#like if that's what's happening i can just kill myself because the world will merrily roast away and we're all gonna die anyway

[binch-i-might-be]

okay are flowers actually blooming in antarctica or is this another weird meme

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hiiii! Here’s part two of my Katniss and Peeta Taking Of Each Other bookcomb! It’s pretty long so … sorry 😬. There was a lot I didn’t include and a lot I wasn’t sure about including, because so much of Catching Fire and Mockingjay is about them wanting to protect the other but I tried to narrow it down to actual acts that were caring, or times they at least tried to care for the other.

-

Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg — and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

-

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers follow a pace or two behind us.

-

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment.

-

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

-

When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily.

“Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tailbone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion.

My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?”

“I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now.

-

My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there.

-

Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.”

I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale.

“No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today.

-

Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television.

-

Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

-

“Why would he paint a picture of me, Effie?” I ask, somehow annoyed.

“To show he’s going to do everything he can to defend you. That’s what everyone in the Capitol’s expecting, anyway. Didn’t he volunteer to go in with you?” Effie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

-

I lock my fingers tightly into his and say, “Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step.” It helps. We seem to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels.

-

Peeta and Finnick and I position ourselves in a triangle, a few yards apart, our backs to one another. My heart sinks as my fingers draw back my last arrow. Then I remember Peeta has a sheath, too. And he’s not shooting, he’s hacking away with that knife. My own knife is out now, but the monkeys are quicker, can spring in and out so fast you can barely react.

“Peeta!” I shout. “Your arrows!”

Peeta turns to see my predicament and is sliding off his sheath when it happens. A monkey lunges out of a tree for his chest. I have no arrow, no way to shoot. I can hear the thud of Finnick’s trident finding another mark and know his weapon is occupied. Peeta’s knife arm is disabled as he tries to remove the sheath. I throw my knife at the oncoming mutt but the creature somersaults, evading the blade, and stays on its trajectory.

Weaponless, defenseless, I do the only thing I can think of. I run for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with mine, even though I know I won’t make it in time.

-

While I help Peeta coat his skin with the ointment, Finnick deftly cleans the meat from the shellfish.

-

I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek on the grass mat, staring at the thing in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

“It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers.

-

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

I can’t protect him. I can’t move fast or far and my shooting abilities are questionable at best. I do the one thing I can to draw the attackers away from him and over to me. “Peeta!” I scream out. “Peeta! I’m here! Peeta!” Yes, I will draw them in, any in my vicinity, away from Peeta and over to me and the lightning tree that will soon be a weapon in and of itself. “I’m here! I’m here!” He won’t make it. Not with that leg in the night. He will never make it in time. “Peeta!”

-

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

-

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

Off camera, Snow orders, “End it!” Beetee throws the whole thing into chaos by flashing a still shot of me standing in front of the hospital at three-second intervals. But between the images, we are privy to the real-life action being played out on the set. Peeta’s attempt to continue speaking. The camera knocked down to record the white tiled floor. The scuffle of boots. The impact of the blow that’s inseparable from Peeta’s cry of pain.

And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

-

I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave.

-

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers.

“Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

-

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

-

It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.”

Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to . . .”

I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”

His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.

I help Peeta up and address Pollux.

-

While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta’s wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs.

-

By the time I make it back to the fence, I’m so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people’s cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light.

My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he’s real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He’s come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn’t stand it there without her, so he came looking.

[…]

Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. “She’s dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. “She’s dead, you stupid cat. She’s dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won’t go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he’s there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night.

-

Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup.

-

I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway.

-

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver.

-

[johaerys-writes]

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania

Pairings: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha, Hector/Lenore

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula’s castle to seek Alucard’s help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires’ court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 10: Higher Than Heartache is up, where Alucard leaves the ghosts of his past behind, with the help of his friends. Oh, and smut ;)

Part of the chapter here, the rest on Ao3! Or read from the beginning

“You don’t have to do this with me,” Adrian says. “You don’t have to be here for this.”

The wind whips at Sypha’s hair, bringing strawberry blond locks before her eyes as she turns to look at him. Her smile, when it widens her lips, is soft.

“Don’t be silly. Of course we do.” She turns to Belmont, who is already advancing towards the staked bodies. The thought of going near them has Adrian’s stomach turning in knots, but he makes himself follow, albeit reluctantly.

“She’s right,” Belmont says, grabbing the wooden base of the stake and pulling. “Some friends we would be, if we left you alone with… with that.”

“I did that,” Adrian says quietly. “It’s only fair that I take care of it myself.”

“Nice try, Alucard, but no,” Belmont says, casually waving his words away. “Besides, there has to be someone strong enough to lift those things, right? Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle or something.” He makes a face as he pulls again, the stake budging only a hair.

Adrian rolls his eyes and huffs, and the faint loathing and apprehension that had coiled in his gut a moment before, when he was looking at the bodies, dissipates as he makes his way to Belmont’s side. He grabs the stake with one hand and easily plucks it out of the ground. “I am stronger than you, you know.”

Belmont grins, his face flushed. He brushes the back of his sleeve over his brow and winks at him as he says, “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Sypha chuckles, and it’s such an odd thing for them to laugh and joke and smile, while doing something like this. Thinking about it, though, it’s not that odd at all, when it comes to those two. Belmont and Sypha have always defied the odds, have always done the impossible. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons, Adrian thinks, that he’s so drawn to them.  

Before long, the stakes with the bodies are on the ground, side by side. Adrian takes a step back, letting them rest for a moment while he catches his breath. Belmont is beside him, and Sypha’s standing on his other side, the three of them together gazing at the withered corpses. Adrian can still discern the traces of resemblance, but they’re twisted beyond recognition.

Even so, he can bring their faces to mind, as if he only saw them the day before. It still stings to look too long, to think of it too long.

It is Sypha that takes the first step forward. She lifts her hands, and the bodies burst into flames, the pikes with them. Adrian takes a sharp breath as he watches the black smoke drifting up in thick plumes towards the sky. They watch in silence as the flames consume them.

When all but ash remains, Adrian stares at the miserable, blackened pile on the ground, the sorry remnants of the people that betrayed him, that hurt him. Perhaps, in a different life, where their paths had not crossed his, they would have still been out there somewhere, hunting vampires and monsters, living their life as best they could. In this life though, they met their end in a place such as this, for a reason such as this —which was no reason at all, really— and there’s nothing Adrian can do to change it.

The thought is a dark one, depressing, boring down on him like a mountain. If only they’d believed him, if only they'd stopped to listen…

He shakes his head, refusing to let the thought linger. His skin feels hot with shame and the still hot embers of an anger he thought he had gotten rid of. The more he looks at them, the clearer he remembers the icy rage that had taken hold of him, that had led him to sharpening the stakes and mounting their lifeless bodies on them. He thinks that, in some way, his father still lives on in him, that part of him that’s eager to burn and kill and take revenge and consume. But it never brought him peace. The same way it never brought his father peace.

With a quiet sigh, Adrian reaches in his coat pocket for the rose he had stored there, the one he plucked that morning. The intensity of its crimson colour is stark against the drabness that surrounds it, and Adrian gazes at it for a moment too long. Then, he leans down, and places it upon the ashes on the ground.

He doesn’t know if he can find it in his heart to forgive, perhaps not yet. But he knows it’s what his mother would have wanted.

Belmont’s hand is warm when it falls on his shoulder, and so are Sypha’s fingers when they thread through his own. They stand there for a short while, watching the shadows of the late afternoon sun stretch along the ground.

~

The fire in the hearth of Belmont’s and Sypha’s room crackles merrily, flames licking up the blackened logs. A glass of brandy is in Adrian’s hand, golden, strong and aromatic. As he takes a sip, staring at the flames, Adrian idly wonders how fire is more or less the same wherever you find it, whatever it happens to be burning —plain logs or bodies on stakes— but it somehow feels so different.

Sypha is sprawled on the couch behind him, chatting with Belmont who’s by the liquor cabinet, pouring himself another drink. They all returned to the castle after the deed was done, and Belmont insisted on drinking on the whole thing being over— because of course he would.

“It just seems like a fine opportunity to celebrate,” he says, tipping the mouth of the bottle over his glass. Apparently, it’s one of the finer bottles of brandy he found when snooping around the place, and Adrian can’t disagree. It’s quite good, gliding down his throat like sweet, liquid fire. “You know?”

“Celebrate what, exactly?” Adrian says dryly, still staring at the flames. “We just watched the sad remains of two people that died horrible deaths being swallowed by the fire. A nice fire, all things considered,” he nods at Sypha, “masterfully summoned, but still. Not something worthy of a celebration, if you ask me.”

Belmont laughs and shakes his head. “It’s not the fire that we’re celebrating, you maudlin bastard.” He saunters to the couch, dropping next to Sypha and placing his arm over her shoulders. “It’s the closure. You finally got some closure on the whole thing, did you not? That, and your front door doesn’t scream: Keep out, danger of death anymore.”

“Perhaps it should,” Adrian muses dejectedly. He returns to the couch, sitting on Sypha’s other side.

Sypha slithers just a bit closer to him, her large, crystal blue eyes trained on him. “How are you feeling?”

Adrian lets out a sigh, glancing down at his glass. “I’ve been better,” he says earnestly. “But at the same time... it’s not quite as bad as I thought.”

Part of him knows it’s because Sypha and Belmont are there with him, holding his hand through it, but it’s more than that. It surely is. He had once thought that he wouldn’t have been able to even stomach the sight of Sumi and Taka again, and while that’s partly true, there’s another sliver of… something else rearing its head inside him. It’s almost like regret, almost like the guilt and shame he’s been carrying with him all this while, but it’s different even than that.

“Sometimes,” he says, “I think… I think I understand why they did it. Why they betrayed me, why they attacked, why they were so mistrustful of me. The life they had led left them with no other choice. They only told me a little of what they went through in Cho’s court  —just what was absolutely necessary, I presume— but even from that I could tell that their past was filled with hurt and injustice. I don’t think that anyone’s ever shown them kindness before, or respect.” He takes in a slow breath. “It makes sense, in a way, to bite the hand that feeds, if every other hand extended has held a blade, ready to wound. It’s only logical that they would… hate me. For what I am.”

Belmont clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “There’s always a choice,” he says sharply, with an odd sort of finality. “No matter what your life has been like before. Either one of them could have stood up to the other, told them to knock it off, made them see that you were only trying to help their miserable hides. They could have left this place better and stronger for it, and made the world a better place too. But guess what?” He fixes Adrian with a look that brooks no argument. “They chose not to do that. They chose to be sorry pieces of dung that lash out at every perceived wrong, that punish those that don’t deserve it. They chose, Alucard. Never forget that.”

Adrian returns Belmont’s gaze, and his pulse quickens at the surety and steadiness of his voice, the fury in his eyes.

He swallows thickly.

“I… I’m not sure it’s quite as black and white as that,” he says.

Sypha reaches out to him, placing her hand on his forearm. “They might have had a choice,” she says softly, “yet they left you with none. You couldn’t have helped them any more than you did. You did everything you could. You know that, yes?”

Her touch is so warm and comforting, that it eases his unease, his discomfort. Adrian takes heart from it, and manages a quiet, “I know,” before he falls silent again.

“So, no looking back. Alright?”

He sighs. "Alright."

"Promise?"

“Promise.” He has to smile a little at that. It’s so much like Sypha to give orders, even for something like this. Adrian has little control over what his mind and heart decide to do most days, but it's nice to dream, isn't it?

“Alright!” Belmont exclaims, filling all of their glasses yet again. “A toast then.” He raises his glass to Adrian, cheeks already a bit rosy. “To new beginnings.”

Adrian shakes his head with a laugh and tiredly follows suit. “To new beginnings.” He takes a sip of brandy, letting it warm him from the inside out, as he teases, “Does that mean you’ll start using soap, Belmont?”

“Shut up, Alucard,” the other man rolls his eyes, laughing in his glass.

Adrian turns to look at Sypha, and his smile is met by her grin. She sets her glass on the table and slithers closer to him still, and then her slender arms are around Adrian’s neck, her sweet and heady scent filling him to the brim.

“To new beginnings,” she whispers in his ear.

Adrian sets his glass aside too and hugs her tightly, taking a deep breath.

“Thank you for being here,” he whispers. “Thank you for everything.”

“Thank you for letting us be here,” she says, then leans back to gaze at him. “I can only imagine how hard it was for you.”

Adrian smiles, and prepares to tell her that they didn’t really leave him much choice in the matter, when she leans forward to kiss his forehead. Her lips are soft against his skin, and they send a shiver down his spine. It’s all too reminiscent of that night several days ago in his room, after he had returned to the castle, and he can’t help the beat of anticipation in his blood. She kisses his brow, each one of his eyes, his cheek, the angle of his jaw, cradling his face in her hands. It’s so tender and soft that Adrian almost whimpers with need when her lips skim the side of his neck, leaving him wanting more, infinitely more. He wants this closeness; he needs it.

When her mouth brushes his own, Adrian can’t hold back the sigh that leaves him. His lips part readily under hers, pulling her in before he can stop himself. Her tongue is warm and soft as it flicks over his own, and it tastes of the sweet spice of the brandy.

Adrian bites back a moan when Sypha’s teeth close over his bottom lip, sucking. He shifts closer to her, touch-starved nerves catching fire, his hand finding its way to her lower back. There is heat coiling inside him now, just with Sypha’s lips on him and her arms around his neck, the feel of her body against his.

He draws back abruptly, gulping down a breath as he does. “Sypha,” he croaks.

She blinks back, and her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glistening. Adrian can’t tell if it’s from the drink or their kiss or both, but he suddenly finds it impossible to look away. “Yes?” she asks softly.

Adrian swallows. He darts a glance at Belmont, who is gazing at them both with a sort of hunger in his gaze, his glass forgotten in his hand.

“Are you—” Adrian starts, uncertain what to say. His thoughts are hazy, and his tongue feels too thick in his mouth to form words. He takes a slow breath, and tries again. “Are you alright with this?” he asks him.

Belmont looks at him, a little confused, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips as he says, “Me? Yeah, I’m alright.” He nods at Sypha. “She, on the other hand, is more than alright.”

“Stop it, Trevor,” Sypha laughs, swatting playfully at his shoulder. Her face is bright pink now, but she doesn’t seem at all embarrassed as she leans into Adrian again and reaches out to run her fingers through his hair. “Oh, you’re pretty,” she sighs.

“I— thank you.” Adrian runs his tongue over his lips, trying to get his raging pulse under control. Sypha’s teasing comments over the past few days start to make sense as Adrian plays them again in his head. Adrian has been attracted to her from the start, almost ever since he met her, and the thought that she might be attracted to him sends a sharp thrill through him. Her fingertips, when they caress his scalp, make him shiver, and her breath that skims his skin as she leans in to nuzzle his nose sets the hair at the back of his neck on end. If he were standing, his knees would have surely given way by now.

But Belmont… He is watching them, and there is no jealousy in his gaze, and Adrian isn’t sure what that means. They are a couple, after all, aren’t they? Adrian doesn’t know of many couples that would welcome a third person in their midst so easily, like this.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know any other couples at all.

He draws back just a little, pulling away from Sypha’s kiss, before his thoughts slip away from him completely.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he tells them, finally finding the courage to speak about what has been troubling him for days. “I wanted to talk to- to both of you.”

Sypha blinks, then raises her brows in question. “About?”

“About this. About you. About… us.” He takes in a breath, mustering his strength. “I like that you’re here. That we’re all together again. There’s nothing I wanted more than to… to be with you again. And now…” His heartbeat soars as the words tangle on his tongue. There is no way to give voice to what he wants the most, his most well-hidden desire. He glances at Sypha, with her clear-sky eyes and her soft lips and even softer hands, and at Belmont, with his dark bangs falling over his eyes, his sharp jaw, his broad chest. The fire that has kindled in Adrian’s core rages, images and sensations flooding his brain until he can barely think, just at the mere sight of them there.

Mad. He is mad, he is out of his mind, he is...

In love.

Damn it.

Adrian takes a breath, his hand gathering into a fist at the realisation.

At that moment, he knows with perfect clarity, and he admits it to himself for the first time: he wants them. He wants them both.

But it is wrong. It is selfish. It is asking too much. They’re his friends and they care about him, certainly, they agreed to stay with him, but this… asking for something like this would be unthinkable. He wouldn’t blame them if they thought him crazy, if they believed he’s lost his mind.

He’s not sure he hasn’t, himself.

“You are both so… important to me,” he says quietly, afraid to meet their gazes. “And I want… I want—”

“Yes.”

Adrian stops, blinks at Sypha. “I beg pardon?”

She returns his gaze calmly, tilting her chin up. “Whatever you were going to ask of us, the answer is: yes.”

“But— but you don’t even know—”

Her lips are on his own before he can say another word. He finds himself melting against her, helplessly, a soft moan escaping him as she deepens the kiss, threading her fingers through his hair to pull him closer. A quick moment later, and she has somehow found herself on his lap, straddling him.

When they part for air, Adrian stares at her, at the curtain of strawberry blond locks that’s falling around her face. “You didn’t even know what I was going to ask,” he tells her, voice hoarse.

She grins. “Trust me, Alucard, I know.” She nods towards Belmont. “Even Trevor knows, and he’s even worse at these things than you are.”

“Hey, that’s not true and you know it.” Belmont laughs, though his face is steadily turning bright red as Adrian’s befuddled gaze falls on him. He gives his head a small shake, then rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, I had an inkling. And… well… I might have given it some thought myself.”

“He has a crush on you,” Sypha tells Adrian conspiratorially.

“I do not! ”

“Yes, he does. Don’t let his antics fool you.”

Belmont groans and rolls his eyes, draining the last of his brandy. “Teenagers have crushes. I am not a teenager.”

“Hm, you’re right,” Sypha says. “Perhaps there’s another word for it. Let’s see…” She leans forward, pressing her forehead to Adrian’s. There’s a mischievous grin widening her lips, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “How about ‘lust’? It sounds much more mature, doesn’t it? You’re in lust.” She hums and bites her lip, her eyes alight. “You want him.”

Adrian lets out a shaky breath. His tongue darts out instinctively to lick his lips, and brushes over her finger, momentarily tasting the sweet saltiness of her skin.

“That…” Belmont’s voice trembles only slightly as he speaks, “that sounds about right.”

Adrian can’t help but turn to look at him, startled by his admission. Belmont shrugs and rolls his eyes with a helpless smile. “Don’t let it go to your head, alright?”

“Finally!” Sypha throws her head back and laughs. “Finally he admits it! I never thought I’d see the day.”

“That was meant for you too,” Belmont reprimands, but the bite has thoroughly gone out of his words. His face is red like a pomegranate now.

“You… you want me?” Adrian asks incredulously, his pulse thumping in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard. This can’t be happening.

“We both do.” Sypha reaches down to take his hand, her fingers threading through his. “Do you?” she asks softly.

Adrian gapes at them both, suddenly lost for words. Ever since they met, and even though they’ve both offered him their friendship and affection, he always felt like the third wheel. As if it was just the two of them, and Adrian was always on the outside, looking in. After they’d left the castle, leaving him behind in search of adventure, there were moments Adrian had thought his heart had been broken so thoroughly, that it would never mend again. And now they’re both here, offering him something like this, and… he doesn’t quite know what to say.

There are a million things he wants to tell them, but they all die on his tongue. They want him? Both of them? It seems so hard to believe, that Adrian wonders if he’s dreaming.

Both Belmont and Sypha are watching him now, holding their breaths, and Adrian isn’t sure what to tell them.

He opens his mouth.

“I—” I want you, I missed you, I never stopped, I can’t bear the thought of being without you , I— “I’m—”

Adrian closes his mouth again and swallows, taking in a deep breath.

“Yes,” he whispers, heart beating in his throat. “I do.”

Sypha beams at him, her countenance lighting up. She stands up, still holding his hand. She tugs at it, pulling him to her, and he stands up too.

“I never thought I’d see this day either,” she whispers teasingly, pulling him in for a kiss.

Adrian lets out a quiet, startled laugh, wrapping his arms around her. She’s shorter than he is and he’s looming over her, but she cups his neck and draws him closer to her.

“If I’d known you were such a good kisser, I would have done this sooner,” she says, a soft murmur against his lips. She reaches up to undo the laces of his shirt, and Adrian shivers when he feels the brush of her fingers on his skin.

“You’ve been wanting to do this for— for a while then?” He follows her as she steps backwards towards the bed, tries not to stumble over his own toes. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her how inexperienced he is at this, how little he knows how to act and carry himself with confidence. But something tells him he does not need to.

Sypha grins, pulling his shirt over his head, and proceeds to brush her palms down his chest. Her palms are even softer than he remembers, and he barely even thinks about the scars as she touches them. “You really had no idea, did you?” A soft sigh escapes her as she deepens the kiss, arching into his touch when his own palm skims the line of her spine, the curve of her waist. She feels so small and delicate in his arms.

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, Sypha, but he is kind of slow on the uptake,” Belmont remarks from his spot on the couch, nursing his glass of brandy. His cheeks are still flushed, and he looks vaguely embarrassed, like he doesn’t quite know what to do.

Adrian smirks. “You’re one to talk.”

Belmont scoffs and takes a large sip of his brandy, without offering a rebuttal, and if that isn’t evidence that the man is thoroughly out of his depth then Adrian doesn’t know what is. Sypha glances over at him with a smile.

“Come, Trevor.”

Belmont looks up at them, then at Sypha’s outstretched hand. His throat bobs as he swallows, and he hesitates for a moment before he tosses the rest of his drink up and stands. “I am not slow on the uptake,” he mutters darkly, frowning at them both.

“You may not be,” Adrian tells him, amused, “but your reply was definitely a few seconds too late. That’s so unlike you. Usually, it’s your tongue that moves first before your poor mind can ever catch up.” He tilts his head to the side, and is surprised by the affection that swells in his chest at the sight of him, red-faced and embarrassed and for once incapable of coming up with a scathing comment for practically everything that’s taking place around him.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” Adrian quirks a brow, “Will I have to challenge you to a duel?”

Belmont licks his lips and grumbles something under his breath before he straightens and walks over to them, reluctant yet still somehow eager.

He stands tall before him, his pale blue eyes searching Adrian’s. Adrian would never have expected someone who is so confident on the battlefield to be so timid in a situation like this. He always expected Belmont to be the energetic, brutish sort, the one to grab his mate by the hair and drag them to his lair like a caveman, but he is surprisingly guarded and reserved. It’s almost… adorable.

Or it would have been, had Adrian not been a mess of nerves and emotion himself right then.

Still, there’s something drawing him to Belmont, something that he fight any longer. He takes a tiny step forward, coming to stand before him. “What’s wrong, Belmont?” he asks softly. “Are you afraid of me?”

Belmont scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Am I? I could swear that you’re avoiding meeting my eyes. Why would that be?” He steps closer to him still. “Are you suddenly afraid of vampires now?”

Belmont’s eyes flick to his and stay there, penetrating. “You’re no vampire.”

“Oh?”

“You’re only a half-vampire,” he says, voice dropping low, “and I wouldn’t be afraid of you even if you were.”

“Odd.” Adrian tilts his head to the side, his pulse buzzing with the thrill of the challenge in Belmont’s gaze. There. That’s more like it. “Then why does it look like your tail’s between your legs?”

Belmont puffs up just a little, his bashfulness gone as he leans forward, their noses almost touching. “There’s something else between my legs. Care to find out?”

Adrian licks his lips, meeting his piercing gaze. “Please,” he says, thanking God that his voice is level. “Don’t be so crass. This isn’t a whorehouse.”

“You have a big mouth, Alucard. Pity you don’t know how to use it.”

“There’s plenty of things I know how to do with my mouth. Shutting you up is one of them.”

“Is that the best you can do with it? Because I could swear—”

“Oh, my goodness,” Sypha throws her arms up in exasperation. “Just kiss already!”

Adrian takes a breath, preparing to retort, but Belmont is faster. A strong arm winds around his middle, pulling him closer, and Adrian simply melts against him, like so much clay in his hands. Belmont’s lips are slightly chapped, tasting strongly of brandy, and the scruff of his chin tickles Adrian’s skin. Adrian reaches up as if in a dream, his hand finding its way to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. His skin is so warm , it’s like he’s on fire. And his hand on the small of Adrian’s back, pulling— his chest, hard and taut underneath him, the fabric of his shirt pressing against his bare skin—

Just when he thinks his knees will buckle, he feels Sypha’s hand brushing down his back, her lips skimming the side of his neck. He glances down at her as his and Belmont’s lips part and sees her smiling, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. In his haze, he feels Belmont moving closer, holding him tighter, pressing his mouth to the side of his head, nuzzling his ear.

Adrian closes his eyes, disintegrating into that kiss, those tender touches. He can’t help but think of all those nights he spent alone in this castle, thinking about them, both of them, pretending that he didn’t wish they were still there. He thinks of the drawings he made of them to keep the memory of their faces crisp in his mind, the dolls he kept in the kitchen, those lifeless toys that bore their shape; the only things to keep him company. He remembers the crushing emptiness of all those endless, identical days, and his heart thumps painfully with such intense longing, a craving that’s impossible for him to bear.

They’re both so close to him now, touching him, holding him, and it all suddenly feels too much, far too much. But he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want this moment to end.

“I missed you,” he breathes into his and Sypha’s kiss. He leans back just a little to look at her, and he realises his eyes are stinging. “I missed you both so much. I—” He glances at Belmont, who’s gazing at him with so much warmth and tenderness now that it makes him ache, and the tears he has been trying so hard to hold back escape the confines of his eyes, gliding down his cheeks. “I missed you.”

“We missed you, too,” he says softly. “I missed you.” He reaches up to brush the tears from Adrian’s cheek. “Was there ever any doubt about it?”

Adrian smiles at him through his tears, shivering when Sypha’s arms wrap around his middle.

“We’re here now,” she whispers. “We’re here.”

Adrian sighs as he leans into them both, letting them guide him to bed.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

The Golden Hand

° Assassin’s Creed Odyssey Imagine °

Chapter 3

Fem! Reader

Central Masterlist | The Golden Hand

Just how was he to take you back home when he didn’t even know where to start? Alexios had not the faintest idea on how to do that; pray to the gods? They don’t always answer, and when they do, it’s just downright confusing. His only choice was to continue on his journey and hope, that by some miracle, the answer would reveal itself soon. However, as such worries and doubts continued to plague his mind, they were soon drowned out upon his eyes falling on you.

He had to admit it.

You were utterly adorable.

Your eyes, round and soft, peered at the lively scene of the marketplace with star-like sparkles. Your lips drew apart ever so slightly, a smile merrily making its way on them as you expressed a fondness to how ancient, how....different this world was. He wondered how you felt about it all. Surely you were experiencing some extreme form of cultural shock. Two days could not possibly remedy it. Perhaps your joy was a façade, a guise for the truth of your feelings.

“Ah, yes! This tells of Odysseus’s voyages and his battles.” “And this?” “That one refers to the miracles of Zeus and the gods.” “They’re so beautiful.” You murmured, admiring the paintings on the pottery. By now, Alexios had shifted his attention back to you, pushing his thoughts all the way into the back of his mind as he came to realize that he has subconsciously followed you to the front of a small pottery stand. He watched as you kindly interacted with the clerk, the elder blushing at your beauty and compliment.

“Why thank you! Although my hands and body have begun to age and wrinkle, my passion for art has yet to fade.” You smiled. He watched you for a few moments before briefly turning his attention behind you. There, not far from the two for you, was Phoibe waving her scrawny arms around as she tried hard to get the misthios attention. Chuckling under his breath, the man leaned into your ear, breathing a short, “I’ll be back” before moving away from you. Heading over to the young girl, he gave her a look. 

“How’d it go with Markos?” Phoibe asked. With a small grimace on his face, he replied, ”How it always goes. I didn’t get my money and I’m running another errand for him.” Humming, she settles herself on top of a nearby rock. Crouching to her level, the conversation continues. “Why did you let him boss you around?” Her words earned herself a gentle glare from the older male, “I owe him a debt. From the past.”

“Did you borrow drachmae?” Oh the innocence of youth.

“Not that kind of debt. Few people would take in a runaway they caught thieving. I was just a kid.” Unbeknownst to him, you had accidentally caught his words. 

“Huh. I’m just a kid. And I’ve done pretty good for myself.” Phoibe stated with a sense of pride earning a snort from the man. “What do you want Phoibe?” She looked over to you,” Well, I was going to ask help first but -- who is she?” Her eyes ran down you figure, sparkling with curiosity. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t stop the small smile blooming on his lips as he watched you speak with another civilian. “She is...a friend.” 

“She’s really pretty. Is she nice?” Alexios chuckles. “I only met her yesterday but I believe so. Now, what do you want Phoibe?” Getting back on track, Phoibe continued, ”You know Kausos?” He squinted his eyes in confusion, “The town on the other side of the island? Why?” She answered, ”People there are sick--my friend Kynna is too. There’s a blood fever. They say it’s a curse and that they need help from the gods.” “I told you, I’m not a god.” “But Ikaros--”,”Is a bird.” With an exasperated expression she yelled,” That doesn’t mean you can’t help!” 

There was a moment of silence. It was his hardened expression against her own puppy yet desperate eyes.

She won.

“Agh! All right, I’ll look into it.” With that said, Phoibe let out a grin and a loud ‘Thanks!’ before running away. Sighing, the man ran a large hand over his head, massaging his temples in annoyance. First you and now this. Just how was he to-“Alexios? You okay mate?” Your voice was soft yet clear as you now stood beside him. With a glimpse he could see your concerned expression, your groomed brows knitted together. It was then that an idea struck him.

“(Y/N), since you are from the future, your people must’ve conjured many cures for various illnesses, no?” You gave him a look but nonetheless nodded. “Do you bear any knowledge of your time’s medicine?” “I’m no expert but I do have some knowledge. Although, you have to take into account that medicines are more advanced in my time. What we have, we have because of technology.” He nodded.

“We shall journey to Kausos, a town on the other side of Kephallonia. There is a blood fever. Hopefully, you can help.” 

He had now realized that the two of you have managed to reach the docks. Lightly nudging you, he quietly whispered into your ear, ” 

“Hopefully.” 

Why did you get the feeling that today was going to take a turn for the worse?

...

The journey there was hell. There was no other way to describe it. What you could only imagine once lush and green and full of life and festivities, now seeming barren and full of death and burnt flesh. The putrid smell of corpses and of blood’s iron burning your nostrils to the point that you could barely breathe. Desperately trying to muffle the scent by placing your hand to your nose. And as the horse galloped, you watched the scene around you. Whole structures were burned either to the ground or near to it, smoke billowing out from their interiors in large clouds of black and grey. A pile of bodies, clothed in blood stained fabrics, laid beside the burning buildings, waiting to be cremated. A ring of black surrounded the pile from underneath, the dirt having been scarred from a previous cremation.  

“By the gods, what has happened here?” You heard Alexios mutter under his breath as he took in the scene. Judging by the tone in his voice, you could tell that the sight had, too, taken him by surprise.

You stayed quiet, trying to focus on your breathing rather than the sound of the crows cawing loudly above your heads. It was then that you heard the cry of a man burst through the cawing, it was loud and clear.

“You’re murderers! Murderers!” What? Diverting the horse over to the origin of the voice, Alexios forced the animal to come to a stop right before a small bridge. Helping you come off the saddle, he led you over the bridge and into a situation you never thought you were ever going to be a part of.

 “If the gods won’t help you, the sickness must be destroyed by our hands! We have no choice.” Spoke a man wearing dark clothing and a bow fastened around his torso. Two other men at his either side of him, surrounding what appeared to be a family.

“Help us!” Yelled one of the children as the two of you made your way over to them. His arms bound by rope.

Oh god.

“He won’t let us go!” Shouted the father. 

Keeping your distance, you stayed behind the burly man. Rubbing the palms of your hands together as a way to comfort your hammering heart. Thoughts racing through your head. Alexios was expecting you to somehow save these people, but in all honesty, you had not the slightest clue as to how herbal medicine worked. I mean, you did know just a few things based on videos you had seen on YouTube but nothing that can truly save a person, much less a fucking village. Shit, now panic was setting in and that wouldn’t do any good. Steeling your nerves, you turned your attention to the conversation. Only managing to hear the last few sentences of the man’s explanation.

“...We couldn’t keep up with the bodies. It was spreading --- we had to intervene. “ He said.

“They killed our brothers! Our neighbors!” Countered the father, his wife adding on, “We survived the massacre, but he’ll kill us now!” The man, who you had now realized was most likely a Priest based on the clothing he wore, continued, “The gods have abandoned us. The sick must join the dead f we are to save the living!”

“You burned the whole village?” Alexios asked in disbelief. The Priest looked down in shame before answering,” Many nights were lost praying. We had to take action --- to scorch the blood fever out of Kausos.” 

“Is there no hope for a cure?” The Priest shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh as he answered,” Nothing has worked. Sacrifice, prayers...” The wife interrupted,” Healers won’t come near us, soldiers won’t let us leave...The gods won’t answer our prayers!” Alexios sighed, shifting his weight to his left as he spoke, “But I know nothing of the plague.”

“There is nothing you can do. If you intervene, I will be forced the defend the gods’ will.” he priest warned. “We aren’t even that sick! We’ll get better!” “Nobody gets better! This is the only way all of Kephallonia will save itself from extermination!” It was then that the Spartan turned to you, his eyes having the slightest glimmer of hope. 

“(Y/N), is there anything you can do? Is there any chance that you can save them?” His voice soft and quiet. It was almost drowned out by the crackle of the fires. 

You gave yourself a moment to think. If this was a virus, then the only thing they could do was ride it out... but....shit, you’re not a doctor. The hell were you suppose to do, much less say? 

You could feel a knot form in your throat, a bubbling sensation blooming within the pits of your stomach --- anxiety. There was a slight tremble to your hands, but why? Why were you feeling this way? This place was a game, no? It had no real consequence, right? No, no that kind of thinking doesn’t apply here, because while to you it will always be a game, you are still quite physically present in it. There are consequences to your actions. There are right and wrong answers. So what now? 

Taking a deep breath in, you briefly looked back up into his own. And with the slightest shake of your head, he knew your answer. 

Sighing, he spoke, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be involved in this.”

“We don’t have to die!” The mother protested. Slamming her bound wrist onto her lap.

You wanted to say something, anything. But nothing would come out. Your lips moved, but not a sound was made. Instead you hid behind Alexios, your lips sealed shut, as he spoke with the priest once more before motioning for the two of you to walk away. It was after ten steps that they’re screams were heard. 

And, as if to add salt to the wound, a lone figure ran up to you.

Phoibe.

“You...you didn’t save them? What about Kynna? She’s my friend!” You felt a tug at your heartstrings upon seeing her heartbroken expression. Alexios, who stood just a foot in front of you, tensed his shoulders. A frown on his face.

“How could I make that-”, noting the increased volume in his voice, you placed a hand to his bicep. Upon feeling your touch, he breathed. “ Listen Phoibe. I know you’re sad about Kynna --- it’s a big loss. But look around you. You want this to be like this everywhere?” He gestured to their surroundings.

The young girl frowned, “No...but maybe Kynna would get better. They could be wrong about her!” “And maybe the sickness would take the family tomorrow. It’s impossible to tell.” The misthios argued.

Folding her arms, Phoibe looked to the ground, “I hope you’re right.”

You didn’t know what compelled you to speak, you just knew you had to say something to the young girl. Licking your lips, you kneeled down to her height. A saddened look on your own face.

“Phoibe, I know we have just met but...sometimes, good people die. No matter how much we don’t like it.“ She stared at you for a moment, her eyes flickering about your face. It was a only a moment later that she allowed herself to lean closer to you.

“I know...I just wish it wasn’t true.” And with that, she walked away.

Watching her figure slowly dwindle to nothing but a mere shadow, you breathed. The smoke still burning the inside of your nostrils. 

“Alexios?” “Yes?” “Let’s...let’s go...please.” Your voice quieter than the occasional breeze. You heard him grunt, “ Of course.”

Realization didn’t come quick. 

It was only after you had mounted onto the house, with your hands gripping tightly onto his armor, that the realization came to you.

You had killed someone. Rather indirectly, but still.

Innocent blood was on your hands.

How did it come to this? You were but a student just a day ago. 

How did everything change so quick? So...in the blink of an eye?

Alexios would never tell you, but he could feel your tears dampen his clothing.

...

(A/N): Sorry this took so long, I’m still trying to figure out how I want this story to play out and for how long.

Hope you enjoyed!

[bookish-mind]

I read call down the hawk, here’s my aching heart:

*spoilers*

(I wasn’t planning on making a long post about this book but I couldn’t help myself, I had too much to say and I needed a place to scream about pynch)

“This is going to be a story about the Lynch brothers” I knew that already so why am I crying, already, the first line and I’m crying

It mentioned Ronan living somewhere other than the barns after Niall died and I’m just here like,, you can say Monmouth it’s ok

“Adam Parrish was the destination of this road trip” and “Ronan missed him like a lung” my heart my heart my heart

“the guy he loved” PLEASE

Ronan Lynch upon seeing Adam Parrish for the first time: *literally prays*

I see the obsession with Adam’s hands goes way back

“Funny how quickly a handful of weeks could render something unrecognizable” I know ronan was talking about the weather/the campus but my stomach dropped pls this better not be pynch foreshadowing

Their reunion was so chaotic I’d expect nothing else tbh

The watch keeps track of Ronan’s time zone I can’t-

“He was with Adam, and Adam still loved him” PLS THE USE OF THE L WORD KILLS ME EVERY TIME

“there was burnished Gansey, who might not have saved Ronan’s life in high school, but at the very least kept it mostly out of Ronan’s reach so that he could not take it down and break it” this line bothers me bc gansey literally did save Ronan’s life that was the whole godamn point 🙃

Objectively I understand that the crying club are probly decent ppl but subjectively they ain’t no gangsey that’s for sure

“he longed for him even while holding him” pls the yearning,, it’s too much for my frail heart

Bryde needs to gtfo of Ronan’s head is what need to happen

Who is lindenmere I only know Cabeswater

Ronan is crying I’m crying we’re all crying

It breaks my heart that Ronan is still yearning for something more while the rest of the gangsey are out there living

Gansey is chained to a tree in Oregon, seems legit

Chainsaw knows how to say “Atom” I’m fucking crying

“What, Declan? I’m trying to fucking tow a cow” I love this book

Matthew be like “I’ve been staring at the edge of the water long as I can remember never really knowing why”

I literally had a headcanon that Ronan says I love u to Adam in Latin

“He sucked in more longing with every inhale, he exhaled some of his happiness on the other side” this godamn book I swear 😩

“dreamt of you” AGSHSJAK

Oof I kinda love Parsifal all he wants to do is eat some bienenstich made by his momma

Wait wait wait these Niall and aurora doppelgängers are confusing me

“I saved your life because I love you” HE SAID IT OUT LOUD ! HE SAID IT ! IT HAS BEEN SAID

I know it’s common knowledge at this point that they are in an established loving relationship but it hits me the same every time I’m reminded

“It was possible no two students at aglionby had ever come away with such a thorough understanding of Latin (or, possibly, of each other)” I have no words

Declan Lynch falling in love with a dream? More likely than you’d think

Man I hope at the end of all this Declan gets to punch a judge and go somewhere to live and breathe art for the rest of his life

This whole dreamers are born to die young theme is stressing me out

“Ronan, I know you” literally everything they say to each other knocks the air out of my lungs

“They hugged again, merrily, waltzing messily in the kitchen, and kissed, merrily, waltzing more” brb if you need me I’ll be reading this line over and over again for the rest of eternity

Two things: 1) gansey left his mint plant for Ronan to take care of 2) ronan dreamed a literal sun to keep the plant alive when he could have just as easily put it by a window like a normal person that’s the cutest bro shit I’ve ever seen

“Adam stopped breathing” please stiefvater imagine how tired we are

Also where tf is opal I miss the lil weirdo

“he missed him acutely even as he was looking at him” it’s too much,, it’s all too much

Oh hell ya Ronan and Jordan/Hennessy/all the other girls finally met I been waiting for this one

Waaait is the dark lady seashore niall’s dream space like Cabeswater/lindenmere is Ronan’s ??

Oh Matthew, my sweet boy, he figured out he’s a dream

Jordan. Is. Painting. Declan. I. Can’t. Breathe.

Oh damn ok so the lace is trynna get out and destroy the world ? Is that it ?

Matthew asking “Do I have a soul?” broke me

Matthew said “I’m the fake brother” and Declan uno reversed that shit so fast

Alright lindenmere I see you I see you but the thing is.. I miss my girl Cabeswater

OPAL FINALLY

“He didn’t have it in him to love another dream. It hurt too bad. Loving anything did” ouch :(

Fuck fuck fuck this is the part where chaos erupts

Damn those sundogs are cool af tho

I swear I didn’t breathe until I knew Matthew and Declan were alive holy shit

Declan thinking “The world was broken” and “I never actually lived” </3

Let Ronan and Declan hug each other challenge

Adam Parrish please pick up the goddamn phone I am begging you

The way Hennessy is so in awe that Ronan has complete trust of lindenmere/his subconscious made me ache bc it took a helluva lot for him to get to this point

“Hennessy?” “Lynch.” “I’ve been alone a long time” excuse me I’m gonna need a minute-

The way Ronan describes what the lace is to him,, I’m fucking sobbing

Hennessy and Ronan’s swords are badass

I still don’t trust bryde but he got them out of there so points to him I guess :/

Where’s book 2 I need book 2

[shirtlesssammy]

2x09: Croatoan

Then:

Sam Winchester, Supernatural’s resident Clyde Bruckman

Now:

Sam has a vision of Dean in a room with a bunch of strangers. One man is tied to a chair and Dean has his gun trained on him. The man pleads that it’s not in him. He begs the doctor to tell Dean that. She can’t tell. Dean has to do his job --and we see him shoot. 

In reality, Dean’s just getting back from a Slim Jim and beer run. 

The brothers head out to the town that Sam saw in his vision. Once there, Sam notices a man that was in his vision. They approach him and pose as Federal Marshals. They ask about the other man in Sam’s vision. Dean sees a tattoo on the man’s arm and appeals to the fact that he was in the Marines. He tells the brothers where Duane lives. 

On their walk to Duane’s, Sam notices the word CROATOAN carved into a telephone pole. 

Then the history nerd Sam decides it’s his right to lecture Dean on not knowing what this word is. Dean was too busy saving the world to pay attention in history class, Sam. Get off your high horse. Also, SAM, they weren’t wiped out “overnight”, and in fact probably just integrated into local native communities. Okay, I’ll get off my own high horse now, lol. 

They decide to contact Bobby or Ellen for help, but their phones don’t get a signal and the conveniently placed pay phone doesn’t work. 

They head to Duane’s house. His brother greets them at the door and tells them he’s on a fishing trip. His dad then shows up at the door and lets them know he doesn't know when Duane will be back. They ask about the mother, but she’s out getting groceries. It’s clear then that the family is lying. 

It turns out, the mom is tied up in the kitchen. 

Sam and Dean bust in just as the son is dripping blood onto the mother. The dad charges them and Dean takes him out. The son busts through the kitchen window and runs away before Sam gets a clear shot. 

They head back to town with the mom and take her to the local clinic. Dean brings in the father, lol. The doctor patches up the mother, Beverly, while she tells her story. “One minute they were my husband and son, and the next they had the devil in them.” 

Dean and Sam wonder if it’s a mass possession. The doctor comes in and wants to know what happened --they just killed her next door neighbor. Since the phones are down, Dean decides to head to the next town for help. 

On the road, he finds a stalled car with a bullet hole in the windshield. The car is abandoned --with an empty baby seat, blood everywhere, and a knife outside the driver’s door. 

At the clinic, the doctor determines that the dead guy was fighting off a viral infection. She also notes a weird red residue like sulfur. 

Dean keeps driving and comes across a roadblock of people with guns. Totally COOL. A man surprised Dean at his door and asks him to step outside. Dean hits the gas pedal in reverse. Guns start firing. Dean drags the dude and does a 180 --getting out of there in time. 

The doctor tells Beverly about the virus and asks if she had contact with their blood. (I mean, just that LITTLE blood ritual they were doing before Sam and Dean popped in.) The doctor asks to take a blood sample. Beverly seems to acquiesce, and then goes full roid rage. 

Sam knocks her out with a gas canister. 

As Dean pulls back into town, the man they talked to earlier jumps out with a gun. Dean and him have a small standoff --each wondering if the other one is “one of ‘em?” The town is going crazy though. Dean suggests heading over the the clinic since there’s no way out of town. The man doesn't believe Dean but then decides to get in the car. Dean drives to the clinic with them both pointing their gun at the other. 

At the clinic, Pam, the nurse, wants to leave to check on her boyfriend. Sam convinces her that it’s safer in the clinic. It’s then that Dean and the Sarge show up. Dean and Sam discuss the virus --demonic virus. Sam read in their dad’s journal that John thought that Croatoan was a name of a demon. They have to warn people. 

They learn that Beverly is infected and, to Doctor Lee’s and Pam’s horror, Dean and the Sarge immediately announce their intention to kill her. But before they go to that drastic step, Sam interrogates Doctor Lee and asks her if she has a cure yet. The doctor gives Sam a PLEASE SHUT UP look because no, she DOESN’T have a cure for a brand new virus that she’s just discovered with her - checks notes - standard wellness clinic equipment. Long story short, the mom dies bloody.

Later, shadowy figures lurk outside the clinic. Inside, the Winchesters merrily prepare for war as Pam gets twitchy and drops infected blood samples. They decide to fight their way out of town, past the blockades. Sam “Don’t Look at my Browser History” Winchester’s eyes light on some chemicals in the office. It’s time to make some bombs.

Suddenly, someone pounds on the clinic door begging for help. It’s Duane, otherwise known as the man from Sam’s vision! He tells them he just got back from the fishing trip from hell, and he’d sure like to know where his parents are. UH....one of them is dead in the closet next to you? The doctor examines him and finds a wound on him. They tie him up while Doctor Lee drops a virus update. It takes three hours for the virus to incubate before sulfur starts cropping up in the bloodstream. She can’t test for the virus until it’s too late...and he goes full rage zombie on everyone.

Sam pulls Dean aside and begs him to wait to kill Duane. Dean’s against this plan, and Sam accuses him of acting out of character. LORD SAM if I had a nickel for every time that happened on this show! Dean immediately takes umbrage with...everything...and flees the conversation.  He also locks Sam in a room so he can pull off his execution uninterrupted. Dean BBY no.

Duane tearfully begs for his life while Dean confronts the monster within himself - and aims the gun.

“I got no choice,” Dean says while Duane weeps, and I weep for different reasons. Dean’s hand shakes. His lip trembles. Dean drops the gun with a curse.

Later, he unwinds while making bombs with Sam. The doctor announces that over four hours have passed, and Duane’s blood is still unsulfured. They decide to untie him. Sam asks why Dean decided to spare his life. Dean deflects because...of course, and Sam heads off for more supplies.

Pam locks Sam in a room with her and almost immediately shrieks and attacks him. She cuts Sam and slices her own palm, pressing into Sam’s wound. Right after that, Dean breaks the door down and shoots her. They wrap their heads around the fact that Pam bled on Sam.

While the extremely harried Doctor examines Sam, the others hold an intense standoff in front of Sam. Dean will kill anyone and everyone to PROTECT his brother, but the others advocate for immediate action. Sam tells Dean to hand a gun over to him and he’ll take himself out! And he doesn’t mean take himself out to a nice dinner and movie! GUH. Winchesters. 

Dean throws his car keys - BABY’S CAR KEYS - to the others and tells them to get the hell out of town. He plans to stay behind and watch over his brother for it is his SOLEMN SWORN DUTY.

Sam begs Dean to hand him a gun and get to safety. And that’s sad, sure. That’s tragic. But when Sam urges Dean to “keep going” Dean looks away. “Who says I want to?” he gets out.  Excuse me, I’m just going to fling myself off a cliff. 

“I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of this job. This life. This weight on my shoulders.” Dean confesses that it’s not all about their dad’s death either… He was feeling this before their dad died. But JUST BEFORE we get to the core of Dean Winchester, the doctor knocks and tells them to head outside.

The town is utterly silent, everyone gone. The camera super-zooms in on the carved “CROATOAN” on the light pole. Dun dun DUN, etcetera. Why yes, Robert Singer DID direct this episode!

More time passes, and the doctor examines Sam’s blood sample again. His blood is still clean hours later. Sam’s baffled because he for really real knows he got Pam’s blood in his wound. SAM, YER A WIZARD! The doctor looks at the other contaminated samples for comparison and discovers that they’re entirely clean. 

In the morning, the doctor bids everyone farewell. She gives Sam a clean bill of health. Sam is predictably still puppy-dog-eyed baffled over it, but he and Dean head out regardless. Duane and Sarge blow town together. 

For Pretty Car Science:

Later, Duane asks to pull over. “I gotta make a call,” he says before rapidly slicing Sarge’s throat and filling a chalice with blood. He tells the cup that the testing is over. The “Winchester boy is definitely immune, as expected.” His eyes turn demon-black.

Elsewhere, Sam and Dean take in a nature stroll as delicate music plays. 

For Winchesters Enjoying Nature Science:

They moodily swig beer. Sam asks Dean to explain his woeful feelings from earlier. “We oughtta...go to the Grand Canyon,” Dean proposes, COMPLETELY failing to be honest about his feelings. He’d like a break from hunting. When Sam digs further, Dean finally spills. Before their dad died, he told Dean something about Sam. John Winchester, father of the year, told Dean he might have to………..

And we cut to black. I’m sure it was something nice, though, like buy Sam an ice cream cake!

Quotatoan:

That's not school, that's Schoolhouse Rock

Well, you are a handsome devil, but I don't swing that way >.>

You've got a neighbor named Mr. Rogers?

Night of the Living Dead didn't exactly end pretty

We're supposed to struggle with this. That's the whole point

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 12 - Year 2: Summer

(ao3 link)

He was coming.

Dressed all in black and poised as a knight in glimmering darkness would be. His power was overwhelming: unforeseen before this day and age and nearly unstoppable. Nothing in his path would be saved. 

Friends, foes, strangers… All of them dead and not to the passion of yellow eyes of hatred, but hopeless and never-ending black lenses.

He would be their undoing. 

“If you are not with me… You are my enemy.” 

He snapped into full consciousness.

Other screams echoed down the hall from him, residual aftershocks from a recent admin to the highest security level of Azkaban. It was here that only the most vile prisoners existed- those that committed such atrocities that deemed them unworthy of ever seeing light ever again- not even by the means of a small window.

This, he concluded, was wise, because no space would be too small for him to worm his way through.

The dementors were coming.

What could they take from someone who never had anything?

Glowing yellow eyes bore into the wall across his cell, finding their focal point in a small newspaper cutout that billowed slightly in the ever-present wind that consistently raged through the prison. Over the ticking years of his capture, he learned that it was wise to always maintain focus- lest the physicality of the drains become too consuming. That was never to say it was pleasant, but he prided himself in never requiring positivity or happiness to thrive. 

Unlike many of the bottom-dwellers that filled the triangular structure in the middle of the North Sea, he knew he had a purpose. 

And that purpose had always been to stay hungry; so mind-numbingly starved that it was impossible to satisfy his appetite. He thrived in the sort of lust that was always searching, but never fulfilled in true. That was the mind of the hunter.

The impenetrable gate to his cell swung open, yet he remained seated patiently with crossed legs on the floor- back to his enemies- as he always did. He used to fight, because that’s what the hunter did: they fought. However, extended torture offered him something convenient: it offered him the perspective of the prey. 

He never had anything to give the dementors- no happiness or positivity of his own, leaving them often dry and unsatisfied from their routine visits to his block. This time, as the writhing flow of darkness and despair filled the space of his soul, finding corners and pockets once inhabited, he had to fight back a smile.

His imprisoners would call him crazy- driven to the brink at their own hand- and would laugh merrily at the mere thought of it, because he deserved what he got. But he knew above all else that they were fools for not killing him dead in the first place. Instead, they allowed his search of purpose to fester in the obscurity until grasping it with unyielding fingers. 

He dropped to the ground unceremoniously, gasping for breath and keeping his head down. He could get up. He could fight, but he learned something about hunger over his capture and that was the control of keeping it at bay. 

Their time would come.

His skin itched at the blissful thought of ripping them apart. 

After the shrouded floating embodiments of torture drifted down the hall to a more promising victim, he lifted his head to gaze up at that singular picture on his wall.

A boy smiled widely with a fluttering owl on his shoulder- full of life… hope… destiny. It was the picturesque sort of Daily Prophet image that foolish readers ate up in efforts to forget about the perils of their world. 

This boy was the one to fulfil the great ambitions of the Sith, to bring Salazar Slytherin’s true vision into place with complete superiority. It seemed impossible to see in such youth, but he didn’t doubt his master’s foresight for one moment. Sidious was always operating several steps ahead of everyone else. He had once believed that he was to be a crucial part of Sidious’ plans, but was cast aside like a worthless sea urchin. 

His stomach growled and he rose to his feet. 

“You should have killed me, master.” He said softly, never taking his eyes off the picture, feeling that pleasant swell of burning hatred coursing through his veins. It was so overwhelming that he almost laughed, but such a display would draw attention that he could not risk. 

He never had his own happiness, but was always ravenous for someone else’s. And with that, his purpose was renewed. 

He would take and take until there was nothing left of his master’s plan- until there was nothing left of this boy. 

Anakin Skywalker would soon find that Maul was not unlike a dementor. 

***

It was an uncharacteristically sunny day as young Anakin Skywalker raced across the street. Several paces back was his mother who managed to grab his arm and pull him back just in time to save him from an oncoming bicycle.

“Anakin, be careful,” She chided, guiding him rather purposely onto the sidewalk.

“I had it under control!” Anakin declared although his heart was still beating a little too fast. After all, Anakin and his mother weren’t normal pedestrians, they were wizards. What’s the worst that could happen to someone like them? Anakin may not know many spells yet, as he was only about to begin his second year. However, when he looked up at the faded sign dangling haphazardly above them, he knew where he could find much more skilled magic users if something were to happen.

“I’m beginning to wonder if I should accompany you after all,” His mother was looking down at him with concern.

“No, no! I’m old enough!” He stood a little straighter, maybe leaned forward on the tips of his toes a bit, “I’m already 12! All I have to get is a bunch of new books anyways, not like last time,” He bounced a little bit, eager at just the thought of what other sorts of wizard things he might get a chance to look at unsupervised, “And if anyone knows where to buy books, Obi-Wan does.”

“Well alright dear,” Shmi smiled as he staggered a little. She ran her fingers through his hair, likely trying to flatten it down as it was always rather unruly, “I suppose when I was your age I was allowed to traverse Diagon Alley by myself,” Anakin gazed up at her with curious eyes. His mother still never spoke much of her own time in the wizarding world, “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re too old for your dear mother,” He shook his head frantically, hugging her tightly around the waist.

“I’ll never be too old for you!” He admonished and she laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Off you go, Ani,” His mother sighed, but when he pulled away, she was giving him a firm look, “It would hardly be proper for you to be late,” He nodded in excitement before pulling open the door to the pub, but not without one last wave back.

The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was just as dim as last time. However, this time he felt a few pairs of eyes flicker towards him, whispers he couldn’t quite make out hung in the air. He wasn’t sure if they would be talking about how he was part of the group of students to oust Dooku, or about his status as the chosen one.

Either way he puffed his chest a little bit and walked through the room like he’d been there hundreds of times before. He tapped into the bricks in the back just as he’d practiced a dozen times before in his room and the wall melted before him. Bricks turned and fell until there was a good-sized hole in the wall. His mum had insisted they walk there, as Floo Powder was a luxury and she said she only kept some for emergencies. It didn’t bother Anakin as he was completely fine with reliving the charming experience that he’d first witnessed last year.

Not much had changed about Diagon Alley and he doubted it ever really did, like a time capsule. Older witches and wizards still walked around in ridiculous outfits while the young wore muggle clothes to seem more inconspicuous or school robes to break them in. Anakin had grown a little bit and was probably due to exchange his old robe for one of a bigger size, though his mother was sure he’d grow out of it again by the end of the year. Perhaps he could learn a spell to make clothes bigger, that would surely impress her.

“Anakin!” He turned and saw Rex Fett waving at him from in front of a little red shop on the right.

“Rex!” He ran over quickly and found himself in a chokehold alongside his best friend.

“There’s my star beater,” Cody greeted him before dropping the both of them, “I hope you’ve still got it because I’ve spent all summer planning the perfect comeback for Gryffindor!”

“That and running me ragged,” Rex complained, but he was grinning as he turned to Anakin in excitement, “Dad gave me money for my own broom!”

“That’s great!” Anakin, though happy for his friend, felt a little green with envy as he thought about the dusty old brooms at Hogwarts.

“I can’t wait to try out for the team, then we can beat the other houses together!”

“Sounds great!” Anakin nodded, “Do you-”

Before he could continue the wall to Diagon Alley opened again. Satine tucked her wand in her hair when her eyes landed on their little trio.

“Satine!” Cody pushed past the younger boys to crush his friend in a hug.

“Already visited the Quidditch store I see?” She smiled glancing around, “Ben’s not here yet?”

“Gotta make sure I’m up to date on all the new gear,” Cody stated as if he ever wouldn’t be, “Not yet, but I’m sure he’s just caught in Floo Powder traffic or something,” Anakin opened his mouth to ask about how such a thing would work anyways when something caught his eye. Turning, he watched as a shopkeeper pulled down the old broom displayed in the window.

“Oh no way,” Rex’s eyes lit up, “They weren’t supposed to come out with a new model until spring!”

“What’s this one?” Anakin followed Rex up to the window.

“Oh!” Cody pressed close to the glass, “This handle shape can really only mean it’s a Randolph Spudmore!” Rex nodded and Anakin looked at them in exasperation.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” He gazed down the length of the broom, it certainly looked impressive either way, but just what sort of differences could there really be between brooms.

“It has to be the Firebolt Supreme,” Cody gushed, “Rumored to fly up to 200 miles per hour, much faster than its predecessor, non-slip grip and impressive ironwork!”

“The Bulgarian Quidditch team already stated they wanted some before they were even announced,” Rex told him, “It’s supposed to be the smoothest broom experience ever, a potential game changer.”

“Wow,” Anakin felt like he was seeing the thing in an all new light, if this broom was that impressive it definitely felt like something he would love to ride, “Rex you should get this one!” Rex gave a startled laugh and looked at him like he’d grown antlers.

“This broom is going to cost an arm and a leg,” Rex shook his head, “No way that’s affordable for a school-aged kid.”

“I wish,” Cody said longingly, “Still, we’ll get ya something worth riding, Rexy. Maybe last year's Cleansweep model, or a Starsweeper. I’m quite partial to the Thunderbolt line myself.”

“Cody, you have a Comet 295,” Rex crossed his arms.

“Obsolete!” Cody waved a dismissive hand, “We gotta get you a broom that’ll last mate, they don’t grow on trees after all.”

“Well, they are made of wood,” Anakin pointed out and Rex laughed.

“Maybe we should make our own,” He suggested much to Cody’s look of annoyance, “It could be revolutionary.”

“Yeah ‘cause the next best broom is really gonna come from a couple 2nd years who barely know how to charm a teacup,” Cody huffed, “Broom making is an art-”

“We could call it the Skywalker,” Anakin continued for Rex, “Who knows, I am supposed to be all powerful, that might include making my own super broom.”

“Right mate,” Rex rolled his eyes.

“Where’s Obi-Wan when you need him,” Anakin gazed back at the Firebolt Supreme, “He’s rich, maybe he’s taking requests for Christmas presents.”

“Yeah, your Christmas present for the rest of your life maybe,” Cody crossed his arms, “In case you’ve forgotten he already had to get a new broom himself last year.”

“What’d he pick anyways?” Anakin asked.

“Nimbus line, 2005” Cody answered with a shrug, “He’s always had a Nimbus, figured he wouldn’t want to try anything else.”

They turned back to oogle the broom once more before sighing.

“I suppose we should save the fun shopping for last,” Rex lamented pulling the same list Anakin had received in the mail out of his pocket.

“Boo,” Cody complained, “But alright, why don’t you two run along and I’ll go hunt down my missing friends,” Anakin looked up to see that Satine was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she’d gone off in search of Obi-Wan in lieu of talking brooms. Anakin couldn’t really bring himself to care much about it, they’d surely all run into each other again.

***

“Diagon Alley,” Obi-Wan spoke in a firm, clear voice. Loud enough for the green flames before him to teleport him to his location, but soft enough that they wouldn’t echo throughout Kenobi mansion. His parents wouldn’t be too pleased if he interrupted them with his departure. The Floo network was second nature to him at this point in his life, although Satine, who had only gotten to try it once or twice, claimed it to be an odd out of body experience.

Obi-Wan deftly stepped out from the fireplace. Peering around, it seemed he had landed himself in the robes shop. Nodding towards the wizards measuring students for their new robes, he dusted himself off and stepped out on the cobblestone street. Despite what many would assume, he didn’t spend a great deal of time in Diagon Alley. There were other wizarding areas his mother used to take him shopping at, and it was really only once or twice a year he was able to come to Diagon Alley on his own account. It was such a great coincidence that he managed to plan such a trip when his friends would be there. Though he supposed his parents would be interested to hear that he met Anakin on his day out.

“There you are,” His heart leapt in his chest as he turned. It was Satine as expected, but there was something a little bit more elegant about her. Gone was any lankiness or lingering awkwardness, instead she looked exceptionally radiant in a way he hadn’t seen prior. It was rare indeed that he saw her dressed down to a casual muggle look and he tried desperately not to stare.

“Satine, it’s-”

“You’ve got a little something there,” She leaned into his personal bubble with practiced ease and scrubbed at his nose with her thumb, “Really now,” She stepped back as if admiring her work, “I’m disappointed that even someone as prim as you can’t manage the Floo Network without getting soot stained.”

“Prim? I think not,” He crossed his arms, “At least I know it’s best not to store my wand so haphazardly.”

“Really you don’t think it suits me?” She tipped her head to the side and he frowned.

“What suits you best is your head still attached to your shoulders,” Though the light brown shade of her wand did look rather beautiful in contrast to her blonde waves.

“Have you no faith of my magical control?” She countered.

“Even the most talented witch could accidentally cast a spell,” He chastised.

“Good to see you again too,” She rolled her eyes and tugged him gently by the arm as they started moving further down Diagon Alley.

“How’s your summer been?” He asked her, eager to hear what sorts of fun muggle activities she’d been privy to.

“Bo was off to camp again,” She shrugged when he winced, “Left a lot of time for me to catch up on my readings I suppose.”

“Did we not finish the summer’s readings prior to leaving Hogwarts?” He asked and she nodded.

“I’m talking about muggle readings,” She explained, “You know our dusty old wizard school can only teach us so much. I want to keep track of a little science knowledge, biology, and a little chemistry at least,” Such things Obi-Wan wasn’t privy to knowing about, but he committed to memory to ask her a million questions about it on the train.

“Surely you did more than just read over the summer?” Obi-Wan prompted and she glanced at him.

“That’s rather rich coming from you,” And he knew this would be the most she referenced his own summer vacation.

“I’m only curious,” He grinned innocently, “If you’d rather tell me about biology, I’m all ears,” Her cheeks had gone a little red for some reason.  He hoped they weren’t walking too fast.

“I did go on a short holiday with my mum,” She shrugged, “Nothing fancy just down to Brighton for the beaches,” She studied him a moment before nodding and continuing, “You would have liked it I’m sure, there were lots of quaint, little stores.”

“I’d love to see such a sight,” He was sure of it, even if he had no real visual to what Satine was talking about.

“There was this tall observation tower,” She tried to explain, “You ride an elevator up and can see 360 degrees. It feels like you can see for miles,” He nodded trying to figure out what such a structure would look like.

“Fascinating!” She looked at him with a small smile.

“Perhaps one day we could go together?” She suggested and Obi-Wan grinned at the thought.

“That would be rather wonderful. I’d love to travel.”

“But you’ve travelled,” Satine easily put him under scrutiny.

“A few times yes, but never anywhere really new,” He shrugged, “Wizarding towns are very similar, you know,” She nodded slowly, before looking into a shop window with not very well disguised disgust.

“What the bloody hell do wizards need an entire store revolving around jellied eels for?” She wrinkled her nose and he couldn’t help but laugh at her expression.

“An eel can be a delicacy, my dear,” Obi-Wan gestured towards a rather offending pie in the window, “Surely you’ve had a meat pie?”

“I’m not so sheltered,” Though she looked a little green as she stared into the beady dead eyes of the eels, “Though I’m pretty sure this is a crime against food.”

“You could say that,” A newcomer came up behind them and Obi-Wan turned with a smile.

“I thought you’d eat near anything, Cody,” He greeted and Cody shook his head.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at me,” He grimaced, “Have you ever eaten them?”

“I have,” He admitted and both of his friends took a step away from him, “Hey! No need to act like I’ve committed some crime.”

“I dunno mate,” Cody looked towards Satine.

“It should be,” Satine looked at him like he was some poor ill cat, “We’ll get you some real food one day.”

“I believe I’ve had plenty of real food,” He crossed his arms and Cody and Satine both shook their heads much to his chagrin.

“Eating the Great Hall out of sweets doesn’t really count.”

***

“Alright now we just have to find copies of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2,” Rex read off his list as Anakin juggled two stacks of books.

“We’re going to spend all this money on books we won’t even want to read,” Anakin complained as he tripped over his own feet and the books went sliding across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” Rex sighed, bending down to help Anakin pick them up.

“Hey what’s this?” Anakin picked up a faded and incredibly yellowed journal-styled book. Rex took it from him and inspected the front and back and then flipped through the pages.

“Doesn’t look like much, mate,” He shrugged, “It’s likely a magilingist’s journal,” At Anakin’s confused look he clarified as he tucked the book back into a shelf at random, “They travel around studying other languages of magic. There’s not much of a market for it, but there are usually a few copies created.”

“So there are different types of magic?” Anakin asked as he stood again, this time letting Rex carry his own stack.

“Yes and no,” Rex clarified, “There are debates about it, but all magic seems to connect at its core. There are different ways to use magic however. England sure isn’t the only country with magic.”

“So are there other magic schools?” Anakin asked as Rex beelined towards the charm’s textbooks.

“Yeah, Hogwarts has been known to do events with some of the European schools like Beauxbaton, which is in France,” Rex answered as he dropped the rather heavy grade 2 textbook into Anakin’s unexpecting arms.

“Oof!” Anakin wavered, but managed not to drop the books again, “Does the French school learn different spells then? Are they all in French?”

“I think they're Latin based like us,” Rex shrugged around his books, “If you’re so interested maybe you should buy that journal.”

“More reading? No thanks!” Anakin laughed, “I want to save any extra sickles for some sweets from Sugarplum’s.”

“Maybe save it for the trolley witch,” Rex suggested, “It’s a long train ride.”

***

“Ben, is this any good?” Satine held up what she could only assume to be some sort of Wizard romance novel.

“Do you really expect me to have read all these books already?” He asked her exasperated, but still he looked at the cover and cringed, “Get this one instead,” He pulled a different book from above his head and handed it down to her. It seemed to be a romance between a wizard and a mermaid if the cover art was to be trusted.

“It’s bad enough we have to buy textbooks,” Cody complained as he leaned against the shelf between them, “But why must we shop for additional books?”

“Because-” Satine began, but Cody didn’t even let her finish before groaning dramatically and sinking to the floor.

“Ok, ok! I know! But why am I here?” Satine looked down at him and tapped him lightly on the head with the novel.

“Because, we need someone who can reach the top shelf and it certainly isn’t going to be Ben.”

“Excuse me, I can reach!” Ben was looking at her with a rather offended expression, but there was something about his disposition that made her laugh. Maybe it was because he looked like the youngest professor ever with his sweater vest and slacks combo.

“You’re hardly going to be as tall as Qui-Gon,” She shrugged.

“Maybe I will!” He yanked out a book with more force than was necessary and almost stumbled backwards, “I’m certainly taller than you!”

“Yes, and?” Satine raised an eyebrow, “You’re still shorter than Cody.”

“Magic!” Ben spat out suddenly, “We’re wizards, we can use magic to reach the top shelf.”

“That’s a fair point actually,” Cody perked up, “So I’ll just leave and-”

“Don’t you dare,” Satine pointed a finger at him, “We’re almost done here. I don’t want to hunt you down again.”

“Hunt me down? You’re the one who left me to find him,” Cody jabbed a thumb at Ben.

“I didn’t want him to get lost!” Satine tried, her cheeks felt a little too warm so she turned swiftly and pulled another book at random.

“I’m certain, Mr. Pureblood here, is not about to get lost in Diagon Alley,” Cody teased.

“Certainly not,” Ben sided with Cody.

“Ok we’re done here,” Satine set off towards the register, “I’m in need of a butterbeer before we meet up with Anakin and Rex.”

“Why on earth would she think I’d be lost?” She overheard Ben murmur to Cody and she felt her cheeks practically glow as Cody responded.

“She didn’t, she just missed you,” Cody chuckled.

It took little time to check out and then books were deposited in their respective bags, all enchanted to hold many things and weigh almost nothing. The sun was edging towards late afternoon, but still shone brightly off the silver barrel of the butterbeer store.

“Oh, Satine look,” Ben pointed out with a smile, “I’ve never really noticed that it’s referencing the Fountain of Fair Fortune, just like our Halloween ensemble,” Satine was caught up in his expression and the sound of her rapidly beating heart. She found herself unable to respond for a couple seconds.

“Ah, yes, I- I’ve not noticed that before either,” She hid the stumble in her speech with a cough.

“It’s a much better connotation now,” Ben said and she felt Cody’s eyes flick between the two of them, “Since I know the real story.”

“Yes, no muggle murder here,” Satine tried to give him a smile rather than choke on her memories of that night.

“Quite excellent,” He pondered the sign once more, “Let’s go in shall we?”

***

“You got Butterbeer without us?” Rex was much more offended than Anakin, though he craved trying the famed drink.

“You weren’t around,” Cody shrugged as he drank the last bit of his before Rex could yank it from his hands.

“It’s still a little sweeter than I expect,” Satine commented, “I’m surprised every time.”

“It’s wonderful,” Obi-Wan looked extremely pleased at the thought, his own glass sat empty in front of him.

“That’s because of your incessant sweet tooth,” Satine complained though she slid the last bit of hers over to him anyways.

“There’s still time don’t you think?” Rex pleaded, “Can’t I get one to go?”

“Sorry little bro,” Cody shrugged, “Hevy expects us back in about 5 minutes and if we’re not there you know he’ll come searching. Plus we gotta stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies on the way out.”

“I must be off too,” Obi-Wan lamented. He finished off Satine’s drink as she watched him just a little too closely, “My parents do expect me to be home for dinner.”

“Don’t worry, Rex,” Anakin whispered, though maybe a little too loudly, “We’ll find a way when we get to school.”

“I rather hope you’re not planning to sneak into Hogsmeade in front of two prefects,” Obi-Wan frowned. Yes, he’d definitely whispered too loudly.

“Of course not, Obi-Wan,” Anakin gave him a very serious look, “I’d never break the rules.”

“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard,” Cody laughed before standing up, “Well, Kenobi, Satine, I’ll see you lot on the train.”

“Likewise,” Obi-Wan stood nodding to Cody and Satine, before sticking Anakin with a stare, “Do be on time.”

“I’m not going to miss the train Obi-Wan,” Anakin rolled his eyes.

“See ya, Anakin!” Rex waved as they departed leaving Anakin alone with Satine.

“I suppose we should head out as well,” Satine nodded towards the wall as she stood.

“This place is so cool,” Anakin took one last look around, “I almost never want to leave!”

“I had the same feeling coming here the first few times,” A nostalgic look fell across her face, “I suppose in a way that feeling never leaves. It’s not the same way of seeing things as Ben or the Clones.”

Even if Anakin had grown up with such sights, he wasn’t sure he’d ever run out of things to look at. Still he watched the wall fall closed behind him with a sigh and followed Satine through the Leaky Cauldron. The customer base seemed to be growing as it reached sundown, but they paid him little mind, more interested in their drinks this go around.

“Ani,” His mum waved at him from the street corner just outside of the door. He ran to her with a smile, “Did you get all your things?” He nodded.

“Yep, I’m ready to go!” Grabbing his mum’s hand they set off.

[the-river-person]

Greatness

With a resounding crash the wooden barrel lid he was using as a target was shattered as the bones hit it straight on. Undyne cheered enthusiastically from where she sat and watched from the gate. Though Papyrus still came daily to her house for his training, things had changed here too. He’d long passed spaghetti and moved on to other dishes. Almost all of what Undyne made was fairly inedible anyway, but neither of them really minded much, even if the house ended up on fire while they were trying to make a pie. Neither one was entirely sure how fire had gotten involved this time, given that they were attempting a recipe for a frozen custard pie, but the house was definitely blazing merrily and the light of the dancing flames was reflected off the smooth black volcanic stone that was plentiful in Waterfall’s many caves and tunnels. It still burned now, because they hadn’t bothered to try and put it out, and had instead switched to the more aggressive part of his training. Combat. There was no question now that Papyrus was ready for the guard, and Undyne was quickly running out of further challenges or tests to give him before she’d be forced into a decision. Both were aware of the reason for the delay. Nobody was really certain what was to become of the Royal Guard. It was an organization that had served the Royal Family for generations, and had only recently turned all its efforts and focus onto humans. But Undyne’s entire career had been within that final stretch where the humans were the focus, and she was the oldest member of the guard despite her young age. None of the others still in the guard had joined till after her, and when Gerson had passed on the reigns it was her they followed diligently. Sure it wasn’t impossible to return the guard to its normal functions of protecting the Royal Family and acting as peacekeepers of the Underground. But would they be needed? Or wanted? It would be the decision of the King and Queen, who were still on uncertain terms. There were a lot of things that were still being figured out. Until they knew the fate of the Guard, Undyne would wait. Papyrus knew it was to prevent him from getting his hopes up, and he appreciated that, but still he wanted so badly to be a part of it all. Of course there were still some things the Guard would be needed for. Though the Human stayed with the Queen and wandered with her wherever she went, many Monsters still feared them. Papyrus himself had seen entire classes at the new school suddenly go empty as Monsters made various mumbled excuses to slip away even as the Queen sadly watched them from the corner of her eye. All because of the little Human who sat quietly in the corner, watching passively as everything moved forward. He understood their fear, of course he did. Even the smallest of human children, with enough Determination, was powerful enough to spell the end of the Underground a thousand times over. But they’d stopped, hadn’t they? They’d chosen a different path, a path of mercy. It was sad that Sans had been the one to confront the Human so many times. Flowey had described how Sans had been the last one left, the only one who dared to stop the Human before they went too far. And then again, and again, until they simply did things that way because it was how they’d always done it. Why Sans had to fight, he didn’t know, but Papyrus felt sure that those days were over. Whatever the reasons, things had changed, and change of this kind wasn’t easily wiped away, not even with a Reset. Still that didn’t seem to be enough for most Monsters. They wanted justice for past deeds, justice for all the pain humans had caused them, not just this one little one, though they’d certainly done more than any other. And they wanted the source of their fear to go away. To stop scaring them. A quarter of an hour later he’d left Undyne and was thoughtfully trudging through the dark and damp tunnels of Waterfall. A sound reached him, the sound of something digging in the dark, of the rustle of leaves, of very soft muttering. “FLOWEY,” he said out loud. The flower had never managed to sneak up on him properly just yet, that he knew of anyway. “I KNOW IT’S YOU. YOU CAN COME OUT NOW.” “Drat. I was hoping I had you that time,” said the little golden flower as it popped out of the shadows to his left with a bright and cheerful smile. “Do you think you could let me win, just the once?” Striking a dramatic pose, Papyrus wagged his finger admonishingly at the flower. “NYEHEHEH! YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THAT. EVERYTHING THE GREAT PAPYRUS DOES WILL BE DONE TO THE HIGHEST STANDARDS! IF YOU WISH TO DEFEAT ME, YOU WILL HAVE TO SIMPLY TRY HARDER! BUT DON’T WORRY...” He smiled down at his little friend. “I BELIEVE IN YOU.” The expression on the face of the flower was not the one he was expecting. He’d hoped for gratitude or laughter, or even just the usual perpetual cheer that Flowey presented. But instead he only found irritation. “How do you always do that?” snarled Flowey. “Every single time you stayed true. No matter how many resets or details, no matter how bad things got, no matter how many times your attacks beat the human down, no matter how murderous they became before they reached you. You never once let loose. No death, nothing. You just forgive and forgive and forgive even when it hurts you! But you’re one of the strongest Monsters here! Nearly strong enough to be a Boss Monster even! Why do you keep believing in people who can’t change? Who don’t want to be better?” By the time Flowey had managed to get everything out, he was shouting, his little face screwed up in frustration. For a long moment, Papyrus said nothing, waiting, and the flower started to look regretful of the outburst, as if he’d remembered that his friend wouldn’t just forget anymore. “BECAUSE I CHOOSE TO.” Flowey’s face jerked back up to stare at him, and Papyrus’s gaze was unflinching as he gazed back. This outburst must have been building for a long time, he should give the best answer he could. “I KNOW WHAT THE WORLD IS LIKE, WHAT PEOPLE, MONSTERS AND HUMANS ALIKE, HAVE DONE AND ARE STILL WILLING TO DO. BUT I KNOW WHAT THE WORLD COULD BE LIKE. WE COULD BE KINDER, WE COULD BE BETTER. I CAN’T CHANGE THE WORLD BY MYSELF. I TRIED FOR A WHILE, AND PEOPLE JUST WROTE ME OFF AS NAIVE, FORGETTABLE, AND BLIND TO THE WAY THINGS ARE. SO WHEN SANS AND I MOVED TO SNOWDIN I MADE A DIFFERENT PROMISE. I CAN’T CHANGE THE WORLD, BUT I CAN CHANGE ME, AND THAT’S A GOOD START. I’LL BE THE BEST PAPYRUS, THE GREATEST PAPYRUS, I CAN BE.” He had the flower’s attention now. It was clear that in all the Resets, in all the time Flowey had known him that he couldn’t remember much of, he had never told him this part of the story. Flowey gazed at him in fascination, hanging on every word like it was pure gold. “EVEN THE WORST PERSON, SOMEONE WHO HAS FALLEN SO FAR THAT THEY FEEL LIKE THEY’RE SEPARATED FROM EVERYTHING, TRAPPED BY THEIR OWN CHOICES, BY THE PERSON THEY MADE THEMSELVES INTO, CAN STILL CHANGE. EXECUTION POINTS, LEVELS OF VIOLENCE... THEY DON’T MAKE YOU EVIL, THEY’RE JUST NUMBERS, RECORDS OF THINGS YOU’VE ALREADY DONE. THEY MIGHT MEAN TERRIBLE AWFUL THINGS, EVEN EVIL THINGS, BUT THEY DON’T MAKE YOU EVIL. THAT’S A DECISION YOU MAKE YOURSELF EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY. JUST LIKE SOMEONE CAN DECIDE TO BE GOOD.” It was odd how often the flower’s expression changed. Sometimes Papyrus thought it was almost like looking at someone who tried on different masks for different feelings, someone who didn’t want to show their real face underneath all the fakeness on top. Flowey was looking not just taken aback, but almost appalled. Not all of the flower’s history was a mystery to him, Sans had never been the most trusting, but even before the Resets had been revealed to everyone, the smaller skeleton had showed a certain level of distrust, or almost fury towards Flowey. When something had happened and Sans locked himself away for days on end, and Papyrus had stumbled upon the Resets through his growing Determination to help, it was Flowey he’d looked for. Though Flowey had only spoken of the Human and of Resetting time and of Sans, there was enough to know that there was more to the story. And Sans had only confirmed that by acting so frightened about where Papyrus had gotten the information. Whatever Flowey had done, whatever he was, it wasn’t good or kind. He could imagine the little bright smile staying just as happy and cheerful even as all the Monsters in the Underground perished one by one. But that horrified expression, something he’d said had certainly struck a chord, and not one that Flowey liked. “I WOULD NOT BE THE GREAT ANYTHING IF, WHEN A PERSON WHO WAS SO TRAPPED BY THEMSELVES CAME ALONG, AND I DIDN’T OFFER THEM THE CHANCE THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR TO CHANGE. WHAT IF THAT WAS THE ONLY OPPORTUNITY? IF I GAVE IN AND SIMPLY FOUGHT THEM OFF OR RAN...THEY WOULDN’T HAVE THAT CHANCE ANYMORE. IF I KILLED THEM, I WOULDN’T BE THE ME I CHOSE, I’D BE SOME OTHER PAPYRUS I DON’T WANT TO BE, SOME LESS GREAT AND NOT AS WONDERFUL PAPYRUS. STILL AMAZING, BUT LESS SO BECAUSE HE WOULDN’T BE ME. SO I WOULD WANT TO KEEP TRYING, EVEN TO THE VERY LAST MOMENT, TO MY DEATH. I COULD BE THE ONLY ONE WHO OFFERS THEM THAT CHOICE TO CHANGE. I DON’T REMEMBER MORE THAN DARK DREAMS AND BITS AND PIECES OF MEMORIES, NOT LIKE SANS REMEMBERS THOSE TIMES, BUT I BELIEVE THAT THOSE MES WOULD WANT TO BE THE GREATEST PAPYRUS AS WELL.” One of his greatest monologues yet. Even if it was a bit of an uncomfortable subject to go on about. For his part, Flowey looked as if he’d swallowed something very unpleasant. “It’s just a choice? That’s all? You don’t even do it because it makes you feel good? Because you feel important?” It was a good point. There had always been the impulse to push himself forward, into the center of attention. To be loved and adored by everyone and recognized for being such a great person. But still... “I...” he said slowly, thinking it through as he spoke. “I DON’T THINK IT’S WRONG TO ENJOY DOING GOOD THINGS, OR TO FEEL IMPORTANT IF YOU DID SOMETHING GREAT. SOMETIMES YOU CAN EVEN DO GOOD THINGS FOR OTHERS BECAUSE IT’S LIKE DOING SOMETHING GOOD FOR YOU TOO AT THE SAME TIME. YOU’RE CHOOSING TO PRACTICE DOING THE RIGHT THING, AND THE THINGS YOU DO STILL HELP PEOPLE. AND IF YOU CAN LEARN TO DO GOOD THINGS FOR LOTS OF DIFFERENT REASONS BECAUSE YOU PRACTICED SO HARD AT IT, THAT’S GREAT TOO! SOME OF THEM MIGHT BE ABOUT FEELING GOOD, AND OTHER TIMES IT MIGHT BE BECAUSE ITS JUST THE RIGHT THING TO DO. ONE DAY, IF YOU PRACTICE ENOUGH, YOU CAN BE STRONG ENOUGH TO TRY AND DO GOOD EVEN WHEN YOU GET HURT BECAUSE OF IT. BUT IT’S OKAY IF YOU DON’T.” He smiled, his eyelights twinkling in their sockets. “EVEN SMALL GOOD THINGS ARE STILL GOOD. GREATNESS ISN’T ABOUT THE SIZE OF IT, YOU CAN BE GREAT BECAUSE OF YOUR CHOICES, EVEN WHEN NOBODY NOTICES A THING.” Flowey said nothing at all. His expression had returned to something more neutral, but it was clear that something had provoked a reaction, a response. Knowing it was getting late, Papyrus resumed his walking, and Flowey burrowed into the earth, popping out here and there ahead of him, but never quite looking at him, or speaking. It was only when they’d reached the first hints of snow that he spoke up, his voice very quiet. “And what about after? What does the person do after? Even if they change, how are people supposed to forgive the things they did? Or trust them ever again? Why should they? Maybe the person has changed, but it doesn’t fix the stuff they did. Right?” Today was a day for hard questions, wasn’t it? “I DON’T KNOW FOR SURE. I COULD FORGIVE SOMEONE IF I KNEW THEY WERE TRULY CHANGING. BUT OTHERS MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO, OR DON’T WANT TO. I DON’T THINK THAT’S WRONG OF THEM, BECAUSE THEY WERE HURT. SOME MIGHT FORGIVE, BUT NOT TRUST, BECAUSE THEY CAN’T ACCEPT THE RISK OF GETTING HURT AGAIN. I THINK THAT’S OKAY TOO.” He stared off at the distant cavernous ceiling above the peaks and valleys of Snowdin Forest, and the trails of smoke that drifted lazily from the chimneys of the town. “I DON’T THINK PEOPLE HAVE TO FORGIVE, OR EVEN TRUST. IT MIGHT BE NICE IF THEY DID, BUT IT’S HARD TO BE THE BEST YOU IF YOU KEEP EXPECTING THEM TO BE JUST LIKE YOU. THEY MIGHT BE STRONG IN A DIFFERENT WAY, LIKE BEING DETERMINED NO MATTER WHAT, OR SUPLEXING BOULDERS, OR-” “Alright! Alright! I get it!” Flowey butt in hastily, cutting him off just as he was beginning his list. Without another word the flower dove into the earth and did not resurface again. Papyrus shrugged. Hopefully the little flower had gotten what he wanted, and it had been nice to talk about these sorts of things to someone other than Sans for once. He waved cheerily to the River Person as the boat sailed by on the river. “Tra la la,” remarked the hooded figure happily, returning his wave. “The Angel is coming.” And then he was gone. “WOWEE,” said Papyrus to himself. “TODAY HAS BEEN A VERY ODD DAY.”

[muriellive]

If you, my dear reader, are Russian-speaking, then it will probably be easier for you to read this creation on the site "mangalib" or listen to this video:

A forgotten village on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Clover - Ankvar, the inhabitants of this village were completely killed during the invasion attempt of the warring kingdom of Diamond. Among its ruins, slowly moving his feet, a tall man of about twenty, wrapped in all black, was waddling about. On his head was a large-brimmed hat with a silvery pattern on the tips, and his face was covered with a torn dark blue mask.

Elbe (and that is what he was called) was looking for a certain magical beast, which, according to rumors, has been raging in the eastern lands of the kingdom for quite some time. Who and why asked him about it is not known, but the man was never interested in the reasons and motives of his customers. "There is money, and okay" - so he thought. Yes, exactly, Elbe was a hunter ... a bounty hunter.

The order this time was very strange: "I have not ordered animals yet ..." - he thought.

But, let's forget about this hunter for a minute and go a little further south ...

Faber is a city on the outskirts, standing at the intersection of trade routes. A young (in fact, not very much, 32 years old is too much) knight magician, straightening a grayish cape with a deer patch, happily blurted out:

- Eh, it was a wonderful day today! - Novakhrono, again running away from his duties, walked around the evening town.

- Look, this is Mr. Julius! Captain of the Gray Deer! - joyful children's voices were heard behind the knight. Responding to their exclamations, the blond turned around, putting on a wide smile on his face, which, it would seem, could banish all sadness and sadness with its one appearance.

- Yeah, kids! Also strive to become knight magicians?

To his rather unintelligent question, the children happily chorus answered "Yeah!"

- Knight mages are cool! - shouted the red-haired boy.

- Cool, huh? - Julius said thoughtfully.

- Yes exactly! When I become a knight-magician, I will be able to fight and attack dangerous opponents with my magic. - the boy rejoiced.

“W-well, this is…” Novachrono tried to explain that the duties of the Knights-Mages are completely different from a simple battle.

“How stupid…” came a high, childish voice, in which, however, there was a certain alarm. The future king of magicians stretched out his neck a little to make out the owner of light brown, tattered hair. Before his eyes appeared a tiny little inch, wrapped in a long scarf and looking towards the children with sad, frightened eyes.

- What ?! - the red-haired boy looked at the girl with an inflated and angry expression on his face. - Nobody asked you, ragamuffin!

- Well, well, don't. - Julius tried to settle the situation. However, here no one even listened to him: everyone sharply turned their gazes to the trembling little girl.

Unfortunately, this attitude was not unusual for her. Yes, it is understandable - the Clovers did not like foreigners, but for a four-year-old child it was very difficult to withstand such pressure.

- I w-wanted ... - the baby began quietly. - …to tell…

- What? - asked Novachrono.

- Knights-magicians, after all, first of all, assistants and only then warriors, right?

It seems to be a simple phrase, but what effect it had on Julius! At that moment, he thought: "really, the mouth of a baby speaks the truth!"

- Shut up, stranger, they didn't give you your word! - the redhead got angry, offended that he was interrupted. To which he immediately received a slap in the face from his mother, and then a reprimand. The woman, quietly apologizing for the bad behavior of her unlucky son, hastened to disperse the kids to their homes.

The captain of the "Gray Deer" shook his head and was about to leave, when he suddenly felt that his clothes were being pulled. He turned around and saw the thumb again. Now, when she stood a little closer, one could make out her, to put it mildly, "unkempt" clothes, disheveled hair and a filthy nose.

- What do you need?

The girl creased the hem of her cloak a little, and then wiggled her hand, indicating that Julius should bend down. Novachrono looked at the baby in bewilderment, but did not object. She began to whisper, barely audible:

- Could you see me off?

The captain of the Gray Deer was even more surprised!

- To carry out? What for?

- Oh, you do not be angry, knight-magician. - answered for the girl standing next to the old woman. - A girl and her brother came here to us, but he is all at work: where he rushes - do not understand! This animal has also been running around here ever since they arrived here ... - the elderly woman crossed herself at last and bowed and left.

"Animal?" - thought to himself the future King of Magicians. "They haven't reported this to the main headquarters ... I suppose we ought to stay here a little longer."

With these thoughts, Novakhrono took the girl by the arm and led her home ...

...

Well, have you already forgotten about him? And he had already managed to get to the village of Faber! Elbe walked a little loosely along the streets, between the wooden-stone buildings only 2-3 floors high. He could not find any signs of an attack: he could not find any scratches, no destruction or breakdowns, which means, most likely, the animal does not come to the village itself. “Perhaps he is whipping up the inhabitants on the outskirts,” Elbe flashed through his head.

- But you have a big village. - the hunter heard someone approaching him!

Without thinking twice, he ducked around the corner and listened. On the road to the outskirts of the village, there were two: a child and an adult man. Elbe recognized the captain of the Gray Deer at once, but he did not care about the girl at all. But this is only for now ...

“What is the strongest among the captains of the orders of the Knight Mages doing here? The task? Really, he also hunts the beast? " - the thug was nervous.

- Well, where is your brother? - asked the magician in a gray cape. - What is his profession?

- A? I dont know…

After these words, Julius became wary. Looks like he was a little worried about the girl.

- How long has he left?

- Hmm ... - she thoughtful ... - About two months already gone.

Novachrono's eyes widened in surprise: he looked at the baby with fear in his heart, realizing that there could be thousands more like her in their kingdom! And she walked with a light gait, full of hopes for the return of her brother ...

Having brought Natsuhi, and that was the name of the girl, to her house, which was half ruined, the man did not leave the village, as he had previously planned, but, on the contrary, decided to stay at a local hotel for a short while. Still, it's not a joke: who knows how many more people may suffer ...

Novachrono woke up not so early: at about nine in the morning, and then, not because he wanted to, but from a sudden noise outside. Without thinking twice, he dressed and with a quick and swift step went to the exit, where an unmeasurable number of fans had already gathered to gawk. Pushing aside the passers-by, Julius hurried into the depths of what was happening, where in the middle of the gazing lay a twenty-year-old boy, dressed in black clothes and with a mask on his face. Elb was badly wounded in the chest. Around him, in a barely noticeable whirlwind, swirled dark roc, particles similar to small birds that make up all the magic in this world. But what's strange is that usually they have only one color - white, the captain of the knights-magicians has never seen any other colors before in his life! Of course, the people around him didn't share the same excitement as he did, because they had too little mana to see these particles.

"Black ... from where?" Julius asked. - "It just can't be!"

“E...ars” Elba's whisper was barely audible, but Novachrono could still make out his words. - That girl ... - after hearing the "Gray Deer" fell into a stupor. The young man passed out and vryatli can wake up soon, but one thing was clear ...!

“N-Natsuhi…” The knight-magician decided to visit the girl in view of recent events. - Why did you and your brother leave your home country?

- A? I don’t know… ”She handed the man a saucer of cookies. He accepted and put it on the table, continuing to listen. - Aniki simply said that it became dangerous there, but why, I still did not understand ... - the baby puffed out her cheeks, lowered her eyes to the floor and raised her hand to her chin, thinking.

- Well, I'll go ... - the girl smiled, taking the rocker standing in the corner, and headed for the door.

- Wait a minute! Julius stopped her. - I will go with you. H-help, otherwise it's hard.

- Yes, not so ... - the fair-haired woman was a little surprised.

- No, no, you're a girl, and girls can't carry heavy things!

"You can't leave her alone ..."

...

- Here! See, I can do it myself! - The girl deftly lifted a bucket of water from the well, "hugging" it with her little hands ...

- Yeah ... - Julius clapped his hands. He tried not to show it, but it was clear that the captain was nervous when the little girl laughs so merrily and carefree, not suspecting anything ...

“Do I need to report this? Or is it better to deal with it quietly? " - the magician reflected. Deciding to write a report, Julius first called his confidant, Marcus, to keep order in the village and paid special attention to protecting Natsuhi. He suspected that it was for her that the mysterious beast was hunting.

...

Elb had been in the hospital for about two weeks. I did not even think to regain consciousness! While he was passed out, images kept popping up in his head: as if a tape had been inserted, but there were clearly gaps in it. But he clearly remembered that very night - the battle was clearly not an easy one ... Ears, more like a cat's, gray eyes and a distorted semi-human silhouette. The hunter has never met such a monster ...

Soryy for such an abrupt narration)

Night. Quiet and calm, starry. However, Novakhrono was in no hurry to surrender to the sweet embrace of Morpheus. He was sitting at a table in a huge luxurious hall, crowned with columns of the Doric order and pondering over the latest events, which had managed to stir up his imagination so well: on the one hand, he was interested to look at a new, hitherto unseen type of magic, on the other, “why exactly Natsuhi? "

This question still haunted him. "What's so special about her?"

Then a white flat image suddenly appeared over his head, which, in bright streams of light, scattered from the middle to the edges, disappearing. It was the magic of Marcus, although he himself, for some reason, was not visible. Usually his communication magic will display an accurate image of himself in a second, but this time it was different, which made Julius tense up! The window slightly trembled and blinked, and then disappeared altogether, after a barely intelligible sound of words came from there. The blond immediately stood up in amazement and, commanding the black-haired boy to get ready and call for reinforcements, instantly went to Cob (Cob Portaport is a spatial magician shown in chapter 113 of the manga and in episode 73 of the anime. He seemed to help Finral with training), so that he could transfer him to the village.

Meanwhile, in the settlement itself, something crazy was happening everywhere: Elb, standing on the main street and holding a barrel of oil in his hands, spilling its contents and setting it on fire! The people around fell into a panic and, shouting and begging for help, ran madly to the outskirts of the village.

- Ha ha! Right! Run, save your pitiful lives!

The fire was arranged by him in order to drive the residents out of this village before the beast, which was already raging in full force in the center, killed everyone. But now a dark silhouette has already burst into the local church! The long, long hair that hid his face hung in strands dirty and slightly scorched from fire. Bright gray eyes darting from side to side and curved limbs with claws. All wounds that would not have inflicted on him instantly healed!

"And how to fight such a monster ?!"

Elb threw the keg at the monster and threw a lighted match. The oil flared up sharply and the fire covered the entire body of the evil spirits, from which it began to wriggle in agony with piercing screams. But even the flame was not able to defeat the monster! It burned, but did not die! The body of this chkdisha completely recovered, even no burns remained.

"This is clearly not a regeneration," Elbe wondered.

Distraught with rage, the monster attacked the hunter, causing both of them to fly a rather long distance. Elb, before landing instantly, purely on reflexes, pulled a small dagger from the sleeve of his uniform and tried to get rid of the attacker by striking a blow. Surprisingly, it worked: when it fell, the monster recoiled from the young man back. Grasping the wound inflicted in the neck, it screamed pitifully!

"Here it is!" - thought the hunter, - "Weak point".

He was already preparing to strike a second blow, crushing! How suddenly I felt that all sounds suddenly disappeared! The flame that had recently destroyed the village went out ... there was a deathly silence. The beast writhed and groaned in pain. Elb just for a second looked away from her to look around, but, concentrating on his goal, he attacked and then the monster suddenly disappeared, and instead of him ...

...

The hunter tried to hit him again with his metal magic, but a steel shield appeared in the stranger's hand in a strange way. Or rather, not quite a shield, rather just a mass of steel. The stranger passed his right hand through the air, quickly sketching some symbols. Suddenly the ground cracked and water burst out from under it in violent streams. It's just that a huge amount of water filled the whole area. Then it felt like the skin was colitis. A bright flash of lightning rippled across the water surface and instantly struck Elb ...

After what time a detachment of "Gray Deer" arrived at the scene of recent events, but neither the monster, nor the fire, nor that strange stranger in the silly mask was gone. And only the wounded bounty hunter lay, unable to get up, in the middle of the empty street, remembering the words: "Save me, brother" ...

[hockeysweetheart]

The Kisses   ( I wont get into every single one of them )  there is like  17 in the first book alone between Katniss and Peeta so  all that jazz is in another post I have 

This may contain “bashing” Gale loll

Katniss’s first kiss was with Peeta. He was like If I die ... Katniss is like  don’t talk like that. Peeta is like really tho... Katniss kisses him to shut him up ( Not the last time she’s done this). She was like well this should count for something Because this is the frist time I kissed a boy. They Kissed many times in that arena A few did count for something but here is what Katniss said about a certain one  "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.  I'm about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own.  ( This one was before the kiss that made her feel something) I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's still here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad that I don't have to face Cato alone. 

Okay so they kiss a bit 30 times between all 3 books. Now  Their first kiss after a few months of not went like this.   My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta's direction. Then, as if I can't stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that's where we have our first kiss in months. It's full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I'm not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won't expose me in front of the cameras. Won't condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He's still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn't. And that's how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. "No one really needs me," he says, and there's no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. "I do," I say. "I need you." He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind.

I don't like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee's right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can't think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it's Beetee. "It's okay," I tell Peeta. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up." "Not into the lightning zone," Beetee reminds me. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage." I take Peeta's face in my hands. "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight." I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. "Ready?"

"Leave me," he whispers. "I can't hang on." "Yes. You can!" I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. "I'm losing it. I'll go mad. Like them." Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It's a long shot, it's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. "Don't let him take you from me." Peeta's panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. "No. I don't want to..." I clench his hands to the point of pain. "Stay with me." His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. "Always," he murmurs.   Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real." 

  It's the way you love me It's a feeling like this It's centrifugal motion It's perpetual blissIt's that pivotal moment It's unthinkable This kiss, this kiss (Unsinkable) This kiss, this kissYou can kiss me in the moonlight On the rooftop under the sky You can kiss me with the windows open While the rain comes pouring inside Kiss me in sweet slow motion Let's let every thing slide You got me floating, you got me flying

( This kiss Faith Hill) 

But When Peeta and Katniss Kiss it’s like wow. Nothing else in the world is there just them and the way Katniss talks about it she enjoys it clearly.  And she made the choice to Kiss Peeta. Like there are other ways to show love then Kissing. But It’s like when she is with him she feels safe and  it’s gonna be alright they could make it through anything together. It’s sadness to when she feels guilty for  shutting each other out but forgiveness. She has this moment where she can barley look at his lips after the Beach scene. 

I sit next to Peeta on the sand to eat my rolls. For some reason, it's difficult to look at him. Maybe it was all that kissing last night, although the two of us kissing isn't anything new. It might not even have felt any different for him. Maybe it's knowing the brief amount of time we have left. And how we're working at such cross-purposes when it comes to who should survive these Games.

That is because she knows what comes out of that mouth  Peeta will know that Katniss still wants to die for him. And whatever Peeta says can Make sense for her to agree to and she  wants this for Peeta to live not her in that moment.  

The Beach Kiss my god. That’s a kiss you feel like okay give them their space but Can’t look away from.  

Katniss kissing Gale and It went like this

By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone.Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened.Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way.  Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me.So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say"Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself."Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. 

So The best part about this is When Katniss kissed Gale shes like I hope to god he doesn’t remember this... But when he does Katniss is like oh shit 

So heres is the final kiss  Between these two. 

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?" "I don't know," I whisper back. "Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself. "How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before. He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine." "So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask. "I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood. Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?" "Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says. I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?" "No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I am no love expert But that might not be the time you bring up I kissed other women up just saying... and saying You kissed Better pretty much my god.   When they Kiss tho it’s like seeing a car accident your not involved in but you can’t help but peak then regreat it. The fact he made Katniss feel so bad for kissing one guy  when your  like Drake Parker from Drake and Josh.  ( If you don’t know he dated many women on that show) Also the fact you say you  were interested in her 6 months prior games. Didn’t make a move until after She kissed Peeta 17 Plus times. And now you want to be more friends thats how you want to play. Oh Hell no.  She doesn’t love you like that buddy...  No wonder she’s confused af.  Like she only kissed Gale because he was making her feel guilty

[osleyakomwonkru]

10 Days of Favourites - Scenes

8 days to season 7!

Today’s countdown topic: My eight favourite scenes!

8. Octavia overhears Bellamy, Roan and Echo during the Conclave (4x10 Die All, Die Merrily)

This scene is so so important, because there are so few moments where Bellamy shows faith in Octavia. He’s always looking to protect her, to save her, or in later seasons, to punish her. But unwavering faith - that’s so rare. So seeing her witness this moment is heartwarming, and after losing Ilian, it is what probably gave her the strength to keep fighting. 7. Luna and Murphy talk about peace (4x06 We Will Rise)

The only non-Octavia-related entry on this list, this scene speaks to me. Luna, before Skaikru broke her, still believes in the possibility of peace, coming off of her 4x04 conversation with Raven. She emphasizes two very important points to Murphy: That anyone can find peace, but finding peace has to be an active choice. It doesn’t just happen to you, it needs to be a choice that you make. 6. Lincoln and Octavia’s unconditional love (2x09 Remember Me)

Lincoln is distressed by everything he did as a Reaper, but Octavia tells him that he can talk to her. He’s not ready to, but she’s not going to give up on him. She loves him no matter what, and makes sure that he knows that she is there for him and they can fight his demons together. Her compassion is infinite, which makes it all the more heartbreaking in later seasons when no one gives it to her.  5. Octavia and Ilian in the cave (4x07 Gimme Shelter) 

The relationship between Octavia and Ilian - which is oh-so-brief but starts here - was a lifesaver for her, and I think it is severely underrated. There have been very few people in Octavia’s dark hours who have given her what she needed - hope, no judgment, but also take no shit. The only other one besides Ilian has been Diyoza, and it’s thus no coincidence that they appeared at similar points in Octavia’s story. Ilian wasn’t a replacement for Lincoln. Octavia wasn’t moving on, that wasn’t the purpose of Octavia and Ilian’s relationship. They were both damaged grief-stricken young people who needed a respite from their crazy world and hope to just live another day. When you’re standing on that precipice - as Octavia does in this episode when she tries to kill herself because she already hates what she’s done and who she’s becoming - just another moment beyond the current one to live for is so important. They helped each other live, if only for a few more days than they may have otherwise. Bellamy was wrong in the scene later on in the episode where he’s referring to Octavia when he tells Kane “you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved”. She does want to be saved - but none of them know how to talk to her properly to give her the hope she needs. 4. Octavia breaks down and puts on her mask (5x10 The Warriors Will)

This scene is so heartbreaking (as I’ve already discussed in my Most Heartwrenching Moments post), and I don’t know how anyone can watch this scene and think that Octavia likes or wants anything about what her life is. She was forced into a leadership position she didn’t want, had to learn fast in an environment with no margin for error, needed to make impossible choice after impossible choice and was abandoned by everyone who should have supported her through them... and then further betrayed and almost murdered by those close to her. But she still doesn’t want them to die. None of them deserve how much she loves and sacrifices for them. 3.  Octavia’s mindspace (6x09 What You Take With You)

This episode didn’t make it into my top 10 episodes due to its extensive time spent on Kabby and Bellaphine nonsense, but the part of it that was Octavia’s mindspace was just perfect (I just have one minor quibble with it, thus why it doesn’t take a higher spot on this list, which you can read about here). I know a lot of people wished that it could have been Lincoln in her mindspace, and are flat-out angry that it was Pike. But Pike only makes sense. Octavia didn’t choose to enter the darkest places of her mind to be coddled. She came to deal with her shit. What better way to do that than by a projection of her greatest adversary? In contrast to Clarke in her mindspace, where she constantly argues with herself, Octavia takes this time to talk through her problems. You know when she’s getting close, because that’s when Blodreina drops in to protect her. She doesn’t want Octavia to get hurt again. But Octavia doesn’t want that mask anymore. She’s no longer afraid. Nou Blodreina nowe. Time to break out of that cocoon and fly like the beautiful butterfly she is. 2. Octavia saves Lincoln and Finn’s lives (1x07 Contents Under Pressure)

Octavia first says “I give all of myself to you” in 5x11, when she’s ready to take on the sins of Wonkru so that they can live without guilt for what they must do to survive the Dark Year. But this scene here is the first time she lives this ethos. She can’t stand the way people are torturing the man who saved her life. So she risks her own to stop it and save all of their lives and souls. And it works. They’re all saved. Everyone lives (for now). Like I wrote about in my series on Octavia as The 100′s Jesus Figure (Part 1, 2, 3), Octavia and Lincoln’s relationship from the beginning was built on the coming together of two Saviours and their sacrifices for each other and for their people. 1. Octavia’s victory speech at the Conclave (4x10 Die All, Die Merrily)

I mean, this one’s a gimme. It’s no secret that this is my favourite scene. At this point Octavia had spent four seasons trying to get people to work together, to have peace, to see each other as equals. Now she could make that real. For all of the conflict that came later, and all the impossible choices she had to make to keep Wonkru alive, this moment held hope. Hope is the most powerful thing there is, and that’s why I keep coming back to this scene. Everything about it was beautiful, the words, the framing, the acting. This is the scene that drew me into this show, since I started watching between seasons 4 and 5. I came to check it out because Chai Hansen had been cast in Shadowhunters, my fandom of the time, and he was pretty so I wanted to check out other things he’d been in. The 100 came up. So the first scenes I’d seen were some of Octavia and Ilian, and then I somehow came across this one next ,and was like yes. This is who I like. Then I went back and watched from the beginning to see what brought her to this place. Her journey since has only been even more incredible, and I can’t wait to see what season 7 has in store for her!

[star-spangled-steve]

His New Partner

Chapter 23: The Simple Life

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 2245

Warnings: Some fluff, some angst, a nightmare with blood and death, mentions of an injury, cussing.

A/N: This might be one of my favourite chapters so far! The italicized words are Steve’s Age Of Ultron dream, by the way.

Champagne bottles were popped and people were laughing merrily as Steve entered the old 1940s ballroom. The jazz music was loud and blaring, accompanying the many pairs that decided to swing, and twist, and turn upon the large dance floor.

The man looked around and saw couples eating together, taking pictures with flashes way too bright for his liking. There were two men pushing each other, looking like they were about to get in a brawl; both wearing their Army Service Uniforms, similar to the one that Steve was wearing right now.

The Captain looked to the left and saw a man with wine spilled down the front of his shirt, another man helping him clean it up, laughs coming from their whole table. The stain reminded Steve way too much of blood.

Off to the side there was a real rumble; men that should be off celebrating with their girls were fighting each other instead, loud grunts escaping their lips.

Steve looked around the scene and a certain sadness came over him, seeing all of the men and woman dressed like the era in which he was from, smiling like there was no tomorrow.

He was surprised by a gentle hand running it’s way down his left arm, a smooth British going along with it. “Are you ready for our dance?” The woman, who he turned and saw was Peggy, asked him.

The man faced back to the rest of the people, seeing how content that they seemed to be with each other, now that the world’s biggest fight was finally behind them.

“The war is over, Steve. We can go home” Peggy continued as his frown just seemed to deepen. “Imagine it.”

One last time Steve turned his head towards the dance floor, only to see the hundreds of people in the room disappear right in front of his eyes, leaving him completely alone with the thought of what once could have been.

That was until the large ballroom doors burst open with a bang, revealing a quite beautiful Y/N who was dressed like she was straight out of the 40s.

“Steve.” She smiled before running towards him, the bottom of her knee-length red dress flowing behind her. “I’m so happy to see you!”

The man held out his arms, ready to hold her as a form of comfort. But the exact moment that Y/N jumped up and Steve’s fingertips had brushed her waist, she was instantly laying on the ground, blood gushing out of her sides in the same place that he had just touched.

“Doll?” Steve yelped, horrified. “O-Oh my god. Don’t worry. I-I’ll get you fixed up.” He leaned down to try and help her, only to be stopped by her arms against his firm chest.

“D-Don’t.” Y/N choked out with some tears, blood continuing to leak out of her sides and onto the tile floor. “You’ve done enough.”

The man furrowed his eyebrows as he kneeled down, getting as close to his injured fiancée as he possibly could. “Huh? Come on, let me help-”

“All you do is fight; try to save people.” She continued, scarlet liquid coming out of her nose and mouth by now. “When are you going to save yourself, Steve?”

He was taken back by her words. “W-What?”

Y/N started to cough and sob at the same time, her breaths becoming more and more laboured by the second as she slowly began to run out of life. “You couldn’t even save me.”

“Sw-Sweetie,” Steve cried, looking into her E/C orbs that were beginning to have trouble focusing, “l-let me apply pressure or d-do something. I-”

“Y-You killed me, Steve.” Y/N stated with what would be one of her last living breaths. “I’m like this because of you.”

Flashes of the nightmare, even now, after Ultron was gone for good, still haunted Steve’s mind. He could still hear the cries and whimpers of his dear Y/N as she lost her life right in front of him, could still see the tears and blood the streamed down her face.

He knew that he was going to see her soon, get a chance to apologize for the way that he had talked to her several nights ago. Steve knew that it was wrong to force Y/N to stay up on their floor, basically lock her away from the outside world and any of its disturbances. He knew that she was a big girl who could make her own decisions. And now he felt incredibly guilty, even though the whole entire reason that he did it was to protect her. Steve was always protecting her.

“Approaching home base.” Tony stated, breaking the Captain out of his thoughts. Though the tone of Stark’s was not cheery, as they were still mourning the loss of two team members. Pietro, the young man who could almost run faster than the speed of light, had sacrificed his life for Clint and a small child who needed to be rescued. Their beloved Dr. Bruce Banner was who knows where, flying around in one of Tony’s quintets. Unfortunately, it was on stealth mode, so there was no surefire way to track him.

After the many inhabitants of Sokovia, or what used to be Sokovia, we’re dropped off in a safe landing spot, the remaining Avengers had taken a jet back to the Tower. Stark had informed them that they would soon be moving to some new facility in Upstate New York, but there was still plenty of time until that would be happening.

Steve had sprinted off the jet the exact moment that it hit the landing pad, giving his pleasantries to the numerous upstairs workers. He quickly got on the elevator and pressed the button to his and Y/N’s shared level, tapping his foot nervously as it descended.

What would he say to her? How would he apologize? Should he have gone out and bought flowers first? Would she even be on their floor like he had instructed her to be?

The man’s worries were cut off by the elevator doors opening, revealing the living room part of their floor. Steve, not seeing her there, slowly continued his walk inside and knocked on their closed bedroom door.

Not even a second later, it was opened to expose a very distressed looking Y/N, hair all over the place and makeup underneath her eyes. Though, the man’s vision immediately settled on the black sling that was over her left shoulder, having flashbacks of watching her try it on for the first time.

“Steve, thank god you’re okay.” She whimpered with relief before plummeting into his chest, squeezing him in the tightest hug that she could give with just one arm. Her hand found his fit waist, not travelling any farther north due to the hard shield placed on his back.

The Captain ran his fingerless glove-clad hands down her spine, sighing in relief that she was at least happy to see him.

“I’m still not happy with you, you idiot.” She exclaimed with a frown, giving him a light hit to the arm.

Spoke too soon, Steve thought to himself.

“I know, doll.” He said before leading them farther into the bedroom. “C’mon.”

It was at this moment that he took notice of what she was wearing. The blue dress shirt that he had worn to the party several nights ago was wrapped around her body, only the top half of the buttons done up, revealing her pair of hot pink nylon panties.

Steve himself was still in his Captain America suit, the thing all worn and filthy from the previous battle.

“Sweetheart,” he began, watching Y/N settle herself on their bed, “I am so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, especially in front of our friends.”

The girl nodded her head, sitting criss-cross applesauce over their covers. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have.”

Steve still stood near the doorway with his hands neatly placed on his belt buckle, not wanting to get their room all dirty. “I just worry about you so much, baby.” He stated, removing the shield from his back and leaning it against the wall. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Y/N puffed out a breath. “I know that, Steve. But don’t you think that I worry about you too?” She used her right hand to point to their bedroom television, which was playing the news. “I’ve been sitting here for days just watching updates on whatever the heck was happening with Ultron. That damn country was flying, Steve! Flying! And you were on it!”

“I know, darling. I know how hard all of this is for you.” He spoke as he got on his knees in front of Y/N and took her smaller hands in his much bigger ones, still being mindful of the sling. Steve’s large combat boots were getting the carpet dirty, and he knew that she would be mad about it later. But, he would happily clean it up if he could just get her to accept his apology.

“I know that you’re sorry. You don’t lose your cool on me a lot, so I can’t be too mad about it this time.” Y/N told him, stroking the back of his knuckles with her thumb. “But may I ask, what was it exactly that set you off? Did I do something?”

Steve firmly shook his head, looking up into her sad eyes. “You did nothing, babydoll. I was just mad at myself and mistakenly took it out on you.”

“Mad at yourself?” The girl furrowed her eyebrows. “For what?”

“You got injured.” Steve stated. “It was because of me. I’m the one that told you to go to the elevator, I should have known better, and it was you who had to pay the price for my stupidity.”

“Oh, Stevie-”

“I had a nightmare.” He interrupted her. “The witch girl, Wanda, gave us all these spells; showed us our deepest fears.” The man let out a shaky breath, beginning to cry at the memory of what he was shown. “I-I saw you die, sweetie. I saw you pass away, just like everybody else I’ve ever loved, and I got so scared, doll. S-So scared.”

Y/N began to tear up as well, moving her fingers to wipe the water from underneath his gorgeous blue eyes.

“I’m not supposed to get scared.” Steve continued. “I-I’m Captain America, I don’t get scared.” He sniffled, rubbing her bare thighs with his leather-clad hands. “So instead, I yelled. And I’m so sorry, princess.”

“Oh, goodness, Stevie.” Y/N shook her head. “You can get scared all you want, honey. It’s not a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of emotion.”

“Doll,” he cleared his throat, wanting to get to the point of all of this, “my job is very dangerous. And I’d hate to be the reason that you get hurt.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She lightly chuckled through the tears, sinking to her knees in front of him. Y/N wrapped her uninjured arm around his shoulders, and Steve wrapped both of his own around her waist in return. “You won’t be.”

“But how can you know?” The man asked into the crook of her neck.

“Because,” Y/N laid a small kiss to the area behind Steve’s ear, smiling against his still dusty skin, “your love for me is the greatest shield of them all.”

*****

Thor gave Tony and Steve a small nod of his head before raising his hammer into the air, blasting off into space.

“That man has no regard for lawn maintenance.” Stark pointed out as he stared at the steaming grass. There was now a huge print that the Bifrost had made, right in the middle of the lawn at the new Avengers Compound.

He and the Captain began to walk away from it, though, heading towards the driving track.

“I’m ‘gonna miss him, though. And you’re ‘gonna miss me.” The billionaire added. “There’s gonna be a lot of manful tears.” He pressed the fancy button on his car keys, and it made a little beeping noise as the men continued to walk.

“I will miss you, Tony.” Steve stated.

“Yeah?” The brunette cocked his head with a shrug. “Well, you’ll see me soon enough for the rest of those wedding shenanigans. But for now, it’s time for me to tap out.”

The sleek orange Audi had just pulled up, and the two Avengers settled beside it.

“Maybe I should take a page out of Barton’s book. Build Pepper a farm, hope nobody blows it up.”

Steve nodded his head at Tony’s statement. “The simple life.”

“You’ll get there one day.” Stark told him. “Hell, you’re probably closer than I am, with that huge ceremony coming up soon.”

The blonde gave him a small grin. “Family, stability... when I got out of the ice, I thought that all of it was just some lost dream. But now, here I am. I couldn’t feel more lucky.”

Tony smiled, seeing how sappy the usually stern Captain was being. “You all right?” He asked, slightly opening the driver’s-side door of his vehicle.

Steve took a look over the large premises, seeing that Y/N was outside as well and making greetings with the new girl, Wanda. Watching how welcoming that she was being with the other woman, helping out every single other person that passed her by, Steve took a certain pride in calling her his soon-to-be wife. “I’m home.”

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

[kikizoshi]

Gogol Dialogue w/ Turgenev then Dostoyevsky

Gogol stared suicidally down at a blank page.

        He didn't bother brushing off the itchy black flakes accumulated in his hair from the quill nib's scratching, nor did he concern himself with the fact that he was, as was he every evening, due in the dining room in about… negative five minutes, so indicated the glowing clock. His only care, rather, was the fact that, in the four hours he sat staring at the page, not a single image in his mind seemed to want to grace its empty canvas.

         Unlike many who tried this craft, he wasn’t want for stories. He imagined a Tsar enjoying a heroine, embracing her and singing her praises as she slid a knife from her thigh into his back. He remembered two young men talking in a plain drawing-room, sparsely furnished--especially compared to the men, one of whom’s shiny black suit hugged his frame in place of the woman long-since gone; the other who quite resembled a gentlemanly peacockish clown, with frilly lace and a quilt of vibrant patterns--yet the atmosphere remained homey and comfortable nonetheless. He saw through his mind’s eye these stories as clearly as the neon numbers before him, but he couldn’t find /written/ words to express them.

         If Gogol wanted to orate the story to someone, to make a grand spectacle of it, the words would flow endlessly. He could go on for hours about the most inane of matters, and men would hang on his every word. However, those magical, honeyed phrases he just never seemed to be capable of forcing through his quill.

         And so tonight, exactly as every night for the past three months, a restrained knock came upon his door, and Gogol sighed.

         “Come in,” he said as he resignedly set the quill down. “I was practically finished anyway.”

         “Ah, good,” the man's voice came muffled from behind the door, which he opened thereafter. The relatively average-sized man--an Ability user by the name of Turgenev--held quite the appearance of the black-suited man previously described, though I’m afraid Gogol neglected to mention the quite striking scarlet hair. “Dinner’s ready," he continued, "I know you probably don’t feel like eating, but you should at least come out of your…” he looked around, blatantly fraternally concerned about the, frankly speaking, hovel of a room his friend managed to subsist in, “nest.”

         Gogol chuckled and stood, cracking his back at an alarming volume. He waved for his friend to leave, and went about the room, picking up the black-and-white vest he discarded as too confining hours ago and grabbing his cape from the hat rack. While he went on reassembling his outfit, Turgenev spoke once more.

         “You didn't get up once?”

         “Mm, yes, so it seems,” Gogol said, agitated, after a moment. “I’ve taken your advice to ‘try and write something’, but nothing comes to mind! It’s not even art block… I just have nothing I want to tell the page.”

         Turgenev sighed. “You don’t /have/ to write, it was just a suggestion. Now, frankly, I wish I’d said trapeze instead and avoided this whole ennui.” He held the door as Gogol moved to exit. Gogol shuffled out.

         “Seriously,” he continued as they entered the hall, “at first I thought some rest would do you good, but now it’s clear that being cooped up for days at a time is draining the little sanity you have left. What am I supposed to do when you get jobs that have you killing again? Watch your slow descent into madness from the sidelines like some half-rate circus hand watching the clown set the tent ablaze?”

         Gogol forced a laugh, “Well, why not? All of your work--which has always been excellent, at least as long as I’ve known you--has been shrouded. Where’s the harm in a change of scenery?”

         “I said seriously.” Turgenev sighed. “Be serious.”

         “Hmm, well, seriously,” Gogol considered, turning into the dining room and taking his seat across from his friend, “Seriously, then, isn’t madness the point? After all, my namesake wouldn’t /be/ my namesake without his madness! And what am I, if not, his namesake-ee?”

         “Ha,” Turgenev said, “Hilarious, I’m dying. Have you considered stand-up?”

         “Eh? No, I’m writing stories right now.”

         “Comedians can tell stories. I know, become a trapeze comedian.”

         Gogol huffed merrily, “Well, why don’t you?”

         “/I/ don’t-”

         “Excuse me,” the butler of the house, Gregor, interrupted, “I wasn’t instructed to account for the palate of Gogol, so I need to have your order now.”

         “Hm, well Gogol,” Gogol said with a conspiratorial wink, “probably wants--though I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him directly for confirmation, God knows where he may be--whatever’s leftover. I’ve heard he’s not picky! Although that could be just a rumour…”

         “Very well,” Gregor said, unperturbed, and turned to Turgenev, “and for you? I’m afraid I wasn’t informed of your coming either, Sir.”

         “Ah, no,” Turgenev said, “that’s because I won’t be eating here. There’s an assignment I’ve gotta do not long from now, but I wanted to see Kolya here first.”

         “How gentlemanly,” Gogol gasped, starry gold eyes twinkling, “I’m almost jealous of your lover, Vanya! If this is the treatment she gets...”

         Turgenev simply smiled. “And I,” he said, “am not in the least jealous of yours.” Gregor took the moment to slip away.

         “How proper…” Gogol gazed at Turgenev, lost in bittersweet memories, “You never used to be so cordial, to imply I’d manage something as sophisticated as that.”

         “Don’t be ridiculous,” Turgenev scoffed. He flatly punched the side of Gogol’s arm in jest, “I’m still every bit of the strapping young chap you knew. Just… in a different skin.”

         “Hmm…” Gogol donned a severely suspicious face, “But old Vanya wouldn’t have implied such! No, you must be Ivan Sergeyevich now… If not, then tell me: where’s the grin in your eyes?! The coil in your limbs?! The fire in your heart?!” All of a sudden, Gogol’s face fell into a deep melancholy, and he lay a single finger over the centre of Turgenev’s breast, “It’s bitter cold in here now, I can barely feel myself.”

         Turgenev frowned. “It’s cold,” he said, “because fire without fuel always burns out eventually. There’s no if, and’s or but’s. Oh, but one but,” Turgenev rekindled some warmth into a smile, “you should still be able to feel yourself; the fire hasn’t gone completely. It’s just muted right now.”

         “A muted fire…” Gogol thought aloud, retracting his hand, “How very… poetic.” He laughed, “Like your hair.”

         “My hair?” Turgenev tugged at his short red ponytail in confusion. “How is my hair poetic?”

         “Exactly in the way that it exists!” Gogol exclaimed, “In this dull, drab, dreary, /monochrome/ colour scheme our boss seems so fond of, not one colour stands out when you’re away! Not Sigma’s grey-and-darker-grey hair, not our boss’ white-and-black suits, and /especially/ not either of my own! The only slight argument you could possibly make is for the Recluse’s eyes, and their purple is so muted they might as well skip the middle man already and turn black. No, only yours,” Gogol concluded, “is a colour that inspires.”

         “Well, I disagree,” Turgenev said, smiling, “For you at least. You’re not wrong about the Recluse, definitely, but you have some colour in your eyes. Yes--they’re pale. But they’re very expressive, even when they’re trying not to be. They have a liquid shine, so maybe they’re the gasoline that keeps the red flame burning.”

         Gogol clutched his chest dramatically, “My, how sincere! If I were a woman, no kings or horses could ever restore me after how far I must’ve fallen!”

         Turgenev���s face lit up, and he laughed, “So, in other words, the women in my life are eggs? Give me a hundred years and I’ll never crack what on /earth/ that’s supposed to represent!” He cackled and nearly fell over. Gogol grinned along.

         It wasn’t just Turgenev’s face that lit up when he laughed, Gogol thought, but his entire being. His shoulders relaxed from their usual stiffness, the rigidity melted away and the true man--the ‘Vanya’, as Gogol loved to refer to it--shone through with a blinding passion.

         Every time Gogol saw it, it was as though the gamma was suddenly switched from near-debilitating dark to enlightening technicolour. Alas, the times nowadays that such an occurrence happened were few and far between. And unfortunately, Turgenev took the time in Gogol’s silence to check his watch.

         “It seems my stay is up,” he rose, “or was up way too long ago. But eat when Gregor comes. He went through the trouble of getting it ready, so don’t be an ass.”

         Gogol nodded and waved as Turgenev hurried off, smile taking time to fade from his face. He sighed. Along with Turgenev’s departures, Gogol’s happy interludes vanished just as soon as they appeared.

         ‘It’s just as well,’ he thought, ‘happiness isn’t something that’s meant for me, and Vanya’s too nice to be corrupted by me for long. Plus, I shouldn’t get carried away. He’s wrong about my eyes… If anything, mine are like Fyodor’s--no, worse, because mine aren’t weathered by compassion. Maybe an empathy, but I have no compassion to keep some sort of innocence in my eyes like he. If Fyodor’s eyes are the dead twigs left in the ashes of the fireplace, mine are the cracked stone, with no hope of ignition. But we’re both dead.’ Gogol sighed at his conclusion. ‘Lone Vanya, then, has the only touch of colour, the only spark of happiness in this God-forsaken world of ours. I suppose I should thank Him that happiness isn’t my goal.’

         “...Are you going to eat?” A voice, soft but not hesitant, crept past his thoughts.

         Gogol forced the mask of his smile into place and turned to look at Fyodor. “Yes! Yes, I’m just waiting…” As he spoke, he noticed the distinct smell of seasoned tomato. Quite strong was it, in fact, so strong that it surprised him, and he looked down to see an innocent bowl of tomato soup staring politely up at him.

         “Gregor brought it while you were disassociating,” Fyodor supplied.

         “Hm…” Gogol contemplated for a moment, mask still firmly in place, and continued, “Hm, well, I suppose…” But he, so lost in a state of confusion, couldn’t figure out how to continue. The boy seemed to take pity on him, and sat gently next to him with a bowl of his own.

         “Turgenev sent me to you,” he went on, “to ensure that you would eat. So you will eat?...”

         “Yes,” Gogol said, a spark of amusement in his eye as he replied. “I will eat.” He noticed, looking at Fyodor’s eyes, that his former thoughts were eerily close to the mark, though perhaps Fyodor was more like he than initially suspected. The simmering mania and deep morbidity felt sickly familiar.

         “Good,” Fyodor replied. He left it at that and stirred his soup quietly. He must have known, Gogol realised in that instance, what Gogol and Turgenev thought of him--that they called him the Recluse. He was smart, even if young, and so Gogol couldn’t help wondering why Fyodor would waste time on them. On a whim, he inquired thus.

         “Why?” Fyodor paused, then smiled benevolently, “‘As you do to the least of these, so you do unto me.‘” Gogol raised an eyebrow.

         “You fancy yourself our saviour, then?” Fyodor merely sipped his soup carefully in lieu of a reply. Despite the care, he winced as the tomato seared his lips, and set his bowl down. After a moment, he appeared to deem it worthy of a second attempt, and brought the bowl’s lip to his own gingerly. He blew softly this time on a tilted portion before sipping slowly, and, as evinced in Fyodor’s lack of reaction, he managed to consume the cooled viscous liquid harmlessly. For reasons unknown, the boy’s actions struck Gogol as odd.

         “Well, if that’s the case, then surely you’ve a plan for our salvation,” He prompted as Fyodor set his bowl down once more, “Care to share?”

         “A plan…” Fyodor considered for a time, “For you two, no, not yet. Is it necessary?”

         “‘Is it necessary?’” repeated Gogol, as though he couldn’t believe the words were uttered, “Of course it is! How can you save someone without the slightest clue of how you’re to go about it? Your enemy--no matter how metaphysical--isn’t going to just sit there and wait patiently for you to come up with plans. If you start a performance haphazardly, if the bar gets tossed just a second too late without the safety net of a plan, the trapezist comes crashing down and all the show is ruined.”

         “Much to my fortune, the trapezist is more than capable of catching himself and his fellow performer.”

         “No, not like that,” Gogol said. “That’s my point. If I’m a trapezist, then I can’t perform with a cape--it’d ruin everything preemptively! And so I couldn’t catch anyone. It’s up to the choreographer to ensure that the performers have a set route more ingrained than their own morals. If a saviour can’t ensure the safety of his save-ees, then he’s no better than an incompetent stage director.”

         Fyodor frowned and drank more of his soup. After all that remained in the bowl was a splotchy red residue, and he had nothing else to occupy his thin mouth with, he sighed and rested his chin on his palm. The angle couldn’t have been comfortable, Gogol mused. Fyodor’s wrist bent at a right angle and his sharp chin dug into the delicate skin of his hand, where Gogol could already see the blood gathering under the surface. Gogol’s own hand ached in sympathy.

         “Safety of what?” Fyodor asked after another moment. “If the matter is of the physical, then you’re correct. However, if it’s the soul, then so long as a person devoutly follow their God, their spirit shall be forever saved.”

         “And eviscerated over time,” Gogol continued for him, “as what’s first assumed as a benign happenstance crushes self-expression and crumbles autonomy. Metaphor or not, we’re talking about performers, and performers can’t perform if they can’t hold a simple form.”

         “...Eat your soup, please.” Gogol sighed, but acquiesced.

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 35: Listen, Beloved-

-to the quiet after the storm.

In the aftermath of the nightmare, Tristan and Dorian reach for each other once more.

Read more on AO3! Or read from the beginning

Dorian took in a deep breath as the world slowly solidified around him. It was as if a dense cloud of fog had been lifted and he could finally see, yet the remnants of the nightmare still tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

He pushed himself up on his elbows with a groan. His head felt heavy, his neck stiff, every muscle aching with only the barest movement. The cold light of morning was peeking in through the opening of the heavy burgundy curtains, illuminating the wooden floor in thin streaks of iridescent, kaleidoscopic fractals. As soon as he became aware of his surroundings, he turned to his side, searching for Trevelyan. His eyes were still closed, his forehead shining with sweat, hair and shirt damp and clinging to his skin. Of the wounds he had seen on him in the Fade there was thankfully no sign. That alone made Dorian heave a sigh of relief.

“Amatus,” he whispered, brushing his hair from his brow, when Trevelyan suddenly jolted bolt upright with a gasp. The mark on his hand flared, illuminating the space between them.

“Damn you-” Trevelyan groaned, cradling his hand close to his chest. The side of his face was painted a sickly green when he turned to look at him, green shards of lightning in the dark blue of his eyes. “Dorian,” he panted, wincing in pain when the mark crackled in his palm. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Dorian said softly, trying to hide the concern in his voice. “Where else would I be?” He watched him anxiously, searching for any signs in Trevelyan’s expression that would betray his thoughts. Did he remember what had happened? Did he remember the nightmare, the demon’s illusions, their battle? Did he remember Dorian’s hand, the way it had curled around his throat?

The thought carved a hole in his stomach. He realised abruptly he didn’t want to know the answers to those questions. He didn’t want to find out whether he remembered any of it; better yet, he wished he did not. What if that was what Trevelyan saw now, every time he looked at him?  

Dorian opened his mouth to speak, to say literally anything that would take his mind off that, but before he could utter another word, Trevelyan had shifted his body to face him. He pressed his knuckle under his Dorian’s chin, lifting his gaze up to his own.

“Is it you? Is it really you?”

Dorian let out a slow exhale through his nose. Trevelyan stared at him intently enough to bore a hole in his skull, his nostrils flaring with every panting breath. Dorian swallowed thickly. “Yes. It is me.”

Trevelyan stared at him for a moment longer, then let his hand fall. A tremulous breath left him, his shoulders sagging. His eyes fell closed as he threaded his fingers through his hair. He suddenly looked incredibly weary and pale, a wet piece of cloth that had been wrung dry. “I need a drink,” he mumbled as he rolled out of the bed. His back was glistening, slick with sweat, his hair damp against the nape of his neck like swirls of white gold. He picked up his shirt from the floor where he’d dropped it the night before, before they’d gone to bed.

Fasta vass, Dorian breathed. The night before. When they had made love and then soaked in the tub together, and read poetry to each other. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

He leaned forward and hugged his knees to his chest, watching Trevelyan as he moved about the space. There was a slight stagger to his step, and he swayed lightly when he stopped before the gilded liquor cabinet by the window. The neck of the bottle he picked up clinked against the rim of the crystal glass when he tipped it over it, the amber liquid gurgling as it escaped its confines. The strong, spicy aroma of brandy filled the room. Trevelyan downed the drink, wincing as he swallowed. A strong shudder passed through him, and he pressed the glass against his forehead. “Maker. That’s better.” He sniffed, brushing the back of his hand over his nose. “More now.”

Dorian’s heart clenched while he watched him fill his glass again, then empty it in just a couple gulps. The way he was going, he would be falling flat on his face any moment now. Dorian stood up, pulling his own clothes on before striding towards him. He caught Trevelyan’s wrist before he’d filled his glass for the third time in a row. “I believe that is enough.”

Trevelyan’s gaze was hazy and unsteady when it focused on him, his eyes dark and red-rimmed. There was a hollowness to them, like he had forgotten who he was, where he was, what Dorian was doing there. It was gone in an instant, to be replaced by a frown. He glanced away, pressing his lips together tightly. “Is it?” he asked quietly, not meeting Dorian’s eyes.

“Yes. It is. It won’t do you any good. Trust me. It’s been a long and difficult night, and you spent more time in the presence of a demon than any non-mage ought to. In fact, I don’t know many mages that would have held on for as long as you did against it.” Including myself, he thought bitterly, but swallowed the thought down. This wasn’t about him. It was about Trevelyan. Who wasn’t looking very well right then, all things considered. Dorian may have drunk himself into a stupor more times than he could count, after similar nights, chased by his own demons. Just because he did it though, didn’t mean that he would let Trevelyan do it too. He deserved better.

He swallowed down his bitterness, taking in a deep breath. “One drink is fine,” he continued in as soothing a tone as he could manage, “but any more than that and you’ll weaken your defenses even more. And you need them now, more than ever, both sleeping and awake.”

Trevelyan simply stared at the floor, not saying a word. His wrist hung limply from Dorian’s hand. He didn’t try to pry it out of Dorian’s grip, but he didn’t make any other move either. When neither of them spoke for a long moment, Dorian cleared his throat and took a step back, letting him go. Perhaps it was the way Trevelyan was looking at him, or rather, doing his best not to look at him, like he couldn’t comprehend why Dorian was still there, or the fact that his own voice trembled ever so slightly when he spoke, but he suddenly felt the visceral need to put some distance between them.

“Well. It is positively chilly in here, isn’t it? Can this room ever get warm enough?” he wondered aloud, walking towards the fireplace. He avoided glancing at Trevelyan over his shoulder as he placed log after log on the bed of cold ashes in the hearth. “It must be one of the coldest and dampest ones in the whole keep. Who thought of having the headquarters facing the South? If it weren’t an ancient castle, I would be having a serious conversation with its builder.” With a flick of his fingers, a shy fire started going. Soon, it was crackling merrily, filling the room with its amber glow and slowly, ever so slowly, dispelling the damp that clung to the stone. The coldness that had settled between Trevelyan and him, though, was an entirely different matter.

Dorian stood up, brushing the dust from the knees of his trousers. “Why don’t you come closer? You’ll catch a cold the way you’re standing there. That window’s terribly drafty. Shall I bring you a blanket? I could call for a warm drink to be brought up, if you’d like.”

“Dorian,” Trevelyan started quietly, not meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to fuss over me. I’m fine.”

“Nonsense. You are most certainly not fine. Not after-” His voice broke, and he snapped his lips shut. His guilt rose to the surface when he noticed the weariness in Trevelyan’s features, illuminated by the firelight, the exhaustion that was carving deep lines around his eyes.  More, when he remembered how those eyes had looked at him while he was taking the life from him.

The image flashed before his eyes. Dorian’s first instinct was to look away, to brush the memories aside, but he did not. He held on to the last bit of stubborn pride that was left to him. He was not going to turn away from what he had done, he was not going to ignore the dratted druffalo in the room. He was going to point it out for both of them. He was going to own it.

“I believe,” he continued, tilting his chin up ever so slightly, mustering his courage, “that I am allowed to fuss over you after practically trying to kill you. Don’t you think?”

He watched with rising bitterness as Trevelyan flinched visibly. He had not moved from where he was, had not come closer to the fire’s bright warmth. The flames painted the side of his face golden, shadows dancing in the hooded dark of his eyes, obscuring his expression. “You did not try to kill me,” he said slowly, as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “That wasn’t you. It was the demon.”

“It was not the demon.” He held his breath, waiting for Trevelyan’s eyes to focus on him before continuing. He couldn’t explain why, but he wanted his full attention. He wanted his eyes on him, he wanted to see the horror that would flash in them after he had admitted to the magnitude of his mistake. Like picking at a wound, tearing it open before it had even managed to heal. “It was me all along. The demon did not tamper with my mind. It laid its webs before me, and I stepped in them willingly. I thought I was protecting you. I was so determined to do absolutely anything to achieve that, that I didn’t stop for a moment to consider the absurdity of it all. It-” He stopped when his throat tightened, but it wasn’t long before he was forging on once more, ignoring the tremor in his voice. He had to admit it, to himself more than anything. “It bested me. Plain and simple. I thought I knew better. I should have known better, but I was outsmarted. I failed, spectacularly so. If Cole hadn’t been there-”

“No.” Trevelyan’s tone was sharp, flat, his hand tightening about the glass in a white knuckled grip. “You can’t think like this, Dorian. You can’t think of what might have been, should have been, could have been; there’s no point. That demon was stronger than both of us. It knew about me. It knew… too much. It knew my desires, my fears, my weaknesses, and it used them. You were just caught in the whirlwind. You and Cole both.” He rubbed the corners of his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, letting out a heavy sigh. “Do you see now,” he asked, “why I wanted you away? Why I asked you to leave, time after time?”

Trevelyan’s gaze focused on him, dark and intent, piercing him to the bone. Dorian opened his mouth. Closed it. He scrambled for words, yet could find none. Perhaps things would have been better if he had listened to him. Perhaps they would have turned out much worse. It was a startling thought, but even so, even after everything that had happened, even if he could turn back time right then, Dorian didn’t think he would ever find it in himself to do as he had been told.

“I… could never have done it,” he admitted at last.

“You should have.” Trevelyan’s tone was not cruel, but his words smarted like a whetted blade. “It was me the demon wanted. It set the stage for my benefit; my peril, rather. It was my responsibility to be rid of it. No one else should be endangered like this because of me. You should have just listened to me. I should have faced it on my own.”

“I could not have done it,” Dorian repeated, taking heart from his own stubbornness. “I could never have done what you were asking of me. To leave you alone in that nightmare- that would have been madness. Someone simply had to be there for you. And that someone happened to be Cole and me.” He sniffed sharply, “ Clearly, I was not the right person for the job. Yet that does not change the fact that there is no way you could have been left alone with that. Maker knows what you would have woken up to, if you ever did. There is too much at stake for you to be facing such dangers ‘on your own’.”

“I know what’s at stake,” Trevelyan almost spat out the words. “I am well aware, believe me. I live with that awareness every day. But to drag you into this, to place you in danger for- for nothing -” he huffed, his lips pressed in a tight line. His fists opened and closed at his sides, the mark pulsing softly. “I won’t allow it. I cannot allow it.”

“For nothing?” Dorian echoed in disbelief. Maker, he could shake him. The words clawed at his throat, and no matter what he did he couldn’t hold them back. They spilled out of him in a torrent. “You think all this was nothing, then? The demon, then nightmare, the illusions it spun? Or do you simply have no regard for your own safety at all, not even a little?”

“What different does it make?” Trevelyan’s eyes flashed in affront. “You shouldn’t have been there, and that’s that. Cole should never have dragged you into it, and I should never have let you stay. It’s not worth it-”

“Not worth it? Vishante kaffas, are you even listening to yourself?”

“Are you listening to me? ” he asked back, fixing him with a hard glare. He was like a spring, all tense, ready to burst forth. “When I told you I didn’t want you there, it was for a reason. I don’t understand. Why do you insist on following me, on risking yourself, over and over-”

“Because I care about you, you infuriating creature!” Dorian snapped, unable to keep his temper in check any longer. His guilt was suddenly gone, burnt away by the wildfire of his anger. “A sentiment we clearly do not share, seeing as you would readily expose yourself to unimaginable dangers without a second thought for your own wellbeing. You think I’m contradicting you on purpose? Please,” he scoffed. “If anyone takes some sort of perverse satisfaction from riling up everyone around them, that would be you. Half the time, it seems like you exist purely for the purpose of vexing me; the rest I wonder why I even bother with you!”

Trevelyan didn’t back away from his outburst; met his fury proudly, blow by blow. His brows were gathered in a scowl when he growled, “If I vex you so bloody much, then you should have just walked away, Dorian!” His cheeks had turned bright pink, his hand curled so tightly about his glass when he swung it in an arc over his head that Dorian thought he would break it. “At least you would have been safe from all the spectacular fucking disasters that seem to follow me wherever I go!”

Dorian gaped at him incredulously, his heart beating in his throat. Trevelyan’s eyes were burning so bright with his anger that they could have set him aflame on the spot, yet he found himself incapable of caring about it. Were they back to this? To this… bickering and arguing and snapping at one another, as if they couldn’t stand each to breathe each other’s air? They always seemed to reach that point sooner or later, didn’t they? Sometimes, it seemed like they could barely last one hour before jumping at each other’s throat over some foolish, or not so foolish reason or other. In some ways, he wondered how they had managed to get past their differences in the first place; in many others, he wondered how long it would be until they wouldn’t be able to get past them anymore.

And yet.

Dorian had been inside Trevelyan’s mind. He’d seen all those moments of happiness and grief, or worry and quiet contemplation, the pain he dragged with him wherever he went, all the things that made him who he was. He’d seen how much he cared. About him. To what lengths he would go, to keep him safe.

His heart swelled in his throat, choking him.

“You think I could bear to leave you alone?” he asked quietly.

Trevelyan’s fury drained away suddenly, all at once, to be replaced by shock. Dorian took in a deep breath, curling his trembling hands into fists. “I know what it’s like, to be alone. To fight alone. I’ve done it for years, for most of my life. All of it, it seems sometimes. I’ve tried to be strong, to shoulder everything on my own, to show the world the face it wanted to see. It is wondrous, and it is horrifying, and every moment I felt like I was drowning. I do not want that for you.” He met Trevelyan’s gaze, willing his voice to stay level. His pulse was beating loudly in his throat; he wondered whether Trevelyan could see it flutter right beneath his skin. He felt naked, stripped bare, and he didn’t care. Was there truly anything else to lose?

Had there ever been?

Read the rest on AO3!

[arabian-bloodstream]

Arya + Gendry = Ice and Fire

So with regards to Arya and Gendry (a.ka. the ship that was promised), I've been saying to myself all along that they are the ship that is bringing everything in this tale full circle. Nay, Arya and Gendry are closing the circle.

We are about to embark upon a great battle against the Night King, his White Walkers and the Army of the Dead in the third episode... while Cersei, Euron Greyjoy and the Golden Company merrily wait in King's Landing yet with three more episodes to go. And it appears that that is where this story is going to end: in King's Landing where she waits for those who survived the dead to die by her army. Ah, Cersei, the widow of Robert Baratheon, who sits on the Iron Throne that she gained in large part as "mother" to Robert's children. Now Cersei Lannister only married Robert because... well, that's how this whole thing started, isn't it?

Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark were engaged to marry. The two of them would wed and join two of the four greatest houses in all of Westeros: The Stag and the Wolf. Until the Dragon came between them. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen supposedly kidnapped Lyanna and held her captive for months. This kidnapping led to Robert's Rebellion, an act of treason against Rhaegar's father, the current ruler of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Mad King Aerys II. Robert defeated and killed Rhaegar; the rebellion was successful. The Mad King had been dispatched by Jaime Lannister and as the leader of the rebellion, and with an ancestry of Targaryen blood flowing through his veins--as well as a desire to grab it--Robert Baratheon got the Iron Throne. Alas, not the girl as Lyanna Stark--the very reason Robert's Rebellion had been fought in the first place--had died in "captivity."

Flash-forward to our story and we were introduced to two specific characters: Arya Stark, niece to Lyanna Stark and Gendry (just Gendry, not Gendry Waters as he was never recognized by his father), son of Robert Baratheon. In the series that Game of Thrones is based upon, A Song of Ice and Fire, by George R.R. Martin, it is made explicitly clear that Arya as a young girl looks very much like her aunt Lyanna and is similar in temperment to her. The same is the case for Gendry in that those who knew Robert and meet Gendry mention how he looks almost identical to a young Robert. It's obviously not pushed as heavily on the show, but there is reference to Gendry's resemblance to Robert, and the actress they cast as Lyanna Stark does look similar to Maisie Williams. And, of course, we have our famous line from the Pilot from Robert to Ned:

I have a son. You have a daughter. We'll join our houses.

Yes, at the time he meant Joffrey and Sansa. We all know now that Joffrey was not his son. We all also know (well, anyone with a working brain cell) that Sansa is not a part of the equation anymore. Robert said "I have a son," and he was talking about Joffrey, but Joffrey was not the son who would or could ever join the Baratheon House with any other. The only son who can is Gendry. And it will not be Sansa because she would never marry someone she does not love nor does not love her again. Gendry is not someone she knows, let alone loves. Furthermore, Gendry is already with her sister. Right... Ned Stark's other daughter: Arya Stark. The daughter who can join the Stark House with the Baratheon House in that union Robert spoke of so long ago.

Speaking of the Houses of Westeros... there have been many great houses in this World and yet only four have ever been featured in the title sequence from the beginning: Starks, Targaryens, Lannisters... and Baratheons. Interesting that since Robert Baratheon was killed in the first season and of the other Baratheons, well, Renly and Stannis (and Shireen) were never major players (well, Stannis more than the other two). Renly was killed in the second season. Stannis and Shireen (wah!) were killed in the fifth season. Joffrey, Tommen and Mrycella were never actually Baratheons by blood. So by the end of the fifth season, there were no Baratheons in the show. Of course, there was one Baratheon who never carried the name because he's a bastard and couldn't do so: Gendry. He disappeared at the end of season three and didn't return until season seven, which meant that the Baratheon sigil remained in the opening credits in season six with nary a Baratheon in sight. So one has to suppose that despite not carrying the Baratheon name and even not on the show, Gendry being alive means that as the last Baratheon of the bloodline he represents that House therefore the four Houses in the opening title sequence were accounted by him from season six on. Interesting, huh? I think so, and I think it means something.

That something brings me back to Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark not happening. Their broken engagement is what started this whole story. Lyanna leaving Robert to run off with Rhaegar is what led to Robert's Rebellion. It's what led to the end of the Targaryen reign. It's what led to Robert Baratheon's marriage to Cersei Lannister and the Lannister even greater heights of power. It led to an awful king, and an opening for the Night Watch to be undermanned and ignored which left them open prey to the Night King and his Army of the Dead. It's what led to the eventual War of the Five Kings and all of the death and destruction that has followed. It is what led to a Mad Queen who burnt the Sept of Baelor with Wildfire. It all began with the end of Robert and Lyanna.

Gendry and Arya are essentially the getting-it-right version of those two. Gendry is strong, stubborn, handsome like his father, but he's also good and loyal and knows to treat his Northern lady with respect and love for exactly who she is. Arya is strong, willful, beautiful like her aunt, but she's also loyal and steady and would never betray her vows, her home and leave the rest of the world to destroy itself.

Robert and Lyanna began this story. And it ended BADLY. So I think that George R.R. Martin--with all of his foreshadowing and seed-dropping (he wrote a love song for Arya and Gendry, ya'll!)--intends for Arya and Gendry to *finish* this story happily. They ARE the ship that is promised.

I'm actually going to go one step further. ARYA STARK AND GENDRY (soon-to-be-legitimized) BARATHEON are the ICE and FIRE of A Song of Ice and Fire and Daenerys and Jon the red herring that people *think* are the ice and fire of the title. Arya, who is a Stark of the North after all, has become closed off and numb, has learned to turn off her emotions due to her Faceless Man training. She is the Ice. Gendry, has Targaryen blood flowing through his veins (as mentioned above, Robert comes from Targaryen lineage), is, of course, a Baratheon and remember their words ("Ours is the Fury") and he spends most of his time in the forge, among the heat, the embers, red-hot all-around him. He is the Fire. Arya and Gendry are the Ice and Fire.

I don't know why I never thought of this as a possibility before.