons through Aziraphale’s ice-rimed feathers, shredding the unholy acidic coating while leaving the feathers untouched. “I won’t let you go! Not like this! Aziraphale! Don’t go! Stay, bless you, stay!” The words devolved into snarled half-spoken curses and pleas as their assault against the Heavenly whatever-the-hell-it-was escalated into a frenzy.

“Ha!” Crowley yelled with sense of triumph when the last of the shreds fell away and dissolved with a ‘pft’, but triumph vanished when Aziraphale’s eyes remained closed, and the fragile corporeal heart remained still, persisting only because of the timelessness of the moment. No no no no no, spiralled in Crowley’s mind as they kissed those blued lips, pushing breath and life back into the dying vessel, reaching with the entirety of their being into the accursed void that Aziraphale had just pulled them from, ready to follow them back into oblivion if need be. Aziraphale!

The crushing emptiness of the void that held Aziraphale was suddenly filled by welcoming darkness, lifting the hopeless despair that they were lost within. Crowley! A shimmering auroral veil unfurled and a hundred million distant lights glimmered into view, warm and gloriously alive, and they flew towards where they sensed Crowley until the darkness resolved into just the familiar dimness held beneath closed eyelids.

Time slammed back into place, no longer held at bay by Crowley’s exhausted power, and the former demon cursed and sputtered as the suddenly far-too-hot-for-comfort water poured over them. It took a bit of flailing around to turn off the taps and afterward Crowley sat slouched against the wall, wings half unfurled and quivering as they tried to catch their breath.

Aziraphale laid utterly still as they regained their senses, drained beyond anything they could ever recall. They finally found the energy to suck in a slow shuddering breath and croak, “Crowley?” A shuddering sob of relief escaped when Crowley took their hand.

“I’m here, Aziraphale.” The reformed angel’s eyes opened, revealing they had shifted to blue-green, and Crowley realized that drowning in them wasn’t half bad really, all things considered. The itch and that building sense of doom were finally gone. ”I’m still here.”

Aziraphale blinked to clear their vision, and took in the sight of poor bedraggled Crowley wilting listlessly against the tile wall. They looked about as bad as Aziraphale felt, but they were there, wonderfully, blessedly alive. “Glad to hear it. You had me quite worried my dear.”

Crowley couldn’t help but snort out a laugh and helped Aziraphale sit up when they struggled against clothes and wings saturated with water and the glutinous but inert ashy grey residue. “Yeah, same. I’ll be very cross with you if you ever do that again, angel.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale gave them an exhausted but triumphant smile. “But you started it.”

“Me?! I-! Wot-! You-!”

The fondly exasperated sputtering of a Celestial Serpent at a loss for words warmed Aziraphale’s heart as nothing else could, and laughter, joyous in a way the former angel realized they hadn’t felt in a very long time, bubbled up, silencing the former demon’s protests. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Don’t you even think about trying to find out!” Crowley scolded, voice breaking, and caught Aziraphale in a nearly-crushing hug. Aziraphale tiredly hugged them back and Crowley rested their forehead against Aziraphale’s for a moment before pulling away to glare. “You barmy bastard, what were you thinking!?”

“Couldn’t let you go, my dear. Very selfish of me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale murmured, stunned to see tears running down Crowley’s face. “Had to try.”

“You feather-brained do-gooder, you died! You died and I couldn’t save you!” Crowley crushed them in another hug, only easing up when Aziraphale squeaked. “Sorry, sorry-”

“But you did save me,” Aziraphale whispered, needing to tell Crowley what had happened, feeling the memory already beginning to fade. “It was so painful and dark and cold. It was beyond darkness, beyond… I was so afraid, so alone.”

Crowley held them tight, heart breaking. My fault. “Aziraphale...”

Tears welled, offset by a fond smile. “But a million stars exploded into being and I was in the Garden, and I sensed you and I wasn’t afraid any more.” Aziraphale stroked a finger over Crowley’s nearest wing-edge, considering as bits of sodden ash flaked away and disintegrated into nothingness. “I heard you call my name.” Another gentle touch, more ash dropping away from inky feathers that seemed to have gained an odd sheen. “My wings to yours. Always.”

Crowley frowned, pulling away from Aziraphale’s touch, unable to deal with the feelings those words and gentle caresses were stirring up. “C’mon, let’s get you warmed up.” Crowley banished their wings back into the astral plane with a spatter of displaced ash and water and the slight frown on Aziraphale’s face melted into a surprised gasp when Crowley lifted them up.

“I can walk.” Aziraphale held on tightly to Crowley’s shoulders and banished their own wings, though it took far more effort than usual. “...Probably.”

“You’re exhausted. And you just died to save me. Let me do this for you,” said Crowley gruffly, only moving towards the bedroom when Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley gently set Aziraphale down by the bed. “Let me tend your feathers, eh?” they urged, shrugging into a certain plush robe under Aziraphale’s heavy-lidded stare before carefully helping them from their ruined clothes. “Made rather a mess of them, I’m afraid.”

Aziraphale didn’t have much will to resist temptation. What had happened on Sunday felt like a dream, a lifetime ago, and it had been so very long since Crowley had helped care for their wings... It had only ever been Crowley. They nodded as Crowley helped them into the nightshirt they’d used just a few nights earlier, and bundled them under the covers and clicked on the electric blanket. “T’would be lovely, thank you.”

Crowley clicked off the lights, grabbed a towel and once they had unfurled their wings, started gently grooming the grimy feathers, smirking as Aziraphale went boneless with a heavy sigh. “Relax any more and you might just fall asleep for once,” Crowley teased, but there was an ache over their heart. It had been a very long time since they had allowed themself to tend Aziraphale, and after the all too brief interlude before they’d gone to play with fire, Crowley had feared they’d never have the chance to do it again.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed in agreement, too tired to even bother with full sentences any more. Apparently dying took a lot out of a being, once the adrenaline wore off. “Feels lovely. Hadn’t had them out... since forty-one.”

Since the church, since they’d gotten utterly drunk on cursed cider and each other in the shop’s back room and — Crowley’s gentle grooming faltered for a moment, but Aziraphale didn’t notice. “Why not? Thought it was a big deal upstairs, grooming each other?”

“Dangerous.” Aziraphale rubbed a knuckle against Crowley’s leg, wanting to soothe away the bitterness in their voice, thinking about the communal grooming gatherings that were the most boring but also ridiculously fraught office parties in creation. Out of self preservation Aziraphale had created a ‘show up, make nice, make excuse, vanish’ routine that had kept them from ever having to reveal their wings. Being dismissed as inconsequential occasionally had its uses. “You know. Awful. Nosy buggers. Better with you, even without...”

“Aziraphale.” There was a world of meaning in that one word, and they lapsed into silence in the dimness. Crowley gently tended Aziraphale’s wings from top to bottom, confounded by the strange residue that sublimated from cold sandy grit to smoke in their hands. The wings felt normal, well, as normal as the corporeal manifestation of a Celestial being’s power could feel, but every once in a while the oblique light from the doorway would strike them just right to make them seem gold instead of white, with a faint sheen of what might be iridescence. But it was dark and Crowley didn’t want to look too closely, nor think about any more surprises.

By the time Aziraphale’s feathers were back in order Crowley felt as though they were buzzing with energy yet at the same time exhausted. “All done,” they murmured, and Aziraphale furled their wings away into the ether and curled sleepily onto their side towards Crowley with a few mumbled words of gratitude.

Crowley sat in the dark for a long while, doing their best to not think as they listened to Aziraphale’s quiet even breathing that spoke of true sleep. Eventually they slipped from the bed and dressed and retreated to the office. With a snap they miracled up a couch and turned on the TV, letting themself be lulled into a thoughtful stupor that eventually slipped into sleep.

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