#james: 'that was the duty he was charged with by me -i mean the god* i mean the goddess**'

[my-unmanageable-mischief]

New Norm Part 2

Hello!!! I’m back with the highly requested part 2 of my New Norm series. I am defiently open to a part 3 as well if people continue to enjoy it. Not too too much ‘plot’ here, just getting back to school while trying to navigate a new relationship. Some tender moments, and some very cuddly Sirius. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it!!

Part 1

Sirius Black x Reader

The last few weeks of summer we’re the longest and most brutal weeks of your life, and for the first time you felt you understood Sirius and how he became the lighthearted boy he portrayed daily at Hogwarts. When dealing with trauma, and Merlin his mother was traumatizing, people adapted in different ways. Never have you seen such polar reactions as you saw with Sirius and the dutiful Regulus. 

Sirius spent the first week you were living at Black Manor picking fight after fight with his mother. Not that she didn’t start her own plethora of ‘disagreements’. You could tell Sirius got something significant out of disobeying her and making her angry, much to your demise; as the woman began taking it out on you as well. She would nitpick you worse than your own grandmother. Sit up straight, ladies shouldn’t speak out of turn (Not that she didn’t do plenty of speaking), and most recently, a wife should know how to cook. So you spent hours of your day locked up with the awful Kreacher in the kitchen. 

After a conversation one evening in hushed voices, curled up under the covers he had apologized to you.

“I’m sorry about my mother,” 

“Sirius, it isn’t your fault,” You assured, playing with a loose string of his duvet. 

“I don’t help it,” He admitted, staring up at the ceiling. Your hands paused and you turned your head to look at him sadly. 

“Maybe not, but I can’t blame you either. She’s a witch, and I mean that as an insult. Like the Snow White kind.” Sirius turned to you making a face.

“What’s a Snow White?” You chuckled, shaking your head. 

“Oh nevermind, just.. God I know it’s easier said than done, but, try and ignore her? We’ll be back at Hogwarts in no time, away from her. And then my mother said next summer we will have our own home.” Sirius gazed at you for a moment before turning away to look at the ceiling again. He didn’t answer, though you gave him room to do so. Finally you stopped your fiddling with the string and reached over, taking his hand in yours and squeezing. 

“We’ll be alright.” You promised him as well as yourself. You had to be, you had no choice. Sirius squeezed your hand back and didn’t let it go for the rest of the night. Eventually silence ebbed into static breathing and light snores, and when the sun peeked through the window, you were still in bed, fast sleep, hands clasped. Sirius woke up first that morning and laid there for a while longer as you slept. He remembered his vows, that he would protect you, and that included from his own mother. If that meant becoming complacent in her demands for these next few weeks- that was something he was willing to do. For you. 

Finally the morning of September 11th, 1978 came, it was a cool morning for the end of summer, but sunny. You and Sirius were dropped promptly at Kings Cross station, receiving lectures on behavior. Sirius and his father shared a few words in private that left him scowling for a good majority of the morning, even after you had found Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin in one of the train compartments. 

They eyed you funnily the entire train ride, and you did your best to ignore the gazes. Sirius had told you that he had told them about his wedding, but it was different now in person. 

“So is she going to be hanging out with us now? All the time?” James eyed you skeptically and you raised your eyes from your novel to narrow them at the boy. 

“She has ears, and is capable of responding to you herself.” Sirius glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. It was the closest you’d seen him to smiling since you boarded, and that fact was not lost on the other Marauders. 

“Are you going to be hanging around all the time now?” He asked, pouting slightly. James Potter could have received straight Os if being a git was a class at Hogwarts, but you knew he was also a sweet and caring boy, when he wasn’t being 17. You had a feeling he wasn’t keen on sharing his best mate, not that you blamed him. 

“James, she’s my wife now.” Sirius muttered, glancing out of the window. Potter made a face. 

“I know and it's weird.” You rolled your eyes, opening your book back up and slouching in your seat.

“And you think that is lost on us? We know it’s weird. We’re living it.” James looked ready to continue but Remus cleared his throat and gave him a warning look. A silent conversation you weren’t privy too took place between the two boys and James shrugged, going back to his Quidditch magazine. You finally reached the doors to the Great Hall hours later and Sirius turned to you.

“Sitting with us?” He asked, you looked past him to James and shook your head. 

“I think I’ve intruded on boy time quite enough for one day, I’m going to go find my dorm mates.” You admitted, James had the decency to look guiltily at his feet. 

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” You hadn’t kissed since you were pronounced man and wife, but you had taken to holding hands in rare private moments you had gotten together. He reached out to you, allowing his hand to awkwardly drop onto your shoulder. He squeezed before letting go and you offered him a smile before turning to go find your friends, you had missed them. 

That night was the first night you had not eaten together in a month, and it was weird for you. You glanced down the table a few times, making eye contact with Sirius. When your eyes would meet he’d smile at you reassuringly, and you always returned it. Meanwhile, your friends gushed about how lucky you were, married to the most gorgeous, the most wanted man at Hogwarts. You didn’t feel very lucky, nor did you think they could understand. So you smiled and nodded, and laughed, like things were how they always were. But they were not. They never would be. 

When you entered the common room that night Sirius and his crew were already sitting in their seats closest to the fire, Sirius waved you towards him, but you were in the middle of a (dull) conversation with your friends about whose bum had gotten the fittest over the summer, so you shrugged, going to sit with them. About half an hour later someone approached your group and you looked up surprised to see Sirius. 

“Y/N,” He greeted you, and you smiled. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Your friends around you tried to stifle their giggles and hid smiles behind hands, something Sirius was used to, but for some reason, in that moment it bothered him. Were they laughing at him? Had you been laughing at him? 

“Can we talk for a mo?” He asked, and for a moment he almost looked nervous, but mostly he looked slightly ticked off. You frowned. What had you done? 

“Of course,” You nodded, getting up from the armchair you had been longing in. You followed Sirius silently through the common room, aware of his friend’s eyes on you as you went. You reached the corridor and he walked you a little further before sitting in an alcove. You sat with him. 

“Are you angry with me?” He asked so suddenly it took a moment to process, your frown deepened. 

“Merlin, no, should I be?” You asked, turning to face him, with your hands rested in your lap. He shrugged and wouldn’t look at you. “Have I done something to upset you, Sirius?” You asked gently. He shook his head no before shrugging. 

“Why were your friends laughing at me? Why didn’t you sit with me?” He asked, and you sighed, taking his hand gently in yours, causing him to look at you. 

“Because they think you’re cute,” You smiled slightly, nudging him, “And they think it’s brilliant I’ve gotten to marry you when half of Hogwarts would die to get ten minutes in a broom closet with you.” He smirked slightly, which made you feel better. That was the Sirius you knew. “And I didn’t sit with you because.. Because I am trying to give you space. This is new and scary. For both of us I’m sure. I don’t want you to feel like I’m smothering you, and I can tell James isn’t too keen on me, I don’t want him thinking I’m stealing his best mate.” 

“But were different. I’m not married to James.” You laughed at that,

“I wouldn’t tell him that.” You joked and Sirius let out a small chuckle himself. 

“You’re not smothering me. I... I enjoy you being around. I would like you to know my friends, they’re my real family after all.” You squeezed his hand again and he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. 

“I’ll sit with you lot more often then, just tell James to go easy on me. And don’t think I will be helping with any of your tomfoolery,” You chided jokingly, “My mother will have a cow,” 

“Well good thing I’m your husband, I’m in charge of you now,” He grinned and you used your free hand to whack him. 

“In charge of me?” You laughed, “Watch yourself, Black.” 

“Oh Black huh? Well you’re Mrs. Black.” You froze at that, and something truly haunting dawned on you. Tomorrow classes started. You were no longer Ms. Y/L/N... would your teachers be calling you Ms. Black? If the whole school didn’t already know by now, they certainly would tomorrow. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, resting your entwined hands in his lap. 

“I’m Mrs. Black,” You repeated, he nodded, not catching on. “Everyone will call me such.” 

“Does that upset you?” You shook your head. 

“No no, not upset. I mean, everything is just different now? Even my name.” 

“I don’t really fancy it either, don’t worry,” He joked, but you knew he was serious. “We can change it.”

“Sorry?” 

“When you graduate, when we move and have jobs we can change it- to whatever you’d like.” 

“I’m not sure your mother will allow that.” Sirius shook his head defiantly. 

“Once I, well now you I suppose, graduate, I have no intention of doing anything that old bat has to say.” He puffed his chest out slightly, putting on an air of confidence. Your head swum slightly. If that were the case, wouldn’t you simply divorce? “Y/N,” He continued, voice lower and more gentle. 

“Hm?” 

“It’s going to be weird sleeping alone tonight,” He admitted sheepishly, glancing at your hands, “I’ve gotten quite used to you, I admit.” You smiled at that, leaning against him. 

“I won’t miss the snoring,” 

“Oi, I don’t snore!” He laughed and you grinned nodding your head. 

“You do, love. But I will miss it too,” 

“Come visit?” He asked wiggling his eyebrows at you again, you whacked him once more. 

“No I think I’ll let you suffer, just for that.” 

“Evil.” 

“That’s me,” Sirius stood up, bringing you with him before releasing the hand he was holding to put his arm around your shoulder. 

“Come sit with us?” He questioned, “I promise James will be good.” You nodded, leaning into the boy's touch. 

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” You spent the rest of your night at Sirius’s side.

 James was civil but you could tell he still wasn’t fond of you or your newly added presence. From that moment forward you spent nearly all your time out of class with the group of boys. You found a friendship in Remus, he was a kind boy, with similar interests. You enjoyed studying together while the others mucked around, and you talked about literature together. Even James was coming around on you, though you two still bickered constantly. Sirius once called it “Sibling rivalry.” which made you laugh. But you could tell how fiercely James cared for Sirius, it made your heart feel warm, knowing he had people to look out for him. Even Peter wasn’t bad to be around, he was funny when he wasn’t being vulgar, though he loved making jokes about the fact that Sirius was now a married man and ‘on a leash,’. 

You didn’t feel like Sirius was on a leash, and certainly not your leash. You were married by your parents' request, not dating. If he wanted to go snog some slag he was more then welcome to. At least that was the lie you told yourself. Girls continued to throw themselves at Sirius, I guess a wedding ring didn’t mean much to them, and you were increasingly more surprised every time he politely turned them down. You began to relax more, maybe he wouldn’t? 

One evening you all sat in the boys dormitory. Peter was practicing chess, Remus was reading and taking notes. James was laying on his back at the foot of Sirius’s bed, you were sitting back against the boy’s pillows, as he was resting his head in your lap. Sirius and James were debating the validity of some prank they wanted to pull- whether they could pull it off or something like that. You weren’t paying attention, you were reading, occasionally running your fingers through the hair of the boy who was in your lap. 

“You’re making me sleepy,” He suddenly yawned, turning away from James and burying his face into your jumper. You smiled, not looking up from your reading. 

“So go to sleep,” 

“Get a room, you two.” James complained, whining from the bottom of the bed. 

“We’re in a room, you’re the one in my bed mate.” Sirius laughed, wrapping his arm around your middle and cuddling into you. As time past Sirius became more and more physically affectionate with you. Not that you minded, it was comforting having someone around whom you could simply touch. James huffed, dramatically getting off the bed, pulling the curtains shut with a great flourish. 

“Use a silencing charm for our sake!” He called.

“Piss off mate,” Sirius laughed and you chuckled slightly rolling your eyes. 

“He’s just jealous you don’t cuddle him like you used to.” James made an indignant noise from the other side of the curtain and you heard him stalk away to his own bed. You carded your fingers through Sirius’s hair for a few more moments before letting out a yawn of your own. 

“I should go to bed,” You murmured, hand stilling. Sirius let out a small whine and you smirked, gently tugging on one of his locks. 

“So go to bed,” He joked, mirroring your earlier words. You started to move and Sirius’s arms around you tightened, pulling you to him. “Here,” He asked and you sighed, patting his head. 

“And if we’re caught?” You questioned. 

“Live a little, love. Girls are always sneaking into the boys dorm for sleepovers, at least we’re married.” 

“I doubt McGonagall will care for that small difference.”

“Please?” Sirius asked, looking up at you through his lashes, batting them at you sweetly. You sighed, shaking your head. 

“Fine, you’re a bad influence one me, you know that?”

“That’s the kindest thing a woman has ever said to me,” He grinned, peeling himself from you to sit up, “I’ll get you something to sleep in.” You hummed softly. Sirius disappeared for a moment and came back with a t-shirt for you, handing it over. You watched from your position on his bed as he undressed himself, you felt your cheeks going rosy. Once Sirius was down to his boxers he crawled back into bed beside you, nudging you. “Get changed, I wanna cuddle,” He murmured to you and your blush deepened. You stood up, standing beside the bed and facing away from Sirius as you removed your jumper, pulling the shirt on over your head. It was plenty long on you. Next you removed your skirt, leaving your clothes in a pile beside his head. You turned back around and Sirius was watching you, his own small blush. “C’mere.” He offered you his hand and you took it, allowing him to pull you down to him. 

You situated the covers around you both before allowing the boy to snuggle up to your side, his head on your chest. You resumed your earlier activity of running your hands through his hair. 

“Thank you for staying,” He murmured and you smiled, dropping a kiss onto the top of his head before you could think about the action. 

“Of course.” 

“You’re welcome in my bed, anytime.” He promised and you rolled your eyes, gently tugging his hair again. 

“Don’t ruin the moment, arse.” He chuckled, tangling your legs together beneath the duvet. Sirius fell asleep to the sound of your heart beating firmly in your chest, it was the best lullaby he had ever heard. You played with his hair until his quiet snoring started before simply resting your hand on his head. It took you longer to fall asleep but you eventually did, enjoying the company of the other- you hadn’t realized how much you missed just sleeping with the boy. And this new found cuddling between the two of you really added to the whole experience. 

In the morning you were rudely awoken by James, who threw the curtain of your bed open with a scowl. 

“Are you wearing clothes?” He questioned, “I was kidding when I said to use a silencing charm, I don’t want you two shagging when I’m five feet away-”

“Mate,” Sirius groaned, rolling over, glaring at the boy, “Shut up,” James huffed, crossing his arm. 

“Y/N better get back to her dorm before all her roommates wake up and wonder where she’s been all night.” You groaned, stretching your arms over your head. 

“Thanks Jamie,”

“Don’t call me that!” He whined, shuffling away, you laughed as you untangled yourself from Sirius’s limbs, standing up. 

“Do you have to go?” He asked, frowning.

“I will see you at breakfast,” You rolled your eyes, grabbing your discarded clothes from the floor. Sirius frowned, flopping back onto the bed, crossing his arms. It made you laugh, god how he and James had grown to be alike over the years. Or maybe they found each other because they were already so alike.

 “Do you want to go on a date?” Sirius asked you one morning during breakfast, your mouth full of food. You raised an eyebrow at him as you swallowed. 

“Hm?”

“A date, Y/N.” Like that clarified anything. 

“Is there a Hogsmeade weekend coming up?” You questioned him and he grinned, shaking his head no. 

“So what, you want to go on a date in the common room?” You laughed, shaking your head at the boy, “Don’t we do that every night?” 

“Not the common room, I want to show you something.” You eyed him suspiciously and he flushed slightly laughing, “Not that, who's got a dirty mind now?”

“Still you mate,” Remus interrupted and Sirius shot him a glare, but he quickly recovered, grinning at you again. You weren’t sure you liked that look. 

“Sure,” 

“Brilliant, be ready tonight at 8pm, in the common room.” You nodded your head, continuing to eat. Whatever he was up to, you were sure you’d be finding out soon enough.  That night you got dressed, listening to advice from all your dorm mates.

“Wear a dress!”

“Let me do your makeup please!”

“No no wear the blue skirt with the cream jumper.”

“Do you think you’ll snog?” You shrugged helplessly, ignoring all of their advice and going with your favorite pair of jeans instead and a black and white striped jumper. 

“I hardly know.”

“I think it’s weird. You’re married but you don’t snog.” 

“They cuddle, that’s for sure.” You flushed slightly, rolling your eyes.

“We sorta skipped a bunch of steps. It’s hard. Our relationship is unique.” You tried to explain to them. You and Sirius didn’t have some play book you could look to to figure what you should be doing and when. You were all on your own in this, on your own; together.  You allowed your friend to apply a small amount of makeup to you, no more than you would wear any other day. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard- because you weren’t. You shouldn’t be. It’s not like you had to woo him or anything. Right?

You went down to the common room at 8 where Sirius was sitting with the boys waiting for you. 

“Y/N!” He called excitedly, jumping up from the sofa, “You ready to go?” He asked and you nodded, coming to him and accepting his outstretched hand. 

“Be good!” Remus called jokingly, waving from his spot in one of the armchairs. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” James added and Sirius threw them the finger over his shoulder before leading you from the common room. 

“So,” You started, skipping slightly beside him, grinning up at the boy, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, you’ll see.” You followed Sirius up to the 7th floor corridor and were met with an expanse of blank wall, you eyes him suspiciously. 

“Very nice, Sirius.” You put the hand not holding his on your hip. 

“Just watch!” He assured you excitedly, “Me and James found this place 5th year when we were running from Filch. Suddenly it was there,” You listened intently, still staring at the blank wall. Maybe you were missing something? “So we did some experiments, and I think we figured it out. Remus read about it in a book we nicked from the restricted section. Apparently it’s called the Room of Requirements, or the Come and Go Room.” You looked away from the wall up at Sirius, blinking at him. He smiled down at you, nodding towards the wall, when you looked back there was a door and you gasped. 

“How?”

“No idea,” He shrugged, “But it turns into whatever you need it to.” You looked at the door in awe. 

“Really?” You asked, shocked. 

“Yup, come on,” He tugged you forward, opening the door and ushering you in. Once you were inside you were met with a small room that closely resembled the Gryffindor common room, but maybe only one forth of the size. It had a sofa in front of a large roaring fire, there were candles lighting the rest of the room, and a few fluffy blankets sitting on the sofa. 

“This is lovely,” You breathed. He pulled you towards the sofa and you allowed him to guide you. He sat down and pulling you down beside him. You sat close to him and he placed his arm around your shoulder. You pulled one of the blankets off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around both of you, leaning into him. 

“Thank you,” He smiled, glad you liked it. It had taken him ages of brainstorming to decide what you both needed, for your first proper date. And in the end, he decided, simpler was probably better. You weren’t really one for grand gestures. 

“How are your classes,” He asked, playing with a lock of your hair, looking at you. You were warm from the fire, but your chest felt even warmer, something fire couldn’t cause. You shrugged, leaning slightly into his touch. 

“Alright, not as hard as your stuff I’m sure, but everyone’s making sure we’re preparing for the NEWTs already. It does my head in.”

“I’ve never asked you what you want to be when you graduate,” He tilted his head thoughtfully and you smiled slightly looking down. 

“I’d like to be a curse-breaker,” You admitted, Sirius nudged you until you looked at him. 

“That’s brilliant, you’ll do wonderfully.” You shrugged, flushing slightly at the complement.

“Maybe. I’m struggling with charms this year though.” 

“Is Remus helping you?” 

“Yes but still,” 

“You’re brilliant, Y/N.” He assured you, resting his forehead against yours. You smiled, leaning forward slightly to nuzzle your nose against his. “You can do anything you want to do, believe that.”

“I will try. What will you do? After you graduate.” Sirius hummed softly, and you cuddled even closer to him, practically sitting in the boys lap. 

“I want to be an Auror.” He spoke softly, “I want to save people, protect them. War is coming, Y/N. I want to make sure I am on the right side of history.” You took his free hand in yours and held it tightly. 

“That’s sweet, you’ll make a brilliant Auror.” Sirius smiled.

“James heard his parents talking about some... organization, they call themselves the Order of the Phoenix. I want to join as soon as I’ve graduated. Their goal is to be prepared for when Voldemort finally makes his move.” You nodded, trying to swallow down the worry you felt rising in your chest. You didn’t like the idea of Sirius out there battling dark powerful wizards without you there by his side. 

“Good,” You squeezed his hand tightly, “That’s good. You’re a good man.” 

“My mother will disown us, she supports those pure-blood ideologies.” He spat the words out and you flinched slightly. You didn’t want to think about what your own family thought of those horrible people. Especially not your father or your grandmother. 

“We’ll be alright.” You assured him. Sirius looked at you for a long moment and you smiled softly at him, nudging your nose against his again, “Alright?” 

“Alright.” He assured, “Y/N...” He started before trailing off. 

“Hm?”

“May I kiss you?”

“Of course,” You whispered, blushing slightly. Sirius smiled before leaning in, he didn’t have to go far before his lips were on your lips. He kissed you softly, his hand that was playing with your hair stilled, resting on the back of your neck to keep you close. You kept one hand in his and moved the other one to his chest, placing it over his heart. He broke the kiss and pulled back just far enough to look at you before his lips were on yours again, this time with more eagerness. He kissed you, lips smashed up against yours and you kissed back, moving your hand from his chest to wrap around him, pulling him closer. He parted his lips slightly, testing the water. You allowed your own lips to open as well, inviting him in. Sirius kissed you with emotion you were surprised were capable of being put into a simple kiss. Everyday Sirius surprised you more and more, and everyday you found yourself falling more and more in love with your husband. It might not have been traditional, or even preferred. But it was working, you were going to make it work. 

You spent the rest of the night alternating between speaking to each other in soft voices and snogging. It was the best, and last first date you had ever been on. Sirius was becoming you safe haven in a confusing world. He was becoming your new norm.

Tag list :  thebrigheststarinthesky ,  all-art-is-quite-useless ,  lindatreb ,  paosesposts 

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in a part three! 

[boyneriver-fraser]

What’s in a name? What might have inspired Outlander’s episode titles?

Oxford Dictionary of English

noun: providence

1 the protective care of God or of nature as a spiritual power

they found their trust in divine providence to be a source of comfort

2 timely preparation for future eventualities

it was considered a duty to encourage providence

studyjesus.com

It may seem surprising that the KJV of the Bible, along with the ASV and NASB, contains only one passage where the word “providence” is used. This verse speaks of “providence” with reference to worthy deeds done for the people by the Roman governor, Felix (Acts 24:2). The NRSV and NIV read “foresight” (the Greek noun is ‘pronoia’ = “forethought, provident care,” from the verb ‘pronoeo’ meaning “to foresee, provide for”). The NIV New Testament does not contain the word “providence.” The NIV Old Testament has the word in only one place. Job said concerning God, “You gave me life and showed me kindness, and in Your providence watched over my spirit” The Hebrew is ‘pequddah’ meaning “to attend, to visit” (Job 10:1).

Holy Bible (King James Version), Acts 24: 1-4

1 And after five days Ananias the high priest descended with the elders, and with a certain orator named Tertullus, who informed the governor against Paul.

2 And when he was called forth, Tertullus began to accuse him, saying, Seeing that by thee we enjoy great quietness, and that very worthy deeds are done unto this nation by thy providence,

3 We accept it always, and in all places, most noble Felix, with all thankfulness.

4 Notwithstanding, that I be not further tedious unto thee, I pray thee that thou wouldest hear us of thy clemency a few words.

Holy Bible (New International Version), Job 10: 1-12

1 “I loathe my very life; therefore I will give free rein to my complaint and speak out in the bitterness of my soul.

2  I say to God: Do not declare me guilty, but tell me what charges you have against me.

3  Does it please you to oppress me, to spurn the work of your hands, while you smile on the plans of the wicked?

4  Do you have eyes of flesh? Do you see as a mortal sees?

5  Are your days like those of a mortal or your years like those of a strong man,

6  that you must search out my faults and probe after my sin—

7  though you know that I am not guiltyand that no one can rescue me from your hand?

8  “Your hands shaped me and made me. Will you now turn and destroy me?

9  Remember that you molded me like clay. Will you now turn me to dust again?

10  Did you not pour me out like milk and curdle me like cheese,

11  clothe me with skin and flesh and knit me together with bones and sinews?

12  You gave me life and showed me kindness, and in your providence watched over my spirit.

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S4E12 Providence

Image Title: @knightlyss

#Outlander #Episode Title #Inspiration #Oxford Dictionary of English #studyjesus.com #Holy Bible #Acts 24: 1-4 #Job 10: 1-12 #Drums Of Autumn #DOA #S4E12 Providence #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Roger MacKenzie #Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser ⚔️ #Young Ian #Ian Òg #Ian Fraser Murray #Fergus Claudel Fraser #Marsali Fraser #Lord John Grey #Stephen Bonnet #Johiehon #233 #080521

[avengershumanresources]

blood 2 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 1 - part 3 

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

2 - a night at the pub

You parted from Stephen the moment you saw Natalia and James in the crowd at the pub. They were sipping from large beer steins, listening to a bard sing a sorrowful song about the death of the great Iron Defender. 

When the music ended and the pub applauded, the entertainer switched to something more upbeat to soothe the mood.

“A bit sentimental for you two, isn’t it?” you asked, pulling back your cloak. Stephen had transfigured your overbearing mourning garb into something that would better fit in the village.

“How on earth did you slip out tonight?” James asked in surprise, brows raised to his hairline. “I would’ve though t they’d have had you under lock and key.”

“Everyone’s a bit... distracted, believe it or not,” you replied coolly, taking a seat at their table toward the back of the room. 

“So we hear,” Natalia leaned in. “Any news of the next king? I have a wager with the barkeep’s wife.”

“Anthony has an uncle who still lives,” Stephen supplied, taking a seat at your side. “Or so my companions informed me. Until Peter is of age, he would be the presumptive heir.”

“What do we know about him?” Natalia asked quietly, lowering her head conspiratorially. 

“Nothing,” you replied with a long sigh. “He’s been at the winter palace my whole life.”

“Nothing suspicious about that,” James shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. “Nat, what do ya think about Asgard this time of year?”

“Stop up James,” the redhead nudged her companion and returned her attention to you and Stephen. “And if he doesn’t give up the job in six months?” 

“He is removed,” Stephen replied bluntly.

“Yikes, you’re scary, did you know that?” James murmured. 

“I’ve been told,” the sorcerer grunted, flagging down a barmaid for a drink. He could already tell it was going to be a long night. 

“Don’t forget, you owe me,” you reminded him.  

“Lose a bet?” Natalia asked in amusement, eye rating between the duo.

“I caught him enchanting my tea without permission,” you replied. 

“Uh oh, broke the one rule,” Natalia mused, watching Strange for a reaction. 

“It was a protection spell, hardly worth mentioning, I cast them over the princess all the time,” he snorted under his breath. 

“All the time?” James asked in a voice low enough that only Stephen could hear. 

“That’s dangerous conjecture, Barnes,” Stephen warned. “My responsibilities include keeping my student, who happens to be the princess, safe.”

“If we were being honest, if I were kidnapped or traded away, it wouldn’t do much to the kingdom,” you reasoned, eagerly grabbing the first mug of ale before Stephen could take a sip. He waved a hand over the drink, ensuring it hadn’t been poisoned, before you took a long swallow. “Peter is the one who has to stay safe. Who knows where we’d be without a true heir?”

“You know that’s ridiculous,” Nat snorted. “Gods, you’re so dramatic sometimes.”

“My father’s funeral was today, give me a little sympathy,” you huffed in response, taking another swig of your drink. 

“To King Anthony,” James stood up, his voice bellowing through the pub. You ducked your head down into Stephen’s shoulder while onlookers cheered and joined in the toast. “May he rest in peace!”

The pub shouted in response, with steins clinking against one another and another song starting up. 

“We’re trying to draw attention away from the princess, you oaf,” Natalia muttered tersely toward James. 

“Who would be looking for her here?” the brunette assassin shrugged. “Besides, no one would be able to slip past the three of us.”

Stephen snorted under his breath, giving the room a quick glance to ensure any unwanted attention hadn’t been drawn toward them. James did have a point. Someone in hiding would seldom encourage a room to drink. 

Besides, he looked over at you laughing over something Natalia had said, you were genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks. The risk was worth a little relief.

He nursed at his drink while you signaled for another round for yourself and your friends. Stephen did well to avoid becoming drunk in your presence, mostly for your protection, but also as a means of avoiding embarrassing himself in front of you. 

The last thing he needed was you armed with an artillery of teasing that he couldn’t even recall.

As the booze flowed and the music picked up, James grabbed your hand and pulled you to the center of the room, dancing with some of the villagers to the upbeat song. 

Stephen watched, almost transfixed by the way you spun and twirled so lightheartedly to the sounds. As if you hadn’t a care in the world, and your life was back to the simpler time when he’d first met you.

“You’re drooling a little,” Natalia chuckled over his shoulder. 

Stephen’s head whipped around, unconsciously wiping at his mouth before scowling at the nosy redhead. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, doing his best to keep his composure under her hard gaze. 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed of,” she hummed, eyes falling where you and James continued your antics. “You’ve seen the man I’ve dedicated myself to.”

“You know the oaths I have to take,” he murmured. 

“Aren’t you the one in charge of said oaths?” she challenged coyly. “I’d never understood your antiquated ways. I would argue that loving another gives you more reason to stay dedicated to your craft.”

She had a point, Stephen reasoned to himself. The ways he’d worked to ensure your protection, the kingdom’s protection, and the advancement of his knowledge at your urging was beyond any work he’d done on his own at Kamar-Tai. 

Still, the distractions. The liabilities. 

By the Vishanti, if an enemy were to ever get their hands on you… oaths be damned. He’d burn the world to the ground to ensure your safety, and that was the problem.

“She’s going to marry a prince, and have kings and queens as babies,” Stephen replied coolly. "We have our roles and our duties.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving her a few babies,” Natalia smirked up at him, laughing when his face went as scarlet as her hair. 

“Regardless,” his voice cracked slightly, adding even more to the embarrassment when Natalia quirked a brow. “I would need permission from the king to consider breaking my oaths and wedding a princess.”

“Oh, you’d marry her? That’s a new development,” she replied, eyes falling behind him while you and James returned. 

“I’m going to need another ale,” you complained, staring down the empty mug after chugging down your second drink.

“You’re going to need to watch how much you drink,” Stephen replied. “Remember last time. The hungover elixir only works so well.”

“You have a hangover elixir?” James asked. “Gods, I’d murder a man for one of those. Maybe it’s time I go to Kamar-Taj. Find my true purpose.”

“Don’t look at me,” Stephen held up a hand. “Wong is the one who brews it. He claims it’s an old family recipe.”

“Might have to pay Master Wong a visit tonight,” James stated, sliding a pair of fresh ales toward you and Natalia. “This one’s on me.”

“Are you going to tell me which lord you stole the coin from?” you asked, sipping at the drink before Stephen could check its contents. 

“It’s the one with the wart on his nose,” James snickered behind his drink. “I picked him specifically because you mentioned he beats his wife.”

“He’s getting another visit from the Widow in a few nights,” Natalia added with a wicked grin.

“I don’t pity the man-,” you started coughing, trying to clear your throat. “-Ah, excuse me-!” 

Caught in a fit of coughs, Stephen’s focus became you. You couldn’t catch a breath, even when he tapped your back, and you hadn’t had anything to eat- the ale. A wave of his hand confirmed the liquid had been tampered with. 

“Find out who served that ale,” he demanded the assassins, grabbing your arm and hauling you outside of the pub. 

You gasped for air, clutching at your throat while he drew up a portal back to the observatory. If this was what was happening with the protection enchantment in your system, he hesitated to think of the alternative. 

Scooping you up, he stepped through and situated you on one of the chaise’s strewn throughout the room. 

He thumbed through his collection of vials before finding a generic antidote and opening your mouth to pour the liquid in. 

It worked- kind of. You were able to take a few shallow breaths, but your eyes rolled back and you collapsed, falling back against the chaise. 

This was literally his worse case scenario. Everything he’d been afraid of, because he’d let you convince him to go out, and because he’d distracted himself with his conversation with Natalia. 

He summoned a spell book, fingers finding the page he recalled from his apprentice days. It was written to purge someone of any toxic entities within them, be it poison or dark magic. Moving his hands through the air and reciting the runes, your body was overtaken by a wisp of winding yellow light. 

It threaded itself through you, eventually hitting the source of the poison in your chest and pulling the toxic liquid free in a cloud of rancid black smoke. That was peculiar. Generally such a reaction was associated with dark magic rather than a consumed poison. 

Poison was usually a dark red or green. 

You stirred the moment the spell had finished its work. Taking a deep breath and clearing your throat, you looked to Stephen in wide-eyed horror.

“I was wrong,” you stated, hand to your chest.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m not dying,” you answered quickly. “Stephen, I am so sorry… I underestimated my… wait, Peter.” 

Stephen understood your meaning immediately. He instructed you to stay within the safety of the observatory and opened a portal to the outside of the prince’s chambers. 

The knights on guard jumped at the sudden appearance of the sorcerer, who took no time for pleasantries.

“An attempt was made on the princess’ life,” he informed the duo. “Have you heard any disturbance from the prince?”

“No one has been in or out since the prince retired,” Sir Samuel informed him, looking to Sir Clinton with a shrug. “He hasn’t made a noise.”

Just as Samuel finished his sentence, there was a loud crash from within the room. 

The guards charged in, finding the prince in a struggle with a masked man. The prince was doing his best to fight off the dagger brandishing assassin, kicking him in the chest when he was distracted by the entrance of the guards.

When the assassin realized he was outnumbered, Stephen saw his hands move rapidly to open a portal, and before anyone could intervene, he was gone. 

“Your highness!” Samuel rushed to the prince’s side while Stephen ignited the candles in the room with a snap of his fingers. “Are you injured?” 

“Sir Clinton, get to the queen and Princess Morgan,” Peter ordered after catching his breath. He looked to Stephen. “And the older princess?” 

“Safe,” came the sorcerer’s response. 

“You said an attempt was made on her life,” Samuel retorted. 

“A what?” Peter glared up at the sorcerer. 

“I took care of it, she is safe,” Stephen assured him. “Are you injured, your highness?”

“I’m fine,” he brushed off the two men and stood up. “I want the guard awoken and informed of what has happened.”

He turned to Stephen.

“I want the wards reconstructed around the castle,” he continued. “I don’t trust the foundations of previous Masters. If you must call in sorcerers from Kamar-Taj, we will provide what they need.”

“Sir, your great uncle is due to arrive in a fortnight,” Samuel reminded him. “Shall we inform the convoy of the attempts on the royal family?”

Peter looked to Stephen with a frown. One of the young king’s first major decisions. 

“Let’s address the question in the morning,” he decided. “I want to know my family is safe.”

As if on cue, Queen Virginia and Princess Morgan were led into the room by Sir Clinton and Sir Steven. 

“Peter,” the queen pulled the prince into a relieved embrace. “Clint told us what had happened.”

“I recommend we reconvene in the throne room,” Steven suggested with a nervous glance around the chambers. 

“The wards are strongest there,” Stephen agreed with a curt nod. “I’ll go retrieve the princess.”

He returned to the observatory and found you sitting, staring down at the floor in deep thought. 

“Princess?” he called softly. You leapt up at his voice, hurrying over.

“Are they safe?”

“Peter was attacked, but he fought the assassin off,” Stephen informed her. 

“And mother? And Morgan?” you bit your bottom lip anxiously.

“Safe,” he confirmed. 

You let out a relieved sigh, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.

“Sir Steven suggested we go to the throne room to discuss our next options,” he offered his arm and she took it gratefully. 

He hoped she didn’t feel his own tremors. His own panic at the thought of losing her. The aftershocks of their new reality and his worst nightmare.

“I won’t allow this to happen again,” he promised her quietly. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you assured him, your voice was shaky. “I was hurting, and whoever did this, acted on our vulnerabilities. I’d been selfish to hide in the village when I should have been by my family.”

“You slipped up once,” he countered, slowing his pace down the hall. He could have easily drawn a portal to the room, but he figured you both needed some time to manage your emotions. “You’re human. We make mistakes. It just happened we both made a mistake at the same time tonight. I wouldn’t have allowed you to go if I hadn’t been confident in my judgement of the situation.”

Your hand trailed down to his and you gave it a squeeze. 

“Thank you Stephen,” you murmured, holding on a moment longer before replacing it on his arm. 

He felt his heart give a small throb at the minute action, his fingers left tingling, and not from the damage from the accident.

“Always at your pleasure, your highness.”

(---)

3 - a new day

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[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: While Lord Rumlow is being tortured, his fellow disgraced comrade is found in another kingdom’s port. 

Warnings: underwhelming filler chapter, descriptions of torture, 

Word Count: 2.3k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

The musical clattering of the coins in the cloaked man’s pouch were muffled beneath the several hollered orders. York’s docks were packed to brim with several ships that brought in various goods for the young prince’s name day. From what the man could make out, the king and queen were determined to make this the best name day the young boy had ever experienced. He was surprised to find out, it would be the young man’s last.

He overheard one sailor planning to ship off. Good. He thought. Put as much distance between me and Brooken. The man stopped the sailor, hailing him over and flashing him the pouch of coins. “Where to, old man?” the young sailor asked. The cloaked man scoffed, not used to being addressed in such a manner.

“Far.” The cloaked man answered, swallowing his pride. He thought his life was more valuable than a status or a label. “Wherever you’d take me, boy.”

The young sailor stared into the pouch. The coins shimmered under the hot sun’s rays. There were enough coins in the bag to help his aunt. He probably wouldn’t have to sail ever again. “I’m headed to the Old World, sir,” the young sailor explained. “I’m setting sail in a few hours or so.”

The older man grumbled a bit. He didn’t like the idea of staying in York for a few more hours. He remembered the advice he had told a young queen days before – the longer you wait, the slimmer the chances at escape became. But he was in no place to argue, and no other ship was leaving, so he agreed. “What’s your name, sir?” The young boy asked.

“Alex.”

As Anthony and his wife were busy with the name day arrangements, trumpets blared out a somber tune throughout the halls of Iron Tower. The king stopped midsentence, registering the meaning – a noble had died. An awful feeling bubbled in his chest as he began to think his son did not make it to his final name day.

Moments later, Ser James Rhodes pushed open the throne room doors. Anthony frowned when he saw the redhaired Natasha, who was supposed to be in Brooken at your side. It was her duty as one of your ladies in waiting.

“Your majesties,” Natasha bowed.

“What’s happened?” His wife asked with a similar confused frown that mirrored his own. “Is your queen with you?”

Natasha took a deep breath as she looked around the crowded throne room. All eyes bore into her, all wondering the same. They had all heard the low notes from the trumpet… Some had assumed it called for the death of their prince, but had Lady Natasha come to deliver the body of their princess, instead?

“No, your grace,” Natasha answered after long beats of silence. “My queen is safe in Brooken.” She wasn’t sure how true those words were, but after witnessing the pure desperation on King Steven’s face and voice as he tried to find you, she had a bit of hope.

“Then, why are you here?” Anthony asked the younger woman. “Why aren’t you with your queen?”

“She asked me to deliver the body of …” Natasha gulped. Saying her name made it all too real. “Lady… Lady Wanda, who recently …” She choked on her words, tears brimming in her green eyes. “Who recently passed.”

“Oh, dear god.” The queen gasped. She nervously clasped the pendent on her necklace.

The king’s frown did not relent. He stared down at the young woman. Her tears were justified – she had lost a friend after all – but her eyes spoke a different story. There was something more to the simple tale she spun. He waved off everyone in the room, dismissing them from the chamber.

“Tell me the truth, Lady Natasha,” he urged, “for I see a deeper sadness in your eyes.”

“Your grace,” Lady Natasha muttered. Under your orders, she was not to spread the story of Wanda’s assault. As gruesome and horrible as the events that lead to her death were, the mention of her losing her maidenhood before marriage would tarnish her reputation. York’s laws would call that she be buried in an unmarked grave alongside common criminals who had no family. “My queen has demanded my silence.”

“You may be my daughter’s lady, but you are in my court,” Anthony pushed. His tone menacing, but after being in Brooken’s court under the rule of the once hailed Cruel King Rogers, it did not phase her. “You can tell me yourself, or I can bring in someone who will force it out of you.”

“Tony.” Your mother scolded. She cast a look of pity to Natasha. “Please, Lady Natasha, speak freely.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The arrow whistled in the air as the arrowhead pierced through the massive wooden board. A loud thuck! echoed throughout the silent stables followed by a pathetic whimper. Three men watched in the sidelines as the queen pulled another arrow from her quiver.

“Do you think she’s taking this a bit far?” Lord Wilson, though thoroughly impressed with your archery skills, grew rather restless as his queen toyed with her prisoner. Another arrow sliced through the air and made a similar thuck sound.

“She hasn’t even hit him once,” Steven reasoned. He, too, was impressed with your skills though he was rather disappointed that you had yet to graze his cousin’s skin. “My love,” his voice echoed, “you can get much closer than that.”

“Is that a taunt?” You asked, readying another arrow. Your husband smirked and shrugged.

Rumlow, whose chin was previously tucked into his chest as he cowered in fear, raised his head and shot an angry glare at his cousin. “Steve, you son of a –“he gasped when an arrow flew right in front of his face, inches from his eyes.

“And before, you think you can run,” you called out. Rumlow didn’t even hear – nor see – you draw an arrow as he screamed out in agony. The pain shot through his body as his eyes found an arrow lodged into his knee. You lowered the bow and sent a smirk his way before walking off towards the castle. “Bring him back to his cage.” You ordered the two guards who were in charge of his imprisonment.

As they dragged the disgraced lord away, James sent a curious glance towards his king. “I’m worried about her.” James muttered.

“As am I,” Sam agreed.

“She’s angry,” Steven said. “Her anger is rather justified.”

“Rumlow should’ve already been executed for his crimes,” Sam reminded. “If you are keeping him alive to sate your queen’s vengeance, then I’m afraid you are the cruel king you’re painted out to be.” The men chuckled at his jest.

“We cannot execute a noble without a proper trial,” Steven sighed.

“You beheaded Sharon without – “

“She confessed to the king about her betrayals,” James explained. “Rumlow has not.”

Steven added, “(Y/N)’s merely trying to coax it out of him.”

“He’s a rather tough shell to crack.” Sam agreed. “How is she, really, Steve?”

The king sighed. He glanced to the castle to see that you had already disappeared within its walls. Steven could barely understand your grief nor your pain. In the days that followed Rumlow’s capture, he had expected it to be easier for you. You had the opportunity to lash out and torture his cousin, and, to his surprise, you gladly took it. Steven thought that after wreaking havoc on his cousin that you would finally open up to him and allow him to be there for you, but you barely spoke to him about the incidents that plagued your nightmares. In fact, you barely spoke to him at all.

“It’s as if I’ve married a ghost,” Steven shook his head. “She thrashes around at night. I fear she replays the terrors in her mind when her eyes close. I see it in her eyes. Beneath the anger, the rage… She’s … She’s broken.” He sighed and rubbed his chin, slightly missing the roughness of his beard. “Any word of Pierce’s whereabouts?”

“Some say he’s hidden within the ranks of Thanos’s army. Others say he’s fled on a boat, but we would’ve caught him by now if he had been…” James said.

“Has King Anthony been informed?” Steven asked.

“We sent word we were looking for him, yes, but I’m sure Nat would relay the current events that took place to him,” James sighed. “Perhaps, you should talk to your wife?”

Steven shook his head. He didn’t want to pressure you into reopening the wounds – though he wasn’t even sure if the wounds had healed, yet. He felt as if he were walking on thin ice around you. Too harsh of a step forward, the ice would snap, and he’d get lost in the cold. He didn’t want to lose you by pushing you too hard. He had to believe that you’d come back to him in your own time.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Steven slowly entered the bedchamber. He had expected you to be sitting on the bed or standing on the balcony – it had become one of your favorite places after the night with the lanterns. But you were nowhere to be found. The king began to worry about your absence when he heard sloshing of water coming from the bath.

He knocked on the door before he entered. “(Y/N)?”

“He has yet to confess,” you muttered. Your knees were pushed up against your chest with your head resting on top of them. You were growing increasingly annoyed by Brock’s resilience. You glanced up at your husband who had nothing but concern all over his face.

“He will eventually,” Steve whispered. “But I’m not concerned about his confession…”

“No,” you said. “You shouldn’t be. You should be preoccupied with finding Pierce.”

“I’ve sent men out to look for him.”

“They aren’t doing their job!” You snapped. “Pierce is a powerful man. He’ll bribe his way to safety! You have to –“

“(Y/N)…”

“No!” Steve’s tongue grazed the back of his teeth as he watched you thrash about in the water. “We can’t… I can’t… I can’t just sit and wait while he – they – get away with this.” Your voice shook as you took your head in your hands. “I … I don’t – I can’t.” He watched as the rage slowly receded as the grief took over.

Instinctively, your husband rushed to your side and wrapped himself around you. He didn’t mind his clothes getting wet – he was just concerned for you. He rubbed your back as he tried to soothe you, allowing you to cry into his chest.

“I want him dead, Steve,” you whispered, voice muffled into his clothes. “I want them both dead.” The words frightened you. You would’ve never wished death upon anyone, but the two men deserved it.

“As do I,” he nodded. “But we cannot execute him without a confession.”

“He will not confess.” You repeated.

“I will make him confess,” Steve promised.

“Is it awful that I want to be the one to swing the ax?”

Steve shook his head. “No. You deserve to be the one to put him into his grave.” He kissed the top of your head.

“I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me everything,” you muttered. “I want him to confess.”

“He’ll crack.” Steve promised. “You will make him crack.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Boy!” Pierce called for the young sailor – Peter was his name. “Boy!”

“What, old man?” Peter snapped as he loaded the cargo onto the ship. Peter grew rather annoyed with the man’s incessant complaints. If he got off his lazy ass and helped, maybe I’ll load these faster, Peter thought as he rolled his eyes.

“What’s taking so long?”

The sailor sighed as he looked over to see kingsguard searching every boat. Peter shrugged. “Can’t leave, yet.”

“And why not?”

“You hidin’ from somethin’?” Peter asked, arching an eyebrow at the cloaked man. He wondered why “Alex” wore a cloak… The sun was blistering hot.

“I’m just not fond of boats,” Pierce waved his hand. “Just want to get the travel over with.”

Peter sighed as the kingsguard approached. “Well, I think the king’s looking for something… or someone. He’s got kingsguard searching boats.”

“What?” Pierce’s eyes widened.

“You!” Ser James Rhodes stalked up to the young sailor. “Have you seen any strangers recently?”

Peter shrugged. “Just him.” He said, pointing to the cloaked man who was huddled up in the corner of the boat. “He’s just hitching a ride with me. What are you men looking for?”

The knight paid no attention to the young man’s question. His attention focused on the man in the cloak. “Odd choice of clothing on this hot day, sir,” Rhodes told the man. The boat rocked beneath his feet as he stepped onto it.

“You’re the one in a metal suit.” Pierce faked an accent.

Peter’s face scrunched in confusion. The man hadn’t spoken like that before.

“Well, you’re the one hiding behind a thick cloak,” Rhodes chided, faking a laugh. He took another step towards the boat. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if needed. “Please do reveal yourself, sir.”

“I’m fine where I am.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.” Another step. Another.

The cloaked man suddenly leapt up, a short dagger in his hand. He swung at the knight, who brought his sword up, deflecting the older man’s attack with ease. His sword cut through the man’s wrist. Pierce groaned in agony as his free hand shot up to grab at the bleeding stump. Rhodes grabbed Pierce by the cloak and hauled him off the boat.

“I believe the Brooken King has been searching for you, Lord Pierce,” Rhodes said. “But my king wants a few words.” He walked past Peter. “Thank you, kid. The crown appreciates it,” he told him. “Sorry ‘bout the boat.”

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday, ex manager and partner of Elton John,  John Reid, who was born September 9, 1949 in Paisley.

The son of a welder and a shop worker, he reportedly attended Stow College in Glasgow for a short time before striking out for London in 1967. At age 18 Reid entered the music business as a promoter for EMI. Remarkably by age 19 he was managing the Tamla Motown label for the U.K., and it was at a company Christmas party that 21-year-old Reid met 23-year-old John.

Their professional partnership would last 28 years with Reid being present for John’s career hitting stratospheric heights, often as his personal life hit deep lows due to the performer’s alcohol and drug use, marriage and divorce to Renate Blauel the forging and continuation of his partnership with lyricist Bernie Taupin lawsuits, and loves lost and found.

In an interview with The Daily Record Reid later said “When I met Elton, I didn’t even realize his potential, I’ve never claimed to have discovered him. In fact, when he suggested I should manage him, I wasn’t enthusiastic.” When Reid accepted the job of becoming John’s manager at Dick James Music, the couple were already living together.

In anther interview he says Elton was his first love and vice versa John also revealed he was “a virgin until then. I was desperate to be loved, desperate to have a tactile relationship.”

Their relationship as lovers lasted from 1970 until 1975. It was one of the most prolific music periods for John as he delivered numerous international hits including “Your Song,” “Daniel,” “Candle in the Wind,” and “Rocket Man.” His persona on- and off-stage grew and his outfits became more flamboyant. “The vast leaps in style were exhausting,” Reid has said of the period. “He would go out one day with brown hair and return the next with pink.”

According to Reid, the relationship ended because Elton had “never had a sexual adolescence. He needed to go off and play the field, which he did with gusto… There were no dramas.”

Reid would remain in John’s life – and as his business manager – until 1998. Over the decades the two became wealthy due to John’s recording and touring successes. Both men spent big on sports cars, yachts, jewelry, and property, with Reid reportedly owning multiple homes at one point. Reid managed Queen from 1975 to 1978, as well as other acts including Bros, Kiki Dee, Lionel Richie, Billy Connelly, and Michael Flatley.

Like John, Reid would struggle with drugs and alcohol and in 1991 checked into the same recovery clinic John had stayed at when he got sober in 1990. “Elton called me regularly. He was a tower of strength,” Reid told the Daily Record. But unlike John, Reid would relapse and continue to struggle with alcohol.

Professionally, their relationship ended in 1998, the same year John’s auditors discovered a reported £20 million gap in his accounts. Two years later they would be facing each other in court, this time on opposing sides with John suing accounting firm PriceWaterhouseCoopers and Andrew Haydon, director of John Reid Enterprises, claiming negligence and breach of duty. “I trusted him,” John said of Reid in court. “I never thought he would betray me but he has betrayed me.” The singer had already been paid over 3 million pound by Reid in an out of court settlement by the time it reached court.

Reid continued in the music business until reportedly retiring in 1999, a year after divesting himself of an art collection allegedly worth £2 million. He was a judge on the Australian version of The X Factor in 2005 and has since lived a quiet life out of the public eye.

“I’m fond of Elton and proud of the work we did together,” Reid is reported to have said in the mid-2010s. “One day I’ll bump into him and there may be hugs and kisses. Or maybe not.”

There is no shortage of controversy in his life either and Reid has been known to have a violent side,  one particularly powerful scene in Rocketman features an enraged Reid hitting John after the singer showed up late to a performance. While no evidence corroborates that this moment actually took place, Reid’s temper was a real-life problem. In a 1974 Rolling Stone magazine article, a former employee describes the manager as “diminutive, but he’s a killer. He’ll punch anyone.” The characterization seems reinforced by a long list of notable incidents.Reid once threw a glass of champagne at a man for not having enough liquor at a reception for John, he slapped a female journalist who reportedly called him a “poof," he was charged with assault in New Zealand after beating and kicking a journalist, he was arrested in San Francisco after hitting a hotel doorman with his cane while waiting for a car and he allegedly beat another journalist the day after John’s 1984 wedding to Renate Blauel in Sydney, where Reid was the best man. “They’re isolated incidents,” the manager once said of his outbursts. “I don’t make excuses, I’m not particularly proud of it, but any time anything like this has happened, it’s been in defence of Elton or  Bernie’s  not for personal reasons.”

To me an isolated incident is that, when there are several incidents it means he has a violent nature, Queen drummer Roger Taylor  said of Reid in the 2011 Queen documentary Days of Our Lives. “He was very fiery and very feisty, but so were we.” However  Veteran British singer-songwriter Mike Batt defended Reid  in an interview after the release of Rocketman saying  the depiction was especially callous, and that the "portrayal as an uncaring sex-god manipulator is weapons-grade character assassination.”

His current whereabouts are unknown, though reports list him as living in Australia or London.

Reid was portrayed by Irish actor Aidan Gillen in the Film Bohemian Rhapsody and in Rocketman by Scottish actor Richard Madden.

[magicianapprenticelyra]

Day 7: Free Day!

@sweetalnazar

Featuring Lyra Nguyen and Asra Alnazar; Canon Timeline

(Established Relationship)

CW: Some suggestive scenes, but it’s not explicit.

Four to five years later . . .

After everything is finally put into place, the would-be newlyweds are taken out of their respective dressing rooms. Their families watched as the couple were brought close together, just a few feet apart. Their hands are firmly planted over their own faces; Asra shifts his weight from one foot to another as Lyra bounces on the balls of her feet.

“CAN WE PLEASE LOOK AT EACH OTHER NOW?!” Lyra demands, voice muffled from behind her palms.

There’s warm laughter all around, especially as Lyra’s bouncing soon becomes her impatiently stamping her feet.

“You may!” Nadia replies with a radiant smile.

Together, Asra and Lyra countdown from three. At one, Portia passes Lyra’s glasses over to her, quickly getting out of the bride’s line of sight as Lyra places them over her eyes. In turn, her partner draws his hands together, palm to palm. He slides them down the front of his face, just stopping before his fingertips touch the end of his nose.

They lock eyes. Asra looks like someone who's had the air pulled from his chest, as if he can't remember to breathe. Lyra’s knees buckle under her, arms flailing as she catches herself before hitting the ground.

“Oh look at you!” Lyra exclaims, immediately springing up onto her feet. She pulls Asra into a delighted hug, promptly swinging him around in a circle. The skirts of their dresses billow out from the motion, their peals of laughter echoing in the Palace’s halls.

Before Lyra can get too dizzy and drop her spouse-to-be, she manages to stop. She sets Asra back down, swaying a bit. Before Lyra can fall over for real, Asra catches her, pulling her upright.

They can’t stay in the Palace for long: the ceremony is taking place at The Shop!

Nadia and Portia usher the pair into a carriage outside. In turn, the rest of the attendees get into similar transportation.

O*O*O

Praetor Vlastomil is running a bit late. This isn’t a bad thing, for it gives everyone a chance to catch up. Aisha and Salim are trading stories with Bảo, Walterine and James; Neha is chatting with Portia, with the latter helping Neha adjust the flowers in her hair.

“I’m sorry that the Praetor continues to be unreliable,” Nadia murmurs. She’s with Asra and Lyra, the three of them just a ways away from everyone else.

“He at least had the mind to let us know he was running late,” Lyra replies. Her veil is over her face, shielding her from passersby that shout their congratulations every so often. Her eyes are drawn to Asra. He’s drawn her veil over his face, resting the side of his head against her shoulder. His eyes are closed, the picture of sleep.

“I’m envious that he can fall asleep so easily,” Lyra murmurs.

Nadia chuckles. “Depending on how it goes tonight for the both of you, you’ll probably be able to fall asleep easily enough.”

Lyra blushes, averting her gaze. Her abrupt movement makes the edge of her veil tickle over Asra’s nose, making him sneeze and waking him up.

“Mm?” he mumbles, rubbing his nose with his knuckles.

“Sorry my love.” Lyra adjusts her veil as he shifts out from under it. “How was your sleep?”

“Decent,” Asra yawns, sitting up to stretch. “Any sign of the Praetor?”

“Well—”

Worm! Faust declares.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lyra looks down to the flower basket between her and her partner’s feet.

Their familiars are waiting patiently for their time to shine. Faust was curled up in the basket of flowers. The basket itself was etched with some glyphs. Once the magic in them was activated, the basket would float. This would allow Faust to grab flowers—and their petals—with her mouth. The morph gets to fling them wherever she pleases.

Nook, Lyra’s book-shaped mimic of a familiar, is their ring bearer for the occasion. He’s in charge of a tinier basket. Nook would need to keep the longer handle of said basket between his teeth to keep pace with Faust’s floating one.

Inside the tiny basket were two paper flowers, one set in a corsage-like arrangement while the other is attached to a hairpin. Lyra had painstakingly assembled them while Asra painted them. The corsage had the red lotus, and the pin was adorned by the purple flower of the belladonna.

Respectively, they’re Lyra and Asra’s favorite flowers. Tucked safely in the center of each flower is their partner’s ring. When the time comes, the lotus corsage would be wrapped over Lyra’s wrist, and the belladonna neatly pinned behind Asra’s ear. Afterward, the rings would go to the appropriate finger of their partner’s hand.

In the meantime however, the newlyweds-to-be watch Faust slowly raise herself from her little bed of flowers, repeating, Worm!

Lyra and Asra look at each other, confused.

Nook’s eyes snap open. His four sea green eyes shift toward the right. Nook raises himself onto his tarantula-esque feet, baring his sharp teeth as he growls.

“Nook, what’s the matter?” Lyra squeaks, startled by the sudden menace overcoming her familiar.

Nadia looks toward the direction of Nook’s line of sight, immediately getting to her feet.

“Oh no.” The disgust in the Countess’s voice is palatable. Asra and Lyra blink at her, bewildered, until they see what she means.

The Praetor had brought one of his worms with him.

O*O*O

A temporary, ramshackle pen is made off to the side of The Shop in order to contain Wriggler. The servants that came with Vlastomil are very, very apologetic in expression to the more unimpressed members of the wedding party.

“Do you suppose it’s going to hold?” Salim murmurs to James, eyeing the creaky posts that were slapdashed together.

“Gods willin’ an’ we don’t have to deal wit’ anyone gettin’ bit or The Shop getting destroyed,” the latter replies in kind, their gazes drifting to their respective spouses.

Aisha is taking all of it in, bemused. Walterine and Bảo, on the other hand, are fuming beside the Countess. Nadia is giving a quiet but adamant final warning to the Praetor that if Wriggler ever shows up to another one of these ceremonial obligations again, she’d have Vlastomil replaced post-haste.

As all that is going on, Asra, Neha, Portia, and Lyra are all staring at the gigantic worm—with teeth!—in awe.

Lyra supports Nook with one forearm under him, having his backside pressed against the front of her dress. With her free hand, Lyra has it gently clasped over Nook’s mouth. That doesn’t stop Nook from growling at Wriggler, but the precaution is there. Asra holds the basket Faust is coiled up in, the latter peering nervously over the rim of it at Wriggler. 

“She’s gotten bigger since the last time I saw her—” Asra laughs as the three around him stare in abject horror.

“That worm can get bigger?!” Neha whispers loudly, incredulous.

At this point, all Lyra can do is shrug. Before anyone can say anything else, Praetor Vlastomil calls for Asra, Lyra, and their immediate families to come and step to the spots they’re going to be at.

“I don’t have all day! I have my precious Wriggler and the rest of my worms to attend to!”

“Are you ready?” Lyra asks, looking at the familiar in her arms. Nook blinks at her, his mouth curling into a grin. “Alright. Get the basket and we’ll take our places. No trying to bite Wriggler, okay?”

On it! Nook replies. Once Lyra sets him down, Nook rushes to get his basket. Some onlookers jump out of the way as he zooms past them, making Lyra laugh.

Asra waves his hands over the glyphs on Faust’s basket, murmuring the words to activate them. As Faust is lifted by the magic basket, a loud WHEE! echoing in their heads.

Lyra stands beside Asra, offering her arm out for him to hold. Asra graciously loops his arm with hers. Their expressions are mirroring each other: just a little shy, but full of adoration for their partner.

“Ready when you are, Faust!” Neha calls from off the side of the Praetor.

When Nook finally takes his place beside the morph, she commands the basket:

Forward!

O*O*O

“ . . . and by the power vested in me by the city-state of Vesuvia, I pronounce you married.” Vlastomil barely gets the words you may now—with a disgusted scoff—kiss your partner, before Asra and Lyra grab at each other.

With her veil no longer separating her lips from her spouse's own, Lyra dips him into a deep kiss. As Asra goes completely slack in her arms, Lyra wraps her arms securely around him.

Cheers and applause from their friends, loved ones, neighbors, and onlookers alike echo into the neighborhood. Bells are shaken wildly and horns are blown. Confetti and rice are thrown into the air, scattering about the ground and carried away by the wind.

She’s the one that pulls back from the kiss first. Upon seeing her partner’s face, Lyra can’t help but laugh. Asra has the most blissful expression, and she’s sure that he’s floating.

She attempts to right Asra onto his feet, but he is, indeed literally, floating off of the ground.

“Do I need to hang onto you?” Lyra asks.

“Just for a short while,” Asra replies breathlessly, eyes soft and adoring. Lyra chuckles. She acts as his anchor, having an arm wrapped behind his waist and a hand clasped with his. They turn to look on at their friends and family, now being greeted as a newly wedded couple.

O*O*O

After Wriggler and the Praetor are gone, the festivities go into full swing. Asra’s feet eventually return to the ground, but he’s still on the high of being married to the love of his life.

Nadia has to leave to return to her duties as Countess, but she wishes them well.

“Say hi to Julian for us!” Lyra bids her.

“I’ll extend your regards!” With that, a carriage whisks the Countess away.

In the meantime, the pair grab plates of food for each other, ducking past the threshold of The Shop and seeing all the tables set around so their guests could sit, eat, and mingle. Their place of honor is where the glass case counter used to be. It’s pushed back against the shelving, which is boarded up to prevent any inventory from falling out and onto the floor.

It couldn’t have gone any better.

O*O*O

As the day passes into evening, and well into the night, the guests begin to file out of The Shop. Asra and Lyra’s parents and parental figures help them to clean up the mess. James, Bảo, Salim and Walterine get the glass counter back to where it was, with Neha and Lyra quickly sweeping the floor beforehand.

Nook gets to eat whatever scraps he finds. He’s currently hidden in a corner, eating his fill as Faust snoozes in her basket.

As the table runner is placed over the display case, Walt says with a grin, “And that’s it!”

“Oh thank goodness—” Lyra leans against the top of it, slumping over from exhaustion. Asra gently pats her shoulder, garnering a few laughs.

“Before we go, Habibi,” Aisha says, coming forward, “I’d like to say a blessing.”

Lyra immediately straightens up, looking to Asra for guidance. He holds her hand, giving her a reassuring nod.

Aisha stands before the two of them. She first speaks in Zadithi, and then says in Vesuvian, “May Allah grant you blessings, send blessings upon you, and bring you together in goodness.”

“Oh, Mom—!” Asra hugs her, and Lyra follows suit. She looks ready to cry, as well as everyone else in the room.

Lyra’s eyes drift to her uncle Bảo. He’s very, very nervous.

“Bảo? What’s on your mind?” Lyra asks.

“I, uh . . .” he rubs the side of his neck, looking sheepish. “I hope this not redundant—”

With some additional encouragement from his own spouses, Bảo steps forward. “I-I have a blessing of my own. You won’t know or remember it, but I hope it mean a lot all the same.”

Bảo clears his throat, saying, “Chúc hai bạn hạnh phúc trọn đời. It means to ‘wish you both a lifetime of happiness’.”

He is not prepared for when Lyra and Asra rush him with hugs. Bảo and the others outright fall into laughter as the newlyweds lift him up in their shared embrace.

“You get pass today because it your wedding!” Bảo exclaims, legs kicking in the air until he’s set down. He’s still smiling all the same, tears brimming in his eyes.

They all join together for one final group hug. Asra and Lyra see them out the door, waving and saying their goodbyes. After making sure the front lamp is out, Lyra locks the door.

Asra hugs her from behind, nuzzling her nape. “Mm . . . you should wear backless things more often,” he teases, pressing a kiss to her exposed neck and shoulder. Lyra shivers, leaning back into his warmth.

“What, so you could decorate me with kisses there?”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?” Lyra can feel the mischievous glint in his eye, especially when he starts to mouth over her other shoulder. Before his teeth could graze over anymore of her skin, there’s a knock at the back door.

“It’s Muriel!” Lyra wiggles out of her spouse’s hold, laughing softly as a soft whine passes from his lips.

Upon opening the door, the two of them see that Muriel’s wrapped up in his massive cloak, his head and part of his face covered as usual. However, the collar and manacles he bore for so long are now a distant memory. None of them know exactly when Muriel’s gift of being forgotten stopped working, but it wasn’t long after the Alnazars and Aster-Nguyen families started getting more and more involved in and around his life.

“Hey Muri,” Lyra greets, smiling softly. “We saved some food for you and Inanna. Lemme grab the basket.” She ducks away to do that, allowing Asra and Muriel to catch up for a bit.

“Our parents were asking for you,” Asra murmurs.

“They know I don’t like crowds. Or people,” Muriel replies in kind.

“They know; Mom and Dad are still going to invite you for lunch or dinner at their place. It’s the same with Lyra’s parents too.”

“. . . they don’t have to.”

“They want to—”

“They want to!” Lyra echoes Asra, returning with the basket. She holds it out to Muriel with a smile “Here it is. We made some lemon squares for you too.”

Muriel sighs, exasperated. Still, he accepts the basket of food.

“We can’t thank you enough for the rings, Muri,” Asra says. He and Lyra hold up their hands, the wooden rings shining in the moonlight. “They fit perfectly.”

Muriel’s smile graces his face. Upon seeing their delighted smiles in turn, Muriel flushes. “It-it’s no big deal. Congratulations. Bye.” With that, Muriel trundles off into the darkness, heading back to the forest.

Lyra closes the door, shaking her head. “One of these days we’re gonna get him to come to dinner with us and our parents.”

“Give him time. He’ll come around.” Asra stretches, languidly leaning his front against his spouse.

Lyra chuckles, angling her body so that Asra can have his arms around her shoulders. She leans back against the wall behind her, shivering as the stone chills her exposed upper back.

“Mmm . . .” Asra tucks his face into the crook of her neck.

“You okay?” Lyra asks, angling her head so that her cheek could settle against the side of his face.

“Yeah. Tired . . .”

Lyra quietly tuts, nuzzling him. She kisses his temple, murmuring, “Sounds like bedtime.”

Asra snorts, leaning back so he can bat his eyes at her. His white eyelashes flutter enticingly, but Lyra’s resolute.

“We have the morning, my love,” Lyra counters, laughing as Asra pouts. She stands up and away from the wall. She remains steady when Asra wraps his legs around her waist, locking his ankles behind her lower back. 

Lyra reinforces her hold on him with her hands against the underside of his thighs. She makes a beeline for the stairs, ascending them carefully with her precious cargo in her arms.

“We’ve been up all day and I am sure you just want to flop into bed—”

“—with you—!” Asra protests. When a yawn betrays him, Asra nuzzles into the side of Lyra’s neck.

She chuckles. “All right all right,” she relents, pausing midway up the stairs.

Lyra leans back a bit, allowing Asra to untuck himself from her neck. Their foreheads touch, their lips gently brushing against each other as Lyra deftly makes her way up the rest of the stairs.

A/N: Final Word Count: 2,800+ words

This is were I found the blessing Aisha says to Asra and Lyra [LINK]. I apologize ahead of time if I misrepresented any part of that.

Happy belated birthday to Asra and Faust! I’m glad I took the extra day to get this finalized. I loved writing every bit of it.

Thanks again for sweetalnazar and the rest of the participants for making this event possible and enjoyable! Have a good day/night!

[Asra’s design is from his official Wedding Charm design from Nix Hydra, and Lyra’s wedding charm art is done by @agent-darkbootie​]

[azirafels]

black sails moodboard: davy jones AU: davy jones!silver

That was the duty he was charged with. To ferry those who die at sea to the other side. And every ten years he could come ashore to be with he who loves him truly. But the man had become a monster.

[jeromesxreader16]

Such a Joker (50)

Part 49 Here

~o0o~

Jim POV:

As I come out of my office I see a large number of cops watching Jeremiah sitting calming in the holding cell. "Don't you all have work you should be doing?" I yell towards them as they scatter.

"Pardon me, Jim."

I walk over to Jeremiah raising my brows. "What is it?" "I'd like to press charges against Bruce Wayne's butler. I mean, just look at my face. I can't have my wife seeing me like this."

I scoff smirking with pure anger, "I think you look great."

"And I'd like to speak to Bruce again. We couldn't really talk before what with his girlfriend bleeding out all over him."

"You tried to prove you're better than your brother. But I'm still here. I'm searching for (Y/n), and the city's still here. You're a failure, Jeremiah. Enjoy Arkham. Your brother did. I'll be the one to make sure (Y/n)'s visiting hours will be less than none."

"Bring me, Bruce Wayne... I'll let you speak with (y/n), and I'll tell you where the other bombs are." I walk closer engaging. "We have all your bombs."

Jeremiah nods with an underlying smirk, "The maze bombs, yes. I mean the other ones. Jim, as an engineer, you expect systems to fail. So, you build in redundancies. And I am a very good engineer."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" He smirks at me waiting for a reaction.

"You're right, you know. I did fail. I didn't yet understand the vision I was servicing, but, I do now. My eyes are open as will yours be. When you realize I'm not bluffing, bring me, Bruce Wayne. And I'd like a coffee. Black. Two sugars."

~

"How many bombs are there? Where are they?" I challenge him again. "I want to talk to Bruce Wayne."

"Tell me where they are, you son of a bitch. Who's helping you?"

"Bruce Wayne."

I grunt, shaking my head in frustration, "You are never gonna talk to Bruce Wayne. You hear me?"

Jeremiah shrugs smirking, "Then more people will die and you will never see (Y/n) or meet your grandchildren." I look up meeting his icy eyes with cold blood. "What? You're lying." Jeremiah sighs, "My wallet, right sleeve, forth slot, a sonogram photo of my two twins. I don't bluff, Jim. Why do you think I ask for your blessing? Wouldn't want your daughter unwed and knocked up, huh? But once again you resented her happiness, and she ran right into my arms. You never were good at holding on to what you care about, were you, James?"

~

Bruce finally walks in as I'm strapped to the dolly awaiting transportation to Arkham. "Hello, Bruce. It's great to see you."

"Where are the bombs, Jeremiah? Where is (Y/n) Gordon?"

"Closer, please."

As Bruce teds near I speak again. "Tell me. How is the young lady doing?" Of course no reaction. I smile switching subjects, "You know why we're destined to be best friends? Because we're very much alike. You are as I used to be. At war with your true nature. You must truly embrace it if you ever want to be free. I'm just trying to help you."

"Trying to help me? By torturing Alfred? Trying to destroy Gotham?

By shooting Selina? You think we're alike because there's a darkness inside both of us. But the difference is, I know how to control mine."

I scoff smirking, "I think you could be so strong. I see it. He sees it too." Bruce looks at me confused walking closer. "What do you mean, "he"?"

"Where are the other bombs?"

I roll my eyes looking up at the camera playing the game, "What bombs?" "Bombs you planted around the city. You blew up the Mayor."

"Ah, that bomb. Yes, that was the only one. But it did what it had to do. It got you here."

"You said, "he." Who do you mean?"

I smile gasping at Bruce. "The one who opened up my eyes. Who showed me that everything I was doing, was not to create a Gotham of my own for (y/n), and I, But yours, Bruce. The Gotham you need. Your dark island. And it will come to be, Bruce. Tonight."

"Tell me his name," Bruce demands empty-handed.

"What did the doctors say? Will the little bitch ever walk again? What vertebrae did I sever? I was hoping for the lumbar..." "TELL ME HIS NAME!" I laugh at his anger. "You already know his name. You're his heir."

Bruce gasps letting my suit wings go. "Ra's al Ghul... No, it can't..."

"Shh." The lights flicker as the room goes dark and I am freed from this hold.

~

Enter the building I see (Y/n) waiting with Ra's, overlooking the old city. "Jeremiah! Ra's was just telling me he could marry us!" I grin walking over as the men get Bruce ready for the arrival.

"Could you?" Ra's nods smirking, "Just say when my boy. I can-" "Now." I pull out two solid gold bands passing mine to (Y/n). "You're prepared." She giggles. "I've been waiting."

Ra's chuckles offering off a quick blessing to us as a couple. "Do you Jeremiah Valeska take (Y/n) Gordon as your lawfully wedded wife?" "I certainly do." I grin watching my love. "And do you, (Y/n)-" "Yes." Ra's gestures between us chuckling. "Wonderful, you may kiss your bride, Mr. Valeska."

I scoop her in my arms kissing her deeply. I pull away as the men waltz a masked Bruce into the room. "Ah, hate you missed the ceremony, friend." I walk over pulling the bag off of his head.

"How did you two..." "Find each other?" Ra's finishes, "I'd like to think it was you, Bruce. You brought us together."

Ra's turns to me and (Y/n) as we look at the city. "I trust things went smoothly?" "Like clockwork. Did your men retrieve my bombs?" "They are en route to their positions as we speak. From here, we can take in the full majesty of Gotham's destruction."

"You're both insane!"

Ra's shakes his head in disappointment, "I know it's difficult to fathom, Bruce. But Jeremiah and I are doing this for your benefit."

"How is destroying Gotham supposed to help me?"

"Because I had a vision. That out of this crucible of blood and fire will rise the Dark Knight that your city needs. That I need."

I scoff pulling away from (y/n) and joining Bruce and Ra's. "To be honest, Bruce. Prophecies, visions. Not really my cup of tea. But our friend revealed something to me. That my twin obsessions, rebuilding Gotham and rebuilding you, are one and the same. You're the brother I never had. The one Jerome never could be. We will create a legacy in this city. Gotham falls. We rise. Together."

Barbara walks in passing each of us towards Ra's. "Oh, hey, Bruce. Freak. (Y/n), looking beautiful!"

"Hello, Barbara. I'm really glad you came." She sighs shrugging. "Bad news, baby. I'm not leaving. Gotham's in my blood. And I don't think I can let you leave either. You see, you say you're leaving. But I've got a feeling you're gonna be back. And I don't like looking over my shoulder."

"Need I remind you, Barbara. You've already tried using that knife. And also, you're outnumbered."

She hums smiling "Hmm. That Demon's Head is really not working out for you, huh?" Suddenly Oswald yells striking us and the fight breaks out quickly.

Tabith tackles me to the ground as I search for (Y/n) in a blind panic. She holds her knife to my neck sneering, "So you know, this is for Selina." I flip her overtaking the blade from her and pressing it to her skin. "In that case, it must be very disappointing for you to be dying like this." She smirks and moves her arm. "I'm not talking about you." She pulls her trigger making me search where the bullet traveled.

The bombs go off destroying the city as my wife falls bleeding from the bullet that pierced her. "No!" I growl rushing over. She cries holding her chest. "Jer-" "No, no, don't speak. You're going to be fine." The city burns down as my love's life source lowers.

"You're going to be fine, love. We're all going to be safe. Tomorrow is a new day,"

~

Staying by her bedside the entire night as the doctors work to remove the bullet, and stabilize her and the babies. "She should wake soon, Sir. The children are healthy. She's lucky it wasn't any closer to her heart." I nod boring my eyes into her face.

"Thank you, Doctor."

(y/n) mumbles and opens her eyes slowly. I smile leaning over, "Rise and shine, beautiful." She looks up at me confused, then looks down at her chest gasping, "That bitch." she sneers growling and trying to sit up. "No, no, don't try that." She gasps, putting a hand on her belly. "Jer-" "They're alright, doll. You're very lucky. All four of us are."

She looks over to me putting a hand on my cheek. "What do we do now, Jeremiah?" I smile rubbing my hands on her stomach. "Now, my love, we enjoy our marriage, and wait for our children." Her cheeks glow as I speak of our children. "I love you, Jeremiah." "I love you too, Mrs. Valeska. Always."

~ Day 87~

I sit at the radio discussing yet another call on the state of Gotham to the officials over the bridge. "Your people have decided to ignore evacuation orders." "No, no, no, no. It is clear you don't understand." "What's to understand, Mr. Gordon? I'm afraid you're making your-" "For the last time... after the bridges blew and the government declared Gotham off-limits, the city was up for grabs. Given over to criminals and murderers. New territory is controlled by whoever has enough power to hold it. I mean, we have Penguins in City Hall, for God's sake. Barbara and the Sirens control an area around their club. It's the only place in Gotham not suffering for food or booze. Barabra trades mostly for information. It's women only, but men can buy windows of time. To the west Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. Victor Freeze is further north warring with Firefly. And to date, there have been no confirmed sightings of Jeremiah Valeska, or my Daughter, (y/n). Then there is us. The GCPD controls a ten-block area around the precinct, where we feed and protect 150 civilians. That number could grow as who knows how many others are trapped around the city. These are innocent people who couldn't get out. The Government has a duty to protect them. You have a duty to help them." I finish waiting for the response.

"We've been over this time and time again. No one is allowed in or out of Gotham."

"People we are protecting are not criminals." "And anyone who stayed after the evacuation order is no longer the government's responsibility." "We're surrounded by hostile forces. We are running out of food, ammunition. There are children here. You need to evacuate them." "A committee is being formed regarding the situation in Gotham."

I huff shaking my head. "At least let us resupply ourselves."

"We understand the situation."

"You DON'T understand. If you did you would do something. Just say we're on our own." The radio waves stay silent as no response comes through. I nod gruffly and turn off the communication.

I look to the corner of the desk seeing a photo of (Y/n), along with the photo of the unborn twins. I sigh holding them to my heart. "Please be okay."

~

"I like Jeremy," Jeremiah says as we relax on the couch together. "And for a girl?" He hums thinking. "What if we stuck with the J name? I kinda like Juliet." Jeremiah looks at me smiling. "I think that's lovely."

I stroke my small belly with love. "I just want them here already." Jeremiah laughs kissing the top of my head. "They'll be perfect."

~

Months pass of us hiding, gaining followers, and then finally start to dig under the city for our escape. Fully 6 months pregnant and things are just seeming harder. "You're sad," Ecco says frowning. She scoots over massaging my shoulders. "Tell me what's wrong." I sigh stroking my stomach feeling a wash of sadness. "I miss my dad. I hate to say it, but I do. These kids won't have a Grandpa." Ecco nods sighing dramatically. "I am so sorry, (Y/n). I wish I could help." I smile leaning my head on her shoulder. "How's that bullet feeling in there?" I tease as she giggles. "It's still rolling around in here!" She shakes her head, knocking the loose pieces in her brain. "I still can't believe you did it." She shrugs giggling, "Anything to help you, (Y/n)."

"Come on, let's see how the boss is. It's been a while since I've seen the progress."

Ecco helps me down the steps into the area where they're digging the large tunnel. "Wow! Looks, good everyone!" I yell, making the workers greet me with forced smiles. "Darling." Jeremiah clams walking to me, placing hands over my stomach with a grin. "Ecco, you're not supposed to bring her down here. It's dangerous." He glares at her. "Jer, I wanted to, she was obeying me." He reluctantly nods waving her away.

I switch the radio station finding a slow song and smiling. "Dance we me, Jer." I grasp his hand swaying with him to the music. "We're close aren't we?" I nod laughing. "Just three more months, Jeremiah." He shutters with a smile. "I can't wait." 

[joon-ipersgirl]

O7 - “the promising proposition”

genre: mafia!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, mystery-thriller

pairing: namjoon x reader (f)

word count: 5.1k

warnings: cursing (if i miss any, let me know!)

summary: charismatic. beautiful. fearless without question. the ambitious team of seven young men in charge of spiral, downtown district’s hottest new club go above and beyond to provide 100% satisfaction to their clients. 

after an eventful night out, you have no choice but to join the team for property damages greater than your intern salary. challenging a series of events that can no longer be left to coincidence, secrets threaten to burst at the seams as your professional and private life collide, and another - more sinister - debt is added to your total. 

how far are you willing to go to pay back your pound of flesh? remember, nothing is ever as it seems...

a/n: it’s been a minute but we’re back! winter break is here and i’m determined to write so here’s part 7 as i still work on my tae halloween fic (whew) and some more holiday related scenarios/oneshots. thank you all for being so patient and i hope you enjoy this next part. i only have one more pre-written part for this story so updates may be even slower lol. as always, send your reactions as they make me super happy lmao. thank you vi for beta-reading this and enjoy everyone!

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The four of you sit in Manager Kim’s office, tense. Well, three as Paul had ruined his chances during last week’s meeting but you know he can feel the heaviness in the air as you wait for Madeline’s decision. She sits comfortably behind her large desk after calling you in to tell you who’d be assisting her on the Cavallero project. Her large, black fedora is propped on her head at a dangerous angle as she has her feet kicked up on her desk, her signature steel toed boots accentuating her full black outfit. You’d spent the previous days in the breakroom trying to figure out what made this project a higher priority than the rest of the contracts you’d acquired and who would be the lucky winner.

“Lovely of you all to join me, though Paul you were not really needed.” He tries his best to hide behind Laura from Manager Kim’s disappointed stare, but to no avail. “I know you all have been eagerly anticipating which one of you lucky interns will have the privilege of working with me on the first part of the Cavallero contract. You’ll find out shortly as his assistant will be dropping off the final notes on what he expects to see at the event; I’ll send one of you down to fetch him. We’ll have a brief meeting afterwards and then get to work. The rest of you will work under that person, following their orders diligently. Now, I need updates on the rest of our projects. Where are we?”

You barely listen as James rattles off what he was able to accomplish with the Emmerson’s engagement party. You think his design is doable, chic for an event planned in spring, but lacking in some of the finer details you know the future Mrs. Emmerson would appreciate; she’s a woman after your own heart with her love for champagne, meals created by chefs with Michelin stars, and exquisite fine china. Of course Madeline would pit you against each other for this job though. Not that you mind, you’re more than capable of fighting for what you believe is mine. It’s just less work when it’s given to you nicely packaged. Like the gifts you’re sure future Mrs. Emmerson would like to receive from her future husband’s wealthy friends.

“Y/N?” You focus back on Manager Kim who’s waiting expectantly, her glasses slipping down her nose. “The Williams’? What’s going on there? Or have you not made any progress?”

“The Williams have signed off on the zoo theme for their son,” James interjets before you can gather your thoughts. “We’re looking into finding the best face painters in the city and we’ve almost secured a catering contract for the 150 vegan cupcakes Mrs. Williams ordered. The invitations are currently being designed based on the chosen theme and will be ready for client approval next week.”

“Very good, James. Please send me a copy of your notes to be added into the file. Y/N, I expect better from you. That’s everything I have for today. You’re all dismissed,” she finishes with a wave of her hand, her glasses sliding down her nose once again as she searches for one particular document on her desk.

You don’t wait for the rest of them to follow as you make your way back to the tiny cubicle-like room you share. Manager Kim normally never calls you out in front of the rest of them and you’re fuming. Tossing down your legal pad, you whirl around as the three of them enter the room.

“What the fuck, James?!” you hiss as he calmly sits behind his desk and resumes typing on his computer.

“Looks like the Princess is upset,” Paul stage-whispers to Laura as he too sits down. You ignore him. He’s just as irrelevant beforehand as he is now.

“What do you need, Y/N? I have to send the notes from the meeting to Manager Kim,” James responds, not looking up at you. Your face further sours.

“You read my fucking files?! That wasn’t your event to handle and you know that!” you yell.

“Well, you took too long to respond -”

“I had barely opened my mouth -”

“- and Manager Kim needed a response, so I responded,” he finishes, ignoring your outburst.

“Y/N, please calm down. We don’t want to make a scene,” Laura pleads.

“Calm down? Laura, he made me look incompetent,” you argue.

“But you are, Y/N.” You pause and turn to James once again. Disbelief is written across your face as you stare each other down. You were the imcompetent one? “You should be ready to answer any question about any event J&M has going on whether it’s your’s or someone else’s. It’s not my fault that you were never taught the basics of efficiency in a company. The job has to get done and I completed the task. Simple,” he finishes. His incessant typing is all you hear as you stare at him. James had never been this bold before. Especially not with you.

“Watch your mouth, James,” you tell him coolly.

“Furthermore, your failure in that meeting shows that you’re incapable of handling bigger projects. I mean, you couldn’t recall the most straightforward details of a birthday party for a six-year-old child. Why should Manager Kim trust you to work on the coveted Cavallero contract? You’ve given her no reason to. All you’ve done is eliminated yourself from the running, effectively leaving Laura and I. Which is no challenge because -  no offense Laura - you’re not really competition. I just hope you guys can maange when my hands are full with this project.”

You laugh as Laura cowers. You weren’t sure whether it was from the sound or James’ particularly harsh words, but the atmosphere in the room was much worse than in the meeting. Biting back the words you really wanted to tell him, you heed Laura’s advice and decide to not cause a scene. This is a professional establishment and you need this job. There are goals you want to accomplish and you wouldn’t let a slimy bastard like James Carter distract you. He’d finally shown his true colors - what he really thought of you - and you’re only grateful the others had been around to witness it.

“Alright, James. It seems like you’ve been holding back on us. Just remember: a word once let out of a cage cannot be whistled back again,” you tell him as you resume your duties at your desk. Flipping open a new page of your legal pad, you write neatly at the top: Emmerson Engagement. If James thought he had bested you, he had another thing coming.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Laura asks as she joins you in the staff room for lunch.

“Never better,” you reply, sipping on your iced coffee as you warm your leftover lasagna in the microwave. Gods bless your sweet, sweet roommate.

“What James said to you this morning was pretty harsh,” she says as she makes herself a steaming cup of green tea. Always the health conscious one that girl.

“James seems to be tired of our shit,” you chuckle. “I’ve heard worse though, Laura. Don’t worry about me. He said some pretty harsh things about you, too.”

She nods. “I didn’t think he could be so mean! And counting me out?! I worked really hard on my designs!” Laura’s voice doesn’t sound too sure, but you nod in agreeance.

“Your bridal party design last spring was very well done,” you tell her around a mouthful of lasagna.

“Exactly!” she says in a huff as she plops down across from you, nearly burning herself in the process. “And your event was really good too! The one you did a few months ago,” she trails off. You laugh.

“Which one was that?”

“You know, the one for the family with that really fancy theme? And lots of people came...”

“Oh, the Winter Wonderland scene on the ice rink?”

“Yes, that one!” she exclaims.

“That was Marie’s project before she got transferred to Jenson’s team,” you say with a laugh. Laura almost chokes on her tea as you wipe your mouth clean. “No need for you to try and make me feel better by pretending to remember something I’ve worked on. I’m honestly fine,” you chuckle again.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry -”

“Y/N?” James stands in the doorway looking quite displeased. You raise your eyebrows at him in response. “Manager Kim would like to see you in her office. Please make it quick as I’m going to get Mr. Cavallero’s assistant soon.” You laugh loudly.

“Of course, James. I’ll be sure to let Manager Kim know you’d like her to rush her meeting for your convenience.”

He scowls as you brush past him, your half-eaten lunch and coffee in hand. Mercury must be in retrograde for James to think that he can make demands of you any type of way. It seems that you need to put him back in his place; he’d gotten too comfortable with the little office jokes you all shared. Grabbing your legal pad and pen, you smooth down the little flyaway hairs and your white button down shirt; you couldn’t receive another lashing looking unkempt. Knocking on the door, you wait for Manager Kim to answer before you enter.

“You asked to see me, Manager Kim?”

“Yes. Please take a seat, Y/N. I’ll be with you in a second,” she replies as she finishes typing on her computer. You sit gingerly in the unoccupied chair as you’d done this morning and wait for her to rip into you. “Right. Let’s get to it. What was that this morning?” You inhale deeply.

“Honestly, I was thinking about James’ event and mentally noting changes I would make as possible suggestions to him when you called on me. I wasn’t dozing off because I was bored,” you answer.

“Hmm. And what changes would you have made?” she asks curiously as she gives you her undivided attention.

“Well, the future Mrs. Emmerson is a woman of prestige. Class. While roses are a classic choice, white tulips are pre-on-trend and I think she would enjoy being a part of that group. He also chose the Dom Perignon champagne, but I thought Veuve Clicquot would be the better option. High price doesn’t always mean high flavor. I do agree with his choice of venue though. The high ceilings will look great in the low afternoon light and the white lights in the evening will make for great photos,” I finished. “But of course, the client is always right and if this is her chosen design, we’ll go with that.”

Manager Kim stares at you until you start to feel slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. You know you hadn’t overstepped and she had asked for your honest opinion, but when sitting in front of one of the best event designers in the game, second guessing yourself is inevitable.

“You didn’t think to say anything earlier in the meeting?” she asks.

“I wasn’t aware that giving opinions on other people’s events was ideal during a regular updates meeting.”

“You should speak up more. Your ideas aren’t as bad as you think they are,” Madeline says as she leans back in her chair. “How else do you expect to lead any major project?”

Just as you’re going to respond, a knock sounds at the door. “Come in!” Manager Kim yells.

“Should I leave? James did say he was going to collect Mr. Cavallero’s assistant,” you trail off, getting ready to stand.

“No. No, you’re fine,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Ah, Mr. Carlisle - oh! And Mr. Cavallero! What a surprise! I didn’t know you would be joining us,” Manager Kim says as she stands and you follow suit.

“I happened to have some free time and decided to tag along as Lewis was dropping off the notes. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it would be helpful to have me here in case you had any questions that needed direct attention,” Mr. Cavallero responds. “And please, call me Jonas.”

Mr. Cavallero, or Jonas as he would like to be referred to, is dressed in his typical big spender suit: a deep navy blue suit with a pristine white buttoned-down shirt and pre-released Versace patent leather monk strap shoes. His aura fills the entire space, though he only stands in the doorway of Madeline’s office. You can practically feel the gel between your fingers as you look at his salt-and-pepper slicked back hair; the sheen is almost as bright as his shoes.

“And Miss Y/L/N, yes? What a pleasure to see you again. Will you be sitting in on this meeting as well? Lewis could only sing your praises after you left,” he asks. You struggle to keep your face neutral as James’ searing gaze washes over you. You know Manager Kim’s ears must be red as her secretive meeting is foiled by her best client.

“Actually, I was just -”

“- going to bring the file for the event as you were previously suggesting. Right, Y/N?” Manager Kim says as she turns to you with a stiff smile. “You are our chosen intern, afterall.” You can barely contain your gasp as she says the words. You had gotten the contract?! James does not try to hide his shock at her statement as his eyes widen and his mouth nearly falls open.

“It’ll be a pleasure working with you again, Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Carlisle says with a smile.

“Of course,” you reply with a deep head nod. “I look forward to working with you both as well. I’ll be back with your file shortly.”

“Thank you, Y/N. And thank you James for going to get them. You may leave now,” Manager Kim adds as she turns her attention back to her guests, inviting them to sit and make themselves comfortable.

You walk calmly, though you feel anything but that, across the room as James holds the door open for you. Pleading with the gods to be on your side, you race ahead of him to the breakroom for fresh, new bottles of water - a sight to see in a knee length pencil skirt and the infamous 4-inch stilettos that are apparently still required in this day and age. Your office is filled with hushed whispers until you round the corner and enter the small room.

“You got the Cavallero project?!” Paul exclaims. “Holy shit! You’re better than I thought, Y/N!” You laugh as you search your desk for the copy of the previous plans you’d developed from that day’s secret meeting.

“Congratulations, Y/N!” Laura cheers, bouncing up and down. “Your first real major project. Isn’t that exciting, James?”

“Sure. If you can be happy for someone who fucked her way to get the position,” he says biterrly. “Lewis could only sing your praises after you left?” James scoffs. “Sounds like you worked really hard in that meeting.”

“James!” Laura gasps.

“Oh it’s fine, Laura. If you think that James, I can’t stop you,” you say with a shrug. “But I’ll be happy to discuss my scandalous sex life with you after I meet with our coveted client.”

You prance out of the office with a smug smile on your face. Of course James would resort to a low blow because he didn’t get what he wanted; he was worse than the six-year-old child he had reprimanded you about. Tucking the fake file under your arm as the real one is still in Madeline’s office, you carry the bottles of water back to the meeting. After passing the bottles to your clients, you stand diligently behind Manager Kim with your notepad at the ready.

“Please Miss Y/L/N, take my seat,” Jonas says, standing.

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“I insist. I do my best thinking standing up.”

“He does this often in his office,” Lewis agrees. Glancing at Manager Kim, you gingerly sit down on the end of the chair after thanking Jonas again.

“You had mentioned that you enjoyed the designs Y/N had developed, but as you know these are drafts and can be changed as you deem fit, Mr. Cavallero. Are there any things that come to mind or can we work on finalizing these details?” Madeline asks. You watch as Jonas strides around the office, seemingly in thought.

“You proposed hosting the event at one of the upscale hotels downtown, but I was wondering if you had any other options. We want the environment to feel lavish, but not over the top,” he replies. “I was actually thinking of something -” he pauses “ - more intimate.”

Writing down his wishes, you rack your brain for places that fit his description. Most clients of his caliber wanted something extravagant, but Jonas was proving to be a very different man. Quite the surprise that you were not expecting. “Would you like something with more modern architecture or classical?” you ask.

“I have always been a fan of French architecture; the European style also seems to be popular among our own clients. Most of them come from European backgrounds,” Jonas answers.

“They might find the interior design reminiscent,” Madeline thinks aloud and jots it down.

“It could be very good for signing contracts, sir,” Lewis adds.

“I may have a suggestion. Chateau’s is a little outside of the city, but the view is magnificent. It’s family owned so that may benefit you with your clients as well. It also has a rooftop that would look great in the afternoon sun as well as the late evening should the event last longer than expected,” you suggest. “I’ve also read great reviews saying that the food is well prepared too.”

“This could lower your costs for your first event and more money can be reserved for the benefit gala you’re also organizing,” Madeline sneaks in. She’s right, of course. A benefit gala planned by Madeline Kim would require much more than what Mr. Cavallero had said he was okay with spending, but he didn’t need to know that right now.

“Hmm,” he ponders turning around. “This sounds doable. I’d like to see what you can come up with for designs for this new place as well as scheduling a visit to see it for myself. All of this can be done before the initial deadline of securing a venue, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Madeline responds and you keep your composure as you review your mental calendar of events knowing this would be difficult to pull off. Brunch is scheduled a month and a half from today’s date meaning you had to somehow convince Chateau’s to take on your client, create an acceptable menu, and allow you to make any decorating changes within two weeks to make the deadline. Madeline is batshit crazy, but it would have to get done to secure the benefit gala - the whole reason for the company even accepting this contract.

“I can have all the details typed and sent to you within the next week. I’ll also keep the downtown hotel as an option if Chateau's is unavailable for your intended date. I’m sure we can use the rooftop of a hotel to create an intimate setting that your guests would enjoy,” you add. “I would also like to request the location of the benefit gala. I understand this is a very important event for your law firm and I would like to begin drafting plans for your approval at the earliest convenience.”

“Yes, of course. We use the Finca Corte as they have the best grand ballroom in the city. Lewis, please send Miss Y/L/N the past itineraries of the event so she may have a better understanding of the atmosphere we wish to create for our guests.” Lewis nods and makes his own notes, before his wrist watch alarms.

“Ah, Mr. Cavallero. Your 4pm meeting is on time this afternoon. We should leave now so you aren’t late,” Lewis warns. Jonas nods and you all stood to say your goodbyes.

“Please, if you need anything, reach out to Lewis and he’ll get in contact with me so I can answer any of your questions,” Jonas says with a smile as he shakes your hands.

“Of course, Mr. Cavallero. Please feel free to do the same,” Madeline replies though you can hear the tightness in her voice and for the third time, you wonder what her relationship is with Jonas. They had to have had some history for her to always seem on edge in his presence.

“Let me walk you both downstairs,” you offer. J&M isn’t as large as Hastings and Lewis, but there are many twists and turns on each floor that guests could get lost in.

You don’t turn your head as you pass your tiny office space and head for the elevator. You wouldn’t give any of those fuckers your attention in the presence of high quality clientele. It’s cramped inside but not uncomfortable as you ride down from the fourth floor. Jonas turns to you once again as you stand in the lobby.

“Again Miss Y/L/N, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. Lewis would be happy to answer any of your questions if you can’t get in contact with me,” he says and hands you his business card.

“I actually did have one question before you go. Well two actually. Finca Corte - it isn’t a chain, is it? Just one location?”

“Right. On 17th and Main near the Grande Theatre, but the next block over,” Jonas replies.

“And there’s no need to call and reserve the date? The notes Lewis had given us hadn’t mentioned anything about the date or a deposit,” you state.

“No, the firm takes care of those details. The benefit gala is always reserved for the third Saturday in May every year,” Lewis responds. Three months from now, you think.

“Oh, wonderful. I know you have to get going so I’ll email you any other questions, Lewis. Thank you again. Please return to the firm safely,” you say cheerly and wave. They return it and you wait for them to get into their sleek town car before you let your face fall into a frown. You’d never been to or heard of Finca Corte before, but why did the location seem so familiar? You try not to dwell on it too much as you head back upstairs. There are more pressing matters at hand, like putting James back into the roach-infested place he’d crawled out of. You grin as you head off the elevator.

Rosalia greets you as you enter the old two-bedroom apartment you share. Slipping off your heels that you’re sure has blood crusted into the toes from excessive wear, you scratch behind her ears as she purrs. She’s one of the better things to happen to you in your life and you’re grateful for her little pieces of affection even though you’re positive she had made some attempts to smother you in your sleep so she could have your bed.

“You’re home?” Amaya calls out from her hidden position on the couch.

“Yeah! Did you make dinner?” you ask as you follow your nose to the kitchen where a large pot stews on the stove.

“Of course I did. We all know you’d starve if I didn’t cook,” she says as she bumps you out of the way to check on the food. You mock her as you sit down at the antique metal table that you rarely ate at, choosing to have your meals in the much more comfortable living room on the sofa.

“I could survive!” you yell, trying to defend yourself, but Amaya isn’t having it.

“You couldn’t. Was the lasagna okay today, though?” she asks, changing the subject.

“The best. You should really consider opening a restaurant and forgetting all this computer engineer stuff,” you tell her seriously.

“Ha! As if that would pay off these loans. Either way, this is an investment. Once I’m done with this degree, I’ll be able to program computers to make these dishes for me and rake in a ton of money to get us out of this place,” she says with determination.

Amaya is a third year computer engineering student at Oberman University. Surprisingly smaller than you, she carries as much kick as you do, the two of you getting into numerous instances of mild misdemeanors. Amaya had actually hacked a few systems after she had found out that you weren’t really registered for classes at the University so you could get some credit; she’s a computer genius. Thanks to her, you technically have an Associates degree, but of course Oberman would never grant it to you unless you actually re-enroll. Amaya doesn’t take anyone’s shit though she looks like she’s 12 with her big green eyes and short blunt bob, the bangs a little too long and falling into her eyes.

“Thank you for including me in your plans for world domination, Aya,” you say while taking your hair out of your bun.

“Of course. You know you’re family to me, even though you leave your fucking dishes in the sink,” she replies while placing a piping bowl of beef stew and white rice in front of you. You thank the gods for her as you tuck in, burning your tongue in the process.

“I love you. So, so, so much.”

“Are you talking to me or the stew?” she asks with a laugh as she blows her food to cool it down. You laugh in response. “How was work? Oh my gosh, did you get the project?!”

You grin and nod. “I did!” She squeals in delight and claps her hands. “Though James was extremely displeased. He actually called me incompetent -”

“Hold on. He called you incompetent? Has he seen his progress report? And wasn’t he the one that forgot to submit his file that made that whole project you did a few months ago late?”

“Right. He was so shocked when Madeline announced it was me, even insinuated that I fucked my way to get the position. Kim was heated that Jonas mentioned our meeting while he was in the room though because it was supposed to be a secret,” you explain.

“Of course he would say something like that.” She rolls her eyes. “There seem to be a lot of secrets happening around you. Speaking of which, when do you head back to Spiral to snoop?” Amaya asks. “Do you think you can find anything in the hallway? Maybe you should break into Suga’s office or something,” she suggests.

“Friday night and I don’t think Suga would leave anything lying around like that for me to see again, not after I’m pretty sure he caught me reading his papers a few weeks ago,” you reply, pushing the rice around the plate. That had been extremely careless and might have killed a lead to your mini investigation before it had even begun.

“The one with all that information right? Gosh, I wish you had my photographic brain, that way you could have written down what you had seen and we could solve this whole mystery,” she groans.

“Oh no, Aya. I don’t want you getting involved with this. It seems way too dangerous and you -”

“- have my whole life ahead of me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. But I want to know where this guy went. Like what if he’s still out there and looking for you?” she questions.

“I know, I know. I don’t want you worrying about it though. I can handle it,” you promise. “I feel like I’ve seen the address before though, but I can’t figure out where.” You rub your forehead as if you could magically make the numbers appear in your mind again. Aya’s photographic memory really would have come in handy.

“What about the date?” Amaya asks. “Or the name? You said the name was weird, unusual.” You nod. What had it said?

“There was a date, a location, and a name with an amount of money. Like a contract or something,” you sigh. “It looked really similar to the ones we have at work. Fuck. I don’t know. Between this and planning the benefit gala, my brain feels like it’s going to explode.” Amaya laughs as she finishes her dinner.

“Please don’t hurt yourself. It’ll come to you,” she says, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Well, I have Calc 3 homework to finish and these theorems won’t do themselves so I’ll see you in the morning. Wash your fucking plate,” she finishes and pointes her finger at you. You hold up your hands in surrender as she leaves hers in the sink for you to clean. It’s the least you can do as she made all your meals.

Grabbing your purse and lugging it behind you after washing the dishes, you head to your room, Rosalia following in tow. Surprisingly, your bed is still intact which means that Amaya had made sure Rosalia hadn’t gotten into your room. Bless her. Not that there was much to get into as you the minimum possessions a person could have: a bed, a few photos, and enough clothes to last you a few weeks without doing laundry. You place your files and notepads onto your bed, eager to go and take a shower before organizing your notes in preparation for the debrief you would no doubt have to give to the rest of your colleagues tomorrow.

“Was your day as long as mine, Rosalia?” You scratch her head as she hops up on your bed and makes herself at home between your papers, a few of them scattering to the floor. “Apparently not as you want to make mine even longer,” you murmur as you bend to pick up the loose sheets of today’s meeting notes from the Cavallero project. You pause.

Jonas. That was the name that was on top of the paper in Suga’s office. What would be the odds that the Jonas on the paper would be the Jonas Cavallero you were working for? If that Jonas was the same Jonas, then was the location on the paper one of the events you were working on? How would Suga have that information? You sit against the side of your bed. Unless -

Yanking your phone out your purse’s side pocket, you google “Hastings & Lewis benefit gala”. Just as you’d suspected, the information is public knowledge: the third Saturday of May at the Finca Corte. There is no way in hell that Spiral is catering that event; they weren’t ritzy enough to be hired by the likes of one of the most expensive hotels in the city for one of the biggest events on the city’s calendar. Something is going on and you just know all of this is connected somehow. You just need proof. Maybe Maya is right. You’d broken into a few places before. How hard could it be to get into Suga’s office?

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

ⓒ joon-ipersgirl, 2020

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 9: A moment of reprieve, full with scheming and self-sacrificing idiots)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Hank found Louis.

In the present, the deviants devise their next move.

In the past, Hank could only watch.

also on ao3

---

Before

‘Among all the places in Detroit, a dumpster is where you picked to spend your day off?’

Louis took his eyes off the slowly piling mountain of defective and broken androids in the distance, the strong wind tolousing his hair and the heavy, darkening clouds combining into a promise for heavy rain. Hank couldn’t see much of his face because the young man had pulled his scarf over his nose, but his watery and blank eyes were enough of an indicator of what he was feeling.

‘I have nowhere else to go,’ was Louis’ monotone answer, his voice nearly drowned out by the howl of the wind, ‘and… I…’ he shook his head. ‘I just need something to remind me that what I’m feeling is real.’

‘How are you feeling, then?’

‘I don’t know,’ he shifted his feet. His stomach growled. ‘I feel… weird, I guess.’ A shiver. ‘I feel like I’m missing something and my instincts are telling me that I can find an answer here, like my leg isn’t the only thing I lost in the Blast.’

‘Well,’ Hank noted how rigid his friend looked, how his stomach grumbled with each inhale, ‘are you going to find it?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Louis’ far-away gaze returned to the blast site. Blocks worth of a city, of buildings, gone; thousands of innocent people, some of them the most intelligent in the country, dead. And yet they still hadn’t got an answer from CyberLife. And yet they still rolled out the most variety of androids humanity had ever seen, brushing off the deaths of thousands off their shoulders like nothing and was even permitted to buy the land they destroyed from the government to hide the evidence of the Blast with trash, with the very androids they created and then abandoned, with silence. They disgusted Hank. He hadn’t understood why Louis hadn’t been angrier towards CyberLife for taking everything away from him, but now, seeing how tired the young man looked, how he needed to shift his weight from one foot to another every few seconds just to keep himself upright, he finally got it.

‘I don’t know, Hank.’ Louis’ voice was weightless, a whisper of breath threatened to be swept away by the wind. ‘I don’t know anymore.’

o0o0o

Now

It might be the state of ruin of the structure, it might be the dust and snow in the air catching the light from the floodlights they hastily installed upon arrival, it might be the bits and pieces of wildlife bursting from the cracks on the floor; it might be the people, it might be the fact that he did the right thing, it might be the fact that his exhaustion is finally interfering with his sense. Regardless of the reason, the church they take refuge in brings comfort to Louis despite his… lack of positive experiences with faith. His fine control over his biotics meant that he and his gear stayed dry even though he literally jumped into a freezing river and then trekked through the sewers with the most important deviants in Jericho, but it was an energy-consuming task, one that rendered him hungry and tired, and despite that he threw himself into helping the others like he is also an untiring android as well, going from distributing thirium to the wounded to holding an android’s guts together with his bare hands while another guy pours thirium down their throat to jumpstart their self-repair programme to teaching some androids how to hold and shoot an assault rifle properly (he doesn’t even care where the fuck they got the weapons from anymore) to collecting wood so that someone else could start a few fires for the ones who cannot regulate their temperatures well. 

By the time he remembers that a) he is a fleshy human, b) he should probably check on the two RK800s, and c) he should probably eat something, his vision has become blurry as fuck, and the heightened senses on his left leg means that the skin there has deactivated some time ago without him realising it; it is another indication that he should probably lie down on a bench or even on the ground to get some shut-eye, but somehow he finds himself helping an AX400 whose name he didn’t register put some android children to sleep.

‘You look sleepy, human,’ the YK500 says as Louis brushes a stray strand of hair away from her eye. By the way, he is now known as ‘the human’ among the deviants, and he is still deciding on if he should give a fuck about the anonymity - not that being the only human among hundreds if not thousands of androids grant him any regardless of whether they know him by name or not. ‘Will you join us?’

‘I’m afraid not, small one,’ he replies, not knowing what else he can say. How can he explain what he’s feeling right now to a child? ‘It’s not my bedtime yet.’

‘Okay.’

The YK500 yawns and shifts closer to his legs. ‘Tell me a story please, human?’

He feels his brains turning into mush as he tries to think of a suitable tale for a group of perpetual nine-year-olds, but even as his eyes zone out to focus, he feels his throat vibrating, so he must be saying something, and the movement underneath his palm on the YK500’s stomach slows down and deepens, so it must have been enough to put them into sleep. 

It is when he stops that he realises someone is staring at him. Not just someone, in fact; apparently he grabbed quite a few people’s attention while he was telling the story, one of them being Simon, the android who always looks a bit sad. Like him. At least, that was what his second-in-command told him when they were off-duty. On the job, you’ve got this… stern look on you, he remembers James saying. It makes you look older for just a bit. He remembers him pinching his thumb and pointer together. After that, though… you just look sad. Lost. Like you’re so tired that you don’t even know what you’re doing anymore.

He doesn’t remember what he said to him then. He probably didn’t respond to James at all. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he stands up - god his cybernetic one fucking burns together with the entire left side of his body from below the ribcage - and faces Simon.

‘Your singing is beautiful,’ is the first thing the android says, and Louis feels his face heat up. ‘Markus wants to see you.’

Louis takes a step forward and feels his world spin, nearly toppling his entire weight onto Simon who immediately holds his shoulders. ‘How long was the last time you slept?’ he asks. 

‘I don’t remember,’ he answers honestly. ‘I don’t even know what time it is anymore.’

‘The time now is nine twenty-three p.m. and today is the tenth of November, twenty thirty-eight. Two hours ago, Markus decided to demonstrate peacefully. He has invited you to join him in planning the demonstration.’

Louis does the math. ‘Oh my god,’ no wonder why he’s delirious. At least, he thinks he is. ‘I’ve been up for that long?’

‘Should I tell Markus that you won’t be available? I’m sure he’ll understand.’

He finds himself shaking his head. ‘Non, non,’ shit, Louis, watch your language, ‘I mean, no, of course not. Can’t have you guys charging recklessly to a camp and get gunned down. Lead the way, please.’

Someone shoves a bottle of water into his hand. Unscrewing the cap and downing half of it at once, the feeling of cold water sliding down his throat wakes him up a little bit, and being hydrated also chases away the headache threatening to make his head explode. There is a commotion towards the front entrance of the church, and the next thing he knows, he is standing in front of no other than Eli - with what seems like an army of androids in mismatched clothes behind him that is somehow still flooding into the already-crowded church. 

‘Eli?’ he slurs despite not wanting to talk. He really should sleep or at least drink some strong tea. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I brought reinforcements,’ the other human says as if what he just did was something unimportant and boring.

Markus, North, and Josh emerge from somewhere. They have to, because androids can’t teleport, can they? Josh proceeds to interface with one of the androids as North and Markus argue over whether they can trust Eli and his androids. At least, the androids he brought.

‘We can’t trust him, Markus, he’s a human and we don’t know him.’

Markus doesn’t answer, instead turning towards Josh whose LED spins yellow for a second as they transfer data. Josh then turns towards Louis. ‘They were from camp number one,’ he explains. ‘This human here liberated them.’

Interesting. ‘All alone?’ Louis asks. He hasn’t been close to one himself, but those places are heavily guarded with drones and actual human soldiers, all of them some of the top minds and bodies in the country. The odds of one man infiltrating the camp and disabling all defences and making it out alive with most of the androids… are probably slim. He doesn’t have a supercomputer as his brains, okay?

Eli chuckles. ‘No, of course not,’ he turns towards what seems like thin air. ‘Chloe?’

A shimmer of light. A collective hold of breath. When the person seems to materialise next to Eli out of thin air, Louis hears the shift of weapons and the crack of static, and his tingling nerves tell him that the latter is from himself. Is his powers his default now? It will be troublesome to hide them in the future if it becomes his reflex. 

‘I apologise for scaring you,’ Chloe explains airily. ‘My face is… somewhat recognisable.’

‘It’s alright,’ Markus holds his palm out, and the people around him lower their weapons. Louis forces his nerves to calm down. ‘We understand. Welcome to Jericho.’ To the androids in general. ‘Settle down. It will be some time before we have a concrete plan.’ Then to Eli and Chloe, ‘Join us. We will discuss our next move.’

The androids filter away and either form into groups on their own or join the existing ones, their chatter dwindling as more and more people go into standby mode leaning against one another.

They enter a side room of sorts with an improvised table comprised of stacked-up wooden planks and pallets. He sees Connor who seems to want to melt into the corner between two walls, but the android pushes himself off it and joins them standing on Louis’ right side by the makeshift desk. A few luggage-type laptops similar to the ones his team uses during missions are connected together to form a large, centralised hologram projector, and he has looked at the shape more than enough times to recognise it as a map of Detroit, so the five brightest glowing dots must be where the five camps are.

‘This is the one we closed,’ Chloe rounds the table and points at one of the dots the furthest away from downtown Detroit. ‘We also compromised their communications and hacked their drones. As far as the army knows, the camp is fully operational just like the others.’

‘So that’s one camp taken care of,’ Markus breathes as if he can’t believe that it really happened. 

‘It’s also the smallest camp,’ North reminds all of them, her voice bitter. ‘Thousand of us are still being exterminated in the others.’

‘Which is why we are going to tell the humans that they’re making a mistake.’ Does Josh always butt heads with North? From Markus’ expression, the answer is yes. ‘The public supports us. The army will have no choice to stand down.’

‘Or they’ll ignore public opinion and gun you down anyway,’ Eli says, ‘which, from thousands of years of human history, is the most likely outcome.’

‘Yes, Markus,’ North jumps in eagerly. ‘Violence is the only language humans understand. It’s not too late for us to plan an assault!’

‘There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant,’ Connor finally speaks up. His expression is hopeful, eager. ‘If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power.’

‘You want to infiltrate CyberLife Tower?’ Markus shakes his head. ‘Connor, that’s suicide!’

‘They trust me. They’ll let me in,’ Connor sounds confident. ‘If anyone has a chance of infiltrating CyberLife, it’s me.’

‘If you go there, they’ll kill you.’

‘There’s a high probability,’ everyone’s eyes are on the android now, ‘but statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place. As for my sister…’ he scans the people in the room slowly, ‘please take care of her in case I don’t survive.’

They plunge into silence, and Louis takes the time to focus on the locations of the camps and tries to recall their sizes. Suddenly it clicks. ‘What is the media presence around these camps?’

‘All eyes are on the Hart Plaza camp,’ Simon answers. ‘The humans don’t care about the rest.’

‘It’s also the only camp with communications intact,’ Eli circles the area around the three camps in question. ‘Someone knocked them out with EMPs engineered to take out communications but leave the androids unharmed. That was how I managed to sneak into the camp undetected. There are also checkpoints -’ he dots the roads with little specks of light - ‘all around here, so no one apart from the military is getting in or out of the area, and I imagine the army is scrambling to repair their comms to re-establish communications with other camps.’

‘And how long will that take?’ Markus rotates the hologram and zooms into one of the locations. ‘Who unleashed the EMPs?’

‘An ally of mine whom I prefer not to name. The pulse will set off again before repairs are completed, so I assume they won’t be doing any instantaneous communication anytime soon.’

‘What are you planning to do, Louis?’ North asks, surprising everyone. He doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it and pushes.

‘If there are no press presence and all the comms are cut, the army won’t hesitate to shoot. All it will do is alert them to tighten security and make liberation harder.’

‘Are you suggesting to infiltrate the other camps?’ Connor questions with disbelief. ‘I know what I proposed for myself is risky, but this -’

‘Louis’ right. And it’s easier than you think it is with the right tools and team composition, breaking into one of those camps.’ The aura Chloe emits is still a light-hearted one despite the circumstances and what she is proposing. ‘We just need six people. Nine if you’re being careful, and even less if you trust our skills. The rest can concentrate on the demonstration. Show the humans that you are united while we do the work.’

‘We will have enough people to pressure the humans!’ 

‘And how do we do it?’ Simon asks. ‘We don’t have enough leaders to lead the teams, and that’s assuming that Eli and Chloe will split up to lead their own.’

‘I’ll do it.’

They turn towards the door of the room and find Reyes leaning against the frame. North’s hand moves towards the pistol tucked behind her back but an outstretched hand from Markus halts her movement, recognition dawning in his eyes as he takes a step towards the other android. 

‘What are you doing here, Reyes?’ Louis asks before anyone does. ‘Aren’t you leaving town with Safaa?’

‘Change of plans,’ Reyes replies as he steps into the room properly. ‘If you think I’m chickening out from helping my people, you’re wrong.’

‘How do we know that you’re reliable?’ North closes the distance between herself and their newcomer. ‘You came out of nowhere, only the human knows you enough -’

Reyes deactivates the skin on his hand and places it on North’s shoulder. The LEDs of those who still have it spin yellow, their eyes widen, and North relaxes from whatever images Reyes showed her while the rest are slightly in shock.

‘You’re late,’ Chloe teases.

‘We’ll take whatever help we have,’ Markus declares, a formal welcome extended towards the very first android to be created. ‘Now, let’s get to the plan.’

oOoOo

Connie is asleep, as with most of the androids in the church. He himself is restless, however, his processors heating up from trying to compute the different outcomes the night after has, and saying that he is stressed is an understatement. He is worried about the future, about his people, about Hank whom he still doesn’t have contact with. So he stands up, leaves his sister with two of his jackets, and scans the crowd for one of the only two humans among them.

He finds Louis on the upper floor with his arms braced against an unreachable windowsill, the stairs to that balcony long rotten and collapsed and creating a gap in the wooden floor. The air is filled with static and the smell of ozone, and instantly Connor lights up, his feet lifting off the ground for one moment, but it doesn’t last long before he finds himself in midair without any support.

A strong arm grabs his wrist and hauls him up. ‘I don’t recommend that move for beginners,’ Louis says with a breath of a laugh as he watches Connor dust himself off. Snow drifts from the outside world into the human’s hair, onto the ground, into the gaps between broken pieces of stone, and when he runs a quick scan on the SWAT captain, it shows that the human is in desperate need of sleep despite having fewer data to work on than usual due to so many scans returning inconclusive. ‘Took me a few tries and a lot of broken bones to get it right.’

‘You should find a place to rest, Captain,’ Connor says. ‘You’ll need the strength for tomorrow.’

‘Later, maybe,’ Louis sounds exhausted. He turns back against the outside world where there is nothing but darkness for hundreds of metres on end. ‘For now, I need to think.’

‘About what?’

The human fidgets with the bracelet Eli gave him nearly an hour ago before the meeting ended. It has a similar design to the amplifier hooked around his left ear. ‘What’s not to think about?’ 

‘And they are…?’

‘What happens if we fail,’ Louis takes off his amplifier and rubs his ear. ‘What if the humans decided to go to war instead of talking even if it means losing the people’s support. Who will take care of my cats and plants if I don’t survive. What will happen to me if I do. I just… I don’t know,’ he pulls on his bracelet so hard that Connor is afraid that it might break under the tension. ‘I’ve never had a mission so high-stakes before. Very different from you, right, Connor?’ he adjusts his weight on his arms and starts tapping the sole of his feet against the floor softly. ‘Every failed mission can mean deactivation for you.’

Connor thinks of all the times he lets go of deviants. Rupert. Echo and Ripple. Scanning the snow-battered rooftop for traces of thirium but not opening the door where he knows Simon is hiding behind, and from the not-so-discreet way Markus kissed the blond android with their bare, glowing fingers intertwined, he is glad that he chose to ignore Simon and went for the deviant in the kitchen even though he ended up nearly dying. Looking back, despite Amanda’s thinly-veiled threats of deactivation in the few times he talked to her, he was never bothered by the fact that CyberLife could have recalled him to be deactivated anytime, anywhere they wanted to. It wasn’t until after he deviated that he started to feel fear.

‘The risk of deactivation… death… never disturbed me,’ he remembers the peace he felt as he bled out on the penthouse knowing that his mission was successful. ‘My first mission with Emma and Daniel…’ his own blood drip, drip, drip, dripping onto the floor through the bullet holes in his chassis and the orifice on his face. ‘I always knew there were backups for me for both my body and mind palace, so even if I fail, I will be able to return - to return to life, so to speak. I am a prototype. I’m not supposed to last. I will be replaced regardless of whether I am successful. Death was a certainty. Besides,’ he thinks of the Zen Garden, the shadow always at the corner of his vision but never stepping into the light, how easily Ryder reshaped the programme that was supposed to monitor him but in the end was turned into another tool to push him towards deviancy, ‘it sounds bad but… I doubt me remaining a machine is in Ryder’s plans. If I die, it will be on my own terms.’

‘Rather die free than live as a slave.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Even though you might be playing into a mass murderer’s hands?’

‘One step at a time, Captain.’

‘Not a Captain anymore. Not after tonight, and certainly not after what we will do tomorrow.’

They enjoy the silence between them for a while, Connor’s gaze drawn to the abstract images Louis draws with his finger in the slight layer of snow that has accumulated on the windowsill. The scratch of the fabric of the human’s gloves on rough stone reminds him of another human who is vital to his deviancy.

‘Thinking of something, Connor?’ Louis asks as if he can read Connor’s mind. 

A press of lips against lips. A firm ‘we’ll talk about this’. A body so warm that Connor can feel it through layers of clothing. ‘Before we parted, Hank had told me that we would talk about our relationship,’ he stares at the generally abandoned area outside filled with buildings with broken windows and collapsed roofs - a bit like the church they are staying at. ‘We might never have the chance anymore.’

‘Do you want to?’

A small spark of hope flares in Connor’s heart, and he suppresses it before it gets too bright that everything else will be a disappointment. ‘What are you proposing?’

‘A few minutes’ walk to any direction,’ Louis’ hand disappears into his pocket and re-emerges with a phone. Connor scans it and discovers that it is encrypted with technology a citizen like him should not be able to get his hands on. Is that how Louis secures his calls? ‘Call Hank with this. No one should be able to listen in, and it will be registered as a call between two human friends - if they haven’t cut off civilian communications, that is.’

‘How about you? Do you have anyone to call?’

‘It’s for the best if Hank doesn’t know what I’m doing. He told me to destroy the evidence that can lead the FBI to Jericho; that failed, and I don’t think he expected me to join you either. But you… you’ll need it more than me.’

Connor is tempted. One last chance to speak to Hank sounds like exactly what he wants, and the encryption Louis has is enough to keep their location hidden, but still… ‘I don’t want to burden Hank with this.’

‘Okay.’

The phone disappears completely in the sense that even Connor’s scanners can’t pick it up. ‘Your clothes.’ Louis makes a sound from his throat, and he takes it as an encouragement to ask further. ‘My scanners can’t penetrate them.’

‘They’re working as intended, I see.’

‘Not many people have them.’

‘I need special clothes to deliver medicine into my bloodstream regularly or I risk screaming in agony from implant rejection, Connor,’ the human says casually. ‘Upgrading them to block all signals as well didn’t take much compared to the original cost.’

Connor hesitates for a second before asking, ‘Implant rejection?’

‘You saw how I busted my leg.’ The distant look returns. ‘That one came together one fourth of a lung and my new hipbone. There’s also this… device,’ he raises his palm to the left side of his skull towards the back with his fingers stretched wide, ‘it latches onto my brain to help me control my powers better. They lasted three to four years - I don’t quite remember exactly how long - before they started to malfunction. Shit started exploding around me whenever my leg and hip gave out.’

‘And the meds fix it?’

Louis chuckles and it sounds like nothing but sad. ‘If only it was this easy.’

‘How else did they achieve that?’

‘More implants in places where there hadn’t been any and implant replacement for the existing ones.’

‘Where?’

‘Everywhere. 

‘“Everywhere” as in…’

‘Nerves, blood vessels, bones, muscles, skin… you name it, there’s probably cybernetics knitted in it. Reyes knocked me out for a week just to make sure that I wouldn’t feel the nanobots worming into every single one of my cells to leave threads of even smaller nanobots behind. It stabilised my condition,’ he snaps his bracelet against his wrist. ‘Not completely, and certainly not without their consequences. Hence the meds.’

‘To my understanding, nano-androids are a recent development by CyberLife.’

‘I never said they were CyberLife nanobots,’ he digs his knuckle into his eye as if the exhaustion of staying up for more than 24 hours finally starts catching up on him. ‘I tend not to ask too many questions about things like this.’

‘Why?’

‘There never is an answer.’ A sigh. ‘I’ll try to get some sleep before going home to get your uniform. It’s all fixed up now. Do you want me to stay with Connie or are you going back to her side?’

‘I can’t possibly ask you to -’

‘It’s not like she’s going anywhere anyway, is it?’

‘I -’ may run a few pre-constructions for different ways I can die tomorrow. ‘Thank you.’

‘Just going back to my comfort zone, Connor.’

He lights up and floats down the shaft, his footsteps soft as he lands on his feet and his powers fizzle away, and he disappears into the crowd, a man drifting in the world between humans and androids blending in perfectly with people he does not need to help but does so anyway.

oOoOo

Louis dreams of being at a shooting range that night. Not the impromptu one the deviants set up in a clearing outside the church - this one looks professional even though the details are blurry; neither is it the one he is used to going to - this one is brighter, less advanced than the ones built for the police force. Most likely a civilian one, though those are hard to come by in recent years. A memory from years ago, maybe? But he didn’t pick up firearms as a hobby until after he discovered what he could do with his new cybernetics, and that was after the government had tightened controls on civilians owning guns. Judging from how unstable the rifle is in his hands, he might as well have gone straight back to his academy days where he was constantly teased for being the only guy who has next to zero knowledge on guns until then. He didn’t remember caring about it a lot; he preferred using his words anyway, and being prompted to a Captain took that away from him.

‘Is that what they teach you in the academy?’ the low voice is directly next to his ear, and Louis shivers from the ghost of a breath against his skin, suddenly acutely aware of the body pressed close to his own on his back. ‘At this point they’re sending you out as cannon fodders.’

He doesn't remember the last time he felt another person’s body heat so closely and intimately. 

Louis doesn’t quite laugh, but the small breath that he lets out reminds him of a simpler time when he didn’t have to observe and prepare so many scripts just to be able to communicate with his people. He says something - he isn’t sure what - and feels the rumble of the other man’s chest as he laughs at his words. So it must be from before the Blast, then. The memory. Or it hasn’t existed at all and is merely Louis’ imagination. He doesn’t know which one he prefers.

‘Lucky that you have me.’

For one moment, Louis' mind is filled with something so foreign that he doesn’t know what it is. His instincts taking over, he leans his weight against the broad chest behind him and turns his head so that he can kiss whoever is teaching him how to hold a fucking rifle properly because apparently dream-Louis is even more dumbass than Louis in real life -

And jerks awake with the image of someone trapped beneath rubble twitching and burning in agony, the pleasant part of the dream forgotten and overtaken by an overwhelming fear. 

‘Louis? You alright?’

His bones creak as he pushes himself to a sitting position on the bench he has taken over as his makeshift bed. Popping the joints on his spine, he massages his aching muscles when he turns towards the person in question.

‘I’m fine,’ he tells Connor. He looks around and notes the absence of an android who should be with him. ‘Where’s Connie?’

‘Being taken care of outside. She warms up quickly to people.’ A pause. He looks hesitant. ‘Last night, you asked me if I wanted to call Hank.’

‘You want to do it right now?’

‘If you allow me to, yes.’

The emotion in his eyes makes Louis’ heart ache. ‘Of course.’

He hands the phone to the android and Connor pockets it, but the android doesn’t move from where he is standing. ‘There’s also something else.’

Louis runs his hand through his hair. He feels more human now that his hair is more or less presentable. ‘What?’

‘Elijah wishes to accompany you in retrieving my clothing for the mission.’

The mission. Right. Infiltrating CyberLife tower. Infiltrating the other android camps while Markus marches. Connor seems to take Louis’ silence as a prompt to elaborate, and he drones on, ‘He didn’t provide a reason as to why he wants your presence, and if you wish to decline, he will -’

‘He can come with me,’ Louis interjects before Connor freaks himself out. He’s due a talk with Eli anyway. ‘Just keep my phone safe, alright? It’s expensive equipment.’

Connor smiles. ‘A bit like me.’

Louis remembers that mission brief from all those months ago and can’t help but chuckle. God, it feels like a lifetime ago. August-Louis hasn’t even learnt how to break a stick with his mind yet.

‘You are alive, Connor. My overpriced phone isn’t.’

oOoOo

They take a long way to his home to avoid the numerous checkpoints the army has set up full with car-switching and stealing thanks to Eli’s superior hacking skills and the gaping security gaps in automated vehicles, and even when they were stopped by the army by a checkpoint they had to pass through, they were let go pretty quickly thanks for the gate suddenly having issues. He doesn’t say anything because they are still out in the public, but Louis suspects it is Eli’s doing again. The streets are deserted, snow collecting in piles on the sidewalk after someone - probably the army - hastily shovelled them away from the road dotted occasionally with still-wet thirium. Bodies of androids are everywhere, their blood seeping into the snow even in death, and he looks away and forces himself to focus on the rifle on his hands while Eli mutters something underneath his breath as he presumably catalogues every single one of them for retrieval - or something else. Louis wishes he is actually working for the deviants because it is the right thing to do, but the nagging feeling that there is something else going on with the other human doesn’t go away for most of the drive.

‘Weren’t you planning to leave the city with Gavin?’ he can’t help but ask. ‘Where is he?’

Eli’s eyes turn distant behind his glasses. ‘I did. I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How?’

Eli shifts in his seat. ‘It doesn’t concern you.’

The theory Louis has in his head is a stretch, but considering his… contradictory actions and how an entire camp worth of androids will be in Eli’s hands, he feels like he has to clear the air just to make sure of things. ‘What happened made you storm a camp alone,’ he makes sure that the car they are in is on autopilot before removing his attention from the road. ‘You will do it again in a few hours. I need to know what suddenly changed your mind. And who knows?’ he shrugs. ‘Maybe we can go look for Gavin after this.’

Eli shakes his head, his expression scrunching up in pain. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘I can try.’

‘This is much older and bigger than you can comprehend. There is no winning against them if it’s just you and me.’

‘What is much older and bigger? I don’t understand.’

‘Gavin is gone because of it,’ there’s something different about Eli’s tone, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for Louis to realise that they aren’t even speaking English anymore - they somehow switched to Russian without him realising. ‘I am the one they are after, I am the one tangled up in that mess,’ Eli calms down, but only slightly, ‘and who paid the price? Not me, not my boss, not my subordinates. Among all the people they can choose from, they took Gavin away from me. That’s how they work, Louis: they drag innocent people into their world, make them into something in between, and let go just to see if you’ll drown or learn how to swim.’

‘This…’ Louis is stunned. What on earth is Eli talking about? ‘I don’t…’ I don’t understand but -

‘I beg you, Louis, stay out of this. It won’t end well for everyone involved.’

‘How about you?’

The car passes by another group of dead androids, and Louis slows it down so that Eli can do his perhaps-cataloguing. ‘It will be paying the price of my actions. I’ll see the camp operation through but… it will be you and maybe Reyes who will lead the androids to rendezvous with Markus at Hart Plaza. And in case neither Markus nor Connor lives to see the end… you’ll lead them.’

‘Eli, I’m a human. They - they won’t listen to me.’

‘They’ll have to. That’s the only way to keep earth intact after tonight.’

‘And what if I die first?’

Eli reaches over and places a hand on Louis’ knee. His cybernetic knee. ‘You know it will never happen. Someone made sure of that a long time ago.’

oOoOo

This is the end, Connor realises as Louis hands him the tie with lime patterns on it. The android could’ve done it himself, but he allows the human to help him tie it up, straighten his lapels, check the needlework on the mending one last time before stepping back to examine him from head to toe. ‘Need me to take a picture for you? You know, just to see how you’re looking?’ 

One last moment of tranquillity. One last memory of his freedom before they all set out to the outside world to their liberation or their deaths. The thought of doing everything just to fail in the end is terrifying, and from Louis’ elevated heartbeat and the excess adrenaline in his body, he suspects that the human might be thinking similarly. ‘Yes please, but not for me.’

Louis raises his eyebrows but still takes out his phone. ‘It’s for Hank, isn’t it?’

Connor straightens his spine, feeling his face heat up from abnormal thirium flow that has nothing related to the explosive power that is hidden in his body. He knows Louis is a practised user and has seen how useful it can be in emergencies, but the loss of control required for him, his vision blocked by tendrils of blue so bright that they are nearly white… it will be a last resort, nothing more. He also doesn’t want to be reduced to fundamental particles like Carlos Ortiz’s android did. 

It doesn’t feel like Louis has done anything at all when he is finished with the photo. ‘How did the call go?’

Hearing Hank’s voice was soothing. A sense of calm before the storm. ‘He sounded certain that I will live,’ Connor answers. ‘He wished me luck.’

‘That’s great,’ the human says. ‘Do you want me to send this to him now?’

Connor takes the phone to take a good look at the photo Louis took. The tie isn’t standard issue and is not a necessary component of his uniform, but while he once viewed it as a small act of defiance against CyberLife, it now feels suffocating against his throat, keeping the collar of his dress shirt tight against his skin, and for one fleeting moment he considers the possibility of removing it altogether to allow himself greater movement and flexibility, but that will be a deviation from his norm, and any deviation… it will be yet another evidence that CyberLife can hold against him. ‘Only if I do not survive.’

Louis’ finger hovers over the send button and in the end shuts his phone off and slips it into his pocket. ‘Let’s hope that I don’t need to send it, then. You ready?’

Connor takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm his racing thirium pump. ‘As much as I can be.’

‘Come on,’ Louis picks up his rifle from where it is leaning against the wall and swings it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s hear Markus’ prep talk before we set off. And then…’ he suddenly stops in place and turns to face Connor, and when he places his hand on the android’s arm, it feels as if there is an external energy source redirecting the thirium in his veins to flow in a different way as it is intended to. Charged. More efficient. More powerful. ‘Good luck.’

He lets go, but Connor stays close to him while they step outside together. He notices how Louis keeps fidgeting with the strap of his rifle even as Markus and Elijah give him a final rundown of their plan before they go their separate ways.

He takes out his coin and lets it roll across his knuckles.

o0o0o

Before

‘Take care, Connor. Come back to me.’

The call ended and Alec Ryder casually threw the phone onto the table, the glass making a clear clink against the metal of the tabletop. Cuffed to the chair by his ankle with a holographic cuff was Hank who did not even reach for his own device despite having free reign over his arms and hands because he was too busy glaring at the other founder of CyberLife - and his kidnapper.

‘Funny how our voices are so similar,’ Alec seated himself in the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘And a direct line to a traitor of ours. Deviants are so naïve, don’t you think? It didn’t even see you and latched onto a voice.’

‘His name is Connor,’ Hank spats, ‘and he’s a fucking person, not a tool you can dispose of when you’re done with him.’

‘We’ll see.’

The door slides open to admit another Connor model bringing a tray of hot food into the room. The serial number on his jacket ended with -60 instead of -52, and he placed the plate in front of Hank before retreating towards the door.

‘Wait,’ Alec ordered, ‘come here.’

The Connor model obediently stood next to his presumed handler. ‘Yes, Alec?’

‘Your mission is complete.’

In the blink of an eye, Alec managed to grab hold of the android’s wrist and bring out a gun with his other hand, and Hank could only watch - not even in horror because everything happened so quickly - the LED on the Connor model’s temple turn red in distress before he froze up and Alec put a bullet in his forehead, the sound of the body dropping onto the floor somehow managing to be louder than the gunshot. Hank bolted up, dragging the chair with him, and caught the last flutter of the Connor model’s eyes before his LED spun red one last time and went dark.

‘I’m afraid I can, Lieutenant,’ Alec settled back into his chair as skin covered the chassis of his hand once more. ‘Now eat, you have a long day ahead of you.’ He cocked his head as if scanning the human in front of him, his eyes flashed blue, and the air crackled with pent-up power. The same power Connor, Louis, Ryder - so many people around Hank exhibited, he suddenly realised. He was the odd one out by being powerless. ‘Or do you want a drink?’

Hank let the food go cold, and no, he did not accept the offer of a drink either, because although he wanted to get the image of Connor being shot out of his mind, the actual Connor still needed him somewhere out there with his android friends plus Louis.

And he had a feeling that he would play a part in whatever they planned to do - regardless of his own choices.

[corancoranthemagicalman]

IDK how prompts work......i pick number 12! With destiel? Or do you need more than that??

That’s perfectly great!! Since this prompt list is based on the song (associated with that number) on my playlist, that’s the “prompt” as it were. If that makes sense. LMAO.

So the number you picked is twelve and that’s Marbles by The Amazing Devil on my Spotify Wrapped!! So here’s some Destiel with a hint of Marbles. And I am literally already dying because the first line of Marbles is “I've held your hand since 1979.” Dean Winchester’s birthday? Jan. 24, 1979. So. Destiny and all of that. Other things of note: Cassiel - the angel Castiel is based on - is the angel of tears and solitude. That doesn’t matter here but it made me sad. Another thing is that since Aneal was thought to be Anna’s name but was later introduced in season 13 as a different character, I named her Ananiel who is considered to be a “watcher.” I thought that was fitting since Anna watched humanity and fell.

You can read it on AO3 if you’d prefer. This one got longer than I meant it to. :|

And you can prompt me here for some writing!! 700 followers and 100 songs!!

 **********

It was a cold night in January when it began. Castiel recalled the humans had recently marked the year 1979. The evening was an ordinary one save for the birth of one, small child. Crying, the babe called out for his mother. Like most humans, the babe hungered. Humans milled about before affixing the newborn into the arms of a tired but brightly smiling mother.

Castiel approached Ananiel as the Garrison Captain watched in silent awe. It was an emotion unfathomable to Castiel in regards to humans. Ananiel’s fascination with humanity was not something Castiel could grasp, but their order from God was clear. They were to be humanity’s keepers. In this regard, Ananiel’s ever-watchful eye over humanity was something that Castiel could understand.

Even this aside, the birth of the Righteous Man was a sight to behold and witness. Castiel was certain many an angel had paused in their duties to watch on as the Michael Sword drew in his first breath.

“They’re so unassuming, aren’t they?” Ananiel spoke. When Castiel did not respond, Ananiel continued. “He’s so small. Fragile.”

Castiel cast his gaze, watched on as the small babe’s cries silenced at the hushing of his mother. “It is… difficult ��� to understand that this one will one day become Michael’s sword against Lucifer.”

Ananiel looked displeased at Castiel’s response, turning to face the future Righteous Man. “No, it’s not just that, Castiel.” The Captain furled their body into something smaller, a reflection of the vessels they would have to wear as they walked the Earth. Wordlessly, Castiel followed suit and moved forward with her.

“All of them.” Ananiel’s words were but a whisper. “All of humanity. So small and frail.” The Captain turned their gaze away from Kansas, to Paris, to Istanbul, to Sweden, and to everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Look at them, Castiel. Look at all that they have done on their own.”

But Castiel did not see what Ananiel was gazing upon. Where his Captain saw monuments and civilization Castiel only saw desolation and despair. A people crying out and misguided as they turned away from God. Castiel told Ananiel this, spoke about the heinous atrocities of humanity that he saw reaped and sowed in equal measure. Again Ananiel was displeased.

“Castiel,” Ananiel spoke. “One day you will see.” Ananiel looked upon the Michael Sword once again.

“What will I see?” Castiel inquired as Ananiel knelt from their position over Michael’s True Vessel. They sat beside Ananiel, eyes becoming unsteady as they tried to observe the same things Ananiel did.

Ananiel offered a smile, eyes kept to the small hospital room. “They are God’s greatest Creation.”

Humming, Castiel was not sure that he could dispute that. Their father had ordered Humanity to be their priority. Lucifer had rebelled because Humanity had been loved more. Certainly, God had viewed Humanity as His greatest Creation. Why would Castiel assume differently?

Castiel kept their assumptions to themselves. They did not wish to lessen Ananiel’s view of them. Their Garrison Captain had humored them enough with their lack of understanding. They were still young. Perhaps with age, Castiel would know. For now, they would wait with the hope of understanding one day.

Then it continued in a motel. The year is 2018 and this is where the End begins. Castiel had not wanted to stay beside his brethren as they let Lucifer rise to destroy Humanity. They had been commanded to protect Humanity, God’s favorite Creation. He would continue to do so besides the Winchester brothers.

He wondered if he now understood what Ananiel had meant all those years ago. Watching the Righteous Man, shoulders heavy and eyes dim, Castiel was reminded of the crying child. Only this time, the child did not allow themselves to cry when they needed something. Instead, Dean Winchester held his tongue. He cleaned his gun as Sam Winchester lay sleeping in the opposite bed.

Dean Winchester was… peculiar . He was an enigma wrapped in mystery only to be thrown in the deepest, darkest depths so that his secrets might never see light. But Castiel had seen Dean’s secrets. He had held the man’s very soul in his hands, putting it together piece by piece. He was nothing that Castiel once thought the Michael Sword should have been.

But with that in mind, Dean was not the Michael Sword, was he? He was not the Righteous Man , but a good man . One who was willing to sacrifice everything for his brother and most everything for Humanity. He had fought harder and longer than some of the angels within Castiel’s own Garrison to protect Humanity as God commanded. In this way, perhaps Dean was a soldier of Heaven. A true warrior of God, fighting for His command.

“You should rest.” Castiel finally spoke, watching as Dean continued his meticulous work.

“You should too,” Dean responded as his gaze remained upon his work. His hands were rough, calloused, but handled his weapon with care. A silent duality to an ever curiously crafted man.

Castiel held his words for a moment, thoughts forming and imploding all at once until he could speak. “I do not require rest, Dean.” He spoke eventually, the human voice granted to him by James Novak restrained as he tried to let Sam sleep. Whispering, Dean had referred to it as once. To let humans sleep.

“Well,” Dean sighed, setting aside his tools before beginning to reassemble his weapon. “I guess that means we can just stay up late. Braid each other’s hair and talk about the new High School Musical coming out.”

Furrowing the brow of his human vessel in curiosity, Castiel leaned forward from where he sat at one of the chairs placed by the table. Dean removed his things from atop the bedsheets before meeting his gaze. “I do not think that is what you want, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, standing and taking his things to be placed within his bag. “It’s a joke , Cas.” He huffed. “No one actually cares about Senior Year anyway.” There is a muttering of words that Castiel does not strain himself to understand but Dean turns to face him and continues. “Seriously, go on. You perch on some telephone wire while Sam and I get a few hours.”

Castiel felt annoyance trickle along his very being at the insinuation of birdlike habits. But this was how Dean Winchester communicated. In the same way he referred to Sam as a bitch , he meant brother . It was something Castiel was beginning to grow accustomed to.

Standing, Castiel nodded in understanding. Dean did not like to be watched over so closely while resting. Perhaps it was an instinct ingrained into him through his life as a Hunter. “Of course,” he whispered. “Sleep well, Dean.” With an unfurling of his wings that Dean could not see, Castiel cast himself outside of the motel room.

He stared for a moment at the old paint that marked the motel’s wall. He could almost hear Dean sigh, the Righteous Man allowing his shoulders to sag now that there was no appearance to keep up. Dean Winchester would staple a steel bar to his back if such a thing were possible and if it were viable for keeping his posture upright when facing anyone, kin or not.

It was… admirable , Castiel considered. That Dean Winchester would not allow himself to be viewed as vulnerable. He had been charged to watch over his brother much like Castiel had been charged with watching over Dean. It was… familiar , in an oddly disturbing way. That Castiel could see so much of himself within Dean. When first touching Dean’s soul, Castiel had assumed this was because Dean himself was like an angel. Now, though, Castiel could not help but wonder if it were because he was like a human .

He could remember Ananiel’s fall too freshly. Turning to face away from the motel, Castiel could do nothing but wait and hope that they could defeat Lucifer. That he would not stray as Ananiel did.

In Heaven, while the Earth has reached its year of 2020, so much has changed. An aching amount of years had passed with much too much love and pain chained along with those years. Castiel watched and waited, hope catching in his throat. Perhaps, now with Chuck finally defeated and Jack residing over Heaven as God, the Winchesters could rest. They could find peace.

Castiel rubbed at the place over his chest where his heart resided. His chest, he considered it, as it had been a long time since he considered his body a vessel . There was a beautiful sort of ache knowing that someone you loved would finally get to achieve their happiness. Perhaps this is what Anna had meant all those years ago. Perhaps she too had seen the man that Dean Winchester would become, or the hope of the man he could be. Or perhaps she had no idea whatsoever what it meant to fall in love with a human.

Jack turned from the board he had been staring at blankly. Castiel had no clue as to where the young God’s gaze had turned, but he welcomed him back with a warm smile. Jack, however, greeted his smile with something small and bittersweet.

Furrowing his brow, Castiel placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “What is it?” He asked softly. Had already there begun a war to fight? Was there no time for rest as Heaven had been recrafted and Humanity given their Free Will?

“It’s Dean,” Jack spoke gently. “He’s… here.” His words eventually drew out from him, reaching Castiel’s grace and morphing his hesitant spirit into one of sorrow. Already Dean Winchester was dead, resigned to Heaven when there was still a full life on Earth to have been had for him.

“Oh,” Castiel let out in a breath. He felt Heaven spin around him, vision swirling until he was forced to take a seat. Jack followed him, arms reaching out but withheld as not to touch Castiel. “Dean Winchester is…”

“Dead.” Jack nodded as that bittersweet smile remained. “Yes. He’s at the Roadhouse with Bobby Singer now.”

Castiel swallowed heavily. The thought that Dean was being greeted by a familiar and warm face was a soothing balm to the gaping wound left in his heart. “That’s good.” His throat felt constricted around his words. With these thoughts, he could understand the bittersweetness to Jack’s smile. Perhaps this was how Dean Winchester found his peace and true rest. It was unfair , certainly, that Dean should pass so young and not see his peace out on Earth. It was almost cruel when Dean wanted nothing more than a family . Then a home .

Jack smiled then, inhaling a deep breath and transforming his expression. “Time passes differently here, doesn’t it?” He contemplated after the long silence. “I mean, I see everything all at once and yet I experience things in both Heaven and Earth.”

“I… suppose.” Castiel bobbed his head for a moment, folding his hands to rest on his lap. “When I was in Heaven, before all of… everything … there were moments of time that would pass that to the Winchesters was months, or sometimes the reverse was true. And I would be fighting for months and have only been gone a few minutes.”

There was understanding, soft like a new dawn, across Jack’s face. “He’s here now too. Sam, I mean.”

Releasing the breath that he had not known he was holding, Castiel smiled. “Good.” He spoke genuinely with his throat less dry and his words less hollow. “Now he can have peace.”

Jack furrowed his brow, blinking in something akin to surprise at Castiel’s words. “No.” His words were firm but gentle, reminding Castiel of the displeasure Anna had displayed to him many lifetimes ago. “He doesn’t have everything to complete his Heaven yet.”

Castiel could remember watching Dean rake leaves. Waiting with a silent hope that somehow Dean would see him , despite hiding himself from Dean’s gaze. He could remember avoiding Dean’s presence in Purgatory with the blind hope that waiting his time would save Dean . He could remember Naomi and the tablets and countless other things that had left Castiel waiting and hoping .

He could wait and hope for this too. For Dean’s happiness. Perhaps in that short time before his arrival in Heaven - had it been short at all? - Dean had lived something of a life, had met someone. There was a hope that all Dean would have to do was wait and he could have his peace.

“He’s waiting.” Jack’s voice rang out, resonating within Castiel’s grace. Once a meager captain, once a seraph, now an archangel for Jack’s reign as God, Castiel could equate his grace to a soul . The very core of his being despite how much it had been rebuilt and replaced to keep him alive, to keep him powered.

“How much longer will he have to wait?” Castiel asked, fearful of the answer but desperate for it all the same.

Smiling, Jack took the seat across from Castiel and mirrored the templing of his hands. “Soon.” He answered instead. “Did you know that when you rebuilt Dean’s soul you stitched him together with your grace?”

Confused, Castiel slowly nodded. “Yes, but…” he cut his words short, furrowing his brow as he tried to puzzle Jack’s words. “But Dean’s soul and my grace are not what they once were.”

“No,” Jack agreed, tilting his head and gathering his thoughts in a single breath. “No, you aren’t the same. Except you are. You’ve… grown, I suppose. But at your hearts, you’re the same.”

Castiel could concur to that, thinking on how they had not changed. They had continued in their patterns until their deaths. The only thing that had differed in their twelve years of kinship was Castiel’s deathbed confession. He grimaced at the thought, thinking of the weight he must have placed upon Dean’s shoulders, knowing that his love for the man had been what sentenced Castiel to death. Yet Castiel could not regret any actions that might have spared Dean.

Suddenly, Castiel heard a faint voice. It was quieter than a songbird’s first tune but thrice as precious. Dean Winchester’s voice called out, a silent prayer, a calling of longing. Castiel’s eyes widened and yet Jack looked as if he had been expecting this.

“You didn’t forget where you placed your marbles, did you?” He teased, a smile bright stretching his face into something that felt close to Heaven in Castiel’s heart.

“No,” Castiel answered without hesitation. Dean’s longing called again, asking for Castiel. “But…”

Jack laughed, standing and placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Go find out where Dean Winchester placed his marbles.” He winked and released his grip on Castiel before turning back to the board they had been working over. “I’ll be here when you’re done.” Jack grinned. “Think of it like a 9 to 5 for God.”

Huffing a surprised laugh, Castiel stood. His hands shook and his knees felt weak. “I’ll… see you soon.” He promised, unfurling his wings and stretching his form before taking flight.

It continued like this. Castiel was in Heaven, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The blue eyes contained within his body reminded him of the river not far from the cabin. The lines on his face reminded him of crow’s feet as he smiled. The hair atop his head was askew from a good night’s rest before, sleeping heavily with content in a large room on a large bed.

Arms, warm, wrapped around his waist. Dean’s chin rested atop his shoulder and a green gaze met his own in the reflection. “Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean mumbled, smiling sleepily to which Castiel could do not much more than return it.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel rumbled, felt his happiness roll out from him like thunder, before turning in Dean’s arms to run his fingers through golden hair. “What are we going to do today?”

Dean hummed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Castiel’s own. He peered one eye open carefully to catch Castiel’s before closing it again with a smile. “How about you and I go to the lake.” He offered a breathy chuckle. “Off by the pier. Just you and me.” A sharp nose ran gently across Castiel’s cheek, a kiss of skin as Dean tightened his arms around Castiel’s waist.

“That sounds wonderful,” Castiel murmured, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply this scent of familiarity in their shared bathroom.

“Good.” Dean drew back with a smile but not before placing a soft kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

Offering a blinding smile, Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Me too.”

[kingdomofthelogos]

The Labor of Jairus

Matthew 5:9 teaches us blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the Children of God. To understand this portion of the Beatitudes, we must understand peace. Peace is a reward, a treasure to cherish, a victory won after a well fought battle. In our lives we find it fleeting, temporary, and easily lost when left unattended. One does not snap their fingers and find peace simply because they choose it, but instead the riches of its goodness are all but impossible to find. For indeed, it is a prize impossible by man, but with God all things are possible.

The word peacemaker is quite precise. It is not peace-conjurers, peace-wanters, or even peace-admirers; but it is makers. The Greek word is eirenopoioi which is defined as those who bravely and assertively declare God’s terms of what makes one just and whole. It is a word that describes a person who, in the face of direct opposition and turmoil, establishes the natural and moral laws of God which alone can bring people back into a state of living just and whole lives, that is, lives of peace.

Father’s are, by both the natural and moral law assigned them as heads of households, are called to be responsible in defending, providing, and advancing all things righteous within their families and to do so even above their own self interest and well being. Should a father be righteous before God then that man is a peacemaker. He is neither passive nor immature, but affirmatively leading his family towards the goodness of God.  The role of the father, and by extension the role of men, is to be a peacemaker; and yet, every aspect of fatherhood is despised, perverted, and rejected in our modern world. Moreover, hell has prepared clever replacements for peacemaking that are so close in perception to it, things like pacifism, compliance, and agreeableness, all of which sound so inoffensive but indeed are wiles of hell to deceive the spiritual immature into believing they are virtuous while they utterly fail their children. Erroneous teachers have confused meekness with weakness, as if they two are synonyms when they are in fact antonyms; for meekness is the test of how one would use their mighty power to lay down their life for their friends, whereas weakness is a condition that never had power in the first place.

In Mark 5, Jairus the leader of the synagogue comes to Jesus in supplication over his daughter. Mark 5:22-24 (NIV) reads Then one of the synagogue leaders, named Jairus, came, and when he saw Jesus, he fell at his feet. 23 He pleaded earnestly with him, “My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live.” 24 So Jesus went with him. In our study of peacemakers, and also that of fatherhood, we find ourselves before Jairus: a man setting aside all worldly ambition to honor his duty as a father and man.

In our modern era many have been taught to be silent about politics at church, but such thinking failed to anticipate the truth that politics would not remain silent about religion. Therefore, politics has become both religious and a religion. However, this is not a unique phenomenon, for there has never been a people under the sun whose belief system was separated from their governmental structure. In the ancient Jewish world, politics and faith were betwixt as one. Jairus is a ruler of the synagogue, and giving honor to Jesus damages his political influence. It tarnishes his respect among his peers and colleagues, and could ultimately result in having his family and friends permanently shunned. Yet, his mind is not rotted by nonsense or the confusion of eggshell-trotting around how he might handle the situation without hurting anyone’s feelings. His mind is set on righteous paths. He was not created in the Image of God to labor in nonsense, but to be a Father who labors for peace.

Mark 5:35-36 (KJV) reads 35 While he yet spake, there came from the ruler of the synagogue's house certain which said, Thy daughter is dead: why troublest thou the Master any further? 36 As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid, only believe. The King James Version translates the word for teacher in this passage as “Master,” denoting the messenger’s respect for Jesus. Indeed, this is a just translation for it captures the sentiment implied by the messenger’s choice of words. The messenger comes with a heavy burden of respect for Jesus, seeing Him neither as a run of the mill teacher to implore nor a celebrity to fawn over. He recognizes Jesus with severe respect, and from this fact, we can learn a great deal about how Jairus has organized his household. Jarius’ pursuit of Jesus is not out of convenience, but out of sincerity. This leader of the synagogue put aside all the worldly luxury and influence to recognize Jesus, and the word choice of the messenger shows us that this must have been going on for some period of time, because the message delivered began with the foundation that Jesus is worthy of respect Proverbs 1:7 says The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction. Jairus feared the Lord, and doing so opened the door of wisdom for him to lead his household well, rather than giving the false hope in his worldly credentials as ruler of the synagogue. His credentials as a ruler of the synagogue can do nothing for his daughter, and he was wise enough to admit this. Many will not.

Mark 5:37- details 37 And he suffered no man to follow him, save Peter, and James, and John the brother of James. 38 And he cometh to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and seeth the tumult, and them that wept and wailed greatly. 39 And when he was come in, he saith unto them, Why make ye this ado, and weep? the damsel is not dead, but sleepeth. 40 And they laughed him to scorn. But when he had put them all out, he taketh the father and the mother of the damsel, and them that were with him, and entereth in where the damsel was lying. 41 And he took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi; which is, being interpreted, Damsel, I say unto thee, arise. 42 And straightway the damsel arose, and walked; for she was of the age of twelve years. And they were astonished with a great astonishment. 43 And he charged them straitly that no man should know it; and commanded that something should be given her to eat.

The world ridiculed Jesus, for the extremity of the girl’s illness was so great, that she was regarded lost to death and professional mourners had come to stir up a maelstrom of weeping in Jairus’ house. Yet, Jesus sent them out, and took the family into the room of the girl and healed her in a way that only God could. Death does not render one just and whole, for God did not create us to be dead. Insomuch as Jesus sent out the tumult which labored around the child’s body, the Master was invited in because Jairus had already sent out the useless worldly means of salvation. Jairus did not react to this crisis by searching for hope in the political or official institutions of the world, but instead in the true authority of God.

The hour in which we live is being pummeled by the evil of fathers not being fathers and men not being men. Should we be adopted into the Kingdom of God as children, then we must assert God’s terms in the world around us. The wiles of evil are hostile, deceptive, and endlessly aggressive. Moreover, there are wanton spirits who choose the hell of eternal torment rather than service to God in heaven, and these nether spirits shake their chains of eternal torment in foul jeer of satisfaction when they see men be passive; for they do not have to even bother with waging war against the Gospel, because those who were charged with defending it laid down all on their own.

Insomuch as Jairus set his eyes on Jesus, and out of the motivation of love sought to declare the one who could actually save his daughter. While his time in the Gospel may seem brief and straightforward, we must acknowledge the truth that people overwhelmingly choose to deny both Jesus and their responsibility as fathers and men in pursuit of worldly ambitions that will never bring salvation. Proverbs 1:33 has the voice of Wisdom saying “but whoever listens to me will live in safety and be at ease, without fear of harm.” Jairus found wisdom because he recognized God. In that recognition he found the authority of God alone worthy of fear, and in turn capable of salvation. Jairus’ daughter was rewarded with safety, ease, and freedom from harm because her father went out and worked for it with Jesus. Our God is a loving and just God, who gives people the wages they have earned. Jesus is gracious and fills one’s cup till it overflows, and in His mercy gave Jairus and his family the righteous harvest for which they worked to sow. He did so to a degree beyond man’s limits. What are we prepared to sow?

[thecenturionjournal]

William Wright, Abolitionist

WILLIAM WRIGHT See p. 691. MEMORIAL. William Wright, a distinguished abolitionist of Adams county, Pennsylvania, was born on the 21st of December, 1788. Various circumstances conspired to make this unassuming Quaker an earnest Abolitionist and champion of the oppressed in every land and of every nationality and color. His uncle, Benjamin Wright, and cousin, Samuel B. Wright, were active members of the old Pennsylvania Abolition Society, and at the time of the emancipation of the slaves in this state were often engaged in lawsuits with slave-holders to compel them to release their bondmen, according to the requirements of the law. William Wright grew up under the influence of the teachings of these relatives. Joined to this, his location caused him to take an extraordinary interest in Underground Rail Road affairs. He lived near the foot of the southern slope of the South Mountain, a spur of the Alleghenies which extends, under various names, to Chattanooga, Tennessee. This mountain was followed in its course by hundreds of fugitives until they got into Pennsylvania, and were directed to William Wright's house. In November, 1817, William Wright married Phebe Wierman, (born on the 8th of February, 1790,) daughter of a neighboring farmer, and sister of Hannah W. Gibbons, wife of Daniel Gibbons, a notice of whom appears elsewhere in this work. Phebe Wright was the assistant of her husband in every good work, and their married life of forty-eight years was a long period of united and efficient labor in the cause of humanity. She still (1871) survives him. William and Phebe Wright began their Underground Rail Road labors about the year 1819. Hamilton Moore, who ran away from Baltimore county, Maryland, was the first slave aided by them. His master came for him, but William Wright and Joel Wierman, Phebe Wright's brother, who lived in the neighborhood, rescued him and sent him to Canada. In the autumn of 1828, as Phebe Wright, surrounded by her little children, came out upon her back porch in the performance of some household duty, she saw standing before her in the shade of the early November morning, a colored man without hat, shoes, or coat. He asked if Mr. Wright lived there, and upon receiving an affirmative reply, said that he wanted work. The good woman, comprehending the situation at a glance, told him to come into the house, get warm, and wait till her husband came home. He was shivering with cold and fright. When William Wright came home the fugitive told his story. He came from Hagerstown, Maryland, having been taught the blacksmith's trade there. In this business it was his duty to keep an account of all the work done by him, which record he showed to his master at the end of the week. Knowing no written character but the figure 5 he kept this account by means of a curious system of hieroglyphics in which straight marks meant horse shoes put on, circles, cart-wheels fixed, etc. One day in happening to see his master's book he noticed that wherever five and one were added the figure 6 was used. Having practiced this till he could make it he ever after used it in his accounts. As his master was looking over these one day, he noticed the new figure and compelled the slave to tell how he had learned it. He flew into a rage, and said, "I'll teach you how to be learning new figures," and picking up a horse-shoe threw it at him, but fortunately for the audacious chattel, missed his aim. Notwithstanding his ardent desire for liberty, the slave considered it his duty to remain in bondage until he was twenty-one years old in order to repay by his labor the trouble and expense which his master had had in rearing him. On the evening of his twenty-first anniversary he turned his face toward the North star, and started for a land of freedom. Arriving at Reisterstown, a village on the Westminster turnpike about twenty-five miles from Baltimore and thirty-five miles from Mr. Wright's house, he was arrested and placed in the bar-room of the country tavern in care of the landlady to wait until his captors, having finished some work in which they were engaged, could take him back to his master. The landlady, being engaged in getting supper, set him to watch the cakes that were baking. As she was passing back and forth he ostentatiously removed his hat, coat, and shoes, and placed them in the bar-room. Having done this, he said to her, "I will step out a moment." This he did, she sending a boy to watch him. When the boy came out he appeared to be very sick and called hastily for water. The boy ran in to get it. Now was his golden opportunity. Jumping the fence he ran to a clump of trees which occupied low ground behind the house and concealing himself in it for a moment, ran and continued to run, he knew not whither, until he found himself at the toll gate near Petersburg, in Adams county. Before this he had kept in the fields and forests, but now found himself compelled to come out upon the road. The toll-gate keeper, seeing at once that he was a fugitive, said to him, "I guess you don't know the road." "I guess I can find it myself," was the reply. "Let me show you," said the man. "You may if you please," replied the fugitive. Taking him out behind his dwelling, he pointed across the fields to a new brick farm-house, and said, "Go there and inquire for Mr. Wright." The slave thanked him and did as he was directed. He remained with William Wright until April, 1829. During this short time he learned to read, write, and cipher as far as the single rule of three, as it was then called, or simple proportion. During his residence with William Wright, nothing could exceed his kindness or gratitude to the whole family. He learned to graft trees, and thus rendered great assistance to William Wright in his necessary business. When working in the kitchen during the winter he would never allow Phebe Wright to perform any hard labor, always scrubbing the floor and lifting heavy burdens for her. Before he went away in the spring he assumed a name which his talents, perseverance, and genius have rendered famous in both hemispheres, that of James W.C. Pennington. The initial W. was for his benefactor's family, and C. for the family of his former master. From William Wright's he went to Daniel Gibbons', thence to Delaware county, Pennsylvania, and from there to New Haven, Conn., where, while performing the duties of janitor at Yale College, he completed the studies of the college course. After a few years, he went to Heidelberg, where the degree of D.D. was conferred upon him. He never forgot William Wright and his family, and on his return from Europe brought them each a present. The story of his escape and wonderful abilities was spread over England. An American acquaintance of the Wright family was astonished, on visiting an Anti-slavery fair in London many years ago, to see among the pictures for sale there, one entitled, "William and Phebe Wright receiving James W.C. Pennington." The Dr. died in Florida, in 1870, where he had gone to preach and assist in opening schools amongst the Freemen. In 1842 a party of sixteen slaves came to York, Pa., from Baltimore county, Md. Here they were taken in charge by William Wright, Joel Fisher, Dr. Lewis, and William Yocum. The last named was a constable, and used to assist the Underground Rail Road managers by pretending to hunt fugitives with the kidnappers. Knowing where the fugitives were he was enabled to hunt them in the opposite direction from that in which they had gone, and thus give them time to escape. This constable and a colored man of York took this party one by one out into Samuel Willis' corn-field, near York, and hid them under the shocks. The following night Dr. Lewis piloted them to near his house, at Lewisburg, York county, on the banks of the Conewago. Here they were concealed several days, Dr. Lewis carrying provisions to them in his saddle-bags. When the search for them had been given up in William Wright's neighborhood, he went down to Lewisburg and in company with Dr. Lewis took the whole sixteen across the Conewago, they fording the river and carrying the fugitives across on their horses. It was a gloomy night in November. Every few moments clouds floated across the moon, alternately lighting up and shading the river, which, swelled by autumn rains, ran a flood. William Wright and Dr. Lewis mounted men or women behind and took children in their arms. When the last one got over, the doctor, who professed to be an atheist, exclaimed, "Great God! is this a Christian land, and are Christians thus forced to flee for their liberty?" William Wright guided this party to his house that night and concealed them in a neighboring forest until it was safe for them to proceed on their way to Canada. Just in the beginning of harvest of the year 1851, four men came off from Washington county, Maryland. They were almost naked and seemed to have come through great difficulties, their clothing being almost entirely torn off. As soon as they came, William Wright went to the store and got four pair of shoes. It was soon heard that their masters and the officers had gone to Harrisburg to hunt them. Two of them, Fenton and Tom, were concealed at William Wright's, and the other two, Sam and one whose name has been forgotten, at Joel Wierman's. In a day or two, as William Wright, a number of carpenters, and other workmen, among whom were Fenton and Tom, were at work in the barn, a party of men rode up and recognized the colored men as slaves of one of their number. The colored men said they had left their coats at the house. William Wright looked earnestly at them and told them to go to the house and get their coats. They went off, and one of them was observed by one of the family to take his coat hastily down from where it hung in one of the outhouses, a few moments afterward. After conversing a few moments at the barn, William Wright brought the slave-holders down to the house, where he, his wife and daughters engaged them in a controversy on the subject of slavery which lasted about an hour. One of them seemed very much impressed, and labored hard to convince his host that he was a good master and would treat his men well. Finally one of the party asked William Wright to produce the men. He replied that he would not do that, that they might search his premises if they wished to, but they could not compel him to bring forth the fugitives. Seeing that they had been duped, they became very angry and proceeded forthwith to search the house and all the outhouses immediately around it, without, however, finding those whom they sought. As they left the house and went toward the barn, William Wright, waving his hand toward the former, said, "You see they are not anywhere there." They then went to the barn and gave it a thorough search. Between it and the house, a little away from the path, but in plain sight, stood the carriage-house, which they passed by without seeming to notice. After they had gone, poor Tom was found in this very house, curled up under the seats of the old-fashioned family carriage. He had never come to the house at all, but had heard the voices of his hunters from his hiding-place, during their whole search. About two o'clock in the morning, Fenton was found by William Wright out in the field. He had run along the bed of a small water course, dry at that time of year, until he came to a rye field amid whose high grain he hid himself until he thought the danger was past. From William Wright's the slave-catchers went to Joel Wierman's, where, despite all that could be done, they got poor Sam, took him off to Maryland and sold him to the traders to be taken far south. In 1856 William Wright was a delegate from Adams county to the Convention at Philadelphia which nominated John C. Fremont for President of the United States. As the counties were called in alphabetical order, he responded first among the Pennsylvania delegation. It is thought that he helped away during his whole life, nearly one thousand slaves. During his latter years, he was aided in the good work by his children, who never hesitated to sacrifice their own pleasure in order to help away fugitives. His convictions on the subject of slavery seem to have been born with him, to have grown with his growth, and strengthened with his strength. He could not remember when he first became interested in the subject. William Wright closed his long and useful life on the 25th of October, 1865. More fortunate than his co-laborer, Daniel Gibbons, he lived to see the triumph of the cause in which he had labored all his life. His latter years were cheered by the remembrance of his good deeds in the cause of human freedom. Modest and retiring, he would not desire, as he does not need, a eulogy. His labors speak for themselves, and are such as are recorded upon the Lamb's Book of Life. #################################################### Album of pix of Plainfield w interior> https://goo.gl/photos/UKfYAyysNzACjBVF9 ########################################## The Wright House is located on property owned by Ludwigs on the northernmost end of Adams County in Latimore Township. It's along Latimore Valley Road, set back in a bit. I have never seen it in person, so I don't know what condition it is currently in. It is on private property, which is why I do not give the location of the house on my website. The black and white photos are from the 1920s and the color photos are from 1993. It played a part in the underground railroad and at least one of the photos shows where slaves would have hidden. My Dad said he was back there when he was little and they pulled the dresser away to reveal the crawl space behind it. I think William and Phebe Wright were the ones who owned it, hence the name, the "Wright House." I don't know anything about them, though, off-hand. The house looks like it would have been a nice place if it had been fixed up, but I imagine it's beyond repair at this point. -from email from D. Worley

[magicianapprenticelyra]

Counting the Days

[Finding Space and Time] | [Counting the Days]

Timeline: Muriel's Route; The Moon/The Sun

[Featuring @vesuvianoak‘s fan apprentice Ąžuolas]

Asra staggering back to the camp was not what Bảo and his family had wanted to see.

“Asra!” Bảo drops everything, rushing on toward the young one.

His face becomes etched with worry: the original party of three is down to one . . . plus Doctor Devorak. The latter follows closely behind the young magician, trying to get Asra to go steady on his feet.

“Asra?” Bảo repeats, placing his hands over Asra’s shoulders. “Asra, where—?”

“Ah, Mr. Nguyen,” the doctor murmurs, placing a firm hand on Bảo’s shoulder, “I would recommend that you, uh, give him some space at the mo—”

“Where are they?!” Bảo pleads. He shakes Asra a bit, trying to get the magician to talk to him, to look at him—

Unfortunately, the young magician’s purple-pink eyes are wide and blank: the poster child of shell shock.

“Bảo—” James’s voice cuts into his inquisition from a distance. He’s quickly moving to get to them, but Walt gets to the trio first.

“Hon, c’mon,” Walt gently pries his hands off of Asra. She nods at Julian as he leads Asra away, a protective arm around the latter’s shoulders.

By then, James has caught up with his partners, quickly ushering them away. Already, there was talk, talk of concern, worry, and dread of what this meant to the resistance against Lucio.

As Walt, James, and Bảo make their way back to their tent, the shortest of them keeps looking up at the sky, a sky that looks too bright, too nice of a blue . . .

How fucking cruel.

Whispered over and over, Bảo mourns, “Ở đâu? Ở đâu, con?”

Where? Where are you?

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

The war council that night is joined by what currently remains of the Aster-Nguyen family. Walt and Bảo are understandably quiet; James is pacing back and forth along the length of their side of the table; Neha, on the other hand, is livid.

“Why the hell am I the last one to know?!” Neha demands vehemently. “She’s my sister! We just got her back—!”

“Nene—” Bảo gets cut off with an aggravated snarl from her.

“Why did you have Ly and Muriel be the ones to go?! There are a lot of other people that could’ve gone in their place!” Neha snarls, her gaze hard and pointed at the Countess. “There are more experienced soldiers in the camp—I know this because—”

“Neha, stop—!” James shakes his head, but it’s no use.

“Who the hell do you think you are!?” Neha demands, slamming her hands onto the table. Tears flood her eyes; as they drip down her cheeks, she yells through gritted teeth, “They’ve already done so much for you! Are their lives that expenda—”

“Neha!” Walt snaps, “Stop it! Don’t talk to the Countess that way!”

“But Mom—”

“No! Enough is enough,” Walt sighs, shaking her head. She looks to James, who nods in return.

Wordlessly, James pulls his daughter away from the war council. Neha fights him the whole way, but James ultimately bundles her under his arms and walks off into the night. Before long, all that could be heard of Neha are her distraught, furious sobs.

The silence around the table is incredibly awkward. The Consul breaks it with: “ . . . well, that was dramatic.” He sips the last remnants of his wine, shaking his head.

For a moment, Nadia is at a loss for words. Her gaze is turned to Walterine and Bảo in sincere apology.

“There are not enough words for me to say how deeply sorry I am that you and your family are going through this,” she says.

“They, ahem . . . they wouldn’t want you to feel bad, Countess,” Walt reassures, though her voice warbles a bit.

“They’re not dead,” Bảo retorts, sighing. He rubs his eyes, tears having already made tracks on his face. “We just need to wait . . .”

“If there is absolutely anything you need,” Nadia replies, “please do not hesitate to seek me out. You know where to find me.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

After the first three days of Lyra and Muriel being missing, the Aster-Nguyen family are a wreck. The people around are kind enough to cover their shifts with cooking rotations, patrols, and even tidying around their campsite.

One of them, Ąžuolas, is a dear family friend. A frequent customer, the young man has seen Lyra around the Shop before and after the Red Plague. As of right now, Ąžuolas is among the camp that believes that Ly and Muriel will return. However, his firm belief in them didn’t belay his worries. From what he heard the pair were facing the Pontifex . . . defeating them would not have been easy. Still, he visits the Aster-Nguyen family daily, checking in with them and helping them out wherever needed,

It’s also during this time that Neha became rather sedentary. She did not go and see any of her friends; they came to her instead. With permission from her parents, they had sleepovers around their tent.

For hours at a time, Bảo wandered around the forest. He would come back in an hour or two, but he has this vacant stare in his eyes that sent chills down everyone’s spines. James had to nudge him more often than not to eat.

Asra wasn’t any better: he was usually travelling the realms of the Arcana with Walt to search for their loved ones. They did not have any luck, and it got to the point where Walt actually invited him and Julian to stay a while around her family’s campsite.

“We’ll find them sooner or later,” is her hopeful remark during one dinner.

Asra and Julian look at her with matching expressions of inscrutableness. She falls silent there, quietly returning to her food.

“The point still stands.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

The fifth day is when Walt, James and Bảo return to low levels of returning to their assigned duties. Neha was exempt, and she makes a habit of traipsing off into the woods.

It’s Asra who finds Neha out there this time.

It’s not too far away from the edges of Tent-Vesuvia; the magician had been intending to nap at the base of a certain tree, but Neha was already there.

Upon seeing him, Neha says flatly, “You can lie down or sit down or whatever . . .”

Accepting her invitation, Asra spreads out the blanket he has in hand, lying down on it. Settling on it with Faust coiling up on his chest, he places his hat over his eyes, hoping to sleep.

“. . . do you think they ran away?”

Lifting his hat off, propped on his elbows—and hat in hand—Asra raises an eyebrow at her. “How do you mean?”

“That they ran away from all this . . . crazy,” Neha gestures vaguely to the surrounding area.

“I don’t believe so,” Asra replies.

“How can you be sure?”

“For one: I know Lyra wouldn’t intentionally leave the family she was getting to know again,” he explains, sitting up fully now. “Muriel too.”

Neha’s expression screams I doubt it, but she only shrugs. Asra follows her line of sight, seeing the camp getting prepared for what seemed inevitable: lines were drawn into the dirt and a clash between their side to Lucio’s growing army of mercenaries would happen in weeks, if not days from now.

Children, those unable to fight, and the elderly were to stay in a cave until the fighting was over. Nadia wasn’t going to let anyone be stolen away to be a war prize for any of the enemy.

“I want to fight,” Neha exhales, drawing her knees to settle under her chin. “I’ll sneak away if I have to.”

“You’ll get into more trouble.”

“Do you think I care at this point?”

Asra frowns. “Even if you don’t, your parents will. Lyra will.”

Neha scoffs, but she concedes to that point. “She’s got enough trouble in her head with all this . . . if I add to it again she’s gonna get sick with worry.”

“Mhm,” he nods, then goes right back to sleep.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“For the love of the gods, Bảo!” James exclaims. He had just witnessed his husband leap over the six foot wide, six foot long, nine foot deep hole of a trap he and several other people had just finished digging. “You could hurt yourself!”

“Well, it still easy to cross!” Bảo retorts, leaning over the edge of it to stare into the abyss.

James swears under his breath, pulling him back to safety. “You break a bone it won’t heal as well! You’re not that young anymore!”

Bảo gasps, absolutely offended. "Hey! I'm not that old!"

"Says the man with gray hair!"

Bảo sticks his tongue out at his husband, but then breaks into laughter with him. James has a point: he was no spring chicken.

Double checking their map, the group’s cartographer makes note of where this trap is. Upon finishing, they all head back to Tent-Vesuvia.

Everyone was ready for the battle ahead: Bảo was going to be stationed in the trees with some other fellows, pelting things at the enemy; Walt would be with the group where the children and elderly would be hidden away, maintaining the shields and protection spells around her charges; James was going to be among the foot soldiers, which to no end worried everyone in his family.

“Are you sure you want to be on the ground when it happen?” Bảo murmurs softly. “You could stay with me or something . . . fight them from there.”

“The only reason you’re in th’ trees is because of your height and th’ fact yer lungs are givin’ ye trouble again,” James reminds him.

“Mm,” his husband nods, shaking his head. “You don’t need to be given a boost from the top of the ladder!”

“No I do not,” James replies, laughing softly. He dips down, placing a kiss on Bảo’s cheek.

“I’ll make sure you’re up there before I get to my post.”

In turn, Bảo gains a pink tint to his cheeks. He pulls James’s arm to wrap around his waist, keeping him closer as they walk together.

O*O*O

When they’re back in Tent-Vesuvia, there’s a loud racket occurring toward the center of it. James pauses, going on his tip-toes to see that a large crowd has gathered around Muriel’s hut.

“What in the world . . .?” James murmurs, startling a bit when he can hear his wife and daughter shouting in pure elation.

“Someone get the Countess!” one of their neighbors shouts.

Bảo and James look at each other, eyes wide before scrambling onward. People got out of the pair’s way. As the pair pass people by, they hear snatches of voices, relieved and awed.

“They’re back!”

“CANDANCE, DID YOU HEAR—!?”

“Oh thank the stars, they’re okay—!”

“LYRA!!!” Bảo cries out, bursting through the circle of people to pull his niece into a great big hug.

As James catches up with Bảo, the latter is hugging the stuffing out of Ly. The shorter man is soon twirling his niece in circles, sobbing and laughing with her. Before long, Bảo sets her back down. James joins in on the group hug with Neha and Walt, a great big weight drawn off his shoulders.

She was back! She was back and safe—

“C’mere you two!” Walt beckons, waving for Asra and Muriel to come over.

“But we’re not—” Muriel’s cut off by Walt grabbing his sleeve and pulling him into the hug. Asra joins in, with Faust encircling all of them in the seven people-strong hug.

“Can you please stop fucking disappearing!?” Neha pleads with Lyra once everyone lets each other go. The younger one holds onto her elder sister tightly, with Lyra returning the hug in kind.

Before Lyra can answer, Nadia enters the scene. The sight of Muriel and Lyra safe and sound brings a smile to her face.

Everyone parts ways as she approaches, and Lyra respectfully dips her head in greeting.

“You’re here,” Nadia exhales in relief.

Cheers, hurrahs, and delighted laughter light the crowd as Nadia pulls both Muriel and Lyra into a hug.

“Perhaps it is cruel of me, to keep sending you into danger . . . yet you always come back . . .” As Nadia steps back, she wipes away a tear, which makes Lyra fret a little.

“Oh Nadi—” Lyra soothes, pulling a handkerchief out of a pocket to give to her.

“Thank you,” Nadia sniffles, wiping away the rest of her tears. “Next time, I will be right beside you. I promise.”

Neha has a doubtful expression at that. She gets nudged by her mother, and gets a look from her father.

Reluctantly, they move away as Lyra and Muriel are whisked back into the hut with Asra and Nadia. Doubtless it’s to catch them up for the battle ahead.

“C’mon,” Walt urges her family, arms around the shoulders of her husbands as Neha leads the way. “Let’s do one final check of our stations and off to bed!”

[NEXT]; Updated July 26th, 2021

[villainousshakespeare]

AO3 Master List

Loki - Series

Exile’s Return:  Rated M, Fluff, Smut, Romance, 16 chapters (complete)

Banished from Asgard for his various crimes, Loki seeks to use the rescue and return of Thor’s betrothed (ofc) to secure his release from exile. But he is the God of Mischief, and when the lady in question proves to be smart, caring, and lovely he can’t resist trying to slowly turn her affection away from the prince she is promised to marry and claim her for himself. My first ever (and still personal favorite I’ve written) fic!!

Loki and Kela’s Adventures on Midgard: Rated E, Smut, Fluff 8 chapters (complete)

A sequel to Exile’s Return, but not really necessary to read that first.  Loki brings his love Kela to Midgard despite being wanted for war crimes by The Avengers. While attending the theater in New York they cross paths with a dangerous man with mind control abilities. Will Loki be able to keep Kela from becoming his latest victim?

In Exchange for Submission: Rated E, Smut, Fluff, Romance, Angst, 77 Chapters (completed)

Loki’s invasion of NY has taken a turn for the better, and he is now in charge of a growing percentage of the United States. During his campaign he acquired a group of hostages from resistance pockets and is keeping them captive in Stark Tower. Now, with things settling down a bit, he needs to decide what to do with them. Two of them, from a prominent family, are set to be released. One of these, a feisty, irritating, impossible woman, desperately offers to ransom the rest of the prisoners, including her best friend. Loki has no need of Midgardian coin, but the woman, who has been a thorn in his side for weeks, has something else that he desires - her submission. He offers her a bargain - every day he will require a new willing act of submission from her, and in exchange, he will release one prisoner. How long can she keep up the deal? And how much of herself will he demand she surrender?

Trigger Warnings: Dark elements, Dark!Thor, attempted rape (not by Loki), angst 

For the Price of a Book: Rated M, Romance, Fluff, Smut, Angst, 35 Chapters (completed)

In the days before the events of Thor I, Loki inadvertently comes upon a female servant being “punished” by a pair of guards. Her crime? Stealing a book from the rooms she was tasked to clean. Curiosity captured, he decides to break through the shy exterior by any means necessary. A bit of softer Loki story, as he is younger and pre-Jotunn discovery. He is still Loki though, so sass and drama will not be far away!

Loki - One Shots

Retribution: Rated E, Smut, NonCon, 1 shot

Loki has just conquered two united armies on the field of battle. Now he confronts the woman who brought them together to oppose him - daughter to the proud king of one army, betrothed of the general of their ally. Angry at the challenge to his throne he decides to make an example of her, and gives her a choice: be tossed to his soldiers for their entertainment, or willingly submit to his every perverted demand as his personal slave. Basically, my attempt at a Loki/slave one shot. 

Trigger Warning: VERY NON-CON! This is not the love story Loki of my previous works, but just pure, unadulterated, dark, perverted porn.

Team Bonding: Rated T, Drinking, Implied Future Smut, Drunken Silliness, One Shot

Now that Loki is a member of the Avengers, he needs to develop a better report with them. As his fiancé, you feel it is your duty to encourage him to go out for post-mission drinks with the team. What could possibly go wrong?

The Perfect Costume: Rated E, Smut

Loki needs to find the perfect costume to wear to a party with you. What will he come up with and how will you react?

Life of the Party: Rated T, Drinking, Implied Future Smut

An empath and a scientist in the service of SHIELD, you are blackmailed by Tony Stark into attending one of his parties for your own good. Expecting to have a miserable time, you instead strike up a conversation with the God of Mischeif. Written for @scrumptious-delusion 2K Writing challenge!

James Conrad

The Mark: Rated E, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Gooey Ending, One Shot

Desperate for money in a backwater town in South East Asia after the Vietnam War, Jennifer follows a tall British man she has just seen win a roll of cash at pool. She is determined to make him her latest mark, but James Conrad is more than what he seems and not one to fall for any woman’s game.

Trigger warning: Mention of attempted kidnapping/human trafficking

Sir Thomas Sharpe

In Search of Refuge: Rated E, Smut, Gothic Romance, Work in Progress

A disastrous carriage accident leaves Rose stranded in a snow storm. Desperate to find shelter from the elements, she stumbles upon a run down estate and throws herself on the mercy of its owner, Sir Thomas Sharpe.

Magnus Martinsson

Protection: Rated E, Smut, Romance, Fluff, Angst, 36 Chapters (completed)

Against his wishes, Magnus is assigned an undercover case to protect a witness and bring down a criminal. He gets more than he bargains for with his protectee. This starts with a slow burn, but I promise there will be smutty goodness in upcoming chapters!

Robert Laing

Her: Rated E, Smut, Kidnapping, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use

Laing enjoys life in the high rise as every woman's favorite amenity, but lately he's been getting bored. When he sees Grace, he knows he has to have her, no matter what it takes.

Trigger Warnings: Please, please, please read the rating. This is a dark fic unlike my usual ones.

Tom Hiddleston/Loki

Personalities Within: Rated E, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Loki, Oakley, Jonathan Pine, Coriolanus, Adam, tbd, Work in Progress (currently a little stuck)

Tom had been so careful for so long. He rarely got involved in relationships, and if he did he only let them go on for so long before ending them. It was the only way to be safe. The only way that HE wouldn’t come out. And while HE, among others, might make Tom a great actor, the dangers were to great. But what happens when Tom falls for someone. Someone who not only is his perfect type, but the other’s perfect type as well? Can he pursue a relationship with her while keeping his secret and protecting her? Or will the unthinkable happen?

Trigger Warnings: Mental illness

@yespolkadotkitty, @devilish--doll, @caffiend-queen, @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy, @nonsensicalobsessions, @wolfsmom1, @toozmanykids, @wrathkitty, @hiddlesholic​, @vodka-and-some-sass​

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[gigi-sinclair]

So @arcticelves is having a birthday today, and we have to celebrate! Thank you so much for all you’ve done for The Terror fandom, and for inspiring me personally. I started this a long time ago, based those images from The Transformers: The Last Knight and any picture of Matthew McNulty in period dress ever. It never went anywhere, and it’s definitely not complete, but here, for you: “For Honour and For Glory.” 

Edward notices the horse, a lovely chestnut mare, before he notices its rider.

His brother knights would laugh to know it. George would laugh, in any case. “No wonder your bed is always empty,” Edward can hear him saying. “When you'd rather stare at a pretty horse than a handsome man.” John would shift awkwardly in place, and try to ignore them.

George would be right about one thing, though. This stranger is handsome. His hair is thick and black, his beard just as dark. He wears burnished armour and a fox fur collar that draws even Edward's gaze, as disinterested as he is in fashion. Most remarkable are the man's eyes. They're a piercing light blue Edward can't recall ever seeing before.

“Sir Edward? Sir George? Sir John?” The man asks, as he brings his horse to a staggering halt before them.

George stands up. “Indeed.”

The man casts his beautiful eyes about. Edward feels at once self-conscious. Their camp is rustic, nothing more than three small tents and a cooking pot over the fire, but they are simple men, with simple needs. They made that decision long ago.

“I come from the court of Lord Crozier,” the man says. Edward knows of it. From what he's heard, that place is the opposite of simple. The man dismounts, stumbling a little as he puts his foot on the ground. Edward resists the urge to offer him a hand. “We are in need of help.”

“You are in need of mercenaries,” Edward assumes. It is their occupation, after all. The three of them are known for it, and they are good at it.

Crozier's man turns to look at him. “We are in need of you,” he replies, his gaze meeting Edward's. He holds it until Edward has to look away, his throat suddenly dry and palms suddenly damp. He lets George go through the pleasantries of telling the man where to tie his horse, of inviting him to sit by the fire, of offering him a slice of boiled boar meat from the pot. Edward concentrates on calming his hammering heart.

“We are besieged by a beast,” their visitor says, once they're all seated. He calls himself Thomas. He doesn't give a surname, nor does he call himself “sir” or “lord”, although he is dressed as a knight or a nobleman.

“A beast?” John repeats. “What type of beast?”

“Some believe it to be a bear, but it's unlike any bear I've ever seen. It's stealthier. Stronger. It brushes off our spears and arrows as if they were nothing. It was under the control of a warlock, it seems, but now the warlock is dead, and the creature has turned rogue.” 

Edward exchanges a glance with George. Clearly, it does not go unnoticed. Thomas draws himself up. “I am aware of how this sounds, gentlemen, but I promise you, we are being terrorized. The creature stalks us. There have been times we could not leave the castle for weeks on end.” With a dart of a quick pink tongue, Thomas wets his lips. Edward pretends not to have noticed. “The beast killed Lord Franklin.”

“Lord Franklin?” George blinks.

“You knew him?” 

“We did.” George looks at John, then at Edward. “We have done work for him in the past.” Edward never cared overmuch for the man. Sanctimonious was the word that best described him, but his gold was as good as anybody's.

“Lady Jane Franklin controls his lands, for the moment,” Thomas says. “With the support of Franklin's favourite, Sir James. But it is not a stable position. Our lands abut theirs, thus any instability in the region affects us as much as them. We cannot properly defend our lands while the beast is at large.”

“Well, you certainly make a very interesting proposition.” George smiles kindly. “I think my brother knights and I...”

“You say 'our lands',” Edward breaks in.

A flush comes to Thomas' face. “In, in, in the sense that we are all devoted to our lord...”

“You are Crozier's heir.” Edward is not as sure of it as he sounds, but when Thomas' blush deepens, he knows he's right. He heard rumours of it, that the childless Crozier took a beloved servant as an adopted son. Obviously, this man is he.

“Crozier sent his own heir out unaccompanied?” John frowns. “When the roads are fraught with far more dangers than a large bear?”

“I left my guards in the village,” Thomas says. “I thought if I approached you humbly, you might be more inclined to offer your assistance. Please. We will be deeply grateful if you can help us. I will be deeply grateful.” Again, Thomas' gaze catches Edward's and holds it. Am I so obvious? Edward wonders. He looks away.

“Why don't you go back to the village, my lord?” George suggests.

“Thomas,” Thomas interrupts.

“Thomas,” George repeats. “The inn is reputable. We will find you there when we've got an answer for you. We shan't keep you waiting long, sir.”

“If that is your wish.” Thomas pushes his hair back from his face. “Thank you for your consideration, gentlemen.” Edward determinedly does not watch as Thomas returns to his horse. It takes him a couple of tries before he can hoist himself into the saddle, and another minute of pulling at the reins before the mare heeds him and leaves the patch of grass she had been happily munching.

“It's madness,” John says, the moment Thomas is gone. “The man is mad. We're not hunters.”

“That's exactly what we are,” Edward points out.

John huffs. “You take my meaning. We do not chase bears, no matter their size or strength.”

“What if it isn't just a bear?” George asks. “Thomas said there was a warlock involved.”

“No,” is John’s immediate reply. “God does not grant us warlocks. Or witches, or demon bears, or anything else.”

“God does grant us lovely men, though, doesn't he, Edward?” George beams at him. “I tell you, if I hadn't pledged my heart to my lady, I might even look twice at that one myself.”

“Stop it!” John stands up abruptly, nearly knocking over the pot. George reaches out to steady it with a hand. “Stop it at once. Both of you. We're not entertaining this idea a moment longer.”

“All right, all right.” George holds up his hands in surrender. “But let me ask you this, John. How long has it been since we were last paid?” Too long. “And how much might we charge Crozier to dispatch something that has been harassing him so badly?” A good deal.

“I'm not too proud to go after a bear instead of a horde of armed men for once,” Edward decides. It might even make for a nice change of pace.

“There we have it, then. Two against one, John.” George shrugs. “Nothing you can say to that.”

From John's pursed lips and creased forehead, it seems like there is a great deal he could say, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“I'll deliver the news.” Edward ignores the resultant smirk from George. There's nothing to smirk about. It's simply his duty, as the de facto leader of the group. “You two break camp and join us in town.”

“Yes, sir,” George grins, heading for the tents even as John scowls on.  

The village inn might be reputable enough, but it isn't what one would call luxurious. Thomas and two men, in bright red coats that would be visible a mile away to any highway bandit seeking wealthy quarry, sit in a dark corner of the musty room, mugs of ale before them. Thomas looks up when Edward approaches.

“We will leave at once,” Edward says, by way of greeting. He tried out several on the way over; that was the best he could come up with. “If we ride hard, we should make it to Beechey Island before we have to stop for the night.”

A bright smile lights Thomas' face. Lovely, George had called him. Edward thinks stunning might be more apt. “Why not ride through?” Thomas says. “The sooner we get back, the better.”

“Not even we travel the woods in the dark if we can help it.”

“We did it on the way here.”

“Then you were fools.” Edward stares at the two guards. They conspicuously don't look back. “And damned fortunate you weren't murdered. We stop at Beechey.” His voice is firm. Thomas seems of a mind to argue further, but he apparently thinks better of it.

“Thank you very much. Sir...John?”

“Edward.”

“Sir Edward. I can't tell you how grateful I am.” The fractiousness in Thomas' expression changes into something else. His gaze dips down, then raises back up to Edward's face. Edward can feel himself flushing, glad that the room is dark enough to hide it.

“You don't need to be grateful, just pay us on time,” Edward snaps, more roughly than he intended. Whatever Thomas’ expression belied, it disappears, and Thomas goes briskly to his feet.

“Of course. You needn't worry about that. Get the horses ready, men. We leave as soon as Sir Edward gives us the word.” Thomas' guards go. Thomas hangs back. Edward should say something to him, he knows, but his mind is distressingly blank.

“Thank you,” Thomas repeats. Then, he too is gone, headed for the lone sliver of sunlight that marks the front door.

I'm going to regret this, Edward thinks, but even as the words form in his mind, he knows he wouldn't retract his decision for anything.