#though poor harrow she's about one step away from becoming that person

[thenightisland]

I'm sorry but the funniest possible reaction someone could have to somebody repeatedly trying to kill you is to not sleep for several days and then make a soup for his dinner filled with every vegetable you've noticed he hates out of spite i love harrow

[vannahfanfics]

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ NYOOMS IN hellooo i would really love to request a sokai fic with the lollipop prompt!! personal anecdote: lollipops were the first sweet i ever hand-made for valentine's day because i wanted them to last longer than chocolates, bahaha :D thank you so much for all your wonderful work!!! ♡

Hi, liesles! Thank you for waiting patiently for your request! I thought it would go really well with a prompt from @sokaiweek​, “Be Mine,” so I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with!

Sweet on You

“Ahh, it feels like forever since I’ve been to Twilight Town!” Kairi cried jubilantly as she ran down the forest path, eager to escape the woods where they’d hidden the Gummi ship and reach the town proper. She stopped to spin on her heel in the dirt, flashing Sora a brilliant smile. “Of course, the last time I was here, I was hiding from the Organization,” she joked, twirling a lock of her short auburn hair around her finger. Sora snorted at her cheekiness, amazed at her ability to reconcile with what was probably a pretty harrowing experience. But, that boundless optimism was one of the many things he appreciated about Kairi. 

“Well, now we don’t have to worry about them,” he smiled back, leaves crunching under his feet as he followed after her. She waited for him to join her on the path, standing there with her hands clasped behind her back in that adorable way that never failed to make his heart flutter. He was glad to see that even after everything they’d been through, some things still hadn’t changed. 

“So? What do you want to do while we’re in town?” he asked when he reached her, sliding his hands in his pockets. Kairi walked along beside him, a spring in her step. 

“I want to visit Olette, Pence, and Hayner, of course! Oh— and Xion, Roxas, Isa, and Lea, too. I want to try those pretzels and sea salt they brag about so much!” she giggled. He loved her giggle, he realized dreamily. It was the sweetest of sounds, sweeter than even the bells of Scala ad Caelum ringing in the dawn blush light. “But you know,” she said suddenly, snapping him out of his daze, “I didn’t really get to enjoy the town much last time, since I was hiding away. Before we do that, can we explore a little bit, Sora?” 

“Absolutely! Anything you want, Kairi!” he agreed immediately. 

Ugh. He could hear Riku laughing now, calling him “whipped.” How was he supposed to refuse, though, when she was asking him so cutely with that excited shine in her eyes and that pretty smile on her lips? Saying no would be downright criminal!

Giggling with delight, she scampered down the path again towards the triangular gap in the brick wall that served as the entrance to the woods. Yeah, Sora reconciled with a soft smile as he watched her skirt swish around her thighs and her hair bounce around her shoulders. He was definitely whipped for Kairi. He’d always been, really. She was his light.

The sunlight enveloped them as they stepped out into the city, warm and welcoming. The tram was trundling by, rocking gently on the tracks with its metal gleaming in the sunset haze. Sora had always liked Twilight Town, not just because Roxas’ heart lay dormant inside of him. It reminded him a bit of Destiny Islands— the warm sun coating his skin, the breeze carrying the scent of trees, the atmosphere of peace and tranquility. He paused at the edge of the ledge to close his eyes and savor the sunbeams playing over his face. He cracked an eye open when he felt Kairi stand next to him. 

“I can see why they love this place so much,” she hummed, observing the honeyed skyline with lidded eyes. “It really is beautiful…” 

He could sense the “but” lingering on her tongue. 

“But… It’s not home?” he guessed, and she looked at him with a wan smirk. 

“Yeah. But it’s home to them, so I suppose that’s all that matters,” she shrugged, her look turning cheery, and he couldn’t help but grin. She always found the bright side of things— she always found the light. “But, you could definitely pick a worse home to have.” 

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Kairi took another moment to scan the horizon, watching the golden light play across the oranges and browns of the buildings. Then she cocked her head to the side with a girlish laugh. Her smile was nearly blinding as she declared, “All right, enough sightseeing! I wanna go shopping!” 

“Yes ma’am!” he said with a salute, and Kairi laughed again. Gosh, if he could only hear one sound for the rest of his life, it would be Kairi’s laugh, no question. Her giggles floated in the air as she hurried down the steps to the causeway. If Sora tried hard enough, he could see them floating around like bubbles, little iridescent, rainbow films of her beautiful laugh. He reached up to touch them, but they skipped just beyond the edges of his fingertips to float up, up, up into the honey-colored sky and red-tinged clouds. That was okay, though, because there were always more where that came from. 

“You know, I’m surprised to see so much green here,” Kairi commented as she looked at all the small planters and flower boxes adorning the city. They perched on windowsills, rested on tables, sat on porch steps, or were positioned along the sidewalk. Flowers, ferns, herbs— everything and more could be found in the myriad of little pots littering the city streets, and their bright green fronds and stalks almost glowed against the background of autumn colors. “It really does make everything a little bit homier,” she hummed in contentment. 

“Yeah, and gives Little Chef a lot of ingredients to gather!” he added with a bright grin. 

“Oh, right, of course. That’s very important!” she giggled, prompting Sora to raise an eyebrow challengingly. 

“What? Are you making fun of me?” 

“No, it’s just nice to see that your love for food hasn’t changed,” she chuckled. “You either think with your heart or your stomach!” 

Sora opened his mouth to object, then closed it because it was true. It still felt like he was being made fun of, but darn it, she just looked too cute with that teasing smirk and the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth! Oh, he was whipped all right, more than Little Chef’s best frosting. He looked out to the road, and a smile played over his lips as he considered just how much Kairi had him wrapped around her finger. 

It was then that he spied something resting beside the main shopping complex, and he started thinking with his stomach again.

“Speaking of love for food…” 

A cute little cart was parked beside the complex. Pink and white heart-shaped balloons that were tied to the handle bobbed in the breeze, their metallic surfaces gleaming. Red, white, and pink streamers adorned the white cart’s side, and inside, an assortment of candies rested on a soft bed of baby-pink faux grass. Sora’s mouth began to salivate immediately upon clapping eyes on it, and Kairi laughed at him. For the first time that day, he was too absorbed in the promise of sweets to fixate on how much he loved her laugh. 

“What’s this? This is new!” he exclaimed as he pranced up to it. The young woman chuckled at his excited approach, flicking her bangs out of her face and primly resting her hands against her chocolate-smeared apron. 

“Hi there! This is a special promotion that the local chocolatier is doing for Valentine’s Day.” 

“Valentine’s Day?” he echoed. Was it really February? Time sure flew when you were running around saving the world. 

“What’s the promotion?” Kairi asked, peering around his shoulder to admire the assortment of candied goods nestled in the plastic stringy faux grass. 

“We’re giving away free samples today!” the attendant chirped. “Please, pick whatever you like— for yourself, for someone special.” She gave Sora a playful wink, which made his cheeks turn as pink as the decorations on the cart. 

Thankfully, Kairi had become too engrossed in the heart-shaped cake pops to catch the candy seller’s jibe. After carefully studying one for a moment, she plucked it out of the display and promptly took a chomp out of it. She hummed exultantly as she chewed the red velvet and red icing, then opened her eyes to smile at the attendant. 

“This is delicious! Oh, we should bring everyone something, don’t you think, Sora?”

“Totally, as long as the attendant doesn’t mind. We don’t want to run off with all her stock.” 

“Please do!” she smiled pleasantly. “We want everyone to be able to enjoy these sweet treats. All I ask is that you check out the chocolatier sometime soon to look at our complete stock!” 

After promising to follow through, Kairi and Sora began picking out free samples to bring to their friends. They tried to choose a variety while still choosing things they thought they would each enjoy. While Kairi was debating between a mini strawberry shortcake and a chocolate eclair, Sora discreetly stowed a wrapped heart-shaped lollipop in his shorts pocket. 

Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed by the candy attendant. 

Someone special? She mouthed with a smirk playing over her lips. With a sidelong glance at Kairi that melted into a loving smile, he nodded. Someone special, indeed. 

After making their decisions, Sora and Kairi headed off to rendezvous with their friends. They were delighted to find the treats well-received (though comments of pretzels and sea salt ice cream were made… and comments turned into procuration, but Sora was never going to complain about more food!). They watched the sunset from the clock tower, all of them squashed together on the ledge so tightly that poor Pence almost fell off, but it worked out all right and they had a good laugh about it. 

Just as the last red rays of the setting sun were spearing across the sky in their last goodbye, they said their farewells and headed back to the Gummi ship. Kairi pranced along the path, cooing at the fireflies flitting through the trees and underbrush to fill the gloomy forest with an earthy green glow. It was a town of sunset and greenery, two things so at odds with each other yet complimented one another so well here. And at the center of all that beautiful color was Kairi. 

She danced in a circle, laughing jubilantly as she whirled her arms around to scatter the fireflies like a thousand leaves. Her hair flowed around her face like an autumn breeze, and her skirt swished around her legs like florets on the wind. The green flickering lights and puddles of moonlight illuminated her form, and in that moment, she looked like an angel descended to earth. 

“I love you,” he whispered in reverence. He found his throat closed up with emotion, but he kept going in his head. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I can’t imagine life without you, because I love you, I love you, I love you, and I always have. He wasn’t sure when he started crying, but Kairi saw them gleaming in the moonlight, and that’s when she stopped dancing to look at him in concern. 

“Sora? Sora, what’s wrong?” she gasped and ran up to him. He just looked down at her while she raised her hands to his cheeks, sweeping away his tears with soft, gentle brushes of her thumbs. “Talk to me,” she whispered, oh-so-sweetly that his heart broke with happiness. 

“Kairi… There was something from the candy cart that I didn’t share with anyone else,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. She knitted her eyebrows together in confusion as he procured the lollipop from his pocket and held it out to her. She looked up at him, then down at the lollipop. She took it, turning it over to peer through the plastic film at the simple words etched in white icing on the front of the pink lollipop. 

BE MINE.

“Sora…” she murmured, looking up at him. He smiled sweetly even through the tears that still spilled from his eyes. She looked beautiful even in the way she kaleidoscoped in his watery vision. He reached up to cup her face in his hands, and he marveled at the way her cheeks nestled so perfectly against his palms, like they were made to be held by him and only him. Her eyelashes fluttered as she stared up at him in bewilderment, surprise, and hope.

“I love you,” he whispered again, but so she could hear this time. “I love you, Kairi. You are the light of my life, you know that?” 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking as her own tears broke through the dam to flow down her face. They beaded against his palms, roughened by his years of wielding the Keyblade, but still soft enough for her to cuddle into his touch. “You’re the light of my life, too. I’m yours, Sora, I always have been.” 

He smiled at that, a broken smile because his mouth just simply couldn’t display the sheer amount of joy welling up inside of him. He petted her cheeks, wiping away her tears as she hiccuped sobby little giggles that just made her cheeks warm with embarrassment. He leaned forward to press his forehead to hers, unable to stop himself from whispering, “You’re so cute.” 

“Stop… You’re gonna embarrass me,” she complained, even though she laughed. 

“I can’t help myself. You are.” 

“Can… Can you just… Can you kiss me already, please?” she sniffed, her cheeks shining like pink opals in the moonlight. 

How could he ever refuse, especially whipped for her as he was? 

He immediately rushed in to do as she said, but he let his zeal get the best of him, because his nose collided with hers. Nervous apologies tumbled from his mouth but Kairi just giggled and guided his face back down, nosing his cheek to prompt him to try again. He took it slower this time, easing himself in to experimentally brush his lips over hers. Kairi waited for her to find his rhythm, but he could feel her excitement in the way her mouth trembled. After a few tentative pecks, he smoothed his lips over hers in a full, sweet, passionate kiss, and she melted against him. 

Forget the candy cart— Kairi’s lips were the sweetest thing he would ever taste, period. 

He kissed her again, and again, and again, until Kairi was fleeing his advances with giddy, bubbly laughter. His lips still fluttered over the places he could reach— her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her jawline, even her eyelids. He was just drowning in love and he didn’t know how else to get it out besides showering her in affection. 

“Sora,” she insisted as she ran from his lips again, and this time, he just pouted at her. She placated him with a little peck to his pursed lips, which did make him feel a little better. “We have all the time in the world now,” she reminded him with a sweet smile. “I would like to go home at some point.” 

Right. Home— the home he shared with his friends, with his family, with Kairi. He pulled away to link his hand with hers, while she peeled the plastic off the lollipop to pop it into her mouth. The BE MINE flashed in the moonlight, making Sora’s heart swell with adoration. Kairi didn’t mean for it to be a question, but he answered it in his heart anyway. 

Always, Kairi. Always and forever. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[myriadimagines]

Off Limits

Star Wars (Rogue One) One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Cassian Andor

Other Characters: Bodhi Rook, Baze Malbus, Jyn Erso, Chirrut Imwe,  K-2SO

Warnings: —

Summary: You and your husband, Cassian, maintain a very professional relationship in front of your team. So professional, in fact, poor Bodhi, who has a crush on you, doesn’t even realise the two of you are married.

Original: Sorry Bodhi, She’s Off Limits

Word Count: 2,196

A/N: ALRIGHT LETS GO IT’S THE REWRITE SERIES!!! for those of u who missed my little rant, i’m basically just going back and rewriting all my one shots bc i hate them!!! and hopefully if i rewrite them i’ll hate them a little less!!!! anyway this was one of the first pieces i wrote when i started this blog, and then it kinda blew up and i got a lot of followers/rogue one requests so honestly? this piece started it all. enjoy. 

reblog/feedback/comments are very much appreciated!!!

“You guys should’ve seen it,” Bodhi gushes, and he gestures excitedly with his hands, waving them through the air as he mimics Imperial ships, complete with his own sound effects to fully retell the story. Baze barely looks up from where he’s sitting, polishing his gun while Jyn leans back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the table as an amused smile dances across her lips. She hums in agreement every now and then, making faces of exaggerated shock whenever Bodhi looks in her direction, more entertained by Bodhi’s enthusiasm than his actual story. Chirrut sits with them, nodding along with a bright smile on his face, eagerly listening to the young pilot’s excited ramblings, and Bodhi continues, “They were right on my tail, TIE fighters were swarming in—”

The crew looks up as the door slides open with a soft mechanic whoosh, and Bodhi practically chokes on his own words as he sees you step inside. Baze smirks, immediately looking across the table at Jyn, who returns his knowing smile. Even Chirrut can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, and Bodhi trails off, suddenly becoming incomprehensible as he quietly stammers something. Looking around at your friends, you greet, “Hey guys, what are you talking about?”

Jyn swings her legs off the table, leaning over to give Bodhi a nudge. Barely holding back her laughter, she responds, “We were just listening to Bodhi’s harrowing story about his latest mission, weren’t we, Bodhi?”

You smile, turning to look at Bodhi with an arched brow, and Bodhi can feel his cheeks getting hot. Shaking his head, he nervously chuckles, “I… I wouldn’t say it was harrowing, it was… it was just—”

“Oh, no need to be modest.” Jyn interrupts, and Bodhi internally curses Jyn, knowing exactly what she’s doing. Waving her hand, she insists, “Come on, Bodhi, finish the story.”

Before Bodhi can try to change the subject, you’ve already sat down, leaning your elbows against the table as you wait for Bodhi to talk. His lips wobble into a smile, his heart hammering inside his chest as he can’t look away from you. And when you look at him like that, with your smile that could fuel entire solar systems, how could he possibly remain calm? 

Thankfully, the door opens again, and Bodhi lets out a relieved sigh, grateful for another distraction to stop him from having to continue his story. His relief is short lived though, as he looks up to see Cassian and K2 step inside, and Cassian’s eyes survey the scene. Bodhi gulps, shrinking in his seat as he pointedly avoids eye contact with Cassian, and he can feel the stoic captain’s gaze on him. The past few weeks have been filled with an unexplainable tension between the two, one that Bodhi can’t quite understand. He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, and has mentally torn apart every interaction he’s exchanged with Cassian in hopes of finding an answer. 

Bodhi sneaks up a glance at Cassian, who stares at him, lips pressed into a flat line. Bodhi can’t even decipher the expression on Cassian’s face — disappointment? Frustration? Maybe even anger? Whatever it is, Cassian looks away, turning to face you as he asks, “Are you busy?”

“Well, Bodhi was just telling us about his latest mission,” you gesture to Bodhi, who holds his breath as Cassian glances in his direction again. 

“I see.” Cassian curtly responds after a pause. Cassian takes in a deep breath, before nodding towards the door, “Can I speak to you in private, please?” 

You hesitate, studying Cassian’s faces, trying to figure out if it’s for professional or personal matters. You let out a short sigh before finally getting up from your seat, almost laughing at yourself at the fact that despite many years of being married, you still can’t quite read your husband as well as you’d like. You make your way towards the door, but not before looking over your shoulder and telling Bodhi, “Next time I see you, I better hear that story!” 

Bodhi forces out a laugh, knowing that Cassian is watching him, and he watches as Cassian trails behind you as the two of you leave. The door slides shut, and Bodhi finally feels as though he can breathe again, slumping down into his seat as he shakes his head at himself. He yelps as Jyn suddenly reaches over to punch his arm, and he exclaims, “What?”

“I can’t believe, after all this time, you refuse to ask y/n out.” Jyn scoffs, and Bodhi lets out a loud, embarrassed groan. He can’t help but feel more embarrassed as even Baze pointedly sets down his gun to join in on the conversation, him and Chirrut nodding agreement. Jyn points at the pair, noting their support, as she continues, “See? I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

The four of them are too engrossed in conversation to notice K2 jerk back upon hearing your name. Shaking his head, he raises a finger, “I don’t think tha—”

“Please stop talking about this.” Bodhi cuts K2 off, burying his face in his hands, not wanting to look up at his friends, and Jyn snorts. “This is so embarrassing.” 

“Your feelings are nothing to be ashamed of, Bodhi,” Chirrut pipes, and Jyn nods in agreement. “We can’t control who we fall in love with.”

“If I might interject—” K2 tries to speak up again, but Jyn waves her hand in front of the droid’s face, much to his annoyance. Swatting her hand away, K2 snaps, “Don’t shush me!”  

“I’m not going to ask her out,” Bodhi shakes his head, and Jyn groans as she ignores K2. “I can’t! There’s—”

“If I could just get a single word in, I think I might have something valuable to say.” K2 finally yells, raising his voice as everyone turns to look at him. Bodhi’s eyebrows furrow, and Jyn rolls her eyes.

“I doubt a droid could help with romantic advice.” she points out, and K2 stares at her, thinking of close to a hundred comebacks he could possibly respond with. 

“No, I want to hear what K2 has to say.” Bodhi says, and Jyn turns to glare at him. Bodhi pauses, before shaking his head, wincing, “Wait, actually, I don’t. You’re just going to tell me my odds are close to zero.” 

“Well, they are.” K2 deadpans, and everyone collectively groans in disappointment. K2 looks over at everyone, before continuing, “I thought you would all know the reason why, but I suppose I’m overestimating your intelligence. Do none of you actually know that y/n and Cassian are together?”

Bodhi is too much in shock to even deal with his crushing disappointment upon hearing his odds with you. He looks around the table, seeing the same shock in Jyn, Baze and Chirrut’s faces, and Jyn splutters, “What? y/n and Cassian?” 

“Yes, y/n and Cassian.” K2 impatiently confirms. “They’ve been married for almost five years now.”

“Married?” Bodhi squeaks, his head spinning. Everything slowly starts falling into place as Bodhi thinks back to all of your interactions with Cassian. And suddenly, it dawns on him, the answer that he’s been searching for. If Jyn, Chirrut, and even Baze noticed his crush on you, it most definitely would’ve been noticed by Cassian.

And Bodhi can imagine how unamused Cassian must be at the fact that another guy, who’s part of his crew, has a crush on his wife. 

Bodhi jolts up from his seat. “I need to apologise. Oh man, I… I need to find Cassian.” 

Bodhi’s brain is scrambling as he tries to figure out what to do, what to say. Jyn looks up at him in alarm, and everyone watches as Bodhi rushes for the door, swiftly exiting the room. After a pause, Jyn gets up, and K2 asks, “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Jyn makes her way to the door. “But I would love to see how this all goes down.”

She raises an eyebrow, and after a pause, Baze, Chirrut and K2 all get up to join her.

—

You let out a loud scoff, leaning up against the table as you turn to face Cassian. Folding your arms across your chest, you ask, “Is this why you brought me in here? I thought it was something important.” 

Cassian blinks at you, clearly offended. “This is important.”

“That Bodhi has a crush on me? Which is wrong, by the way,” you point an accusatory finger at Cassian, who resists the urge to roll his eyes. Laughing, you insist, “We’re just friends!”

“That’s how you see it.” Cassian points out, and your hand falls to your side. Your eyebrows furrow as you notice your husband getting increasingly worked up, and he continues, “Do you not see the way he acts around you? He—”

“Hey, hey,” you reach out to grab Cassian’s hands, pulling you towards him, and Cassian takes a deep breath, composing himself. He relaxes at your touch, and you guide his hands around your waist before looping your arms around his neck. Gently smiling at him, you reassure him, “There’s no need to be jealous. Whatever Bodhi’s feelings are, so be it. But I love you, and only you, and that’s all that matters.” 

Cassian nods a small smile appearing on his face as he presses his forehead against yours. You can’t help but giggle as your noses touch, and he leans in to kiss you, hands roaming under the hem of your shirt as you pull him closer, running your hands through his hair. And in the moment, everything feels perfect and blissful, finally having some privacy together in the midst of your hectic day.

Until the door hisses open, and you hear someone utter a startled curse.

You and Cassian jump apart, and you quickly adjust your clothes before realising Bodhi is standing in the doorway, face red as he stares between you and Cassian, mouth parted but no words coming out. You and Cassian’s faces grow hot from being caught, and Bodhi cringes at himself as he feels as though he’s making one wrong move after the other.

Finally, Cassian clears his throat, “What do you want, Bodhi?”

“It’s, uh, nothing,” Bodhi stammers, barely able to form sentences. Trying to back out of the room, he continues, “I… I didn’t mean to interrupt, we- we can just talk later—”

“Here he is.” Jyn’s voice announces her presence before she appears, and she practically slams into Bodhi as he tries to run out the door. She stumbles back into Baze and Chirrut, who bump into K2, who doesn’t budge, and everyone quickly regains their balance upon noticing you and Cassian inside the room. 

“Well, seeing as you brought the whole crew with you, you might as well just say what you want to say.” Cassian grumbles, and Bodhi’s expression crumples. He attempts to square his shoulders, turning to face Cassian fully, but not before sneaking a glance over at you.

“I’m so sorry about everything. I had no idea you and y/n were together.” Bodhi finally blurts, the words coming out so fast you and Cassian can barely process what he’s saying. Bodhi holds his breath, studying Cassian’s expression, and the two of you exchange a glance before Cassian lets out a heavy sigh.

“I appreciate the apology, Bodhi. I know you didn’t mean any harm.” Cassian relaxes, his expression softening. Bodhi lets out a sigh of relief, and Cassian holds his hand out to you. You take it, giving it a squeeze, and Cassian shoots Bodhi a stern look before adding, “But, just so we’re clear, y/n is off limits.” 

“Understood. Off limits, absolutely.” Bodhi nods, flustered, and you flash him a small smile. 

Cassian looks past Bodhi to the rest of the crew. Raising an eyebrow, he sarcastically asks, “Did anyone else come to confess anything?”

After a moment of silence, Jyn pipes up, “Well, I just wanted to say that I think you and y/n make a lovely couple. You’re made for each other, honestly.”

“Okay, out.” Cassian shakes his head, ushering everyone back out of the room as you can’t help  but laugh. After managing to clear the room, you tilt your head with a knowing smile as you watch Cassian make sure to lock the door on the keypad. He turns, making his way back over to you as he says, “Hopefully there won’t be any more interruptions.”

“I like the sound of that.” you tease, grabbing the collar of Cassian’s jacket to pull him closer. He pushes you back against the desk, hands resting on your hips as you lean forward, closing the distance between your faces to gently kiss him. “I guess you were right about Bodhi, then.”

“I’m always right.” Cassian responds as he kisses you back, and he grins as you playfully try to shove him away. Feigning innocence, he asks, “What?” 

“Don’t push it.” you warn him, barely holding back a laugh, and Cassian chuckles before leaning forward to kiss you again, his smile radiant against your own.

tag list: @proudchocolateaddict​ / @myfriendmagislit​ / @dragon4123​ / @fire--pheonix​ / @gofandomsandotherstuff​ / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @fairytalesforever​ / @emmacata​ / @hauntedpocdreamer / @fangirlsarah16​ / @adaleya​ / @floup-doodles​ / @batfam16​ / @tonystarkshomeoflostkiddos​ / @lotsoffandomrecs​ / @ruvaakke​ / @911buttercup​ / @azeret-mirror​ / @randomfandomimagine​ / @lotrfics​ / @locke-writes​ / @lovinghufflepuffgirl​ / @lxncelot​ / @captainshazamerica​​ / @ta-ka-shi-ma​​

[jasontoddiefor]

Hello! I was reading the « fic rec » question and i would be reeeeaaaallly glad to have a look at what you liked! Anything Anakin-related, and preferably AU or fix it (the nile ain’t just a river yada yada...) Thaaaaaanks

Anakin fix-its? You’ve come to the right place. These are all the stories in my bookmarks tagged as “fix it”! There are more but I do not have the patience to search for all of them rn. Not all of these are as Jedi positive as I like my fanfic, but they’re all 10/10 reads regardless.

Title: The Giver Summary: Anakin had pretty much adjusted to life at the Jedi temple. He went to class, he trained with his master, and he had begun to have strange dreams. A friendly figure would meet him at night when he closed his eyes and went to sleep. As they build up their friendship, Anakin begins to slowly confide in them, telling him about his worries, hopes, and dreams. They offer guidance and wisdom, watching Anakin grow to be a Jedi Knight, and trying to figure out where everything went wrong. Sometimes, the answers that you're looking for aren't ahead of you, they're behind. Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/22790647

Title: If you could love the flame Summary: And Anakin knows suddenly and irrevocably that they will always be this: his two royals, his two diplomats, his two myths come to life Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100827

Title: Sabbatical Summary: Anakin decides to leave the Jedi as a child, and Obi-Wan goes with him. When Palpatine sends Dooku to find them, things don't go as planned. Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/22801789

Title: where the light won’t find you Summary: Or maybe Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka do turn to the Dark Side after Mortis. And maybe they accidentally save the galaxy anyways? (But that doesn't mean they still don't cause a headache for the rest of the galaxy.) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460300

Title: Family is more than Blood Summary:Two souls go into a sandstorm to change their fates. They find each other instead.Or the slightly cracky AU where a bounty hunter is the one that gives the Chosen One a proper family. Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469039

Title: Twin Sons Summary: “He…” Anakin took a breath, trying to force his heart to stop hammering into his ribs, and he looked back at the man kneeling behind him, trying to apologize with his eyes, “he’s like me, sir. He’s like me, he’s a slave! His Master made him do this, his Master caused him…don’t hurt him. Not when we have him here, not when…not when we can free him.” - On Slavery, Freedom, and bringing Balance to the Force. Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449365

Title: Aay’han Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi sees what the Jedi Temple is doing to his Padawan, and he acts.This affects the galaxy in ways he never could have imagined. Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280987

Title: if only i knew Summary:Newly knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan, Anakin Skywalker, have been sent to Ryloth on a simple diplomatic envoy. While there, an unsettling incident causes Obi-Wan to look at Anakin in a new light and re-evaluate...everything.The Galaxy will never be the same.aka: "come for the obikin, stay for the tzai and deep emotional discussions that dismantle every single misunderstanding in the prequels." Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353887

Title:  Ib'tuur Jatne Tuur Ash'ad Kyr'amur Summary: No one knows what the Council is hiding, but the effects ripple throughout the galaxy. Anakin knows he is loved. Former slaves are freed. A long-lost Master and his Padawan are returned to the Temple. No one understands how Obi-Wan Kenobi does these things, but they are grateful for it anyway. Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581780

Coruscanti Regency The thing is, when Anakin figures it out, is that it all obviously has been there, if he’d only cared to look for it.And, admittedly, he is angry. Mostly at himself, which isn’t something that happens very often, so it’s an especially harrowing realization.All these years, he thinks, I’ve been so blind. I was so busy ignoring everything I didn’t want to think about and blaming everyone else for things not under their control that I didn’t stop to look at the bigger picture.He sighs and leans back in his chair to gaze at the ceiling.If only, he laments, true remorse coloring his thoughts, I had started watching period holodramas earlier.OR, how Plo Koon watching and subsequently introducing Ahsoka to Star Wars’ version of Downton Abbey changes Anakin's life path like nothing else could.

Reading Into Things When Ahsoka first meets the Supreme Chancellor, she gets a sense of his less than wholesome interest in her Master. Her intuition will go a long way.

Simple Steps Galaxy changing events don't just suddenly occur. They are the result of a series of small steps.

like someone bereft and lied to Anakin has a weird feeling in his stomach as he walks away from the Chancellor’s office.Who would have thought that Chancellor Palpatine would be a student of the Sith? Only to know how to keep the Republic safe from them, of course. All those priceless artifacts and holocrons that he’s collected to keep safe, hidden in his private rooms.It’s a good thing that he isn’t Force-sensitive, Anakin thinks with a small laugh, because the energy coming from all those things would have driven the poor man mad in a day. He only spent maybe twenty minutes in the room, just long enough to look at the piece the Chancellor thought might be of use to him, and his head was still spinning.

Deliver Us Jango Fett cannot save all his clones, but he can save five. He can save five, if he's willing to entrust them to the Jedi. Not just any Jedi, though. One who has already defied their Code for a child. One who knows Mandalorian culture. It is worth it, to save five innocent lives. He had no way of knowing it would change the galaxy and throw the proverbial spanner in one Sith Lord's plans.

we are all just trying to be holy  There was something warm and gentle in Depa’s voice, the way there always was, the way that was starting to sound like home to Anakin, though it would be awhile now before he recognized it. “Let me tell you a secret, my young Padawan: every Jedi has attachments.” He blinked up at her, eyes wide and confused. “Even Master Windu?” She laughed, nodding. “Even Master Windu.” -- An AU where Depa Billaba takes Anakin Skywalker as her Padawan, Obi Wan Kenobi interferes just a little bit, and Mace Windu is very, very tired.

The Price of a Name Anakin isn't quite sure how to deal with the clones he now commands, especially given that they refuse any attempts to individualize themselves. The quest to help the clones is going to go further than Anakin ever imagined.

Pebble in a River He woke up. And everything changed, but of course, that's what life does. It changes. There are so many options, so many things that seem right. And yet each of those things also feels wrong. Failure isn't an option, not again. But there is no outline for success, and he's hardly the only one in the game. He's tired, and exhausted, and so very lonely. But force help him, he's going to save as many people as he can. Really, Force, he needs the help.

Entirely of the Light With Palpatine unveiled as Sidious, Anakin manages to defeat him but ends up severely injured. As he recovers, Obi-Wan finds himself helping Padmé raise her and Anakin's children while he struggles with his feelings for both Anakin and Padmé.

Aggressive Negotiations  Everything about Skywalker was unorthodox. Even his parenting skills. A war meeting was the last place Rex expected to find a pair of toddlers, but there they were. But Rex is an officer, and a professional, and he will absolutely hold a child's hand if they ask. He's not a monster.

I had a vision! Mace Windu gets thrown back in time right to the point where Anakin is first presented to the Council. He remembers the horrors of the Clone Wars and he will do everything to change the oncoming future. "I had a vision" is becoming his most used phrase, he earns himself a Padawan with a penchant for trouble and Qui-Gon lives. All is going well, isn't it? No, there's still a republic to save, an army to deal with and most certainly a timeline to unfuck. Based on the tumblr posts by suzukiblu.

The Same Hope You will come to me sooner or later, Chosen One.Maybe once, when he was in the middle of a war that seemed like it would never end, a secret relationship dividing him between two of the people he loved most, juggling the guilt of failing his padawan. Maybe the Anakin back then had felt beholden to destiny, had had no choices, had felt like he would never have any choices.But the Anakin of now is a different person, because of his choices.He chose to leave the Order. He chose a new start.He chose acceptance, and understanding, and sometimes even forgiveness.He chose Obi-Wan. Always Obi-Wan.[[ The story of how we got here and everything that happens after. ]]

A Mind Always Free "Observe. Learn what you can. Keep everything secret. Don't be emotionless, but don't allow your emotions to show. And most importantly, take what you can get when you can get it, but let it go when it is taken away from you," Shmi Skywalker said softly, caressing the face of her son.(Anakin remembers what's like to be a slave and the Galaxy is better for it.)

Home  Time travel fix-it story with a bit of a twist. After his death, Obi-Wan wakes up on Tatooine, in the body of his padawan self. But instead of trying to prevent Anakin from Falling, he decides to change the future by stopping Qui-Gon from ever meeting the little Ani. If Anakin lives like a civilian, away from the Temple and Palpatine, the world will be a better place... right?A story in which Obi-Wan learns that Anakin Skywalker will always be his home--and his ultimate weakness--regardless of his attempts to do the right thing and stay away.

You Shall Become (Me) The Guardian of the Sith Temple doesn’t particularly care for the new breed of Sith, for all that they’ve been around for 1,000 years. But they’re the only Sith the Guardian knows about. Until one day…Alternately, "How to accidentally join the Sith without really trying."

Elements The words “Yes, Master,” come out of Anakin’s mouth so naturally that Obi-Wan suspects they were his first words. The realization comes to him so suddenly: his Padawan still has the mindset of a slave. When he decides to fix that, everything changes.

The Chosen Anakin is found by Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan when he's a newborn. It changes things.

The Sun and the Ocean Five things that happened when the twins were born early.hint: threesomes happen and assholes die.

A Time For A Yes, a Time For A Hell No The Council comes to him with a stupid, asinine plan that will only work if Anakin is in on it. Only to tell them that Anakin isn't going to be in on it.That's the moment Obi-wan decides he's had enough.[Prequel to my story "Go on, Go! Walk out that door" or 'The Scene' that started it all]

Magic Blankets C-3PO accidentally saves the galaxy by teaching a young Ani Skywalker how to crochet.Or in which the power of love and crafts solve a lot of problems and the Jedi Creche is about two inches away from kidnapping Anakin at any given moment.

[bestworstcase]

🎥 and i know you already answered this buuuut just in case u have something else big lying around 💥

ask game

🎥- Favorite Season (1/2/3)?

vbhgfhjdfshjd you know. i rag on it constantly but 3. like, flawed as it is– the essentials of it, the broad strokes of the plot arc and lore and cass breaking away from rapunzel and of course demon hours, that’s... what i wanted out of the show, ultimately. and the poor execution is just an opportunity for me to tear it apart and put it back together again the way i like, which is not... a downside, in my mind, because that’s pretty integral to how i enjoy things. 

that being said 2 gets points for having RATGT in it

💥- A big a opinion you have related to the Tangled movie/series?

i mean u know me i hoard opinions like a dragon hoards treasure but one i don’t think i’ve fully voiced on here before is that i actually like where rapunzel’s characterization goes in s3. the frustration for me is that it doesn’t feel like it was intentional, and that’s a problem of poor writing that creates an annoying tonal dissonance.

but like, if we look at rapunzel’s behavior in s3 and take that at face value... like you said here rapunzel kind of does this weird swerve where despite her refusal to give up on cass she also feels much quicker to anger, quicker to judgment, quicker to making snap decisions. she stops accepting blame for things that aren’t her fault and she also becomes more forceful about trying to get her way (e.g. in KAQOH). she verbalizes care and concern for cass without proactively doing...anything about the situation. she meets the mind trap theft with a shrug, meets zhan tiri’s gloating with a shrug, and appears to only care about varian’s kidnapping because it ruins eugene’s birthday and her planned proposal. 

and like, much as i get the impulse to read that as rapunzel repressing her true feelings and putting on a happy front so solid she even starts to believe it... i don’t think there’s a lot of textual evidence for that reading, in the end, just as there isn’t a lot of textual evidence for the reading that cass is using the gothel thing as an easy focal point for all her other issues with rapunzel; because in both cases, there’s never any narrative payoff for these supposed acts of repression. the deeper truth never comes out, is never mentioned or even hinted out. 

and that doesn’t make them bad readings per se but it does make them... not super interesting to me, because damn it if characters are hardcore repressing their feelings i want that to MATTER and i want to see the CONSEQUENCES for that. 

conversely

even though i know it wasn’t the intention, i like reading rapunzel as genuinely growing into a more selfish, more callous person in response to all the shit that happens in s2. i think that makes sense! and i think it is a really fascinating avenue for her character! and i think it opens up a lot of really interesting and complicated options for further growth–like

1) for eighteen years, rapunzel grows up sheltered and inculcated with terror regarding everything outside her tower. then she learns that her “mother” is actually her kidnapper, goes through a harrowing experience that ends in gothel dying pretty horribly right before her eyes, and then goes straight to her real parents in corona

2) where she is then immediately thrust into a position of enormous authority and responsibility and expected to get up to speed on how to be a competent princess in, like, six months

3) then at the six month mark she gets a whole bunch of magic destiny bullshit dumped in her lap on top of everything else

4) she tries so hard to break herself free of the psychological chains gothel left her with, to see the goodness in the world and trust people and embrace the world outside the tower... and then the QFAD stuff happens, and she’s traumatized, and the fallout of that traumatizes her more so she sort of snaps herself back into Repression Mode and pretending everything is fine, and that leads indirectly to varian, her friend, snapping and assaulting the kingdom and kidnapping her mom and trying to kill her mom and best friend.

5) so she Immediately Leaves corona to deal with the magic destiny bullshit but that’s scary so she treats it more like a vacation than a serious quest but that causes friction between her and her best friend and she’s just coping! not very well but she’s trying her best!

6) but her best isn’t good enough and things with cass keep getting more and more tense and the magic bullshit destiny keeps getting more and more real as they get closer to the DK and more information comes to light... and then the great tree happens, and rapunzel makes a choice that leads directly to cassandra getting horrifically injured

7) and this is not a situation that rapunzel is equipped to handle AT ALL so she dumps whatever guilt and shame she feels onto cass as anger and blame and gets extremely anxious and pushy about trying to make cass apologize/accept this narrative that the injury was cass’s fault and not rapunzel’s, and it even seems to work for a while because cass ends up being the one who apologizes at the end of RDO...

8) ...but at this point like, the whole friendship has broken down, right? cass is so shut down and alienated that after RDO imo it was only a matter of time before cass left altogether, and it’s just rapunzel’s bad luck that zhan tiri stepped in to be that final trigger to make that happen. but like from rapunzel’s perspective, everything was fine after RDO until cass just. suddenly. lashed out at her and stole the moonstone and ran away to do lord knows what. 

9) and to make matters worse the only explanation cass offers is that she’s mad at rapunzel because gothel was cass’s mom and abandoned her, something that obviously is not rapunzel’s fault. and rapunzel at this point has PLENTY of experience being blamed for shit that isn’t her fault, and very little experience dealing with guilt for things that are her fault in a healthy way (in fact RDO ended up rewarding rapunzel for refusing to deal with her guilt in a healthy way) so... she has very little incentive to take cassandra’s betrayal as a reason to introspect on her own behavior, right? she has no reason to stop and think well what did i do to make her feel like she had to do that instead of talking to me about it? 

10) and the rest of the friend group likes raps better than cass so they also don’t have any reason to be like hey, rapunzel, we didn’t treat her very well, did we? 

11) and then she returns to an environment where she is effectively the acting queen, and her friend group has this narrative that rapunzel is a kind and compassionate person almost to a fault (because she is) so she is constantly having this idea that she didn’t do anything wrong, this was all cass reinforced. [remember how in DC eugene implicitly agrees with rapunzel’s sentiment that cass, not rapunzel, is to blame for cass’s injury? “that’s how cass hurt her hand”] 

12) and frankly all this seems to me like a PERFECT storm for some of the behaviors rapunzel observed/inherited from gothel to float to the surface. she has always been a little pushy, a little prone to not accepting culpability, a little inclined toward black-and-white thinking. right? so for those things to, in the wake of this traumatic betrayal by her best friend, coagulate together into rapunzel being more forceful, more confident, more focused on her own happiness rather than trying to please other people, all while still giving lip service to being compassionate and refusing to ever give up on anyone and missing cassandra... like, that makes sense as a character development for her to undergo, i think. 

and i LIKE that. the only problem is that it goes unremarked upon and it’s clearly not intended for rapunzel to be this way, which means that the narrative ends up sort of presenting all this as ~positive~ character development when it’s... really... not. and that creates that tonal dissonance that i mentioned.

but like, character development does not always need to be positive and it does not always need to be linear. people can get better then worse then better again and that’s fine, and i think there’s just... so much mileage to be gotten, in fanworks, out of taking this negative character development in s3 at face value and then running with it to the logical consequences thereof: i want to see rapunzel’s friends slowly realizing that she has changed in the aftermath of s3, once they don’t literally have a demon waging war on the kingdom to deal with; i want to see rapunzel getting called out, i want to see her struggle as she learns how to deal with guilt and accept blame for her actual mistakes; i want to see rapunzel wrestle with the personality traits she learned from gothel and figuring out who she is and who she wants to be; i want to see her slowly-dawning horror as she realizes how she’s overcorrected from “people-pleaser” and become callous to other people’s feelings, and the work she does to pull herself back onto a healthy middle ground instead. 

like!! i get, i totally get, the impulse in fanworks to just kinda put all this down to poor writing (because that’s what it is) and take the obvious intentions of s3 (that rapunzel has come into her own and found a good, healthy place for herself and does truly care for cass and want to help her etc etc) and roll with that. that’s a totally valid way to read the text esp for the purpose of creating fanworks

but i just think it’s neat and fun to take it at face value and then try to like, work through the consequences of that. let rapunzel have serious flaws 2k20

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons: Ruination Episode (Ionia)

Ionia Part I

After discussing it heavily with your comrades, you all agree that your next destination should be Ionia. The light of the Wayfinder encompasses you all as it carries you across the sea to the Ionian Sentinel outpost, where you are surprised to find that nothing seems amiss on the shores.

“Looks like the Black Mist hasn’t gotten here yet.”

“Wow, so this is Ionia? It’s beautiful!”

Riven response 1: “I can’t say I’m surprised. Ionia’s always been resistant to invaders…”

Riven response 2: “Yeah… But it wasn’t always like this…”

Gwen: “Oh what an absolutely splendid place! I’ve never been anywhere this majestic before!”

Senna: “They call Ionia the First Lands, and some say it’s the birthplace of magic itself. I guess it’s no surprise that this place is a sort of safe haven against the Harrowing.”

Olaf: “Wait! Look there!”

Olaf points further inland, where you see a great cloud of Black Mist descending onto a vibrant forest.

Vayne: “So much for a safe haven…”

Senna: “No time to stand around and gawk! Let’s move, Sentinels!”

Senna takes the lead as you all charge ahead, ascending the winding mountain path. All around you, wild animals scatter and flee as the Black Mist pours through the forest. The once-vibrant flora withers and distorts around you while the very air seems to linger with malice.

Suddenly, you feel a gnarled tree root spring to life and wrap around your leg, pulling you down. A shrill scream fills the air as you hit the ground and feel yourself being dragged back down the path. Before you vanish completely into the brush, however, Lucian frees your leg with a well-timed shot.

Lucian: “You alright, rookie? That was, uh, quite a scream just now.”

“Thanks, I owe you.”

“That, uh, wasn’t me.”

Lucian response 1: “Don’t mention it. Now let’s keep moving.”

Lucian response 2: “Heh, sure it wasn’t...”

Before you can say anything more, another identical scream cuts through the air. You all turn to see a peculiar figure bounding through the forest. Her upper half resembles that of a young woman, but her lower body is that of a fawn. She holds in her possession a branch with a peculiar bloom attached to it.

???: “Oh dear, oh dear!”

“Is that a person?”

“Is that an animal?”

Vayne: “Whatever it is, it’s heading right for us.”

Sure enough, the strange figure is bounding toward you at an alarming rate, looking back over her shoulder. She turns her head just in time to see the Sentinels and comes skidding to a stop.

???: “Eep!”

“Eep!”

“Woah, that was close!”

“She… Is… Adorable!”

Lillia: “W-Who are you!? Ah, wait, no! Just… Pretend you can’t see them, Lillia! If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.”

Vayne: “Sorry to lay this on you, but that’s not how it works.”

Riven: “Hang on, something else is coming!”

You look up to see the Black Mist descending toward you, carrying with it a swarm of wraiths.

Lillia: “Oh no! They’ve followed me!”

Gwen: “Please, stand behind us, funny fawn person! We will make short work of these fiends!”

Ionia Part II

The Sentinels charge into the fray, cutting and blasting their way through the swarm of wraiths. As they fight, however, you notice more of the local wildlife succumbing to the Black Mist, warping the surrounding forests beyond recognition.

Lillia: “No… Stop! Please stop!”

“Are you OK?”

“Hey, everything’s going to be alright.”

Lillia: “No… Can’t you feel it? The dreams of the trees, the animals… It’s like… One very bad dream is blocking out all the others!”

Lucian: “Rookie, what’s she talking about?”

Senna: “Nevermind, just stay focused! We need push deeper into this forest and find that fetter!”

The Sentinels quickly resume their fight, though Lillia’s ears perk up when she hears Senna’s words.

Lillia: “What? You’re… Going DEEPER into the forest? B-But it’s dangerous!”

Vayne: “Exactly! Where monsters go, so do we!”

Riven: “If the Black Mist is here, that must mean another one of these fetters is too, right? Then we have to find it and get it out of here, or all of Ionia will be in danger! That’s… Not something I want to see again!”

Gwen: “Quite right! Fear not, funny fawn girl! We shan’t let a few wraiths impede us!”

Lillia: “But… Why?”

“We’re Sentinels. Fighting ghosts is what we do!”

“We’re here to save Ionia, and the world, from the Black Mist!”

Lillia: “You… You aren’t afraid?”

“Not in the slightest!”

“Quite a bit, actually, but I can’t turn back now!”

Lillia: “That’s… That’s quite brave of you. …Alright. Everyone, please follow me! I think I know what the ghouls are after!”

Lillia suddenly darts off into the forest, waving her branch to clean a path through the Mist.

Riven: “Should we follow her?”

Senna: “Well… If she can lead us to the fetter, it’s a risk I’m willing to take! Move out, Sentinels!”

Ionia Part III

Lillia guides you through the forest, using the branch in her hands to keep the hostile wildlife at bay. You follow her into a cave, where your only source of light comes from Lillia’s bloom. Though it’s dark and damp, you’re surprised to find that the Black Mist seems to linger about the entrance, refusing to step inside.

Vayne: “Are we sure about this isn’t a trap?”

“We’ve already come all this way…”

“Hey, she’s cute! How can you say no to those big eyes?”

Olaf: “Hmph. If this is a trap, there had better be a worth foe at this tunnel’s end!”

Lillia: “...”

Lucian: “Hey, fawn girl!”

Lillia: “Eep! O-Oh, you mean me?”

Lucian: “Yeah. Are you sure there’s a fetter in here?”

Lillia: “Uh, well… I’m not sure what sort of ‘fetter’ you mean, but I think… I know that the ghouls want what’s up ahead.”

Vayne: “And just how do you know that?”

“Come on guys, have some faith in her.”

“The Mist didn’t want to come in here, so there’s gotta be something special about this place.”

Riven: “Wait, do you see that?”

Up ahead, the path widens out into a grotto illuminated by giant crystals in the cave wall.

“What is this place?”

“It’s breathtaking…”

Riven: “Yeah, Ionia really is beautiful. It’s a shame that some people would destroy that beauty just to take it for themselves…”

Up ahead, you see that the cave floor turns from stone to grass. Somehow, a small meadow has bloomed in the heart of the mountain, illuminated by the glow of the crystals.

Gwen: “Goodness, these gems would make for a marvelous addition to a dress! Oh, but I suppose that would ruin their natural beauty. A shame.”

Lucian: “It’s pretty, alright, but where’s the fetter?”

As if on cue, the light in Senna’s chest starts to glow, as does Gwen’s. Nearby, you see a single flower near the heart of the grotto begin to glow with the same calming light.

Senna: “There it is! That’s the fetter!”

“A rose? How can a rose be a fetter?”

“So Isolde’s soul has been hiding in a flower for centuries?”

Lillia: “This flower is very old. It was brought here long ago from a far-away land. I can see its dreams too, you know. Dreams so pure, full of love and light… Happy memories. It dreams of man and woman who cherished each other more than anything. Isn’t that… Such… A lovely dream?”

You watch in horror as a ghastly crown forms around Lillia’s head. Suddenly, Black Mist fills the cave, engulfing Lillia and transforming her in an instant.

Lillia: “Such a lovely dream, and you all are trying to ruin it! How… How could you!?”

“Lillia, wait! Let’s talk this out!”

“Aw man! Why is it always the cute ones!?”

Vayne: “I knew we couldn’t trust her!”

Vayne takes aim with her crossbow, but before she can fire a single shot, Lillia waves her branch in a wide arc. A mysterious, glittering dust washes over you and the other Sentinels, as does a strange sense of drowsiness.

Olaf: “Argh! What… Is this…?”

Gwen: “Oh my. Suddenly… So… Tired…”

“So… Sleepy.”

“Can’t… Stay… Awake.”

Despite your best efforts, you soon succumb to the effects of Lillia’s dream dust. Soon, you and the other Sentinels fall onto the floor of the cave and descend into a deep slumber…

Ionia Part IV

You find yourself wandering the streets of your hometown, alone. Wherever you go, the people have locked their doors and refuse to open up. You are cold and scared, and those feelings only grow as you notice the ominous Black Mist coursing toward you.

You try to run, but the Mist is faster. You hear inhuman screams behind you, and look back to see vaguely humanoid figures emerging from the haze. You force your legs into overdrive, only to wind up tripping and following on a loose stone. Your cry out in pain as you hit the ground, but your scream is drowned out by the wails of the undead behind you.

Dread hangs over you a like a pall. Death seems inevitable, though you know that death is not the end if these creatures take you. You will become one of them, hunting other poor souls to join the ranks of the undead. You close your eyes and wait, only for the sound of gunfire to fill your ears.

You open your eyes and look up. The wraiths cry out in pain as bolts of light pierce them, driving them back. You find yourself surrounded by figures in strange uniforms, carrying weapons unlike any you’ve every seen.

“W-Who are you?”

“Where did you come from?”

Though their face is hazy, you see one of the figures turn to look at you.

???: “We’re the Sentinels of Light. Don’t worry, we’ll handle the undead. You just find a safe place to hide and wake up.”

“Huh?”

“What do you mean?”

???: “Wake up. Come on, Rookie, nap time is over!”

Your eyes slowly open as you regain consciousness. You see Lucian and Senna standing over you.

Senna: “Good to see you’re still with us.”

“How long was I out?”

“What happened?”

Lucian response 1: “Too damn long. That deer girl made off with fetter while we are all dozin’ off.”

Lucian response 2: “That deer girl put us all to sleep then nabbed the fetter, that’s what.”

Gwen: “And she seemed so nice! What an awful turn things have taken.”

???: “Indeed. The future of the realms hangs in the balance.”

“Uh, who is this?”

“Is that a freaking ninja!?”

Shen: “Apologies if I have startled you, child. I am the Eye of Twilight, but you may call me Shen.”

Vayne: “After Deer Girl put us all to sleep, this ninja’s the one who came to wake us up. I don’t like being in debt, but I guess we owe you now.”

Shen: “You owe me nothing. I acted as needed to maintain balance, nothing more.”

Riven: “Apparently, he’s part of the Kinkou. I’ve heard of them. They’re a group devoted to maintaining order in Ionia, though from what I understand, they didn’t do much when Noxus invaded these shores.”

Shen: “The Kinkou protect the balance between the material and immaterial realms. Mortal wars are not our concern… But this Harrowing threatens to consume Ionia itself.”

Shen gestures outside and, to your horror, you see that the Black Mist has nearly complete covered the forest. The once-vibrant colors of the trees are now faded and lifeless and the sounds of nature are replaced by the cries of wraiths.

“It’s awful…”

“How did this happen so fast?”

Shen: “The spirit of Ionia is tainted, and the land is a reflection of that spirit. What’s more, azakana will feed on the negativity brought forth by this, granting demons more power than ever.”

Senna: “This is what’ll happen to the entire world if we don’t stop Viego. That’s why we need to find that fetter, and quickly!”

Gwen: “But… That Not-so-Funny Faun took it! How are we supposed to find her amidst all of that?”

Vayne: “Hate to say it, but she’s right. If we have to fight through all of that, then Deer Girl will be long-gone by the time we catch her trail.”

Shen: “Fear not, for the Eye of Twilight sees all, even through the darkest shadows. The Dream Faun makes for the coast, though I sense an even greater darkness approaching. You, who are sword to defend the light, will you accompany me to confront this darkness?”

Gwen: “A greater darkness? You couldn’t possibly mean...”

Lucian: “Viego! We gotta get the beach, now!”

Riven: “But how are we going to get there through all this Mist?”

Shen: “Fret not, for I walk the space between world. Gather close to me.”

Though uncertain of his meaning, you and the other Sentinels do as asked, stepping close to Shen as he makes unusual gestures with his hands. Suddenly, you are all engulfed in violet light as Shen whisks you through the spirit realm.

Ionia Part V

You feel formless. Weightless. All around you are sights and colors your mind can scarcely comprehend. Some set your mind at ease, while others terrify you. This sensation lasts for only a moment before you reemerge in the physical realm, surrounded once more by your comrades.

“Hey, long-distance teleporting is my thing!”

“That… Was awesome!”

“That was… Bizarre!”

Riven: “Ugh… I think I’ll stick to the Wayfinder from now on, thanks.”

Shen: “Gather yourselves! The Dream Fawn is just ahead!”

Sure enough, you see Lillia standing on the beach, staring out at the ocean. She clutches the fetter tightly in one hand and her branch in the other.

Lucian: “She doesn’t know we’re here. I say we take her by surprise and-”

Olaf: “RETRIBUTION AWAITS!”

Suddenly, Olaf rushes ahead, screaming at the top of his lungs. Lillia leaps in surprise and turns around to see the berserker rushing at her. Instinctively, she launches a seed from her branch that rolls along the sand, growing large in size as it travels.

“Olaf, look out!”

“Don’t let it hit you!”

Olaf utterly ignores your warning and runs into the seed head-on. To your amazement, he just keeps running even as the seed explodes into dream dust.

Lillia: “W-What!? T-That’s not possible!”

Lucian: “That’s a berserker for ya. Once they get riled up, nobody can stop them.”

Olaf is just about to reach Lillia when, suddenly, the tide behind her swells to life and comes ashore. Olaf is swept back in a massive wave of darkened away, though Lillia somehow remains completely dry.

Lucian: “The ocean, on the other hand…”

Shen: “The Spirit of Ionia is tainted. The trees, the air, the waters… They now bend to HIS will.”

You look ahead to see a familiar figure emerging from the Black Mist, the sea itself parting to make way for him.

“Viego!”

“The Ruined King!”

Olaf: “Pfft! Pah! So, he’s the one who bested the Barbarian King? I thought he would be… Bigger.”

Viego: “Ah, what a pleasant surprise! I travel all this way to find that my prize is already waiting for me.”

Lillia: “Y-Yes, sir. I am here to help your dream bloom.”

Shen: “Stop! You have desecrated the balance, and now you shall pay for your transgressions!”

Viego: “Balance? Fool. Without her, there is no balance. She is the light to my darkness, the joy to my anguish. If you would stand against me, then YOU are the one who shall pay the price!”

Shen and Viego dash across the beach toward each other, their blades ringing out as they clash.

Senna: “Let’s back him up, Sentinels!”

You and the other Sentinels quickly rush to aid Shen, but find yourself impeded by the corrupted Spirit of Ionia. Fierce bursts of wind repeatedly knock you off your feat while rocks along the beach form together into twisted constructs.

Riven: “Ngh…”

“Are you alright?”

“Riven, what’s wrong?”

Riven: “Fighting on the beaches of Ionia, pushing back against the will of the land itself… This whole scenario is bringing back a lot of unhappy memories.”

Senna: “Shake it off, Riven! We need to push past this!”

The Sentinels continue to struggle against the will of the land, but only Shen seems undeterred by it. The Eye of Twlight engages the Ruined King in a fierce battle, both of them vanishing and reappearing all over the beach.

“I can barely keep track of them!”

“This isn’t working!”

Viego: “See how your homeland bends to my will, Ionian! Your allies can lend you no aid. Mine, on the other hand…”

Lillia leaps into the air behind Shen, slamming her branch down on the beach. Shen staggers as Lillia’s dream dust washes over him, falling to one knee as he struggles to stay awake. Meanwhile, Viego turns his attention to your group, his gaze fixing itself upon Senna and Gwen. They fail to notice, too busy fending off the endlessly-regenerating stone constructs on the beach.

“Gwen, look out!”

“Senna, look out!”

Option 1: Viego rushes toward Gwen, but thanks to your warning, she manages to parry the blow and push Viego back her Hallowed Mist.

Option 2: Viego rushes toward Senna, but thanks to your warning, she manages to evade his strike and fire a back in retaliation.

Viego grunts in annoyance and vanishes into the Black Mist once more. To your surprise, he reappears before you, lifting you up by the throat.

Viego: “Such a peculiar child. Your little band is strange enough, but you… You do not even carry a weapon. Still, you seek to defy me, all the same.”

Vayne: “Put the kid down, creep!”

The Sentinels all rush to your aid, but soon find themselves impeded by a wall of sand rising up around you.

Viego: “Many choose to stand against me and my noble quest. Some do it to ‘save’ this cruel world. Others merely resent me, though their hearts are as dark as my own. So tell me, child: why do you oppose me? Justice? Righteousness? Contempt?”

“…”

“What you’re doing is wrong!”

Viego: “Hmph. A predictable response. No matter. Whatever your reasons, you will serve as an example!”

Viego raises his sword to impale you, but another blade suddenly manifests above your head: an ephemeral weapon that lingers in the air. A pulse of spirit magic frees you from Viego’s grasp and destroys the sand barrier. Viego vanishes into the Mist once more, and in his place stands Shen, grasping the shimmering blade.

Shen: “Stand up. Your role is far from over.”

The other Sentinels quickly reconvene around you as you climb to your feet.

Gwen: “Rookie! Goodness, are you alright?”

“I’m alright, thanks to Shen.”

“Still shaking, but otherwise fine.”

Viego: “You think you are safe? None of you shall escape my grasp!”

Suddenly, you notice several giant crabs erupting the sand around you, their eyes flickering with the ghastly light of Ruination.

Senna: “This isn’t working! Sentinels, I’m calling a tactical retreat! We can’t fight Viego AND the damn beach at the same time! Rookie, get us out of here!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you raise the Wayfinder and let its light wash over you just as the crabs begin to close in. In an instant, you and your allies vanish, leaving Viego alone with Lillia on the harrowed beach.

Lillia: “Oh dear. They got away, sir…”

Viego takes the flower from her grasp and sniffs it longingly.

Viego: “No matter. I am one step closer to realizing my dream, little fawn. Come, let us resume our search elsewhere.”

Viego turns and walks away into the Black Mist with Lillia behind him, leaving a Ruined Ionia in his wake.

Back as Sentinel headquarters, you breath a sigh of relief to have narrowly escaped the Ruined King.

Senna and Olaf: “DAMN IT!”

Senna: “We almost had him!”

Olaf: “I almost had my glorious death!”

Riven: So that was the Ruined King… I can’t believe he has that much power.”

Vayne: “He didn’t the last time we faced him. Somehow, that monster’s gotten even stronger.”

Gwen: “Goodness, are you alright, Rookie? That was quite fright!”

“Honestly, I’m still shaking a little.”

“Y-yeah, I’m t-totally fine!”

Shen: “Overcoming fear is the first step to attaining inner balance.”

Everyone: “…”

Senna: “Hang on, how do you get here?”

Shen: “The same way you all did, naturally.”

Shen gestures to the Wayfinder.

“Oh, guess he got caught in the light too. My bad.”

“Huh. I, uh, totally meant to bring you back with us too.”

Shen: “I am here because Balance wills it.”

Riven: “Hang on, are you saying that…”

Shen: “I… Was not strong enough to defeat this imbalance on my own. Ionia has been consumed by darkness, but its spirit has not yet been wholly subsumed. I will do all that I must to preserve it, even allying with your order.”

Vayne: “You want to be a Sentinel? I guess we could do worse, though I don’t know if one ninja will make that much of a difference.”

Gwen: “Oh, another new addition to the team! How wonderful! Please, come with me, and we’ll get you fitted right away!”

You all watch as Shen departs with Gwen, emerging moments later with his new Sentinel attire.

Gwen: “Tadaa! I present to you: Sentinel Shen!”

You can’t help but note that her display lacks the same level of enthusiasm as usual, but opt not to comment on it.

Shen: “It is an honor to fight alongside you.”

Lucian: “Right… Well, let’s get you sworn in, I guess.” (But after that, we’re all gonna need to rethink our plan.)

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Twice Fallen

I implore thy loving kindness,

that even as thou didst stand beside thy dear Son as He hung upon the Cross,

so wilt thou also stand by me,

a poor sinner?

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

word count: 6.2k (the longest 6.2k of my life)

genre: angst, romance, comedy, supernatural, drama, slow-burn

Related Works: See Masterlist under Guardian Demon!Jimin

A/N: There’s a lot of Catholicism and religious things going on because well... Angels and demons LOL This is all a work of fiction inspired from real places so that’s my disclaimer here. Also it’s like...half edited xD Other than that....NAE PI TTAM NUNMUL

As the days went on, you become more riddled with an anxiousness that had overtaken every nerve in your body as a multitude of thoughts swirl around your head like an endless whirlpool. First and foremost of course, was the fact that you had exactly five days before you and your friend were due to fly out to attend the BTS concert. That alone was enough to put you in a loop, it had made you so restless that you had gone out of your way to ask co-workers if they could cover your shift — a needless attempt; you knew you were only trying to trick yourself into thinking those were your only first world problems. You shouldn’t have been as surprised when Emily had told you she had already agreed to take your shift once you came around to asking her.

“You asked me that like last week.” She had laughed good-naturedly, patting you on the shoulder in a sympathetic way. “Now I really think you need those days off if you’re starting to lose your memory like this.”

You really don’t have any memory of this though.

But it wasn’t hard to recall Jimin’s words of him promising you that he would make this trip work, no matter what. Not that you had doubted his abilities, but it’s never like you to leave everything up to one person (supernatural or not); you blame the many botched group projects in college you’ve been through for that. More so, you have come to realize, is that a small part of you had done it in hopes of being able to do something for Jimin that would repay even a fraction of what he’s doing for you. This was probably a small, insignificant thing in comparison but it was something you had some semblance of control over that didn’t necessarily require any otherworldly intervention. You should’ve known it was a losing battle from the start.

With that being said, any thoughts of the aforementioned guardian demon these days automatically leads you back to the conversation you had with Jungkook. It hasn’t faded since those three days ago, merely sitting on the back of your mind and only growing in size. You catch yourself spacing out a few times just thinking about all sorts of things that involve him.

Like maybe —  actually — giving up your soul to him.

….Yeah that was quite the conclusion you came to but you can almost pin point the exact moment when you did. It came to you when you had spilled your guts about Jimin to Jungkook on that rooftop garden; never having been able to put into words your honest thoughts about him until the other demon had practically cornered you into doing it. Despite the embarrassment threatening to consume you whole, it was eye opening for you in which you’ve accepted that the only way you can come close to repaying Jimin was to give up your life to him or at least promise it in due time and… you’re okay with that idea.

Weird and concerning, rightfully so but it’s like the half of you that thinks this is utterly mad and the other, more nihilistic side of you had come into terms with one another in the form of one sole agreement that if it had to be any demon, better it be him right?

As they say, you’re only here for a good time, not a long time.

You exhale through your nose in a quiet huff of laughter, subtle enough that the lady passing by behind you doesn’t pay you any notice as you’re restocking the jewellery racks. Today is one of those rare moments that you’re given a task out on the floor away from cash for once and though you’re elated at being able to do something else for a change, your thoughts don’t revolve around whether or not you can fit just one more pair of earrings on this already overstuffed looking hook.

Even if you had settled on the idea of giving your soul to Jimin, the most important question is how? Theoretically, it seems simple enough, at least what you’re picturing in your head — you tell him you want to do it, he says yes and then gets you to sign it away in agreement in whatever form the contract is (maybe something similar to your contract with him now but altered? Who knows). Or maybe in your complete lack of knowledge in demonology, it’s way more complex than that. You could technically ask Jungkook…

Would that even be a good idea? You’re not sure, especially not after the talk you had with him — keeping that ‘good’ head of yours in tact and whatnot. But then again, you’re not entirely sure what he meant by it anyways. You pause your train of thought until a heaving sigh escapes past your lips, your shoulder deflating as your lips purse into a thin line when you realize; you don’t even have any means to contact Jungkook. He’s more of an entity who comes and goes with nothing to tether him to this world, so he’s expressed he’s never had the need for things like a mobile device.

Which means your other option for getting any type of information on this would be from the main demon himself; Jimin.

Except for two things.

One: how does one broach the topic of forfeiting their own soul over to their guardian demon? You suppose it’s not exactly an ‘over dinner’ sort of conversation. The closest thing to a timing you had in mind would be after the concert; fitting in a way where you get your wish fulfilled and now you must pay the price owed.

However, that leads you to two; you don’t have a single clue where the guardian demon in question had gone off to. The last you saw of him was when he had walked you home those nights ago and from then, you haven’t heard from him since. You’ve tried shooting another text and hell, even pushed aside your anxiety and pride to call him for the first time ever, only to receive no response for either occasion; just radio silence. And it’s not even on the matter of telling him you’re willing to give your soul up for him — he still hasn’t told you what your flight, where your tickets or your hotel is!

You force yourself to breathe in deeply before exhaling slowly. Relax, you still technically have time, you try to reassure yourself. Not as much as you want for not knowing some important travel details, but enough that you’d still be able to set off without a hitch.

You trust Jimin.

He hasn’t let you down yet, nor do you think he will any time soon.

You’re confident.

-

Rome, Vatican City

A sigh involuntarily escapes the demon’s lips as he takes in the view in front of him, having not imagined that he would be here, of all places after so many years. The city is alive even if it is late into the night, the piazza lit up to cast a romantic glow on the cobble streets as crowds of people continue to stroll around in leisure. It should be no surprise though; the mild spring weather is well under way here, so much that Jimin thinks it might even be above seasonal. That doesn’t stop him from wearing the long, black overcoat over his airy chiffon button down shirt and the way it billows out behind him as he strides down this Italian street has people turning heads thinking he should be in Milan rather than here, much less how warm he must be feeling underneath it.

It pulls a small smile from him, a small distraction from his purpose here and a last ditch effort to put himself in a better mood before he has to put on a cloaking spell, hiding him from any mortal eyes. Before long, Jimin is upon the entrance to the grand circular plaza. In the centre of it, he spots the unmistakable shape of the Egyptian obelisk, the tall monument sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Roman-Catholic structures surrounding it. Strangely enough, the more he stared at it, the more Jimin begins to feel in-like with the structure — a nameless fixture in history that eventually had its roots erased, “christianized” and erected by some old fart named Pope Sixtus V to celebrate the triumph of the Church over paganism.

Ugh.

At least it was a witness to St. Peter’s crucification (or so it was apparently said).

Jimin rolls his neck, a twitch in the muscle that had it stiffen uncomfortably before he exhales loudly through his nose.

Right.

He reminds himself to be mindful of where he is, of what he’s about to do. He may have a get out of jail free card but it won’t be nearly enough credentials to win any favours here. So Jimin steels himself, squaring his shoulders and with much more effort than he wants to admit, he begins to make his way across the plaza into a demon’s lion den. He takes care in keeping pace, steps unfaltering and gaze hardened in resolution. Jimin maneuvers inconspicuously through the lingering crowds of tourist and locals alike with the grace of a seasoned dancer but no matter how much he ducks and weaves, he cannot escape the burning sensation of being watched like an ant under a magnifying glass by the figures that seem to close in on him with every step he takes to the basilica.

All 140 of them.

And they all seem to whisper in their harrowing voices, the same obtrusive word in his ear.

Demon.

Jimin is clenching his jaw and fists by the time he reaches the grandiose staircase, his nails digging into his clammy palms until they leave deep crescent indents. A ragged exhales passes his lips, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now and it makes him chastise himself. He passed the Apostolic Palace just fine, not even a single sign of getting smote. If he’s breaking out into a cold sweat from a little bit of verbal intimidation here, then what good is he by the time he has to go inside?

Jimin’s eyes slide up to take in the building that has become one of the most symbolic landmark in the religious world and the reason for his odd visit to a place he should be avoiding at all cost.

The Papal Basilica of St. Peter in the Vatican, or otherwise simply known as St. Peter’s Basilica.

Its dome shape roof looms above him, an imposing shadow even if it is lit by a multitude of beams of spotlights along its base and all around the facade — the lights only adding to its size. Doesn’t help that at either ends of the steps are the statues of St. Paul with his golden sword and St. Peter, the man himself, as if they’re there to personally greet all those who enter this holy space; whether with open arms or a strike of sword in His name, Jimin is not sure.

The basilica is closed to the public, the hours of which it is open has long since passed but despite that, Jimin waits, fixed in his spot as he simply stares unseeingly, a myriad of events all leading up to this very moment passing before his eyes.

-

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen.” Jungkook states sternly after he knocks back his drink. He places his glass down on the sleek black marble bar top a little too roughly. For once, Jimin refrains from commenting, not wanting to anger the young demon who no doubt, has zero tolerance for banter right now. As they say, let sleeping tigers lie. So Jimin straightens more in his seat, giving Jungkook his full attention.

“First, you must seek the one who has been given the keys of the kingdom of heaven by His Holiness — the gatekeeper, St. Peter, at the place where he is buried. He will be your witness and judge.”

-

With a deep inhale, Jimin lets the cloaking spell encase him like a thin, dark veil and after releasing his breath, he finally takes his first steps upwards towards the basilica. The closer he gets, the heavier his feet seems to feel as if a weight is pushing down on him but he persists until he reaches the tall iron gate of the entrance. If he cranes his neck, he can just make out the relief of St. Peter being handed the keys by Jesus carved into the stone, below the central window where no doubt the pope had made his appearance to the masses. For the first time in his life, Jimin feels immensely smaller as he stands in-between the columns, their height seemingly never-ending as if they are reaching heaven itself.

He vehemently tears his gaze away, teeth chewing at his bottom lip as he works to loosen his muscles that have gone tense. It’s like his own body has developed a mind of its own and is screaming at him to leave, get away. But he pushes those warnings aside and within a few strides, he finds himself passing the threshold and into the atrium. Even though it’s only the entrance hall, he can already feel the grandeur of the basilica from its high dome ceilings and archways. Within this singular space, it embodies the old and new in its walls as ancient inscriptions and plaques commemorating popes who had seen the construction of this holy building and in the fine marble floor as coat of arms. To the right at the end of the portico, is the statue of Emperor Constantine and to the left is Charlemagne, both on noble steeds carved out of white marble that seem like they’ll come to life at any moment.

Jimin’s jaw clench and unclenches, a nervous tick as he surveys his surroundings and with a sweep of his dark eyes, they land on a pair of bronze double doors.

-

“When you enter the atrium, you will find five bronze doors; The Door of Death, The Door of Good and Evil, The Door of the Sacraments, The Central Door, and The Holy Door. You must past through ‘The Holy Door’ to evoke the passage from sin to grace — to show your willingness to make peace with God, restore what has been damaged in yourself and reshape your heart.”

-

It’s not hard to figure out which door Jungkook was referring to. As he stops just before them, Jimin can see the pictures in each panel along the length of it, depicting various scenes of man’s sin and his redemption through God’s mercy. His eyes trail from the infamous disobedience of Adam and Eve to Christ’s Baptism in the Jordan. They linger on The Need for Forgiveness for a while longer than he intended.

Just how forgiving can God be? Jimin wonders.

For all the times he’s heard angels preach about His benevolence, can God extend that mercy to even a demon?

Well, Jimin huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, God had forgiven man after all and he thinks that’s a bit of a stretch.

The door is normally bricked up, opened once every twenty-five years to celebrate the Holy Year but it will prove to be no issue for Jimin. It’s not a matter of how he’s going to pass through the doorway, more so it’s what will happen when he does.

-

Jimin sees Jungkook’s lips quirk up in the slightest and he gets the feeling that the grimace he’s trying to hold back still showed on his face.

“I’m telling you now brother, this is the easiest part of the process and even then, I can’t tell you what will happen when you pass through those doors.”

“So am I supposed to feel enlightened then?”

“More like I actually don’t know. When you’re a blank slate being indoctrinated into this, you don’t feel anything other than the feeling of having your soul bared. But you,” Jungkook pauses to point an almost accusing finger in Jimin’s direction, “you’re a demon, so it’s either going to tickle or you’ll have your soul ripped to shreds.”

-

All he knows is that he’s willing, and that has to count for something. At least, that’s what he hopes. His thoughts unconsciously drift to you briefly, finding himself holding onto the image like a beacon of light in the darkness and with a swallow, he steps forward. Jimin doesn’t get a face full of metal, in fact, not even so much as a shockwave of resistance like he expected that for a split second, he’s bemused at how easily he passes through.

But then he feels it.

Something spears right through him, an invisible force so strong that it leaves him winded, knees nearly buckling and he all but finds himself stumbling through to the other side, right into the central nave. He forgets where he is for a moment, trying to gather his wits as he takes in deep breaths, trying to calm his thundering heart but it seems almost futile. True to Jungkook’s words, the moment he passed through those doors, something had torn away not just the cloaking spell he had placed on himself, but almost everything about his being — the glamour that he wore, the face that he stole, his magic, everything. He’s never felt so exposed but as he raises a trembling hand to his eyes, it seems nothing about him has changed.

Jimin balls his hand into a fist, hoping to lessen the tremors but when they don’t stop, he kisses his teeth, slightly perturbed. He shouldn’t complain, rather he should be thankful that he’s still in one piece. After all, he only just crossed the first hurdle. Without wanting to dawdle or waste time, he boldly begins to make his way.

The nave is a sight to behold, the space so high and open with its coloured marbles, gold trimmings and ornate detailing of heavenly imagery. No doubt in the day, the place would be filled with people from all around the world wanting to be able to bask in the awe of the architecture, built by the hands of arguably some of the greatest artists the world has ever known, that embodies all of the majesty, strength and beauty of God.

But now, devoid of any life, it is enveloped in an eerie silence that the soft footsteps of his loafers on the marble floors seem magnified, his only source of light was the moon streaming through pockets in the high domes, casting a cool blue haze on everything, making it seem all the more like Jimin had entered into a spiritual realm.

He passes by pillars with their niches filled with statues of saints who had founded religious orders and along the perimeter of the transept and above the arches, are the twenty eight figures of the Christian and human virtues, staring down at him, watching as he makes his way further into the the nave towards the place he must go. Jimin keeps to averting his gaze downward, determined to push away the incessant itch that has begun to crawl along his skin, heart still pounding like he’s ran a marathon rather than walk at a brisk pace like he is now and he fears that it will give him away in this quiet atmosphere, the sound so much more defeaning to his ears.

Sweat begins to form along his hairline and soon he finds himself short of breath. It makes him slow to almost a stop, light-headedness washing over him and he has to blink away the dark spots that appear in his vision, feeling sick to his stomach. When he looks next, it seems like the long hallway ahead of him had elongated but when he looks up, he’s actually only a few metres away from being directly under the impressive Baroque Canopy. No wonder his skin felt like it was burning from the inside while he’s getting chills at the same time.

Running a hand through his hair, he hastens once again.

-

“If, by some miracle, you find yourself inside, make your way to the end of the nave, pass the Canopy and St. Peter’s tomb, until you reach the top of the cruciform. There you will find ‘The Chapel of the Cathedra’ where you will kneel before his throne.”

“Why not his tomb?” Jimin couldn’t help but to ask. It made more sense to go see the man directly where he was supposedly buried.

“It’s symbolic because it’s a place where St. Peter had always sat, teaching and instructing the faithful of Rome. It’s only appropriate that is where you will ‘learn’ about those teachings with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.”

-

The altar, for lack of better words, is grandiose — it’s structure solely created to enclose the wooden throne of St. Peter, displaying it in a manner to show the significance and worship of the holy relic. The chair is a combination of the original acacia wood and gilded bronze done by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. It’s richly ornate with bas-relief, the base which it sat upon is made of black and white marble with four gigantic bronze statues, making the chair look as if it was suspended in golden clouds. On either sides, there are statues of saints from the Latin and Greek Church. At the crown are the gilt and stucco of Gloria with a host of angels among the rays of light and billowing clouds.

And right at the centre is a window of Bohemian glass, divided into twelve sections, representing the Twelve Apostles with a single dove against it — the symbol of the Holy Spirit, the soul of the Church.

Jimin stood, stuck at the very borders where the pews begin, overwhelmed with apprehension but shockingly, entranced as well. He would imagine the two windows situated on either side of the apse would let in brilliant streams of warm, golden light from the afternoon sun, giving the place an even more mystical look that would easily ensnare anyone into becoming a believer. Now though, with the light of the moon, it appears just as ghostly as the rest of the basilica — sombre yet still hauntingly beautiful. Jimin swallows once, running his tongue along his dry lips before he summons the strength to force his legs into motion.

They were by far the hardest steps he’d ever taken, his feet feeling like lead as he drags them one excruciating step at a time until he all but collapses onto his knees once he reaches the dark wooden prayer bench. His skin feels like it’s breaking out into hives, the itch becoming so unbearable at this point that he thinks he’ll go mad and resort to ripping away his skin himself. Every muscle in him is tense, any small movements causing them to twitch and spasm painfully and when he finally cranes his neck to look up at the altar, he hears his bones crack.

The fog in his head threatens to overwhelm him, stun him into a stupor until he can do nothing but slowly wither away into ashes. He fights to stay alert and with much effort, tries to remember Jungkook’s next words.

-

“From here, it’s pretty simple… If you can call it that.” Jungkook says a little too off-handedly, as if he was discussing how to change the battery to a remote. “You take Him into your heart and say His prayer.”

“….There are a lot of ‘prayers’.” Jimin deadpans. He may be a demon, but all demons are aware of the ridiculous amounts of prayers said in His name or in any of the other holiness, whether from being hissed out in angry fury by crossing paths with angels or in more unlucky cases, through exorcising.

Jimin’s only familiar with the sign of the cross, uttered to him by a man who couldn’t have picked a worser day to piss him off (he almost felt bad for the police who had to find him the following morning).

Jungkook flips his pretty raven locks out of his face, lazily reaching to pour himself another glass as he reclines back into his seat.

“You’ll know the one.”

-

The younger demon said he would know the prayer once he’s here but his mind is drawing blanks, unable to even begin searching for any hints. Through his hazy vision, the dove appears to have a halo of light surrounding it, pulsating as if it had life. He stares, fixated on that one point, waiting for who knows what. Just when the silence became too stifling, he hears a sound. It’s so soft that he can’t decipher it, much less if it was real or something he hallucinated in his delirious mind. It sounded like a whisper but he can’t make out any words, at least, not ones he recognizes.

It comes and goes, flowing like it’s being carried by an invisible breeze and before him, the dove seems to glow even brighter. It compels him to close his eyes and past a dry throat, he takes in a breath and from his lips, the first lines spills forth.

“Deus meus

ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum…”

The words burn like a hot poker being pricked along his skin, a poison pouring from his own mouth as every line was another stabbing pain. Jimin speaks until his knuckles turn white from gripping the bench so tightly, nails digging into the wood and causing small cracks to form in the grain but still through gritted teeth, he continues the prayer faithfully.

“…. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua,

de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum.”

As he reaches the final verse, his once porcelain face is drained of any colour, marred by fissures and cracks, the flesh burnt at the edges like paper caught on fire with spidery veins snaking along the surface, revealing him for what he truly is underneath. His body shakes uncontrollably and with one last sharp inhale, he utters.

“Amen.”

-

“So I say the ‘prayer,’” Jimin reaffirms, resisting the urge to use air quotations. “And then that’s it? Done?”

Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, his bunny teeth flashing as he tries to reel himself back in. He shakes his head, almost out of pity. Jimin doesn’t miss that, nor does he like it and his narrowing eyes prompts the younger demon to elaborate.

“You can very well be ‘done’ right on the spot, granted if you even make it that far — I’d honestly be very impressed if you do.”  Jungkook pauses to take a sip of his drink, smacking his lips a little when he swallows the dark liquid. “What’s more important is what comes after you say the prayer; if your will has yet to be broken, it will appear.”

“What will?”

“The Chalice.”

-

Jimin’s eyes, which had been shut tightly, snaps open with trepidation as they wildly scan before him. He tries to collect himself but only just as a gold shape catches his eyes. A hoarse chuckle escapes him unintentionally, the sound a mixture between disbelief and immense relief.

The chalice sits unassumingly on the ornate communion table a few steps in front of him, as if it had been there the entire time. It doesn’t shine with lustre nor is it bejewelled with any precious gems, Jimin was surprised that he had noticed it at all. But nevertheless, he’s relieved to see it there; the fruit of his labour thus far. He takes a moment to just breathe, inhaling and exhaling deeply, damp forehead pressing into the wooden prayer bench. His legs feel like stone, as if anchored down on the spot but he knows he has to eventually get up.

He’s so close.

Jimin grunts, hauling himself up on shaky arms by using the bench as leverage. He leans back heavily on it, limbs protesting as his eyes lock on the gold cup that was still there, beckoning him. He takes another minute to steady himself, running his tongue over his dry, cracked lips and once he’s sure he’s stable enough, he begins to make his way. He nearly falls over from that one step alone, arms flying back to catch himself on the prayer bench just in time. Shutting his eyes, it takes everything in him not to curse aloud, given where he is right now so Jimin settles in letting out a frustrated growl instead. Once the feeling passes, he clenches his teeth and tries again.

This time, Jimin manages, keeping his steps to a minimal with one arm clutching around his midsection as if to hold himself upright. It’s a slow process, feeling like he’s travelling at a snail’s pace but eventually, he limps his way there. When the table is within reach, his hands slams down onto the surface to brace himself, a loud bang reverberating throughout the basilica. The force of it disturbs the chalice slightly, causing it to slosh the liquid inside and spill over on the white tablecloth. Jimin recoils on instinct at the sight.

Up close, he can see the finer details of the cup; how dull and worn it actually looks as if it had been used for over centuries but despite the scratches and scuffs, it had withstood time.

But that’s not where the focus of his attention is.

-

Jungkook’s taken on a more morose demeanour, now only fiddling his half empty glass lost in his own thoughts —  or perhaps reminiscing, Jimin’s not sure. Suddenly, he breaks out into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as his gaze flits to meet Jimin’s.

“The Chalice will appear to only those who are deemed worthy. It is the final act you must do in order to prove your faith and commitment, to cleanse your soul and begin anew.”

A beat passes, wherein Jimin sits in turmoil with his own emotions. This entire ordeal was a lot to take in, the things Jungkook had told him sounding crazier than the last. Everything could go wrong so easily and so quickly that at some point, he questioned the validity of Jungkook’s method but shoot those doubts down when he reminds himself that not just anyone would know the particulars of this in such great detail.

“So do I baptize myself in the holy water? Get a new name and everything?” Jimin asks jokingly in an attempt to break the tension but even he hears the uncertainty straining his voice.

“You’re not going to anoint yourself with it.” Jungkook sighs, taking his glass in his hand if only to scrutinize it against the light. Then, he gestures it towards Jimin.


“You’re going to drink it.”

-

He stares unblinkingly into the pool of water inside the chalice, watching it as if at any second, he’ll see a vision within its depths. But all he sees is the faint glow of his irises reflected back at him —  two crimson drops that threaten to transform the pure water into blood.

Jungkook’s words continue to echo around in Jimin’s head, the audacity of it all never leaving.

Drink it, he says.

Of all the crazy things Jungkook had told him that night, that one takes the cake. It’s no myth that holy water to a demon is like arsenic to a human; a drop of it would greatly weaken even the strongest of demons, burning skin and bone like acid, anything more and you’ll be nothing but ashes.

So to go as far as to consume it.

A bead of sweat rolls down Jimin’s clenched jaw, a million thoughts running through his mind. A part of him admits he’s terrified of what will become of him should he choose to drink the holy water, this being the closest he’s ever been to staring death in the face. He’s lived without fear of anything for so long because he was the to be feared and even death didn’t scare him because he had nothing to lose.

Now, that’s all changed. Now, he has everything to lose.

The memories, the sounds, the scent, the warmth….

He doesn’t want to lose you.

Jimin draws in a shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut if only to escape to those feelings for a moment of reprieve. It brings a strange sense of comfort to him, a balm to his aching muscles and a moment of clarity to his hazy mind. He longs to go back to your little home, to catch just even a glimpse of your face but he’s here, a million miles away, battered, vulnerable and probably looking like every bit of vermin angels think demons are.

Yet by some miracle, he’s alive.

He’s alive when he should’ve been dead from the moment he walked through those doors.

Which means he has a chance.

Slowly, Jimin opens his eyes again, takes in his final moments and tentatively, he reaches for the cup.

-

“It’s supposed to be a painless process, which is why it’s foolproof — angels being ‘ethical’ and all that. But you’re a demon so if you die, you can’t blame me.” Jungkook disclaims, shooting back his drink and immediately begins to fill it up again. The younger had long opted to just have the bottle beside him rather than needing to wave the bartender down to ask for a refill every time. Jimin doesn’t complain as he too needed to refill constantly; he’s lost track of how many glasses he’s downed in order to swallow this hard pill the younger demon had just given him. They’re about halfway done with their second one.

“But now that you know, do you still want to go through with it?”

Jungkook’s pinned him with a hard stare, more serious than Jimin’s ever seen him but it’s with very good reasons.

He’d basically been told he has a fifty-fifty chance of killing himself in the process on three different occasions, willingly.

A humourless laugh passes through his full lips, wondering briefly if he should’ve taken his chances on the fellow he cancelled on. Then again, Jungkook’s someone he knows and trusts, so he thinks the odds are better, if only slightly. Jimin leans over and takes the bottle, pouring more liquor into his glass until it was about half full before placing it down on the bar counter.

Lifting his glass, he swirls it once and then holds it out towards Jungkook to toast.

“Then can I get an ‘amen’?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, mouth dropping a little, completely appalled and Jimin is prepared to catch the other’s glass should it slip from his loosen grip. Thankfully, the younger demon snaps out of his shock before that happens, resting the crystal glass on the tops of his muscular thigh. Then, as Jimin’s words finally sink into him, Jungkook cocks his head, looks him dead in the eyes and says.

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch.”

Jimin can only laugh in response because he can’t disagree there before he brings the glass to his lips.

-

There’s a strong metallic taste that reaches his tongue first, one he can probably attribute to the old cup, but then comes the first sip.

The effect is immediate.

Jimin begins to choke violently, gasping and retching so hard that he doesn’t realize he’s dropped the chalice until he hears a resounding clang of metal hitting marble. The rest of its contents spews out, soaking the floor and table but he doesn’t have the mind to think if he was meant to drink everything because all he feels is the burning.

A white hot pain racks through every nerve in his body as if he’s being incinerated from the inside out. It makes him keel over, clawing at his throat until they leave deep red marks in their wake and a guttural, agonizing scream finally tears past his clenched teeth. Jimin writhes and convulses, eyes screwing shut and trying desperately to drown out this torture but his limbs feel like they’re being torn apart and his head is about to split open. He’s so out of his mind that above his own sounds of torment, the ringing in his ears begin to sound more like the notes of an organ being played.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, slowly suffocating to death but he can’t stand this any longer. With wild abandon, Jimin’s eyes shoot open, searching for something, anything, anyone, only to meet the serene gazes of the numerous saints and heavenly hosts painted into the stucco ceiling.

Please. He cries, pleads, begs.

Make it stop.

He feels his body seize before all strength leaves him, his hands falling limp to his side and his vision blurs until they can no longer see past the inky black tears that begin to stream from his eyes.

Everything falls silent.

And then he feels nothing.

[sweetsmellosuccess]

TIFF 2020: Days 1 & 2

Films: 5 Best Film of the Day(s): One Night in Miami

One Night in Miami…: I guess you could form an argument that basing a film on a pre-existing play would make the feature easier to put together, but that wouldn’t be taking into account the tremendous differences between the mediums, their relative strengths and weaknesses. For her feature debut, the Oscar-winning actress Regina King has cinematically adapted the stage play  by Kemp Powers about a fictionalized fateful night amongst four famous Black men in 1964. Those men, Malcolm X (Kingsley Ben-Adir), Jim Brown (Aldis Hodge), Sam Cooke (Leslie Odom Jr.), and Cassius Clay (Eli Goree), are all in town ostensibly to celebrate Clay’s beatdown of Sonny Liston to first become the heavyweight champion of the world at the tender age of 22. But the film puts them all together in Malcolm X’s modest hotel room, watched over by Nation of Islam security men, to spend a night, essentially, debating the merits of what they bring to the struggle for Black equality and economic emancipation, and arguing back and forth about their distinct positions. Here is precisely where many play adaptations falter, without the dramatic friction of a live performance to power the emotional core, such conventions generally fall flat on the screen, but King’s virtuoso acting instincts serve her able cast well, and her work with DP Tami Reiker allows the film to flow, seemingly organically between its few location movements. Working from a skilled script by Powers, the celebrated figures feel three dimensional, which gives even their more didactic diatribes (Malcolm), and pithy rebuttals (Cooke) enough weight to avoid sounding contrived. The cast work wonders on the material, granting a needed organic vibe to their nonfiction characters, echoing the essences without tipping into caricature. It’s a strong debut for King, and the film’s complex ruminations on the responsibility of successful Black people towards their community as a means of bringing attention to the country’s oppression couldn’t be more on point. At one point Clay tells Cooke the four of them will always remain friends, because they are among the few who can possibly understand what it’s like to be “young, Black, famous, righteous, and unapologetic.”

Shiva Baby: Danielle (Rachel Sennott) is in the midst of having a day. Turns out Max (Danny Deferrari), the sugar daddy with whom she has frequently been visiting as part of her regular prostitution gig, is somehow a friend or cousin of the deceased at the same Shiva she has come to attend with her well-meaning, but completely overwhelming parents (Polly Draper and Fred Melamed). If that weren’t enough in Emma Seligman’s spry comedy, Danielle is also horrified to find Maya (Molly Gordon), a successful young woman she’s known for years, and a recent ex, also there. Crammed into the Shiva house, full of cousins and aunts and uncles all kvetching about everyone else, and being physically grabbed and moved about by her mother, Danielle faces this house of horrors, with everyone commenting concernedly on her weight-loss (“You look like Gwyneth Paltrow  —  on food stamps!” her mother hisses at her), and her lack of job prospects when she graduates, and her parents telling scathingly embarrassing stories about her in front of Max and his shiksa wife (Dianna Argon), whose 18-month-old baby, her mom says is “freakishly pale  —  and no nose,” with no respite in sight. As a result of this sort of hyper-scrutiny, Danielle goes the only route that makes any sense: Lying to everybody about nearly everything, from her current major (“gender business”), to the many job interviews she has supposedly lined up. She’s just trying to get through the ordeal, one that Seligman, along with a continually spiraling score from Ariel Marx, ratchets up, until, near the end, poor Danielle is in a near fugue state, sweat glistening on her face, and the attendees, shot in unflattering slo-mo, and distorted lenses, take on the sheen of a waking nightmare. At a brisk 77 minutes, the film still doesn’t have quite enough to sustain its running time  —  at a certain point it begins doubling back on itself  —  but it’s still a lot of horrific fun, as Seligman expertly captures the absolute loss of agency one can feel, swallowed up in a claustrophobic family gathering, where escape feels futile.

Limbo: If Scotland has a cinematic identity, as such, it seems like the kind of place, desolate and unforgiving, where individuals come to exit regular society and come to a land filled with eccentric loners (stoic and unique in their oddities), in order to get better in touch with their souls. Ben Sharrock’s serio-comedy captures both the pitiless beauty of the land, and the lonely plight of a Syrian immigrant, Omar (Amir El-Masry), waiting with a group of other men from across the Middle East and Africa, on an island off the mainland, for word from the Immigration Office that his bid for political asylum has been accepted. Omar, sweet-faced and approachable, was a musician by trade in his native Syria, and walks around everywhere carrying his precious oud, bequeathed to him by his grandfather, also a musician, even though his right hand is locked in a cast from an unspecified injury. Even without the cast, however, you get the sense that his heart really isn’t into playing, despite the entreaties from Farhad (Vikash Bhai), his Afghani roomie and self-appointed “agent and manager,” who wants him to enter a local music contest. Omar is carrying a significant amount of weight beyond missing his mother’s fragrant home-cooking. Talking to her on the lone payphone on the island, where other immigrants-in-waiting stand in line for a chance to hear from home, she implores him to speak to his older brother, who chose to stay behind in Syria and fight in the Civil War that has plagued the region for years. Omar feels guilty for having left, and suffers from having disappointed his father in the process. It doesn’t help him that the culture he finds himself in seems so foreign to him, despite his speaking flawless English. Sharrock’s brand of deadpan perfectly suits the setting, but as funny as the film can be (when asked in a culture/language class to create a sentence using the “I used to” construction, one immigrant offers “I used to be happy before I came here”), it doesn’t paint a rosy affirmation for Omar and his ilk, stuck as they are, as the title suggests, between countries and lives. Omar’s pain is real, and for every positive step forward he takes, it’s one further away from his family and his beloved home country.

Enemies of the State: Sonia Kennebeck’s challenging and curious documentary seems at first to present a case for its protagonist, Matt DeHart, a young teen hacker interested in social justice, who through his work with Wikileaks runs afoul of the U.S. government, and his beleaguered parents, Paul and Leann, who vigorously defend their only child against the evil forces conspiring against him. Through a series of personal interviews with Paul and Leann, both retired Air Force intelligence officers, who believe their country has turned against them for what Matt had downloaded from his computer into secret thumbdrives shortly before the FBI arrived at their door and confiscated all his equipment, and various lawyers they employed, first to protect Matt from what they claim as utterly bogus child-porn charges, then, after they slip away to Canada in the middle of the night, the lawyers trying to earn them asylum. While in Canada, under close supervision and confined to his parents’ apartment, Matt uses his charms, his hackavist bonafides, and his skill at PR, to generate enough interest in his case to become a digital cause celebe, along the lines of Edward Snowden and Chelsea Manning. Protests are fronted, defense funds gathered, and pressure put on the government to come clean about why they seem so hard-driving against the young man. During a peculiar reenactment set in a Canadian immigration hearing  —  Kennebeck employs actors who apparently lip sync their lines in perfect time with the actual recorded audio  —  DeHart describes a harrowing ordeal earlier in the affair, after having moved to Canada to attend college, being abducted by the FBI shortly after crossing the border to renew his Visa, and tortured for days for information related to the material on the thumb-drives. Some documentation seems to corroborate his claims (even Paul and Leann, as fierce supporters as can be, were shocked to see just how ready the FBI were to snatch him), but as the film continues, and we hear more and more from the investigators and prosecuting attorneys about the original child-pornography crimes, it becomes clear that our sympathies are being played with by Kennebeck. By the end, the film itself becomes an indictment of our rapid-assumption culture, in which decisions of guilt and innocence are determined in seconds online and forever after based on the presentation of information before us.

The Way I See It: For non Trumpites, the switchover from eight years of the dignified, intelligent, and measured leadership of Barack Obama, to the perma-tanned tackiness of power-mad, narcissistic bloviating of Donald Trump, was like a double-feature that went from Citizen Kane to Kevin James’ Loudest Farts. One man better than most to measure Obama’s time in office against the subsequent regime is photojournalist Pete Souza, who served as the official White House photographer for both of Obama’s terms, and has gone on to become an outspoken critic of Trump by way of his devastating IG account, in which he juxtaposes stately Obama photos with Trumps scandal-du-jour. Lest you think he’s just another divisively partisan liberal, you have to take into account his previous turn in the White House, as one of the official photographers for Ronald Reagan’s presidency. In fact, Souza’s fly-on-the-wall quality was considered one of his strengths in the oval office. Documentarian Dawn Porter travels with Souza as he makes the media rounds promoting his newest book, Shade, a collection of those IG photos that have earned him millions of social media followers (a sort of companion piece to his previous book Obama: An Intimate Portrait). Hauling from far-off India (where he gets a standing ovation before he even takes the stage), to domestic conferences and speaking engagements, Souza emerges as a man becoming more used to being out from behind his ever-present Canon lens. Through that lens, as he displays to his rapturous audiences, he has taken many hundreds of indelible photos, showing Obama’s various interactions with foreign dignitaries, his council of cabinet members, and his more raucous time with his two daughters (one shot of Obama with his girls making snow angels on the rear lawn during a heavy snow storm remains his computer screensaver, Souza says with pride). As Porter moves from talking heads to public oratories, Souza’s remarkable photos  —  brilliantly composed, and inspiringly intimate, having been given nearly unlimited access to the president  —  play throughout, showing us a collection of images that capture the inspiring hope the president inspired and the agonizing rigors of the job he was elected to perform. The film spends little time on his Reagan years, except to note how media and image-savvy the former Hollywood actor and his wife were (Souza professes no political ill-will towards the Reagans, other than noting that while he didn’t always agree with him, he was a genuinely caring man, who at least understood the parameters of leadership). At first, the film trolls Trump by a sort of subtweet level of backhandedness: Without directly naming names, Souza makes it entirely clear who he finds failing in comparison to Obama’s empathetic, engaging deportment, but by the time the film comes around to his notorious IG account, there can be no doubt the subject of his ire. Souza maintains it has less to do with his partisan feelings (his political affiliation is never revealed), and more the way he finds the current president’s undignified manner and total disrespect for the office and the leadership it demands unacceptable. Trumpers will of course take great exception to the portrait the film portrays of the sitting president, but even the most hardcore GOP folks won’t be able to help noting the blatant differences between the loving, genuinely close Obamas; and the preening, viciously competitive Trumps, each trying to outdo the others in acting as their father’s primary sycophant.

In a year of bizarre happenings, and altered realities, TIFF has shifted its gears to a significantly paired down virtual festival. Thus, U.S. film critics are regulated to watching the international offerings from our own living room couches.

[isuzukuretsuki]

me before playing blue lions: haha I’m not like ~other girls~ I don’t like Dimitri and I think he’s boring and basic.

me after playing blue lions: I will die for Dimitri.

I finally finished Azure Moon!! Can’t believe it took me 4 damn months to finish this route. Just like with Crimson Flower, I decided to do a very long write up of my thoughts of this route after letting my thoughts marinate for a bit. There will be spoilers for both Azure Moon and Crimson Flower. Also disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions.

Tldr: this route was so fucking good!!!! I jumped ship from being team Edie/BE to team Dimitri/BL faster than Sylvain jumps girlfriends because I enjoyed this route more than Crimson Flower in almost every way possible. The Blue Lions are my KIDS and I will die for each and every one of them. Blue Lions may not be my first route/house, but this is where my heart rightfully lies. 

I guess the first thing I should get out of the way are the negatives. While this isn’t really a complaint about AM specifically and more so the narrative over the entire game... the conflict between Edelgard and Dimitri seems really stupid and contrived. In other games, war happens because the villain is evil. In this game, war happens because the villain is fucking stupid. Basically, I still ain’t convinced that Edelgard’s war was ever necessary LMAO. She straight up nuked the church’s authority and relevancy out of orbit the chapter before the time skip, so she technically already accomplished her goal; why she still feels the need to go on a savage conquest alludes me. 

Speaking of nuking the church’s relevancy out of orbit, that’s exactly what happened to Rhea LOL. Despite all the church goons clamoring every .5 seconds about how they gotta save Rhea, we literally never see her again at all after the time skip, even at the end of the game. It makes no sense why Edelgard would keep Rhea imprisoned and not kill her, especially when Rhea seemingly served no greater purpose to Edelgard and became completely irrelevant in the war phase.

Edie says some mumbo jumbo of “I weighed the victims of this war against the victims of the world and I deem that there will be less victims of war” like bitch, how??? How do you tangibly quantify “victims of this world”. If she means “people who had a shitty life because of shitty society”, then those people are always going to exist because every society has its flaws. Even if you change society, you aren’t decreasing that number because you’re only solving problems by creating new ones (Edelgard’s specialty). Also the mental gymnastics you have to do to be tortured by an evil organization only to team up with said evil organization to take down another organization that, unless I missed something, isn’t even directly responsible for the death of all your siblings??? In both CF and AM, Edelgard comes off as incredibly thoughtless and illogical in her actions and I can’t help but feel that if she had been just a little bit more diplomatic, then maybe, just maybe, she could have found a better solution without starting a bloody war.

This brings me to the god forsaken chat between Edelgard and Dimitri. Dimitri demanding to know why Edelgard started the war only for her to go “it was the only way” has about the same narrative weight as “Riku why did you become one with the darkness?!” “Because I’m the worst”. Instead of bitching about whose ~ideals~ are better, how about y’all sit down and actually discuss what each person wants to accomplish and maybe figure out a way to accomplish these goals without murdering each other over it? Not that I think Edelgard would accept anything BUT murder, but jesus, this is why you don’t leave diplomatic matters to actual children.

Speaking of why you don’t leave diplomatic matters to children, god that Gronder battle. I get that it’s supposed to be an epic showdown between the three houses that mirrored the mock battle pre time skip but... the Kingdom had literally NO reason to fight the Alliance!!! The reasons they provided to justify why the Kingdom and Alliance couldn’t team up at Gronder was so fucking dumb, especially when two chapters down the line, Claude is knocking at our door begging for help. I will say tho, I never knew how much I appreciated himbo in distress Claude until now lmao.

Rodrigue's death was also really poorly done imo. As much as I liked having Dimitri’s father figure be the one to snap him out of his insanity, (I love found father/son relationships...) how on earth are you guys so fucking incompetent that you let this tiny little girl kill Rodrigue??? It doesn’t help that the exact same thing happened with Jeralt and Monica. This... just ain’t it, chief. 

I think the biggest bone I have to pick at AM specifically is... so what the fuck is the truth behind the Tragedy of Duscur LMAO??? They literally blue balled me by dropping the bomb of “Dimitri’s step mom may have conspired in it” ONLY TO NOT DO ANYTHING WITH IT. I assume that the full truth behind the Duscur tragedy will probably be revealed in VW (I hope) because it involves the slithers but it’s highkey ridiculous that the BL goons... never actually find out what really happened, and why. And I get that the story is about them moving on from their trauma and the past, but they should have at least figured out the actual truth behind it so they can get the closure they deserve???

Despite the gripes I have with some of the writing, unless VW or SS is mind blowingly amazing, this route will easily stand as the best route for me, because.... it is kind of is mind blowingly amazing. I wholeheartedly love character driven stories, and this route absolutely delivers in that respect-- the character writing is amazing and is essentially the heart of this story. To think Dimitri and the Blue Lions were the lord/house I was least interested in at first. Even after hearing people talk about what the BL goons and Dimitri’s character arc was roughly about, I was still blown away by just how damn fucking good it was, and this route exceeded my expectations in every way possible. 

When playing CF, I struggled to connect with a lot of the beagles; I didn’t have that problem at all with the BL goons and the route does a phenomenal job at making me actually give a shit about these characters and their problems. Childhood friend squad (+Marianne and Ashe) are easily my favourite characters in this game by a landslide, and the dynamic between not only the childhood friend squad, but all the BL goons, was just so, so amazing. Watching these characters that are seemingly joined by a single tragedy, rise above all their suffering as they grow, heal, and overcome hardship together is just so... MY KIDS... MY HEART..... I really got the sense of not only their shared pain, but also shared intimacy, care, and friendship. Their support conversations with each other had everything; from goofy and fun, to soothing and nurturing, to painful and harrowing. 

The connections that the BL goons have to the pre time skip missions gave part 1 story so much more meaning, and it only gets better after the time skip. I really appreciate that the BL bean boys actually feel relevant to the main story, and that their input and opinions actually mattered. The cast’s struggle to come to a consensus on the best course of action during the war phase made them feel like actual people with opinions, unlike in CF, where everyone was just a mindless passenger to Edie’s not so merry joyride. This also made Dimitri’s arc way more impactful because the narrative actually holds him accountable for the consequences that his behavior/poor decisions had on others. What I also really liked about the war phase is that you could just feel how war torn the kingdom was and how much everything went to shit after the time skip. I felt really strongly to the characters’ sense of hopelessness at fighting a losing battle as they struggled to keep their home land in tact while everything just kept spiraling out of control and deteriorating further. 

So to see the BL goon beans slowly, one battle at a time, turn the tide of the war and push back against the corner they were backed in, was SO fulfilling and rewarding. The battle of Fhirdiad is probably my favourite battle in the entire game because it felt like all the suffering and toiling that the BL goons went through was finally worth it, and just watching the kingdom slowly heal after being liberated was just such a good feeling. This kind of payoff is something I think CF sorely lacked, since tbh, I struggled to celebrate Edie’s victories with her. Though I do appreciate how Edie’s a much more threatening antagonistic force than either Dimitri or Rhea were in CF too bad Edelgard’s boss battle was pathetically easy and Dimitri shredded through her armor like swiss cheese... at least Rhea put up a slightly challenging fight.

I could gush about the characters all day, but Dimitri? He makes this game, 100%. This truly felt like his story and he was the star of this route. On a superficial level, I’m a basic bitch as well as a slut for angsty boys who have trouble talking about their trauma because I want them to rail me. I fucking loved his feral personality it was just so fun to watch and interact with LMAO 10/10 would let him use me until the flesh falls from my bones. His dialogue in this state is just so demeaning, belittling and raw that it somehow comes a full circle and becomes charming I promise I’m not a sick masochist.

I’m also a degenerate and dimileth is my otp. The way the relationship between Dimitri and Byleth develops over the game truly felt like a bond forged over time. The way Dimitri admits that he couldn’t trust Byleth at first because he was put off by the way they could “kill without batting an eye”, to being so elated when he sees them smile for the first time that he’s completely mesmerized when they starts expressing emotion... oof, talk about otp material. I think what really sold me is the way he’s their anchor after Jeralt’s death; their emotional support both in a traditional sense, but also in a darker sense when he declares he will kill anyone so they desire it because their enemies are his enemies. Character A declaring they’d die for character B? Soft shit. Character A declaring they’d kill for character B? A+ romance right there, boys. 

On a non superficial level, Dimitri’s character arc of his fall from grace and subsequent redemption was absolutely phenomenal. Just seeing how far he sinks, how far he goes, only to see how far he climbs his way back up after hitting rock bottom, was such a roller coaster and I loved every minute of it. I also probably like revenge stories more than I care to admit. Dimitri has everything; blood lust, cruelty, obsession, but also empathy and compassion so extreme that it’s his very own innate kindness that drives him into insanity, which is what makes him such a compelling character in my eyes. The extremity of his psychosis was absolutely heart breaking, but despite everything, him making the conscious decision to change for the better and rise up to fulfill his role as king was just astounding to watch. 

I will say though... maybe I have a screwed up moral compass but tbh Dimitri brutally killing imperial soldires didn’t really upset me because... this is war??? That he didn’t even start?? Everyone is killing everyone??? Even if he never went feral, he’d still be killing because his bloody kingdom is being invaded?????? But I digress.

While I think just how damn avoidable everything was kind of detracts from the tragedy of his relationship with Edelgard, I still really loved how steadfast and unconditional his love for her was (after he stops going feral), and you can tell just how much she meant to him every time he spoke of her. I also love how the dagger kind of becomes a symbolic motif throughout the story, and Edie throwing the dagger at him in the final cutscene as a sign of her wholehearted rejection of him was just fucking depressing, but also very fitting of her character. 

I adore the whole overarching narrative and themes surrounding grief and death, befitting of a war game. How, as tempting as it is to constantly keep the memory of the dead alive, there comes a point where you have to move on and not let your life be ruled by those no longer around. The way that the characters react to the death of loved ones and grieve so differently was a huge highlight of the BL squad’s characterizations, which just makes them feel more alive and human. Honestly, no words can really describe just how incredible of an experience Azure Moon was.

Anyway my order from favourite to least favourite BL goon bean boys are: Dimitri > Ashe >/= Sylvain >/= Felix > Ingrid > Mercedes > Annette > Dedue. (I love Ashe/Sylvain/Felix almost equally LOL)

tldr my experience with Azure Moon:

tfw my second best girl is childhood friends with all the best boys in the entIRE GAME and she settles for a guy with a dead wife, daughter, and most likely triple her age :|.

I’ll be finally playing Golden Deer next, which I’m gonna do on NG+ Maddening so.... hope that goes well!!

[mollymauk-teafleak]

I will love you if I never see you again (chapter four)

A huge, endless thank you to my beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who are amazing as always

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 to let me know what you thought! It takes two seconds, is completely free and makes me smile so much!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

-----

Nureyev had always loved the stars. They’d been an escape to a small, scared boy with no home, no safety, no guaranteed next meal, nothing but a name. No matter where he had wound up sleeping, however empty his stomach was, how close the last laser shot had sounded, as long as he could see the stars he could imagine something better. A thousand other plants, most of which had never had a single human step on their surface, so far away he could blot them out with a thumb. Surely with all of those chances, all of that possibility, there just had to be something better than this. And as long as Peter knew that, he could keep going.

He’d always loved the stars, he’d needed them as much as he needed food and oxygen, he’d needed the escape and possibility. But he’d never thought they were beautiful until he saw them through his daughter’s eyes.

Nureyev tried to give Bianca routine where he could. So much of their life was completely uncertain, though not in the same way it had been when he was a child. Nureyev was endlessly grateful for that and there was no amount he wasn’t willing to part with to keep it that way. Their uncertainty was more about what planet they would end up on, what hotel they would stay in, what names he would give for them at the front desk. It was about the endlessly rotating faces around them, people slipping into roles rather than actual personalities, everything always shifting and changing. It would be so easy to lose yourself in all of that, feeling like you were becoming as ephemeral and insubstantial as everything else. Nureyev knew that well.

So he tried to anchor them whenever he could. And this was one of the ways he did that, one of Bianca’s favourite things.

The shuttles that ferried people around the solar system were microcosms of the planets they served. One floor of almost sickening luxury built to hold the scant few people who could afford it and the rest of the pot bellied space vessels given over to much grimmer quarters for everyone else. Nureyev had treated himself to a seat on the upper floor a few times, always after he was feeling smug about a particularly high profile job. But, in truth, he preferred sitting in the lower decks. The view was better there. No over attentive staff, no distracting screens on every surface vying for your attention, no live entertainment on the longer flights. No assuming that the majesty of space itself, the stars winking in the darkness, the faraway galaxies smudged against the sky, wouldn’t be enough to hold your attention. You could sit down there, feel like no one and stare out at space that held it all together.

Nureyev always got a window seat and sat his daughter on his knee, ignoring the adjoining seat he had to purchase for her. Bianca would usually sleep through the noisy takeoff, making her daddy marvel at her ability to snore through the racket of interstellar engines blasting burning fuel just a few meters away but wake up immediately in a soft, comfortable bed if he so much as shifted while holding her.

But as soon as they were surrounded by space and that eerie silence descended, Nureyev would gently nudge her awake, knowing she wouldn’t want to miss a second of it. No matter how many times she’d seen it before, whether it was their tenth or fiftieth or thousandth journey, it never seemed to dim the awe and delight on Bianca’s little face as she would stand, wobbly and uncertain on her little legs, in her daddy’s lap and press her face to the reinforced glass, making her indistinct babyish noises of excitement. As she got older, they began to coalesce into words, mostly just repeating ‘stars’ and ‘bootiful’ to herself in a whisper, clutching Nureyev’s sleeve tightly like she was worried he couldn’t see them and needed to be shown.

And then she would grasp at them, her fingers brushing against the window, like she was trying to pluck them from the vast expanse that couldn’t really be called a sky if you had no ground to stand on. Like she could open her adorably chubby little hand and see one twinkling there, as small as it appeared from their vantage point, and hold it out to her daddy, a gift of one of the shiny things she knew he liked so much.

Her little face would crinkle in disappointment after a few failed attempts, though it wouldn’t stop her trying again next time. Nureyev would smile and touch her cheek lightly and remind her that he didn’t need stars. He had his most precious treasure, better than anything else the universe could produce.

It didn’t matter how many times he had to remind her. He would mean it wholeheartedly, every single time.

Then he would help her find a more comfortable position and tell her the stories, ancient and crumbling thousands of years before now but still living on. He would tell her about Andromeda and Cassiopeia, Delphinus and Orpheus’ lyre and the mistakes of Orion. Too young to understand nine words in ten, she would still listen attentively and fix her eyes on the stars, in love with the worlds her daddy painted with them. Whether the journey was an hour or ten or a day, Bianca would listen and sleep and listen again, almost eerily quiet and well behaved. A child who had learned very early on that when her daddy asked her to be still, she had better listen or alarms might start going off.

Nureyev would always have a destination in mind for them, it would never do to step off a shuttle and not immediately know your next move. If he’d thought himself careful before he had Bianca, then afterwards he was nothing short of fanatically meticulous. Maps of whatever city they arrived in, shortest routes in and out of major buildings, dedicated assessments of how lax the police force were in certain districts, he kept all of it behind his eyes as he’d walk through the streets with his head held high and Bianca in her sling, sleeping or peering out silently but curiously against his chest.

Never the same hotel twice, even if it was a planet he’d been on before, there was no sense in taking silly risks. There never had been but there was even less now. Fake creds, fake names, fake ID, basic stuff he’d learned so long ago and had hammered into him so many times that it was part of his DNA, like the instincts that told him to pull in air and to walk upright.

Bianca would always seem hesitant at first, though she’d never cry. The unfamiliar smells and too bright, too packaged newness of their suite would bring out nothing more than hunched shoulders and maybe a soft whimper, if it was especially late or their last escape had been particularly harrowing, though those were becoming very few and far between to Nureyev’s relief. Still, it would make his chest ache.

Fortunately they had another little ritual. Nureyev would sweep the blankets and pillows off of the bed, merrily ruining their crisp whiteness and dumping them onto the floor. As it happened, the skills he so prized as a thief- clever hands, adaptability, dogged determination- were also incredibly useful when it came to constructing a blanket fort, no matter the shape of the room, the amount of materials they’d been left with or how exhausted he was.

It didn’t need to be big, just perfectly sized for him and Bianca, the top of his head usually scraping the roof of it.  No matter the colour of the light that filtered through the sheets or the noise from the city outside, no matter what dirt of what planet sat beneath them, as long as they were in their little den, curled up close like a fox and his cub in a cosy bolt hole, they felt like they were home. Bianca would open up like a flower, lying on her back and cooing happily, kicking her little legs and mauling her poor cloth cat, carefree in a way she only ever was when she was truly safe.

And she would look up at Nureyev like he hung the moon. Like he’d made the stars she loved so much.

And Nureyev would know he’d found that something better he’d dreamed of as a child.

He hadn’t thought it would still hurt so much. He’d been pretending for so long, longer even that he’d known where they were going and who they were going to collect, even longer than he’d been practising his smile in the mirror and dredging up memories he’d wanted to bury, deliberately plucking them up out of their boxes in his most vulnerable moments as training exercises.

There had been more than Nureyev had thought. His face as he’d commanded, demanded, that a towering, insane Martian anthropologist let go of Nureyev with undeniable fire in his eyes. His furrowed brow when he was just a few clicks away from solving a case, that moment of held breath before he made everything make sense. How he’d looked in the hospital with the bandage over the fresh ruin of one eye, how he’d looked so scared and so young, wracked with nightmares and clinging to Nureyev’s hand. How he’d looked in the shadowy light of his apartment, leaning in eagerly for a kiss before Nureyev had even told him to come here.

How he had looked at Nureyev’s daughter when he’d woken up and she hadn’t been there, eye wild and dangerous and full of the same fire as before, even with one where there had once been two. A face Nureyev himself had worn so many times. A father’s face.

Nureyev had let these memories loose where he’d once held them so carefully. And he’d beaten each one, forced it to be small enough to carry. He’d let them tear at him until he was a wash of internal wounds and forced them to heal. He’d said his name over and over, hearing the sound of it until it became just another word.

So why had it still hurt so much?

“Hello Juno. It’s been a while.”

It had come out as smoothly as he’d wanted it to, unconcerned and light as if the two of them had simply bumped into each other at a coffee shop with nothing in their past thornier than perhaps an awkward conversation at a birthday party. All of it perfectly orchestrated, right down to the way Nureyev perched on the Ruby 7 like a cat, to the way his lips fell open just so, making his smile a perfect mix of predatory and indifferent. I could pluck you from the sky and snap your neck in an instant, little bird, but why would I bother?

But inside it had felt like drowning.

Because he was there, he was standing right there with his ridiculous expression like he didn’t understand anything going on around him in that ratty, out of style overcoat that Nureyev wanted to burn and partly wanted to pull around him just to feel how warm it would be. Still with the eyepatch, clearly totally unconcerned with matching it to his outfit, with a tiny duffle bag over one shoulder that apparently contained all the trash from that sad little apartment he’d thought worth taking into space.

Juno Steel was standing in front of him, close enough to touch within a few strides, and Nureyev wanted to run.

But he couldn’t. He needed this job, he needed to be part of this crew. So he’d had to smile his practised smile, eye him like nothing mattered and never show that it burned like bad whiskey.

At least Nureyev had been able to make a quick exit after that, pointedly excusing himself from the hand shaking and the secretary’s loud introductions. He’d done as Captain Aurinko had asked and his own pride had demanded and he’d come off the worse. He didn’t need to do any more. And there was somewhere else he needed to be.

His bunk was as far from the others as the layout of the Carte Blanche would allow, for good reason. Bianca hadn’t taken well to settling in one place for so long, especially somewhere that creaked and groaned with decompression like some irritated beast, where there were other people she didn’t know, where things were just different. Where she could tell something was bothering her daddy that he wouldn’t share and wasn’t fixing. Neither of them had been getting much sleep lately.

Fortunately, when he pushed back the door, his daughter was still napping, curled up in their blanket, her fists pressed up against her face. Now a year and a half old, she’d become such a person. He knew that was a silly thing to think, she’d always been a person. But she’d solidified somehow in the year and change since he’d first held her and hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with her. Her arms and legs were now arms and legs rather than chubby things she could only fling about gracelessly. Her shapeless dark fluff had turned into curls that flowed and bounced. Her face still had babyish roundness but she had more expressions now, her eyes had an awareness when they weren’t closed in sleep. She had more control, more personhood than she’d seemed to before. She could wobble a few hesitant steps, she could babble the half word dada over and over and break his heart.

She was growing, more and more every day. It made Nureyev thankful for moments like this, when he could just sit by her and watch her be still, on momentary pause, like maybe he could keep her this small forever. Like she would never outgrow his arms.

Nureyev sighed and told himself he was being maudlin, leaning back against the wall. But he was finding it hard to muster up any other emotion, knowing Juno Steel had weaseled his way aboard their fresh start and was rattling around in this tin can with the rest of them.

He would have argued, offered to find any other one eyed former detective, even if he had to put out the other eye himself. He would have walked and found some other ship full of colourful misfits to take him and Bianca around the galaxy.

But his options were limited and his time was running out. And how many other thieving crews would make a man with no name and a toddler welcome? Buddy had been more understanding than Nureyev had dared hope when he’d admitted that it wouldn’t just be him joining the crew of the Carte Blanche. Maybe it was her strange ideas about them being more family than crew, perhaps she thought a baby would cement that or at least be a nice ornament to her tableau.

Nureyev didn’t care. He’d found somewhere Bianca could be safe long term, somewhere he could be sure she’d still be if he had to leave for a few hours on a job. Not painlessly, of course, but dependably. And that was the best he thought he’d get.

Juno arriving took all of that, screwed it into a ball and threw it with bad aim at a wastepaper basket. And now all the boxes Nureyev kept for things he couldn’t deal with felt about to split and even looking at his daughter, soft and sweet and sleeping, made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t stand. Looking at her, all he could see was the eyes that were a brown so much darker than his own, practically black, and the curls that didn’t come from his fine, silky hair. The darker skin and the broad nose and the scowl she could bring out sometimes that gave him a double take. All he could see were the parts he hadn’t given her, the proof that she hadn’t come from nowhere. The parts that made it complicated.

Nureyev reached over and pushed back a delicate curl of hair that had fallen over her face, leaving his fingers there a few seconds longer than was necessary. Bianca shifted gently and calmed, her face relaxing a shade more than it had been before, as if the brush of his fingertips had been enough to soothe her and chase away bad dreams.

His love for her struck him fiercely, as it always did, like low, constant embers flaring up into a roaring blaze.

Her DNA didn’t matter. It never had. Juno’s contribution had been all of a second, a throwaway moment neither of them had noticed. Her eyes, her hair, it wasn’t Juno’s. It was hers.

She didn’t need him and neither did Nureyev. They had never needed anything but each other.

Seized by some kind of mad energy, the need to do something and be good at it, Nureyev got up, using all his cat burglar instincts to not rock the bed in the slightest and wake up Bianca. Maybe he would mend the dress she tore last week or try and salvage the blanket he’d been attempting on and off to knit for her since she was born. Something that would push Juno Steel entirely from his mind.

Until he opened the door and came face to face with him.

Juno immediately looked as guilty as any criminal he’d ever caught, hand frozen halfway to knocking, jaw opening but no words coming out.

Nureyev, too caught off guard to manage his emotions, scowled, “Who told you this was my room?”

Juno’s eye darted from left to right, “Buddy? She gave us a tour…”

“Well, I don’t know why she’d think that was relevant,” he tried to keep his face impassive while internally running around frantically for something to hold on to.

“Well...her exact words were ‘if you’re wondering the sound of the baby crying is coming from, it’s Ransom’s room third from the left’...is that what you’re calling yourself? Ransom?”

Nureyev could have throttled him, “Would you like to announce that a little louder, Juno Steel?”

Immediately he flushed, biting down on his lip like that could have stopped the words from coming out, “Um...sorry, yeah...I didn’t...sorry.”

“Did you come to my door just to loudly announce my trade secrets? Or is there another reason?” Nureyev dropped his voice to the appropriate level, low and quiet so as not to reverberate down metal hallways. And not to wake sleeping children.

The detective- former detective- was truly flustered now, as Nureyev liked him. Seeing him from the top of the gangplank had been disconcerting, seeing Juno Steel back in his life. But now he was up close, stammering and blushing in his doorway, it threw Nureyev for a whole different reason. Not because it was the same Juno Steel he’d known.

Because he was so different.

He stood straighter than he had before, though not in a way someone would square up for a fight. His eye was clearer, like there weren’t so many shadows behind it. There were more lines on his face but he wasn’t settled into them as a default, they sat there rather as a map rather than a guide, not as inevitable. He looked older, which wasn’t surprising as it had been a year since they’d laid eyes on each other. But it was...different. The difference that didn’t come with time but with experience.

Juno Steel had grown, it was written all over his face. And Nureyev didn’t know what to do with that at all. The nerve of it.

“I wanted to talk to you, Nureyev,” Juno swallows, like he was mentally starting over, “Because...well, I thought it was obvious?”

“You thought incorrectly,” Nureyev said, biting the end off each word, “I see nothing we need to discuss.”

Juno looked dismayed at that, “Really? We’re just going to pretend none of it happened? Look, you’ve got every right to be upset with me…”

I don’t, Nureyev thought, chest clenching at the words. Because if you’ve changed, you’re no longer the lady who broke my heart, you’re someone new, someone who has his demons under control and there’s every chance you’ll find your way back in.

“...but I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of reflecting and...and there’s a lot of damage I’ve done that I want to start fixing. I was an asshole, Nureyev. I mean, I still kind of am but I’m trying. And...and I need to start with you. And her.”

No. Don’t you dare, Juno Steel.

Nureyev stepped forward, giving Juno barely a second to jump back out of his way. He was about to close the door, like he could close off Juno’s words as easily but that was when they both froze, instincts firing at the soft sleepy babble.

Binaca was sat up, the blanket rucked up around her waist, hands pawing at it like a content kitten. Her hair was a bird's nest, her eyes still heavy with sleep and confusion, mumbling indistinctly for her dada.

Nureyev heard a soft inhalation from Juno, eyes flickering over to see his scarred face lined with grief of all things. Grief for the countless moments in between now and then, perhaps, the ones he’d missed. That he’d turned his back on.

Bianca seemed to wake up more, her eyes widening and her little mouth opening. Her arms came up and stretched out, fingers grasping like they grasped at the stars. But not for Nureyev.

For Juno.

Nureyev shoved the sadness aside as hard as he could, not caring if it went in a box or not, just needing it out of his way, dredging up anger to replace it. He shut the door as he’d been planning, bringing it too with a dull slam.

“Listen,” he rounded on Juno, who was still standing there in some kind of shock, hurt clear on his face, “I am not interested in anything you have to say. I think two times is more than enough for someone to hurt you before you say no more. We will live on the same ship, we will work as the same crew but that is the absolute extent of my involvement with you. Is that clear?”

Juno looked ready to argue, some of the lady Nureyev had known resurfacing on his face. Good, he thought, show me this isn’t real. Show me it’s an act. Then I can go back to being angry with you and it can all make sense again. I’ll feel safe.

But then it faded and the resigned grief was back. And Nureyev felt something inside him, buried deep, crack with the knowledge he’d caused it.

“Fine,” Juno sighed heavily, “You’re not ready, I can understand that.”

“Not ready implies that this conversation will be happening in the future,” Nureyev’s voice was acidic, “Am I not being direct enough with you? I have no interest in your justifications for your behaviour. By all means, repeat them to yourself over and over as many times as you wish, however long it takes to be comfortable with your choices again. But do not bother yourself to repeat them to me, I have no need. It would imply that I care.”

Juno winced, as Nureyev had wanted him to right up until the second after he did it. He looked so wounded, like his words had punched a pinhole right through him. Nureyev refused to feel the pinch of regret at the back of his mind.

“Welcome to the Carte Blanche, Juno Steel,” he said coldly, going back into his room and slamming the door again. It wasn’t gentlemanly but there was little else to be done.

Bianca’s arms dropped sadly to her sides, eyes full of dismay. Her bottom lip began to do that wobbling dance that signified tears in the very near future.

“Darling,” Nureyev groaned, folding his arms around her, bringing her close to his chest, “Please, no. Everything’s okay…”

Bianca disagreed, mumbling unhappily against him, repeating ‘dada’ over and over like she was looking for answers. The front of his shirt began to grow damp with tears he’d caused.

Nureyev sighed shakily, trying to martial his thoughts and control his emotions, trying to feel more like himself. He buried his face in his daughter’s hair, inhaling her powdery baby scent, reminding himself that Bianca Nureyev existed and as long as that was true, he couldn’t fall apart.

After a while, he felt strong enough to sit back, like his spine and lungs would hold him up again. A moment later Bianca’s hands reached up to his face, patting his cheeks softly, cooing gently. Nureyev smiled, somehow, and kissed her searching little fingers. It was nice, he had to admit, to have someone there after he slipped away from himself.

The Carte Blanche hadn’t lifted off yet, still sitting on what passed for a dock in the Cerberus Province. But the stars were visible, unfiltered, without the fading, swimming effect of any dome and Nureyev could see them through the little circular porthole window on the far wall. As deadly as the stars were, uncovered like that, it was beautiful.

He felt the small boy that still curled up in the darker parts of his mind, one of his older boxes, stir. He felt him ache, looking at those stars with a desperate, fierce kind of hope that they held something better that could be his if he could only reach far enough. Nureyev shut him out too, after a moment. He didn’t need that any more. He would just keep moving forwards.

And he wouldn’t be alone this time.

[floosies]

bury a friend: The Story of Noctua

pairing: steve rogers x possessed!oc x mcu!au

summary: there have been sightings of a dark creature who vanishes with night and in the mornings only remains of once living people are found scattered in open fields or forests nearby.

warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of attempted suicide, violence, gore, cursing, mentions/scenes of sexual nature.

Please read with discretion. 18+ content.

A/N: This is my first attempt at something more dark. It’s been in my brain since hearing some of biilie’s works and quiet frankly I want to venture into new territory. However, I understand the severity of some topics that I will write about. If you or someone you know is in need please look at these resources.

tags: @indecisivedolly​

Part 4: The Seven Wonders (2 of 2)

She wanted to lash out, to drag him into the nearest body of water and drown him. Disrespect was something she had no experienced in so long, it made her burn brightly. Tenebrae wanted to intervene on the matter, but higher powers were unraveling truths to the old being.  There were rules that came along with the new found information, one of most importance, it could not kill the boy. There was a greater purpose for his soul. 

Dreams are often either ones forgotten by morning light or drag one’s soul through hell. This was the latter, she was witnessing a horrible moment of her childhood. Her rabbit was being killed by her cruel step father, who found the poor creature in her small room. Each time she tried to stop it, the scene would become farther from her grasp. She could hear the cries and screams of agony from her younger self. The dream shifted and distorted to a different scene, her first witnessing. The birth of a lamia, who had recently given up her virtue. An older warlock possessed by Tenebrae was the sacrifice. It was a beautiful scene, but the face of the warlock became the face of the boy who’d tried to take her virtue from her when she was a girl. He was burning in the fire pit as she and other lamia’s chanted old latin spells. They danced and laughed as he charred, a true haunting justice. 

Cold sweat covered her face as she awoke, it was still dark out. She couldn’t go back to bed however. The adrenaline from what she had to relive was terrifying her. Taking her robe, she went in search for a library or entertaining room hoping to distract herself from the resurgence of images from the harrowing dream. She was due to preform the seven wonders in a matter of hours. How could she preform if there was any sort of fear in her being, “daughter those were dreams. They cannot hurt you, unless you let them become real for a moment.” She found a room filled with spirits and fine wines from different years. Taking a red wine dated from 1893, she filled a glass to the mid part. There were comfortable seats with crushed velvet upholstery. 

Taking a shaky drink, she narrowed her eyes at the ceiling knowing it was present. “I have to present my gifts on command and you choose this time to remind me that I can make my horrors a reality? How unforgiving,” The being then took the form of an elderly man, “I apologize my daughter. I only remind you as you will need me there for certain things, or am I wrong?” Of course it was correct, to teleport through time required a certain stamina only Tenebrae possessed. “You’re right, but you don’t have to egotistical.” She laughed softly, the elderly man smiled. They were interrupted abruptly though, “this is Stark’s private bar.” It was James.

Bucky saw her sat next to some old man. The old man’s stare made him feel uneasy, “relax. It’s simply Tenebrae morphed into an elderly man for some reason.” He was still unsure of this girl demon or whatever she was. “You should go back to your room,” the elderly man sighed. “I will let you talk to this boy, I have other matters to see to. Call for me when I am need Noctua,” she nodded and it disappeared into a small gust of air. “James, I do hope I don’t frighten you.” She said almost mockingly. “Don’t ever call me that name again. Bucky will do, and i’m not scared of some little girl possessed by some demon.” She finished her wine and stood up, “little girl? I have lived life times in decades. I have seen far greater reaches of life and the afterlife. I am not possessed I was blessed with my gifts because I earned them. Tenebrae is not some demon, Tenebrae saw the creation of all you know that exists today. It even molded the ground you step on. You will respect me, or I will not hesitate to truly show you fear. Bucky.” She snarled his name, walking off to her quarters once more.

He wasn’t just angered, he felt embarrassed. Who did she think she was? She killed people for sport, she lived like a savage before they retrieved her. A little girl with an attitude and some words that rhymed, that was all she was to him. Fear her? He could destroy her if he wanted to. 

A shining sun filled the training room created for, it was quite large and empty. Steve had taken her to it, “do you think this will be good enough for you to display your powers?” She smiled, “of course it will be. Thank you,” he nodded and then those who wanted to view began entering. Tony of course had to see it, “hope I made it in time. Did we start yet?” She looked at Steve, “this is Tony Stark, he-” “I’m the billionaire who created the Avengers-” “He did not create the Avengers, he just complained his way in.” A third person said, “I’m Nick Fury, I formed this group, years ago.” She nodded, “is there anyone else who is coming today?” The men shrugged.

With that, they began. First was telekinesis which was easy to show. The video camera that was recording her suddenly was dragged to her grasp without anyone moving it. Concilium or mind control was also fairly easy, she made Steve do a fox trot with Tony. It was quite amusing. Vitalum Vitalis or the balancing scales of one life with another, was difficult to master, but she had and she proved it by bringing a dead hummingbird back to life. Divination was interesting, “in a room somewhere on the compound is Steve’s compass, in it a picture of his old love. Which room is it in?” A glance at her palm was all it took, “he usually keeps it in his office. You’ve chose to throw me off, it is in the bar room on the third floor.” Tony took his computer pad and showed the compass placed on the table of the bar room. It was impressive.

They had gone through almost all without realizing that Bucky was watching. Pyrokensis was interesting, he watched as she set half the room on fire in the shape of a swan. He listened as they reached the final wonder, “transmutation?” She nodded, “it’s teleportation really. Watch,” she suddenly disappeared. “Hi Bucky,” he screamed punching the wall behind him, but she was gone. Now she was in front of Steve laughing. Fury rolled his eyes, “okay you had your fun, but now show us the teleportation between realms, time, and alternate universes.” She became serious again.

The air grew cold for a moment, the entity was now in the room. “This is Tenebrae, it gave me the ability to travel through all those different dimensions. It must help me-” “you mean possess you?” Bucky scoffed, “yes actually. It is the only way I’ll remain conscious through the travel.” Fury nodded, “can you take someone with you?” She never had, “I- i’m not sure.” The being spoke then, “she can. My strength allows me to take many-” “just one, to assure this is true.” Reading Steve’s mind, she found him actually afraid to do it. “Stark?” He shook his head, “sorry it’s a risk I’m not willing to take. My will is still being rewritten.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “i’ll do it. To prove it’s a hoax.” A thunderous laugh echoed through the room. 

It was simple really, one artifact from the past, as well as alternate pasts/futures., and something to prove she went to a different realm. Tenebrae waited for it’s daughter to signal for it to begin the take over. She warned them first, “it isn’t pretty. You may want to look away.” Bucky thought she was lying, but then she began to contort. Her eyes were pitch black for a moment, he had never seen the human body twist and turn in such horrifying ways. He couldn’t look away, she was in mid-air, bones cracking, and eyes still filled with black. Then she wasn’t, her pupils went from gold to olive green. “Let’s go, you can all look now.” She grabbed his hand in hers, “we’ll be back!” That was the last thing she said before they traveled to a different time.

A home, a small house with vintage- these were not vintage. He looked down, the floor was checkerboard and he was wearing a suit. She had on a mini dress, this was the sixties, something felt off though. “Who’s home is this?” She didn’t answer, instead she led him to the front door where a newspaper was waiting to picked up. it read 1967 and John F. Kennedy was on his second term, civil rights movements were dying down as he’d made good work of ending the segregation era of the nation. Charles Manson had been arrested for his cult, this was the alternate future. The one where the good guys lived. Before he could get a second to enjoy it, they were gone. 

It all looked like the present except for the way some words were written. She lead him to a magazine, the date read 2058, they were two decades into the future. This future had no mention of the avengers or heroes. “What’s going on?” She looked at him, “in this universe heroes never existed. There was never a need for them. Everything was resolved without the creation or need for them. They hide their powers or are allowed to exist as is and use their powers as a way of earning wage.” Again as she said that, they were else where.

He was wearing a leather coat with fringe and denim jeans. She was dressed in a long white dress and sandals. “This is our 1970s, ya know with the super heroes and all that.” He followed her through someone’s garden, “Stephanie!” He heard her call out, and then a blonde woman appeared from the house, “little owl, you’ve come back.” The two met in a hug, “this is my friend Bucky, he’s a vet.” The blonde woman nodded leading them inside the home. They drank tea and she sang to them, her husband playing the guitar. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d disappeared for a moment. She apologized for them having to leave so soon, but thanked her friend for the kind welcome.

Their own future. He knew it was theirs because Tony was on a billboard and people recognized him. She bought coffee’s for them and kept the receipt knowing it had the date and with that they left. He couldn’t believe it was real, that he was experiencing this. The last stop was this odd planet with odd fruit, she grabbed one quickly and sent them to present.

Once in their present she dropped all the proof on the ground and ran to the back of the room. He went after her, “please stay back.” Her voice sounded pained. Soon the contortions and black pools of nothingness came back. It was leaving her, he felt awful for her pain. When it was gone, her eyes were gold again, her body fell to the floor. “Noctua!” Steve ran to her side, she looked feeble. 

Tenebrae felt awful for causing her pain. It never aimed to do so, but it was a long trip through space and time. She knew it would not be a fair toll on her body. It had to be done though, the boy was showing care for her. It’s work so far was going well. Quickly and smoothly it spoke to her, “rest my child. I must go, you will awaken in the morning.” As the medics came and took her to the hospital bay of the compound, Fury and Stark examined the artifacts.

Bucky was kept as he was the witness, Steve promised him with updates on her. The men listened as he explained everything, including the vinyl he didn’t know she stole off her friend, apparently it was a rough cut of some popular album. It was terrifying, that she could do such things. He was wrong, she was capable of more than he thought. 

[mobius-prime]

55. Sonic the Hedgehog #37

Previous / Table of Contents / Next

I like this issue a lot. Not only does it include a few new names for both writing and pencils, but both stories are pretty interesting and intense. Let's dive in!

The Day Robotropolis Fell

Writer: Angelo DeCesare Pencils: Brian Thomas Colors: Barry Grossman

Sally and Sonic have come to a Robotropolis junk heap to meet with Uncle Chuck about some important news, where he leads them into a little secret lair he's constructed in order to spy on Robotnik from within the city. I find it kind of cool that they actually recreated the setting of his hideout from SatAM, with the door being concealed by all the junk that it's constructed out of. Anyway, the important news turns out to be that a huge earthquake is hours away from striking the city, and to ensure his safety, Robotnik is planning to fly into space for a bit, with the city unguarded until his return. Of course, the Freedom Fighters can't let this grand opportunity go to waste.

That night, once Robotnik has left the surface of the planet with Snively and some swatbots in tow, leaving behind the many roboticized slaves that he just doesn't care about, Sonic, Sally, and Uncle Chuck head into the city, amidst the foreshocks beginning to rock the buildings. They manage to get into a deroboticization chamber, and - hey, wait, what? Robotnik has a deroboticization chamber? What the hell for? I pointed this out back in StH#29, but it becomes all the more relevant here. Back in that issue it was only one tiny portable deroboticizer, but this time it's an entire chamber! Again, why would Robotnik even bother constructing something that could so easily be used against him? I mean, okay, one little portable device wouldn't really be able to do much, and he could use it himself if he, I don't know, needed to interrogate someone he once roboticized. But it seems incredibly risky and stupid of him to just leave his city full of robot prisoners unattended, when there's also an entire room full of equipment that could free them all.

And, I mean, we see exactly that. Uncle Chuck sets off an alarm to lure as many roboticized prisoners to the room, and then overloads the machine, blowing it up and deroboticizing everyone who got there in time.

Sonic is surprised to find that Uncle Chuck didn't deroboticize himself, and I am too, though for a different reason - I mean, he was standing right in the middle of the explosion, how did he not get caught up in it? Well, he's determined to be a robotic spy for a little while longer anyway, so when Rotor arrives with his plane they send everyone packing. There's not enough room on the plane for everyone, so the three rescuers take turns arguing who will stay behind until Sally insists that it be both her and Sonic.

This plan goes wonderfully! Only two pages later, Sally, uh… oh boy…

Well, I can't say I didn't see it coming. Sally is squishier than everyone else. Really, her whole heroic "I'll stay behind for the safety of everyone else" thing is noble in theory, but not only can Sonic and Uncle Chuck take more of a beating than her, but she's the main tactician of the group. Everyone knows you don't just leave your best tactician behind to be squashed by a bunch of falling buildings! C'mon, guys!

Anyway, with Nicole's advice, Sonic sprints out with Sally in his arms, dodging falling debris, jumping over random pits of lava and even having a harrowing encounter with a falling tower that just so happens to have a hole running through the width of it, allowing him to jump through and avoid being crushed. How serendipitous for you, titular character of the comic! Back at Knothole, Sally is patched up, and they award medals to Uncle Chuck and Nicole, which is actually pretty sweet.

I mean, we all know Sonic's a bit of an egotist sometimes, but he really is portrayed in a softer light in the comics than in the SatAM show this incarnation was based off. I get the feeling SatAM Sonic would have just chuckled about being the fastest thing alive, shrugged everything off, and left the medal on the ground to go eat twenty chili dogs or something, but here instead we get to see him giving Nicole some recognition for her help. Given that his initial reaction to her was to throw her in the trash when she first arrived, this is a nice step forward!

Bunnie's Worst Nightmare!

Writer/Pencils: Rich Koslowski Colors: Barry Grossman

Oh, man, this story. It begins with Bunnie just being really itchy for some reason while out on a picnic with her friends, and escalates very quickly. Soon, she runs inside in a panic, and the team discovers that the roboticized parts of her body are somehow spreading, turning more and more of her into metal.

Helpfully, Robotnik contacts her to inform her of what's going on - during the roboticization process, a chip is implanted just in case of a situation exactly like Bunnie's, where the process is interrupted midway through. It forces the process to continue even while outside the machine, and worse, it's self-replicating, meaning that it's impossible to remove once it's inside the helpless victim. Ouch, man. That's actually horrific.

Obviously, Bunnie is terrified, and while the others try to convince her that they'll figure something out, she decides that she can't risk endangering her friends and sneaks out in the middle of the night, with all but certain parts of her face now robotic. She stops to sleep under a tree, suddenly exhausted, and when she wakes up to hear Sally's voice…

…turns out it was all just a dream! Now, normally the "it was all a dream" ending is a copout in writing, but not in this case. Because here, it shows some very important insight into the mind of a character who hasn't really been deeply explored as of yet. Notice how Sally asks her if she's been having nightmares "again"? Yeah. Clearly, although Bunnie acts confident and unconcerned about her cyborg nature, it actually causes her great anxiety. I mean, can you blame her? This ordinary teenager had half of her body entirely replaced against her will in a matter of minutes, by the most evil person on the planet, and has just had to kind of deal with that, mentally and physically. It's been nothing short of traumatic. She's obviously confided in Sally about her nightmares before now, but I doubt she would have told anyone else, and even Sally seems to not realize the extent of Bunnie's fears, just kind of laughing it off as Bunnie quietly worries to herself even after waking. She dreamed up the worst possible scenario, one in which she had literally no escape, and now she's just dealing with it on her own, her only solace being that the terror was just in her head… somebody give this poor girl a hug, dammit.

[eremiss]

25. Trust

*Spoilers up to unlocking the Qitana Ravel dungeon (lvl 75 MSQ?)

*Set after ‘Wilt’

*I’m currently subscribed to ‘because Duskfeather is a regular/non-magical creature he couldn’t make the trip to the First’ headcanon, as that’s how I’ve been treating him for all of ShB so far.

Thancred isn’t remotely surprised to find Gwen at the jaculu pens, watching the creatures despite the fact that they’re asleep and doing precisely nothing worth watching. Her eyes had lit up with glee --glee-- when one had soared over their heads as they entered Fanow, and anyone who’s known her for more than a day, on the Source, anyway, knows she has a fondness for the creatures.

Her lifted mood had lasted all of a minute, if that. He can’t say he’s surprised. The last few days had been naught but one harrowing twist of fate after the next, starting from the moment the Eulmorans had joined forces with the Children of the Everlasting Dark and all but declared war on the Night’s Blessed.

They’d endured and fought on, as they always did. What else could they have done?

Everything wound up alright in the end, thank the Twelve, but it had taken a hell of a toll.

And they still weren’t done. Everything before now was just assorted obstacles and hurdles on the road to their real challenge: the light warden that’s lurking somewhere in The Qitana Ravel.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, not now, he tells himself, trying not to let himself fully consider or grasp the magnitude of such a task, lest the thought drain him any further. He wouldn’t know it looking at the sky, but the hour is late. Tomorrow. Think about it tomorrow. Not now.

But tomorrow is never so far away as it sounds, always looming just over his shoulder. Unless he’s waiting for something, of course, and then tomorrow is always impossibly out of reach.

Gwen is watching the sleeping jaculu with an unmistakably wistful look, an air of longing about her akin to homesickness. If Thancred didn’t know better he would think she was considering climbing into the pen and cuddling with the jaculu in place of a certain ornery griffin. 

Duskfeather didn’t make the trip to the First, and she’s been without him for more than a moon now. She hasn’t mentioned overmuch, or drawn any attention to his absence, just as she so rarely gives voice to any of her problems, but Thancred knows her well enough, even after five years, to know that she misses Duskfeather deeply. How much she’s written about him has just been proof.

Regret worms its way into the back of his mind for the few jokes he’s made about Duskfeather’s absence and Gwen having to walk everywhere on her own two feet. She'd rolled her eyes laughed them off in the moment, but he finds himself suddenly questioning her sincerity. Perhaps such jests were in more poor taste than he’d realized. 

Gwen hasn’t noticed him, still watching the sleeping creatuers. She knows better than to act on whatever she may be thinking--or Thancred hopes she does, at least. If the jaculu are as similar to griffins in temperament as they are in appearance, they won’t take kindly to a stranger trying to cuddle them. 

Given the look on her face, she might just be willing to throw caution to the wind and try anyway.

Thancred shakes his head as he draws near, drawling, “If you want to steal one, you’re on your own.”

Gwen turns her face slightly towards him, eyes remaining on the sleeping birds. Her mouth curves in a weak smile, “I don’t look that desperate, do I?”

“You’re pining, dove.”

Her smile tilts, turning a little wry, “You wouldn’t help?” 

“I can’t say the idea of getting maimed has ever appealed to me. I much prefer my extremities the way they are: attached and undamaged.” He holds out his hands and wiggles his fingers to prove it.

Gwen lets out a small laugh and then sighs, sagging against the fence. She looks… not quite miserable, maybe, but only barely.

Duskfeather is unreachable but Thancred isn’t, and he’s far less opposed to hugs than a jacular would be. Hopefully that’s good enough. 

He leans against the gate just beside her and trails a hand across the small of her back. An offer.

Gwen smiles, mostly to herself, and shifts over to lean against him.

Rak’tika is quiet except for the bugs and the strange half-tweet, half-purring sounds of snoring jaculu, their heads are tucked under their wings to hide from the light. As the two of them stand there together Thancred becomes aware of a slight tension in the quasi-silence, the kind that suggests Gwen has something to say but hasn’t yet decided how to parse it.

He doesn’t try to rush her, despite the nagging awareness of the hour and bothersome acknowledgement that they both ought to get to sleep sooner rather than later. The last few days have been long, and tomorrow won’t be any shorter.

Thancred casts a wary glance over his shoulder, wondering if Emet-selch is going to drop in unannounced again. 

The Ascian had the decency to make himself scarce earlier, on top of actually doing something useful rather than merely plaguing them an ulcer that’s been cursed with speech, but Thancred finds little comfort in his absence. Not being able to see Emet-Selch means very little given his irritating propensity for eavesdropping and intruding whenever the mood strikes him.

A visual sweep of the area doesn’t reveal any black coats or brown-and-white hair, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Emet-selch isn’t there.

“Thancred?” Gwen asks quietly. 

Her tone immediately draws his attention. He looks back to find her picking and chipping away at her nails, and the sight draws concern to the forefront of his mind.

He settles his arm around her waist and rests his other hand over hers, putting and end to the nervous habit. “What is it?”

Her hands curl around his, loose for a moment before squeezing. “Do you,” she asks mutedly, mostly to his hands, “trust me?”

The question catches him off guard, but not so much that he doesn’t realize the speed of his reply is just as important, if not moreso, than the words he chooses. Doubt is adept at taking root in the silence that follows such heavy question. He answers at once, “Of course, Gwen. Completely.” He curls his hand as best he can around both of hers and gives a reassuring squeeze.

Gwen exhales and relaxes a little, pressing closer to him.

Glad though he is that his knee-jerk response was reassuring, he’s more concerned about where that question had come from all of a sudden. Why would she ask such a thing? His mind has already run off in a dozen different directions in search of possible explanations, and he quickly does his best to catch up with it. 

He thought his trust in her was obvious, and the implication that it isn’t weighs oddly on him.  Why...

The sense of distance between them that has been lurking at the edge of every hint of disapproval or ambivalence that has passed between them since her arrival chafes suddenly. He frowns and pushes it aside. All of that is just his old insecurity talking. They’re not so tightly knit as they were, but they’re still close.

It’s more likely she’s seeking a bit of assurance and affirmation in a moment of weakness. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A sliver of a larger thought juts out: could it be about her journal?

An uncomfortable sensation crawls across his thoughts. 

That... what does that have to do with trust?

Well, stealing someone’s dearest personal possession in order to dig through their private thoughts sounds less like the actions of a close friend and more like those of someone harboring distrust or ill will. And the same goes for taking measures to cover their tracks and avoid suspicion to ensure they aren’t discovered.

He’d stolen her journal right before she left Mord Souq, then played the fool when she returned.

It’s an odd fit, maybe, but it’s the only connection that springs to mind.

But she doesn’t know he stole it. She thought she’d lost it, and scoured the Crystarium streets looking for it the moment she returned. She doesn’t suspect he...

A jolt of cold panic shoots up his spine and his heart seizes up.

...Does she?

His heart abruptly jumps from stillness to a breakneck pace that makes his chest ache, worry coursing through him like nausea. Thancred grits his and doggedly maintains his outward composure, grateful that Gwen's preoccupied gaze is directed at the sleeping jaculu rather than at him. 

He measures his breaths, forcing them under control, and his heart rate gradually begins to fall in line.

Every time he recalls their fight, the yelling, the words they’d hurled at one another that hit too close to the truth, the way he’d lashed out and struck her desk, his heart does a sickened little flip and something inside him cracks.

He curses the way he’d lost control and the useless state he’d been left in afterwards, off balance and practically in shock at his own actions. He’d felt as though he’d been broken open somehow, and his thoughts forcibly scattered. It had nearly taken physical effort to pull himself back together again.

Thancred tells himself his addled mind is the only reason he’d been willing to act on the reckless impulse that had driven him to slip her journal into his pocket; to steal her most private thoughts despite the fragile state they’d been in, despite her presence, despite reason, despite his conscience. 

There’s no way in all seven hells he would have taken such a brazen, idiotic risk if he’d been in is right mind. He scarcely even remembers doing it. 

She’d stepped away, her back to him as she reached for her bag. One moment her journal was lying open on her desk, and the next it was in his pocket. As simple as that. 

Even though they’d only just mellowed out from the thorny argument that had erupted out of nowhere spiraled out of control. 

Even though, despite Gwen’s assurances, he had no idea what would become of them if they walked away right there and then. Even though she was on a timer, she was leaving, and the window for trying to talk, for trying to mend things or smooth them over, for doing anything at all to try and set things right again, was closing far too quickly. 

Even though she’d been five sodding fulms away in plain sight.

If she’d seen him… He can’t even bring himself to conceive of the consequences.

And, beyond that, if she’d put the pieces together and realized just how long he’s been invading her privacy and delving into the thing she treated as an extension of her thoughts…

There’s reckless, there’s stupid, and then there’s plain self-destructive.

Thancred doesn’t let himself acknowledge the twisted, stricken little piece of him that had hoped she would notice. The guilt-ridden splinter that had all but prayed for her to turn and catch him in the act and then... he doesn’t even know what.

But Gwen hadn’t seen him. 

She had been looking the other way, and had no idea he’d slipped her journal into his pocket. With the hand she’d just mended, no less, because sometimes shame is his bedmate and sometimes it’s a person in a faraway land that he’s never met. 

Then Gwen had taken the aetheryte to Mord Souq, none the wiser, and left him standing dumbly in his room with his thoughts in pieces and his brief surge of self-righteousness and indignation sputtering to nothing, her journal weighing down his pocket like a stone.

The following two days had been... long. Reading her journal had only made them longer.

When Gwen finally returned she’d been nearly frantic, so preoccupied with finding her ‘lost’ journal she’d all but forgotten about their fight. He regretted both being the cause of such strife and allowing it to fester, but her desperate searching had eased his fears that she might be suspicious of him.

When they’d finally talked about their fight, calmly and rationally, and smoothed things over, he’d made sure they were out in public, in an open space where she wouldn’t feel cornered or trapped. He’d been careful to maintain a respectful distance and give her plenty of space while they searched for her journal and spoke. Which she found odd. But he just couldn’t shake the way she’d looked at him for that one brief moment...

Between their conversation and how relieved she had been to find her journal in her room, right where he’d put it, Thancred had thought that whole thing was behind them.

But now Gwen is asking, too coincidentally, about trust.

Cool nausea collects in his gut like bits of broken glass. 

Has she known this whole time? Was all that hubbub about combing the streets just an act? 

No, Gwen isn’t that good of an actress. She just isn’t. Her worry, the way she’d been combing the street, that had to have been ge-- 

“Does everyone else?” Gwen’s voice is soft, and the tinge of self-conciousness and something shaped far too much like doubt snatch his attention.

Thancred’s line of thought turns and redirects too suddenly, fumbling for a moment and then coming apart entirely. He opens his mouth to reply but his jaw merely hangs, almost slack, “I…” 

Does everyone else...what?

Do you trust me?

Does everyone else?

This… None of this has anything to do with her journal, or their fight.

The pieces of glass, the creeping sickness and the twisting worry vanish so quickly it leaves him lightheaded, and the surge of relief that follows hits him so hard it nearly takes him off his feet.

It takes Thancred a moment to clear his head and get his mind working again. “Off the top of my head I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t trust you,” he says less than gracefully, “especially amongst our friends.”

Gwen regards him firmly, holding his gaze like she’s looking for even the faintest hint that he’s lying for her sake.

He isn't. But, thanks to his panic moments ago, the scrutiny still makes him uneasy. He does his best to be as outwardly honest and unassuming as his answer.

Her hard look fades after a moment, softening into something apologetic before she tucks herself more snugly against his side. I believe you. Sorry, I...just wanted to make sure.

Seeing how she probably won’t offer an explanation on her own, Thancred prompts, “So. What’s this all of a sudden?”

Gwen’s expression draws inward and she shifts her fingers against the back of his hand, creating and smoothing out wrinkles in his glove in place of tugging loose threads or twisting rings. “The other day, while we were in Slitherbough I,” she pauses, lips shifting slowly across words she doesn’t say before she finally finds the right one, “overheard something.” She pauses for a beat, “Do you remember what Y’shtola said? When she first saw me?”

Thancred thinks that’s a rather abrupt change of topic, but doesn’t say so. It will be regrettably hard to forget Y’shtola staring at Gwen and proclaiming, with perfect confidence, that she was a sin eater. “There is but one manner of creature in this world whose aether is suffused with such an abundance of light.” 

He’s hardly surprised to learn the accusation is proving difficult to simply shrug off. 

“I remember she was mistaken,” Thancred says, trying to reassure but at a loss as to where this line of questions is leading. “It’s been years since she last laid eyes on you,” he nudges her temple with his chin and pins on a smile, “t’would seem she forgot your natural brilliance.”

Gwen’s mouth twitches with the faintest smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, her eyes still on his hand while her own are still busy wrinkling and smoothing his glove.

He lets the smile drop. The back of his hand is getting a little sensitive with all of the touching, but he doesn’t mention it.

So. It seems Y’shtola really hit a nerve. But what does that have to do with trust?

“Talk to me, dove,” Thancred mumbles, lifting his hand from her waist to rub her upper arm. “I can’t read your mind. I can’t know what you don’t tell me.” 

Not entirely true, but…

Gwen draws a few purposefully slow breaths, trying to calm herself. Instead, her shoulders only seem to tense further under his arm. 

“When,” she starts slowly, “when the Eulmorans...” She stops again, brows knitting, and abandons her attempts in favor of more time considering her words.

He thinks while he waits, trying to figure out where these questions could have started and where they might lead.

Their days in Rak’tika have been so hectic and felt so long that Thancred can scarcely keep track of everything that has happened. He can’t recall anything, specifically, happening in Slitherbough? Except for the Eulmoran’s arrival... which eventually led to several long, grief-stricken bells of thinking Y’shtola had been lost to them.

Gwen surely spent every second of it blaming herself, convinced she’d stood by and done nothing as her friend perished. He knows that feeling well, and he doesn’t envy it.

Does that have anything to do with trust? No one blames her, though surely she’s blaming herself. She says she overheard something...perhaps a traitor among the Blessed, or some clue she hadn’t realized the importance of?

Or does it perhaps have something to do with what the others think of Y’shtola’s accusation? Is she worried they might question or distrust her after being branded a sin eater that’s ‘suffused with light’?

Possibly... But nothing hits Gwen harder than loss. 

He takes a chance. “If it has anything to do with Ran’jit or Y’shtola’s second foray in the lifestream...”

Gwen shakes her head and squeezes his hand.

He swallows the assurances that are waiting on his tongue.

Five years ago he would have been able to piece together what was bothering her and where she was headed with all this.

Five years ago they didn’t yell at one another, nor was she so unsure of his faith in her that she resorted to bluntly asking about it.

Gods damnit...

“...Her accusation, then?” Thancred tries, slightly desperately.

Gwen tenses and then huffs, making a frustrated sound of agreement under her breath.

Something distantly related to satisfaction and accomplishment sparks in his chest. He waits for her to elaborate, secure in the knowledge she wasn’t quite so foreign to him as he’d feared.

“Before the Eulmorans came to Slitherbough, I,” she stumbles in the same place again, and her voice loses a bit of volume when she continues, “I overheard Y’shtola talking to Urianger.”

Thancred resumes rubbing her shoulder, trying to reassure. “What about?”

Her mouth crumples with a grimace. “I’m not sure how long they were talking, or how much I missed, but…” 

She tells him what she heard.

By the end Thancred is wearing the stony scowl he’s developed over his five years on the First, dry bitterness curling on his tongue and in his throat. He stares at the ground in the pen, mulling over her recounting of the conversation. 

He states flatly, “So Urianger’s keeping secrets again.”

Gwen has withdrawn a bit, folding her arms against her chest. “We’re killing another Light warden tomorrow,” she says, rather grimly, “and neither of them have said a word about the Light.”

Indeed they haven’t. But...

While Thancred understands Gwen’s concerns and sympathizes with her frustration for being left out of the loop, his shrewder, more pragmatic side is muttering: what good will telling you do? 

After all, Gwen is the only one who can slay Light wardens safely. Or relatively safely, perhaps. She’s the only one who can bring darkness and night back to the First. She’s their only option. She knows this.

She, and the Scions, already knew the undertaking would be dangerous, though precisely how dangerous had always been rather nebulous, and forged ahead anyway. 

Knowing the specifics --if anything Gwen overheard could be called ‘specific’-- changes nothing. It wouldn’t change the fact that she's the only one who can fight and slay Light wardens. It wouldn’t affect this ‘nascent corruption’ that she, apparently, was unaware of before Y’shtola beheld her aether. It wouldn’t change the fact that they have no way to rid her of the Light she’s already taken in, and no way to prevent her from absorbing more short of stopping their battle against the Light. And they all know that isn't an option. 

If she hadn’t overheard them nothing would be different, would it? She would be in much the same position as she is now, only without the additional stress of how potentially dire her situation is, and without the troubling awareness that they had no solutions. 

Is the burden of questions without answers, without recourse, honestly better than simple ignorance?

...But shouldn’t that be her choice to make? It’s her life, after all. Shouldn’t she be the one who gets to make decisions about it? 

 She’s the one with the Blessing, and the one absorbing the Light. She’s the one putting herself at risk. Shouldn’t she know the toll it’s taking on her, and the very real risks and potential consequences? Doesn’t she, at the very least, deserve to be aware of what’s happening to her?

He can see both sides, to say the least.

Gwen has the Blessing. She can contain the Light. That’s what the Exarch said... But the Exarch doesn’t have Y’shtola’s Sight, he can’t see what she does. Not to mention his fondness for secrets and schemes...

Thancred looks Gwen over, examining her skin, her hair, her hands, and doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary...for whatever that’s worth.

The complication of emotions moving across her face, all of them sharp and aching, gives him pause. Concern weighs on the corners of his mouth and starts pushing his brow together.

Logic doesn’t change the fact that one of her friends is aware of what’s happening to her and hasn’t uttered so much as a word of caution about it. It doesn’t change the fact that Urianger probably has no intention of telling her anything until the very last moment, just as he had in the Bowl of Embers.

Gwen presses her lips together like she’s struggling to keep her thoughts behind her teeth. She shifts away from him, thrusting her hands down by her sides, and a moment later she relents and exclaims, voice aching with exasperation, “Why didn’t he tell me? Why hasn’t he said anything?”

Thancred blinks dumbly, the sudden outburst and surge of emotion leaving him stunned.

“Why can’t he just tell me the truth?” Her tone turns sharper, angrier, “The truth wouldn’t stop me. It can’t. I know I have keep going no matter what, I just…!”

‘Keep going no matter what’ clings like tar, stirring unpleasant memories of a time in Ishgard the whole of Eorzea had made her feel more like a tool and a weapon, a means to an end, than a person.

Thancred lifts a placating hand. “Gwen--” 

“I’m the only one who can kill Light wardens, I’m the only one who can do anything about the Light,” Gwen flings a hand upwards to indicate the sky, “I know I can’t just stop. And I know that if-- I know it-- I know telling me about the corruption would just give me one more thing to worry about but-- This is-- It’s happening to me! Don’t I deserve to know? I’m the one that’s--  I’m the one absorbing the Light, I’m the one who-- the one that might--” 

Her breath hitches and she stiffens. “Should I know that I’m in danger? Shouldn’t I, of all people, know what the Light could-- what it is doing to me? Urianger and the Exarch haven’t said anything. Even Y’shtola. She only let it slip because she didn’t recognize me.” 

Her expression twists, threatening to crumple, “She didn’t recognize me. She looked straight at me and called me a sin eater.” 

Thancred watches her catch her breath in silence, protective agitation making a prickly trail through his thoughts. Urianger’s motives may be well-intentioned, even noble, but… Gwen has a point.

Her shoulders start to slump as her breaths slow, and his expression tightens with a sympathetic grimace. He’s never been able to say the right thing when it mattered, and now seems to be no exception. Gods, he hates nothing more than feeling useless.

Gwen shakes her head slowly, and her tone is so resigned and heavy it makes his chest hurt. “I mean, alright, maybe I… Maybe it was naive of me to think I could just,” she gestures listlessly, “absorb the Light without consequences. To assume I’d be fine and not think any more about it, but I… I thought if something started to go wrong, or if one of my friends noticed something or-- or thought something might be happening to me, I-- I thought,” her expression strains and then crumbles in defeat, “I thought someone would say something, not just… stand by and leave me in the dark.” 

Thancred’s throat tightens, sharp with anger and thick with sympathy, and his heart clenches alongside his fists. He’s still groping for words and finding none, but given the tumult of protective anger building in his head, that’s probably for the best.

Glistening dark green eyes look at him pleadingly, vulnerable and full of hurt and doubt that cuts like a knife. “Is it really so hard to be honest with me? To tell me the truth? Am I really so hard to trust?”

His anger shatters like glass and Thancred pulls her into a tight embrace, both to keep him from storming to the bunk he’s sharing with the atsrologian --for all of their sakes-- and needing the pressure of it to keep his heart from cracking. “It’s not you dove,” he says as firmly and calmly as he’s able. “You’ve done nothing wrong. He just…” Thancred grimaces as her arms slide around him, recognizing the insubstantiality of it before he says it, “He’s trying to do the right thing.”

She tenses and inhales like she intends to speak. 

Thancred has suffered more keenly than most from Urianger’s secrecy and efforts to do what he thought was right, pragmatic and otherwise, for his friends and Eorzea. He empathizes with Gwen’s frustration and feels a little pang of pity for their loquacious friend. Urianger is good at keeping secrets, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for him. “I’m not saying he’s right to keep his secrets, Twelve knows I, of all people, have suffered the bad end of them, but his secrecy has naught to do with you, nor anything you have or haven’t done. He trusts you, Gwen. We all do.”

Gwen is still for a long moment, perhaps weighing his words. She exhales, slowly, and relaxes against him. 

Thancred eases his hold a little, getting on top of the tide in his head and breathing a little more steadily, “I’m sure Urianger has his reasons. Keeping secrets is a suffering all its own, and he isn’t wont to do such unless he thinks it utterly necessary.” He lets out a thin, frustrated groan, “I’m sure intentions are good, that he only wishes to help, but that doesn’t mean his methods aren’t flawed. He keeps his secrets so as not to burden us, or you, with them. He wishes to spare us what he can, as do we all. If any of us could lessen the burden that you, especially, have been made to carry, you know we would.”

He bites off ‘don’t you?’, because his doubts aren’t her problem.

Gwen’s arms tighten around him, and she takes a long breath. “I know.” He didn’t ask, but she assures him anyway. She shifts her arms, and he feels her curl her fingers in his coat. "What about...” She sighs, “What do you make of what Y’shtola said?”

Apparently she doesn’t have the energy to go on another rant, which is actually something of a relief. It wasn’t like her to lose her composure so suddenly, or explosively. 

Thancred can speak about as much for Y’shtola as he could Urianger, though there’s that biting remark she’d made in front of Minfilia that threatens to color his words. He closes his eyes, exhales, and pushes it aside in favor of a more even answer. “I think she has her own concerns and she will make them known to you soon enough, as the two of you are alike in your disdain for secrecy. But, if you’re referring to her comment about your aether…” Thancred shifts his weight, temporizing. He knew this question was coming and he still hasn’t quite worked out a good answer. “I think she isn’t wrong to be concerned. And I think she was right to seek a second opinion and confirm her suspicions rather than coming straight to you with theories and conjecture. But I know for certain that, should something become of this light you’re carrying, she will not hesitate to intervene. Neither will I, nor Alphinaud, Alisaie, Minfilia or Urianger. You’re not alone, dove.”

Gwen noticeably relaxes, her hands easing against his back. That was what she’d wanted to hear. He likes to think the little pet name helped.

Thancred remembers all the times she’s written, and the few instances she’s said, that she feels as though no one remembers that she’s just a person beneath her title. One person who needs to lean on others every now and then, because the world is a terrible weight to carry. 

He lifts a hand to her face and tilts her head up, finding her significantly calmer and steadier between his words and their embrace, though tentative unease still lingers behind her eyes. “You’re strong, Gwen, but I know you have your limits. If ever you falter, know that I’m here to steady you. I will not stand idly by while you suffer the light alone. I’m with you, dove.”

I will not stand idly by and let you become a sin eater. Thancred doesn’t say that part even though it’s true, as it’s far too harsh, too fatalistic, too prudent, and it would dampen her mood more than lift it. 

He’s told himself. That’s enough.

Gwen’s expression brightens, softens and warms with something too tender and meaningful to be mere fondness, something he’s gone without since he arrived on the First. One corner of her mouth lifts in a smile and he mimics her, keeping the little burst of soft, almost-heady feelings to himself.

He leans down and she lifts to meet him, whispering against his lips, “Thank you.”

-----------------------

GUH DOWN TO THE WIRE, I LITERALLY SUBMITTED IT AT 3 I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A CHANCE TO WRITE A NOTE AT FIRST BECAUSE I WAS FREAKING OUT BECAUSE I WAS ALMOST LATE ALDJSKFLADK-- *passes out*

came in with to neaten up this note section and stuff the next day now that I’m not losing my shit...

Thanks @rhymingteelookatme for the suggestions!!

I like some parts of this more than others, but overall it’s pretty good!! I spent way, waaay too much time rewriting one particular part over and over and cutting it down again and again, but I like the version that ended up in here. The ending is ruuuushed XD but on rereading it’s not quite so bad as I thought

Jaculus are what they call griffins on the First. They look the exact same. Just FYI

[mmazzeroo]

Heartstrings, chapter 22:

DANY IV - It’s A Little Dragonwolf

I'm so very sorry for the long wait. OMG! Oh well, I guess this is a gift that just keeps on giving, right? Haha..ha.. *hangs head in shame*

Anyway, @helloimnotawesome, I know you're not feeling well at the moment so I hope this can maybe provide you a little bit of a respite. Much love!!! 

Without further ado: 

---

"Happy nameday, Jon," Theon uttered quietly, a trembling hand holding out a large, rolled up sheet of paper, held together with a bit of red string.

Like a timid animal, Theon had carefully approached her and Jon as the two of them sat snuggled up together on a bench in the lemon grove. My absolute favourite part of the garden. Smells like home - and next to Jon it feels like it too.

Dany was sure the festivities were still unfolding in the dining hall. Everyone knew Jon needed occasional breaks from social gatherings, so no one in the family batted an eye when the two of them went for an evening stroll in the garden.

This, however, felt like a moment between Jon and Theon so she moved to get up and give them their space.

"No."

The urgency in his voice caused both her and Jon to look up.

Theon took half a step to the side before stopping himself, immediately casting his eyes downwards and instead taking a large step backwards. As if frozen in place he kept is head down, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere near his feet. He looks like a beaten dog that just remembered defending itself would only ensure more beating.

Viserys had warned them that Theon might not ever behave 'proper' human-like again. 'Might' being the most hopeful projection. It was like saying there might be world peace one day. It made Dany's blood boil with rage and simultaneously shattered her heart in a thousand pieces.

She still clearly remembered what state Jon had been in. He'd been all hurt, anger and outright rage. 'It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.' At the moment she couldn't remember where the quote was from but it sounded like something President Tyrell could've said. Jon would rather die fighting than not fight at all, but Theon..sweet Theon..had no fight left in him.

As a vet Dany had seen her fair share of neglected and abused animals. One thing they all had in common was how well they'd responded to some good old TLC - tender loving care - and she refused to believe that Theon's heart, mind and soul couldn't be mended, at least in part, by the same. 'You don't throw a whole life away just because he's banged up a little' - her husband's words still ringing in her mind years after he spoke them by the campfire on Dragonstone. My love, how I loved your big heart and your ability to see the best in everyone.

"Theon?" She spoke as softly as she knew how to, "please look at me, sweetheart."

He slowly looked up, staring back at her with dark frightened eyes. A deer caught in the headlights.

Dany gave him a warm, reassuring smile. "Would you like me to stay while you talk to Jon?"

A barely noticeable nod was the only response given.

"Ok, I'll stay. Thank you."

She sat back on the bench, leaning her head against Jon's shoulder who in turn gave her hand a light squeeze as they shared a small smile. Now all they could do was wait. They needed to let Theon control the speed of things.

As they sat quietly, patiently waiting for their broken friend to make a move she carefully watched Theon's face. It was clear his mind was racing. His face stoic, but those dark eyes of his were swimming with emotions. He looked as if he was on the brink of bolting, yet deep-seated fears from all the years of abuse kept him frozen in place. Dany had noticed how his eyes had gradually become more expressive over the course of the year he'd been living with them at Starfall. No longer the deep dark pits of emptiness; they were slowly beginning to show a little flicker of life in there. It was that tiny bit of life that now let her know that the haunted man behind the eyes were fighting to build up his courage.

He found it.

With a resolute look in his eyes, Theon took a daring step forward and held the rolled up sheet of paper out towards Jon. Again.

"Thank you, my friend."

At the mention of the word 'friend', Theon winced.

"You are my friend," Jon repeated emphasising every word. "You were then and you are now."

Theon jerked his head a couple of times in what appeared to be an attempt to nod. A ghost of a smile flicked across his face but was gone in the blink of an eye. Wait! Are those tears?

Quickly Dany searched his face for any other signs of emotions, but only Theon's quick swipe of his hand across the face told her she'd been right. She couldn't blame him though. Jon had confided to her how Theon used to treat him like his own personal punching-bag. At the same time though the two boys basically only had each other to depend on. Despite only being a boy, Jon had quickly understood that Theon merely did what he did to survive. He was the youngest of the Greyjoys, a family who took the 'survival of the fittest' quite literally.

The entire Greyjoy clan treated Theon anyway they wanted, the degrees of degrading and humiliating treatment increasing by the day. Jon had never given her details, and don't think I could ever bare to hear it now. The only one Theon had to take all his anger and frustration out on was Jon who, with a bastard's name, no one gave two shits about. Beating Jon saved Theon a sliver of dignity in the eyes of the remaining Greyjoy family; being beaten by Theon oddly meant Jon was considered Theon's property - his pet - and therefore spared beatings by the other, and older, orphan boys.

Thus, Jon and Theon developed their mutual messed up dependency on each other for the sake of survival. After being sent to Craster's Keep Jon had no idea what'd happened to Theon, but he'd confessed to Dany that he suspected it involved Theon's uncle, Euron. Her husband had labelled the Greyjoy captain 'a complete and utter psycho'. She could only imagine the kind of abuse Theon had suffered at his uncle's hands. His uncle, his own blood for fuck's sake!

Dany considered herself lucky for never having crossed paths with any of the Greyjoys as a child. There wasn't much all of Westeros agreed on, however the collective loathing of the Greyjoys - and Boltons for that matter - was one of the rare cases.

"May I open it now?" Jon smiled up at his nervous friend whose only response was a silent nod.

Carefully untying the string and tucking it in his pocket, Jon unrolled the paper and uncovered a black and white pencil drawing.

"Oh Theon, it's beautiful!" Dany marvelled at the masterpiece before her. Beautiful but heart-breaking.

"It sure is," her husband echoed next to her, voice thick with emotion, "did you make this yourself?"

Eyes full of uncertainty looked from Jon to her and back again. "Y-yes, I did," Theon mumbled, fingertips fidgeting with the seams of his pants. "Dr. Viserys said it'd be good for me."

He speaks! The few times she'd heard Theon speak more than a few words at a time, he'd sounded like a toddler stumbling its way through 'language-ing'. This however had been a full, grammatically correct sentence. The revelation made her want to jump for joy, but instead she settled for squeezing her husband's arm extra tight. Jon responded by handing her one edge of paper and snuggled her closer to him.

Now they could both examine the drawing fully. As she initially thought the drawing was a beautiful display of skill but the scene itself was harrowing.

At the centre was a large kraken. Surrounded by ships, it was clearly fighting for survival. There were spears sticking out of its body, a couple of severed limps sinking in the water, and blood gushing from a wound to the head where a large hook was attached - the crew on one of the ships pulling on ropes tied to the hook. From underneath the water, shadows were swimming up towards the struggling kraken, pulling at its arms, dragging it down. Oh sweet Theon! Once again Dany felt her heart break seeing this shell of a man attempting to convey his soul crushing pain.

In the sky a small group of dragons were swooping and setting the ships ablaze in the background. A pack of wolves stood on the shore - teeth bared, hind-legs dug in to the ground as they too were pulling on robes. Oh! The kraken had an arm intertwined with the rope the wolves pulled at. Another arm was digging into the sand, desperately trying to hold on to something. No mistaken the symbolism; he's reaching out to us.

Teary eyed Dany peeked over to her husband. Noticing his Adam's apple bop she knew she wasn't alone in battling a wave of emotions. Although I guess I could blame any momentary emotional instability on you, she bit back a smile while tenderly rubbing a warm hand over her protruding stomach.

"Do...it..," Theon abruptly stopped himself again.

"Sweetheart, you always have permission to speak here." He still avoided eye contact. "Please, go ahead," Dany gently prodded him. Jon pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

It took a couple of beats for Theon to muster up his courage one more time.

"It is ok?" He winced but continued, "d-do you like it?"

"It's amazing and I love it!" Jon took the drawing and handed it over to Dany as he got up. Two steps and he was toe to toe with Theon. "—and so are you."

Before their broken friend could respond Jon had him wrapped in a bearhug. There was a fleeting glimpse of panic before he eased into it and all but collapsed in Jon's arms. Besides the cinnabons, this was the first human contact Theon had had in years. Dany was amazed. He must be so tired, poor thing. He's taken huge strides today. Vis would be very proud of him. I know Jon and I are.

Her husband gently rocked a sobbing Theon who was clinging to him as if for dear life. She could hear Jon's calm voice quietly speaking to their distraught friend, "I got you. It's gonna be alright. You're safe now."

She remembered the night Jon had disclosed to her - laying in his arms, all tangled up in sheets - how he'd say those same words to everyone he rescued while in the Night's Watch. He'd repeat the words to them like a mantra, over and over and over until they calmed down; minutes or hours didn't matter to him - he'd keep speaking until they understood they'd been saved. My hero. If it wasn't for the sombre picture in front of her she would've giggled to herself for secretly thinking of Jon as a hero. Well, he's a hero to me and others whether he likes it or not.

Theon seemed to have calmed down. Only a few irregular sniffs could be heard now. His grip on Jon loosened but upon seeing Dany he tried hiding his face from her sight.

"No no, we'll have none of that now, young man," Jon gently coaxed Theon's head back up. "No shame in crying. No shame in having a heart. No shame in being human." Yup, definitely a hero.

Still holding on to each other, Jon took two steps back, turned around and eased Theon down on to the bench next to Dany. Jon dug out a handkerchief from a pocket, crouched in front of his friend and carefully wiped the tears from Theon's eyes and cheeks.

"Man to man; heart to heart, Theon - we're champions you and I. We made it out. We're finding our way through."

Quiet as always Theon listened to Jon speak, fingers picking at the shirt sleeves.

"I see you out there in that lonely ocean. Fighting for your life, your sanity, your humanity. Battling the demons and shadows all gnawing, scratching and eating away at your mind. I see you, my friend. I see you. I see you." Jon took a couple of deep breaths steading himself. I know this hurts you too, my love, but remember to stay calm for Theon's sake.

Silent tears rolled down Theon's cheeks once again. Dany was fighting her instinct to reach out to him and hold his hand, maybe a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It's a miracle he's letting Jon touch him and I don't want to push him.

"I'll fight for you, Theon. Till my heart is black and blue - and longer if needed. All I'm asking is you keep swimming. It's exhausting, I know-" he wrapped his hands around Theon's- "but I'll be right here with you to keep your head above water whenever you need a break, and you can rest for as long as you need. Just please keep swimming, Theon. We'll help re-attach your kraken arms—"

"I'm not a kraken," Theon hissed.

Taken aback, her husband sent her a crooked smile. So there's a sliver of fight left in the dog after all. Good!

"I'm not a kraken; don't want to be one," he confessed weakly, "not anymore."

"A wolf then?" Jon inquired.

"I'm not a Stark."

"An orca maybe?"

Both men looked at her puzzled.

"I just thought..," she trailed off. Think before you speak, Dany. Fuck's sake! She cleared her throat. "Orcas are also known as wolves of the sea. They have several traits similar to wolves: They're intelligent, curious, playful. They're loyal and fierce protectors. Loving and affectionate, and form strong family ties. Talented and ruthless hunters."

Theon had lowered his head again, back to staring at his hands in his lap. Shit! I pushed him too far.

Still crouching before him Jon was able to see his face though, and apparently it wasn't as bad as Dany feared because her husband gave her a small nod indicating she should keep speaking.

"They're survivors - known to live and thrive both as far south as the Summer Sea and as far north as the Shivering Sea. Passing knowledge from generation to generation. Adapting to their environment they utilise different hunting techniques depending on available prey."

Nibbling on a corner of his lower lip, casting frequent glances her way out of the corner of his eye, Dany could tell Theon was mulling over her words.

"—speaking of prey," she continued, leaning a bit closer to Theon lowering her voice adding a secretive aspect to their conversation, "there are interesting reports coming from the Cinnamon Straits, reports of sightings by both locals and scientists, speaking of a family of orcas who have specialised in hunting, killing and eating great white sharks."

Wide-eyed, both men turned to her. Dany looked back with a smirk on her face. That got their attention.

"I don't know about you guys but I think that's pretty bad-ass." She dared to place her hand on Theon's lower arm as she added, "-and so are you, sweetheart."

Drawing a shaky breathe, he muttered, "I'd like to believe that."

"Believe it," Jon urged, "all of it, and all the wolves and dragons you sketched-" pointing to the paper in Dany's hand- "will be right here to remind you whenever you need to hear it."

Theon was back to his contemplative silence, meaning Jon and her were back to waiting on their broken friend to decide where to go from here. He hasn't fully retracted into his shell though. Gods please let that be a good sign.

"Being an orca sounds nice," nodding to himself he added, "I'd like that."

Jon grinned, "that's settled then. C'mon let's get you two back inside - it's getting a bit chilly out here."

She's been so focus on Theon that she hadn't noticed she was shivering; no doubt her ever watchful husband had seen it from the second it began. My hero.

As they slowly made it up the path through the garden, Theon turned to her. "If I'm an orca now...," he trailed off, hesitating.

"—yes?" She smiled reassuringly at him.

"—then..what's..I mean.."

"Just breathe, dear, take your time and you can me ask anything."

Theon nodded slightly as he stared down at his feet. Glancing up nervously, he muttered, "what about your baby?"

She flashed Theon a smile before caching her husband's sparkling eyes as well. Affectionally stroking her pregnant stomach, voice filled with pride she replied, "it's a little dragonwolf."

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 17: Man as Enemy to Man

Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Death, dirty language, violence Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Brunnhilde, Thor, Heimdall Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Radicalization is a Bitch, Questions Questions, I Don’t Know How to Ride a Horse, But I’ve Seen it on TeeVee, Hell Day Summary: Reader has a very busy day.

Loki sent the messenger ahead to tell the stablehands to get his horse ready, spending just a handful of moments on finding you something warm to throw around your shoulders.

“Would that I could leave you behind, _____, but I cannot this time.” He led you swiftly through the Capital Building, out into the stable yard. People deftly slipped out of his way, his presence seeming to project ahead of him like a wedge.

“We’ve seen that we mustn’t be separated by such a distance, as the deleterious effects set in on you very swiftly. And more; you may be able to identify this person for us. I understand that it might be frightening to face someone who has tried to kill you, but-“

“We don’t really know that for sure though.” You pointed out. “They could have been aiming at you. This knife can hurt you, can’t it?” You patted the blade at your waist. “Normal weapons can’t, can they? But this is something special?”

“An astute observation. I’ll explain more about the knife later. Unfortunately, it has become much more likely that you were the intended target after all.” He hesitated. “_____, someone has been killed. Another human. You need to be prepared for…unpleasantness.”

You shuddered. Living with one murderer, and about to go face another. Though Loki might not have been altogether in control of the bloodying of his own hands, you had no idea if anything had been done for the families of his previous victims. Had anything been set right? Was he even a bit remorseful?

That was, of course, if he wasn’t lying about everything.

“I…can probably handle it.” You had seen dead bodies before. But those had all come back to life in the end; or rather, they had never died in the first place. This poor dead person was going to remain that way.

“There’s Einherjar there, right?”

“Correct. You will be safe.” Loki would be there too. If he wanted to keep you alive for his purposes-nefarious or not-he would have to protect you.

Loki’s beautiful horse, Leynarodd, was brought out, but no horse was brought for you. You’d heard the horse that had been stolen was returned now, and you were glad to hear it, but she wasn’t here. Instead, Loki helped you up onto the huge animal, then climbed up and settled down behind you.

The severity of the situation finally hit you, only as you were being borne inexorably towards it. An actual murderer awaited you, one whose victim was there, on site, where you were now heading. They had tried to kill you: earnestly tried to end your life. If the knife had been made for throwing, if you hadn’t been wearing thick layers, they might have succeeded.

And now you were travelling right to this person, someone who wanted you dead for reasons you didn’t even know.

Your heard raced faster with every hill and valley that brought you closer, but closing your eyes only forced you to concentrate on the power of the horse beneath you, of how closely tucked up against Loki you were. Of the perfect cage of his arms holding the reins to either side of your shoulders, thighs pressed the length yours, torso molded to your back. With your eyes closed, you couldn’t help but focus on how a person has to move their hips in order to effectively ride a galloping horse.

You were breathless and nervy by the time you arrived, so clearly anxious that when Loki helped you down off Leynarodd’s back, he held you between himself and the horse for a few moments, rubbing your shoulders in what he must have thought was a calming manner.

The area was a mess; the ground disturbed by scuffle, and strewn with garbage. Close to the trees, a bloodied Asgardian soldier was draped over a sheet-covered body, wailing. The sergeant in charge of the investigation approached, grim-faced.

“Oh no.” Loki breathed. “Is it-?”

“I’m afraid so.” The sergeant confirmed, speaking lightly accented English, for your sake. “I knew this would end in tragedy, but I didn’t think it would be like this. I should have known something was suspicious when she volunteered to watch this area so eagerly. If I’d known, I’d have sent someone else, and that poor man might still be alive. He was a citizen of this land. I don’t know if we should send word to the authorities yet.”

“Do you have the killer?” Loki asked.

“Oh yes.” She said. “The miscreant is over here.”

She led you several dozen yards away, over a low hill, out of sight of the grieving soldier. You found yourself curling your fingers around Loki’s and, noticing your apprehension, he did not pull away.

Restrained and surrounded, a scruffy, roughed-up man sat on the ground, scowling.

“You.” Loki said sharply. “You have murdered a citizen of this nation. What have you to say for yourself?”

The man ignored him, fixing his hateful stare on you.

“You’re still alive.” He growled, disappointed. He had an American accent.

Loki stepped forward to loom over the man.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, and you will answer to me.” There was anger in his voice, the kind that had made you cringe in the camp. Now, as then, it was on your behalf, but it still made you want to shrink back. “Why have you killed this man? Why have you tried to kill this woman?”

The man flinched from the power of his voice.

“They’re traitors to their people!” He exclaimed. “Abetting you invaders, betraying their own for your attention! For you! A usurper! A mass-murderer! We aren’t going to sit back and let you invaders steal our women! And we won’t abide traitors to humanity!”

“A terrorist.” Loki sighed, voice full of disgust. “Cease.  That’s more than enough.”

“Is it good when he fucks you?” The man snarled at you. “Good enough to commit treason against your whole planet?  You’re the devil’s whore, and we won’t stop until you are in the ground, you-“

Loki’s boot smashed into the man’s already bruised face, sending him rolling over himself in the trampled flowers.

“Oh, I would like to kill you.” Loki hissed, as two guards hauled the man back into a kneeling position. “But I won’t make a martyr out of slime. All your hatred for us, and you manage only to harm other humans? Pathetic. You have murdered an Icelandic citizen, and you will be turned over to Icelandic justice. You will rot in a human jail and be forgotten. I don’t even care to know your name.”

With that, the prince turned his back and carefully pulled you away, sending the sergeant on a journey to the nearest settlement, to contact the authorities.

“Don’t you listen to a word he said, he is clearly a madman who knows nothing of the situation.” Loki helped you back up onto his horse.

“Did you know him?” He asked on the way back. You were riding at a much more leisurely pace, now that you were no longer in a hurry, allowing you to take in the magnificence of the wild Icelandic summer, and also allowing your heart rate to remain only a little elevated, instead of completely off the charts.

“I’ve never met him, but I think I’ve seen him before.” You said. “In the camp, I think? He was playing an instrument by a fire. I think that was him. Was he there the whole time? Do you think he followed me? He was talking like there were more people like him, do you think there are more coming? Or already here?” Your voice raised, becoming shrill with fear. “Will they just keep killing people until they get me?”

“Shh-shh…” Loki switched both reins to one hand, freeing one arm to wrap around you. A quiet whine escaped you through gritted teeth, finding little comfort in being held tighter to his body. “No one will ‘get’ you. Now that we are aware of this danger, we will all be ready. I…I did not sense any lies from him. Whether there really are others or not, he truly believes that there are. But even if there are more, there is at least one that is now out of the picture. I will see that he does not become glorified, that he is treated as any other criminal: reviled or forgotten.”

He held you tightly all the way back, trying to quell your flourishing paranoia, but you couldn’t help but stare at every person who passed you, searching for signs of hidden hostility. There were Asgardians who didn’t like humans. They could kill you just as easily, maybe moreso than another human. After all, other humans weren’t allowed in New Asgard. You were surrounded by Asgardians all the time.

You didn’t feel safe again until dinnertime, and that was only because you were surrounded by actual gods, that you knew were at least a little fond of you.

All of them were excited about the laukas that Loki had mentioned, which turned out to be something a little like leeks. They were very tasty, but not as exotic as you thought they would be. They probably meant more to the Aesir around you, like a taste of lost childhood. It was a miracle that they grew here at all.

Loki had briefly mentioned what had happened earlier, leaving out certain details, like the murderer’s tirade against you.

“How do you fare?” Heimdall asked you quietly. You didn’t think you could lie to him. You might be able to lie to Loki, and though he would know, he might not call you out on it, but Heimdall probably would. Besides, his concern seemed so genuine, it felt wrong not to be honest.

“Not very well. I’m frightened.”

“This is a harrowing experience, and I regret you’ve had to go through it.” Thor said.

“I hadn’t even thought about what a bunch of strangers might make of this. I never expected to be hated over this. I thought everyone would be mad at his highness maybe, but not me. None of them know what’s really going on.” It was all so completely unfair. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You couldn’t even enjoy your time here, as an impromptu vacation, like Loki had suggested. You felt like a prisoner.

“Everybody feels entitled to an opinion.” Brunnhilde said. “Seems like the less they know, the more details they have to make up, to have opinions about.”

“You can see anything, right?” You asked Heimdall.

“In theory.”

“Could you see if anyone has tried to cause trouble for my dad because of this?”

Heimdall fixed his amber gaze on some faraway point.

“Your father is in a large vehicle. He is singing along to music, and appears unharmed. There is a small, gray flerkin with him.”

“What?” Brunnhilde gasped. “Here? On Earth?”

“What’s a flerkin?” You demanded, startled by the reaction.

“We must do something!” Loki exclaimed.

“Everyone, settle down!” Thor commanded. “There are no flerkins on Earth right now. There are however, small creatures kept as pets that superficially resemble flerkins. Possibly a form of mimicry for defensive purposes. It’s very effective; they look exactly the same, but here, they are known as ‘cats’. _____, does your father own a cat?”

“Momo!” You exclaimed. “Okay, so he’s on a job right now. Good, good. I hope the other truckers aren’t on his case. Thank you so much for doing that for me.”

Heimdall simply inclined his head.

“Um, is it okay to ask you how it works? Like, is it rude to discuss god power stuff?”

“Well…” Thor began. “It’s not taboo or anything, but there are rude questions and polite questions, just like anything else.”

“I just wonder, when you look at those far away things, is it like you are actually seeing them in front of you? Or is it more of an image in your mind’s eye?”

Heimdall’s expression changed noticeably for the first time since you had met him, revealing pleased surprise.

“It has been a long time indeed since anyone asked me about that. In fact, if I remember correctly, the last person to ask me almost exactly that same question was, I believe, attempting to find a way to hide from my sight.”

Loki hastily shoved another lauka into his mouth.

“My sight has varied applications. I can see through others eyes, and share my vision with others. In a way, all eyes are my eyes. I can see just a little into the past, and a little into the future. However, when I look into far realms, and not through someone else, it is far more within my mind, as you would put it, and I remain aware of my immediate surroundings.”

“Wow. You know, I don’t think I would really want to be able to do that. You’ve probably seen all kinds of things you rather wouldn’t have.”

Heimdall smiled, flashing bright teeth. “You would not be wrong.”

“And you control storms?” You asked Thor.

“Kind of, yes. I can call lightening as I will it, and thunder naturally comes with it. I do have some control over weather, locally, whether it rains or not, and where, and for how long. Plants seem to grow more vigorously wherever I spend much time.”

“Children too.” Heimdall pointed out.

“That’s a good thing though.” Brunnhilde added. “Our numbers are few. But Asgard has never had a fertility god as king before, only war gods.”

Thor squirmed, both Loki and Brunnhilde giving him teasing looks.

“But brother, aren’t you proud to be such a great aid to your people?”

Thor squirmed more. “Cut it out. It just feels…coercive. That’s all.”

“It is simply Nature, amplified.” Heimdall said. “There is nothing shameful in passively assisting something that was going to happen anyway.”

You’d never thought of it that way before; of the responsibilities that might come with godhood. It was something one was born with, and surely some Aesir were uninterested in being Aesir, but if they all had powers that passively effected their surroundings, there might be no escaping it.

“Besides,” Thor grumbled. “Father was a wisdom god.”

“Odin was a war god up until he decided to rebrand.” Brunnhilde pointed out. “And he was only able to take up the mantle of a wisdom god because of all the secrets he kept. Easy to seem wise when you’ve hoarded away all the vital information. And we all saw how badly that went.”

Loki covered your ears.

“Not in front of the mortal.” He said, even though you could clearly still hear.

The Valkyrie abated. “Dark as it may seem, we have an incredible opportunity right now. The both of you now know exactly what kind of things not to do. Odin kept too many secrets; Thor may be meant to air them out. Maybe that’s why he sweats ozone.”

The kings face turned bright red.

“You noticed that too?” You asked, prying Loki’s hands off your ears. “I’m not the only one?”

“He’s a breath of fresh air, in his own way.” She teased.

“And you have supreme battle goddess powers?” You asked Brunnhilde.

“Ooh, I like that.” Brunnhilde preened. “Also, I can see the dead.”

“What?”

“Well, the recently dead, anyway, and only those slain in battle. Furthermore, I can see how they died, and how they comported themselves in every battle they ever took part in. One of the Valkyries duties was to choose which fallen Einherjar got the honor of being interred in the Black Hall. That’s not really a thing anymore, so that ability is pretty useless now.”

“Hmm.” Loki mused. “I wonder if that might be helpful when the investigators of this land come around to ask us about this recent unpleasantness.”

“Maybe.” Brunnhilde glanced over his shoulder. “He did follow you home, after all.”

Your insides went cold.

“W-what?” You stammered, really hoping she wasn’t implying what you thought she was.

“He fought hard, for someone who was not a warrior. A lucky strike got him in the end, but he made a very spirited showing. Not quite Valhalla material, but nothing dishonorable either. “

You clung to Loki in utter horror. The living dead were real, and one had followed you home. You were certain that if you looked behind you right now, you would see nothing. Brunnhilde was probably the only one who could see it; maybe Heimdall could too. Not being able to see it, but knowing it was there was almost worse.

Loki let you cling, draping his cape around you like a shield.  You buried your head in it. Scary movies and ghost stories were one thing, but none of it was supposed to be real!

“Could you send him on his way, perhaps?” He requested on your behalf. “It won’t do for him to stay overlong. He might get stuck as a vengeful spirit, and his lady would not want that for him.”

Brunnhilde nodded. “She is fine.”  She said to the place beyond Loki’s shoulder. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. You can go in peace.” She tilted her head. “Really? Thanks for the info. Farewell.”

“Is he gone?” You whispered.

“Yes. But he did say that the killer mentioned that he had friends coming. We should probably get you trained up in self-defense.”

There was a round of agreement from everyone.

Your tasty lamb and laukas sat heavy in your stomach, and your distinguished company seemed to tower over you, so important and untouchable. How could you protect yourself? Maybe you could just ask Loki to lock you up in the little room, so you could sleep until this all blew over. Just stay in bed until everyone had forgotten about you, until you became nothing more than a legend.

You were already kind of an Asgardian cryptid, gathering stares wherever you went. That Beli fellow, wanting to use you as a teaching aid, the sewing ladies, dressing you up like a doll. Loki, parading you around as his personal prize. But who among them actually knew you? How could anyone know you, when you were starting to not even know yourself?

Learning how to use your new knife would be a good first step in taking yourself back. Whatever Loki’s plans for you, he had to make sure no one killed you beforehand. Whatever else he might do to you, he could at least be counted on to try to keep you safe.

                                                                                        *****

 “Your lady is deeply troubled.” Heimdall told Loki, after you had been put to bed.

“I’m beginning to notice.” Loki said. “And she’s not my lady.”

“Please.” Brunnhilde scoffed. “You honestly think old Beli was gonna keep his mouth shut about your announcement? The whole court knows. All the Einherjar know. I give it three days before even the smallest child knows.”

“Then they can celebrate with us!” Loki said. “I know Father had no need of a seidkona after he married mother, but the tradition is still there, and I still have the right to choose my own. Even if I don’t exactly need sorcerous support, it’s still a good place for her, still within tradition. It should be acceptable.”

“Alarr and his posse are furious.” Brunnhilde informed him. “They are threatening not to appear for this Buridag celebration, and to keep their families at home. They are agitating to convince others from coming as well.”

“Of course they are.” Thor sighed.

“He’ll have a demon of a time trying to keep Andsvarr away.” Loki said. The boy was more than a little smitten with admiration. He would probably fight to get to the celebration, if he had to.

“What are her thoughts on the matter?” Heimdall asked.

“She’s fine with it!” Loki said. “I told her about it when we were discussing celebration plans with Beli. She came up with the most wonderful idea-“

“Are you sure she was fine with it?” Brunnhilde asked. “Or did you just tell her it was happening, and she didn’t think she was allowed to say no? She might not think she’s always allowed to say no to you, and that is a much bigger problem than you want to admit it is.”

“Now just a damn minute-“ Loki began.

“Does she even know what a seidkona is?” Thor wondered.

“She…might not, actually. I thought she did, but now that I think about it, it might not have actually been mentioned in detail…”

They all ganged up on him then, and as irritating as it was, they had good points. Did humans even have seidkona? How could she know how important this appointment was? How could she act in proper capacity for her title when she was still a novice?

“Look!” He said, raising his voice over the protests. “I’m going to address all of these issues. But not tonight. Buridag is still months away, and I will be training her up in magic and knifework for her own protection. She will not be unprepared.”

“But she’s got to understand what it means.” Brunnhilde said. “And Heimdall is right, something is troubling her, and it’s not just the assassination attempt. Although that didn’t help.”

“I’ll see to it.” Loki promised. “Starting tomorrow.”

[i-breathe-therefore-i-read]

The Wolves of Mercy Falls series by Maggie Stiefvater

For years, Grace has watched the wolves in the woods behind her house. One yellow-eyed wolf—her wolf—is a chilling presence she can’t seem to live without. Meanwhile, Sam has lived two lives: In winter, the frozen woods, the protection of the pack, and the silent company of a fearless girl. In summer, a few precious months of being human… until the cold makes him shift back again. Now, Grace meets a yellow-eyed boy whose familiarity takes her breath away. It’s her wolf. It has to be. But as winter nears, Sam must fight to stay human—or risk losing himself, and Grace, forever.

*What I thought: 4.5 out of 5 stars

read: 05/17

I really liked this. Let me lists the ways:

I liked the pacing of the book. It just went smoothly for me. 

It wasn’t confusing like how at times the Raven Cycle was

I liked the idea of the werewolves are different from others. A unique way to go. 

I thought it was a cute story

I loved Grace and Sam. Human and wolf or human and human.

I liked how uncertain the “cure” was. 

Allying with Isabel

Sam being musically inclined

I like that Grace can take care of herself but then again she had too because her parents suck. I mean they’re there but not really. They don’t seem to give a crap about Grace that much to be more involved in her life. Sam is practically living there and they don’t notice. 

Overall, I thought it was a good book and I look forward to reading the next book.

the longing. Once Grace and Sam have found each other, they know they must fight to stay together. For Sam, this means a reckoning with his werewolf past. For Grace, it means facing a future that is less and less certain. the loss. Into their world comes a new wolf named Cole, whose past is full of hurt and danger. He is wrestling with his own demons, embracing the life of a wolf while denying the ties of being a human. the linger. For Grace, Sam, and Cole, life a constant struggle between two forces–wolf and human–with love baring its two sides as well. It is harrowing and euphoric, freeing and entrapping, enticing and alarming. As their world falls apart, love is what lingers. But will it be enough?

*What I thought: 4 out of 5 stars

read: 05/17

Though I didn’t find it as good as the first book, I still enjoyed it. I liked that there was more of Cole and Isabel along with Sam and Grace. Cole is cocky, unbalanced, and really smart. Isabel is angry, moody, and a good person in her own way. I dislike that she feels guilty because of her brother but he had a choice. I liked the dance between Cole and Isabel but I wanted them to give into it already. lol

I liked the different side of Sam. He wasn’t so meek as before, not quite bold but getting there. Grace wasn’t showing the qualities I liked of her in the first book. I didn’t like that she was so down to expose the wolves like she was a reporter for TMZ. lol. I think if she spoke up more to her parents before they started to act like parents, things wouldn’t have went down as bad as it did. 

When stuff was going down with Grace, I kept wondering what was happening and why now. Thankfully Cole, the smart rock god, was there to figure it all out. I’m hoping he finds a more permanent way in the last books because that ending. Poor Sam. The roles got reversed. 

So random thoughts: hey there’s an Officer Koenig. That’s my maiden name and I don’t see it that often. Yay. What the hell is going on with Shelby? Is it wrong I can’t wait until she’s out of the picture? 

then. When Sam met Grace, he was a wolf and she was a girl. Eventually he found a way to become a boy, and their loved moved from curious distance to the intense closeness of shared lives. now. That should have been the end of their story. But Grace was not meant to stay human. Now she is the wolf. And the wolves of Mercy Falls are about to be killed in one final, spectacular hunt. forever. Sam would do anything for Grace. But can one boy and one love really change a hostile, predatory world? The past, the present, and the future are about to collide in one pure moment–a moment of death or life, farewell or forever.

*What I thought: 3.5 out of 5 stars

read: 05/17

I thought this was alright. I’m glad how everything turned out fine but they could have gotten to things sooner if they listen to Isabel. Why didn’t they? Why were they brushing it off. Annoying. 

I liked that a new person found out about the wolves and decided to help instead of hurt. It came in handy in more ways than one. 

Can I say darn Shelby? I knew you were nothing but trouble. It’s evil of me to say, but I’m glad she got what she deserved and too bad it wasn’t sooner. 

I hated the characters also seemed liked to go downhill a little. Grace and Sam wasn’t how I loved them in the first book. They almost felt like complete strangers at times. Isabel seemed more unbearable. I do think Cole step up more. I felt his character development increased.

I like but also hate the ending. I like that you can interpret what was going to happen but there was so many things that I needed to know that I didn’t get answered.

found. Cole St. Clair has come to California for one reason: to get Isabel Culpeper back. She fled from his damaged, drained life, and damaged and drained it even more. He doesn’t just want her. He needs her. lost. Isabel is trying to build herself a life in Los Angeles. It’s not really working. She can play the game as well as all the other fakes…but what’s the point? What is there to win? sinner. Cole and Isabel share a past that never seemed to have a future. They have the power to save each other and the power to tear each other apart. The only thing for certain is that they cannot let go.

*What I thought: 3 out of 5 stars

read: 05/17

I thought this was an okay book. I guess I was expecting a little more closure when it came to the werewolves. Like did he ever find a more permanent cure? Certainly didn’t seem like it and he wasn’t trying in this one. There was so many aspects that I loved in this but I hated the hot/cold that is Isabel’s personality. Damn girl, I would have walked away from you if I was Cole. I get you base love on how your parents act but learn from their mistakes and not stop you from anything. I liked when she didn’t think and just was because those moments were awesome. When she thought and acted like the ice queen, I wanted to throw my book at her.

I love Cole. Always have, always will. I like his eccentric behavior, he’s still smart, and he’s fighting hard not to be who he used to be. I hated that nobody believed him on that though. That makes it tough.  I liked how he took a liking to Leon. Their outings made me all gooey inside.

Overall, this was my least favorite out of the bunch but it was a nice addition to the series.