#when i say exhausting i mostly mean. insulting to other family members in a way i have to defuse

[unopenablebox]

taking a selfish 2 hour break from my mediator job (“being related to these people”) to write fanfiction

[leviiattacks]

May I request a Levi x Reader angst fic? Just barely any fluff, mostly angst going on lol. The reader is a traitor, formaly working for Marley, but betraying them in secret and putting their loyalty on Paradis. The reader is also a shifter and married to Levi for a couple of years. That love and care however is gone once readers identity is found. He truly despises them, insults them, maybe a bit violent with them, and outright tells them that they mean nothing to him anymore and hate them to bits. Readers punishment is to hand over her titan to Erwin, and they agree instantly, broken over everything, believing its all their fault. Once Erwin inherits Readers titan, he breaks down and screams, crying, because Reader was innocent the whole time. They never betrayed Paradis. Never killed anyone, never harmed anyone. They finaly know why they betrayed Marley, the abuse being to much for them, enough to just leave them behind for Paradis. Just... loving and caring as they all saw them. But now the damage is done. They wont come back, they're dead, believing that they died, hated and despised, with no one to mourn their death. Everyone regrets everything.

author note :: i was thinking of leaving this in my drafts but i already wrote it and may as well post it. it didn’t end up going the way i hoped but yeah i hope it’s ok anon. anyways ANGST. ANGST, ANGST. as always i love feed back :-) ⟹ all of the headings with the years are just meant to mean it’s a different moment from that year so those moments don’t happen right after each other i hope that makes sense!! word count :: 7.2k warnings :: canon typical violence, death

845, i.

Everything is falling in place when it shouldn't.

Sun never makes itself known in Liberio yet here it is shining down onto the bustling streets. You half expect for it to crash down and burn into the hundreds of civilians going about their daily business yet nothing of the sort happens. It's typical sunlight and you curse yourself silently for your sinister thoughts.

Secretly the voice at the back of your mind still whispers frantically but you don't wish to hear what it has to say. Instead you choose to drown it out with the sound of Zeke's voice. Finally deciding to pay attention to what it is he's been droning on about for the past ten minutes.

"Soon, soon, soon." He sighs dreamily looking a little delirious.

"Soon?"

Your question catches him off guard, he lightly shoves you with his elbow scoffing in annoyance.

"Did you sit here to not even listen to me?" He turns to take a sip of whisky and the hearty gulp he chugs shows his mild irritation. You assume he's been rambling on about Marley's plan to infiltrate Paradis. You have to admit that the idea of destroying those demons from the inside is amazingly well thought out. However it's all he's been able to discuss for the entire week now and frankly you're getting a little exhausted of it.

"I zoned out..." Quietly placing your glass back down onto the wooden counter you sigh closing your eyes. It's too early to be drinking and you don't trust Zeke enough to slip into ignorance and leave yourself vulnerable. Men are to not be trusted, especially Eldian men. The thought of Eldians triggers your flight of fight response, you want to shrivel up into a cocoon and never come out until the world is rid of the monsters. The lowest of the low, the dirt in between the crevices of Marleyan soldier's boots. That is what Eldian's are.

It's ironic coming from you, your entire family labelled as undesirable Eldians yourself but you, you know you're different. An honorary Marleyan is what you will become. What you are. The treacherous imps who are but an ocean away are the true evil.

Eyes flicking to Zeke he's lighting a cigar. Old habits die hard and he's yet to quit this self destructive custom of his. You couldn't care less if he chooses to cut his lifespan short by ten years, it's his own choice to make. A disgusting cowardly choice but it's a choice fit for an untamed man like him.

The Island Devils are said to be the bad apples but you can't help but stare at your fellow citizens from time to time and wonder what it is they could be hiding. If a demon slipped through the cracks you wouldn't be surprised. Sly in nature, persuasive in tone, that is how devils go about their daily lives alone The hymns they drilled into you all the way through elementary school echo and rebound in your mind.

Locking your bitter thoughts away you have to push yourself to not punt Zeke in the mouth when he teasingly blows a puff of hot smoke into your face.

Fingertips grazing with his he freezes at the sudden contact giving you the perfect opportunity to slip his cigar away and take it in between your lips. You allow for it to linger there but you aren't foolish enough to inhale its contents.

"Zeke, my dear friend. We shall soon be met with the fruits of our own labour but I assure you that discussing Marley's plan constantly will be of no benefit for you nor I."

The day you and Zeke had met had been at warrior training camp. Zeke was a miserable, unmotivated oaf. Always tripping and falling behind the rest of the warrior cadets. You felt rather bad for him, if you were born as unskilled as him you don't know what you would have made of yourself. Zeke, the only child of his parents ironically only ever ended up rising through the ranks after handing them over to the Marleyan government. His father and mother had been conspiring an escape plan but were executed immediately alongside their fellow team members once Zeke had outted them. Unexpectedly he was spared, the fact he turned on his own parents showed where his loyalties were. To his surprise, he was even allowed to continue his training with the other warriors - only this time everyone kept an increased distance away from him. The warriors weren't informed of what he had actually done but everyone had a gut feeling. Everyone apart from you stuck with that feeling. You thought strategically, If he were to become an enemy in the future you knew being close would come at your advantage.

The day you and Zeke had met your mother died, his mother passed away the same day. At least that's what he had told you.

The two of you bonded over the little things, told each other stories about your life at home. Reminisced about what it was you missed.

Then it all came crashing down the day Zeke confessed. The day he told you he killed his mother and father by handing them over to Marley. Your knees buckled underneath you, crashing the floor he tried to grab at you but you thrashed around in retaliation kicking and screaming not understanding why he did what he did. Yes, they were traitors but they were his parents and if the monster had the nerve to turn on the people who gave birth to him who's to say he wouldn't do the same to you or to Marley.

Zeke doesn't know it but ever since then you take the opportunity to sneak the occasional glance at him. Every single time you narrow your eyes in malice. If there's a man in Liberio who you don't trust in the slightest it's him, he must think the feud between the two of you from childhood has been put at rest but it hasn't.

Zeke takes another swig of his alcohol. On this occasion he downs it entirely slamming the glass down with vigour.

"ONE MORE GLASS BARTENDER!"

846, i.

Another day of extensive training is about to end, your back is layered in uncomfortable layers of sweat and the same can be said for your forehead. Kneeling down in the under layer of the forest you're hidden waiting to strike. Going up against the elites is nerve-wracking but you're sure you can pull it off so long as you stay calm during this game of hunters against prey.

It's simple enough if you can conceal yourself and stay out of sight. The robust trees that surround you act as decent enough camouflage and your green cape paired with them lets you veil yourself, keeping you further into the foreground, blending into the environment.

No one will be able to catch you if they can't see you.

All of a sudden your previous thoughts are thrown away when you sense something in the atmosphere has changed, the hissing of the wind behind you isn't natural.

Turning to your side you don't bother to cover up the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking, your priority is slipping away fast enough to hide again, a tug can be felt at your cloak and your reaction time barely covers for you, your gear fastens itself to a low enough tree branch and the descent is mind numbing. Your breakfast churns in your stomach but you ignore the uneasy feeling, leaping and diving wherever you find a small enough gap. You believe you can outrun your huntsman.

That is until you sneak a glance back and your muscles nearly tense up in pure astonishment, you've been kicked in the teeth just by the man's presence. Captain, Levi slinks behind you weaving through the gaps with increasing speed, he's gaining momentum and all the while his face stays relaxed, this isn't even his full effort.

Terrified you dart upwards and then left, a corner comes into view - Levi should assume you've turned into it and so you rashly choose to dart back down. Much to your hard luck you find that his senses are well adapted, the direction of the wind is enough for him to trace your whereabouts.

The pursuit resumes, and he stays disturbingly relentless.

Arm shooting to the right you think perhaps making it look like you're aiming to fly somewhere else again will completely catch him off guard, he can't expect for you to pull the same trick twice.

Setting your plan into motion your finger pulls at the trigger but you startle when the cable doesn't come out, it's jammed. Panic seeps into you and to make matters worse your gas is running out.

Without warning you're thrust into the body of a nearby tree, the bark scrapes against you and scratches begin to form anywhere you've made contact with the jagged surface, you want to admit defeat but the warrior inside of you denies Levi the pleasure of seeing you beg. In its place you deliver a harsh kick to his thigh, you're aware he's injured it and you're certain there are no rules to say you can't play dirty. Your boots hammer against leg hard enough for him to give out and let go of your body, but then you realize you lost this game from the very moment your grapple hooks broke, you have nowhere to hold onto.

Before you can even let out a shriek of horror Levi's shot back to you, he frantically accelerates and by a miracle humanity's strongest is able to grab a hold of you again. This time you don't dig your heels into his leg and you allow for him to clutch you by the torso.

Within a minute the two of you descend towards the forest floor and Levi throws you into the dirt furiously.

"You could have died. Being foolhardy will only lead to an early death." He barks as he directs his blade towards your neck.

"Am I dead yet?" Whispering back your gaze isn't trained on the blade but right up at him.

His nostrils flare up, his hair sticks to his forehead haphazardly and the knuckles that hold his pointed blades are white in tangled dissatisfaction.

Grabbing you by the hips he flings you over his shoulder choosing to not continue with the confrontation.

"I know what you're up to." His voice is still rugged from the pursuit and it takes you a split second to register what he's said.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat, no way, there's no way in hell he knows. He's sharp but he's not a mind reader.

Your position means he can't read your face seeing as you're facing his back, instantly steeling your features you let out a breathy laugh.

"And what may that be?" Silently you pray he's worded himself ambiguously to catch a slip up.

"Being gutsy, you think that makes you a good soldier. It doesn't."

Relief floods you. He doesn't know.

"Soldiers need to be brave." Your retort makes him grumble.

"If  you die with no meaning by being reckless what's the purpose of being a soldier?" His question has you stopping and thinking on what the correct answer is.

Unable to think of an answer you ask another question.

"Are you saying your previous comrades died without meaning?"

"No. Their deaths fueled me slay more titans."

"So if I died back there who wou-" He swiftly cuts you off showing no inclination of wanting to hear what it is you have to say.

"I'll cut your tongue off if it's stupid." He clearly isn't serious about the threat but he does mean it when he warns you to not overstep.

Despite the consequences you say what's on your mind. "I just wanted to ask who would give my life meaning if I ever died. I don't have siblings and my parents died long ago."

Silence follows and the crunch of his boots against the muddy leaves tells you he probably doesn't wish to answer your question.

"Sorry-"

"I would. I would give meaning to your life." He says it with such ease you almost want to admire the enemy but you know he's said it because he feels he has to.

"You barely know me but I hope one day you can stop thinking everyone has to rely on you." You say it with taunting understanding.

Another bout of silence follows. Only this time the two of you feel warmly comforted, he doesn't understand how you've seen through his facade but it's easy for you to spot another liar.

846, ii.

Brows drawn back you observe your surroundings attempting to mask your scrutiny. The place is running amok with uncontrollable Eldian folk. The stench of unadulterated sin makes itself known but you seem to be the only person able to smell it. Eren bumps against the table you're sat at and your face twitches a little but you say nothing. You're yet to get used to these people's lack of manners.

At least that's how you force yourself to think. To be truthful, you don't quite understand what it is these people have done wrong. Ever since you've arrived you've been nitpicking at every single minor inconvenience or possible issue. A girl stole a potato and broke it into uneven pieces to share and you attempted to twist the story in your head to make her look like an unfair, greedy voracious demon but... you found yourself finding very little to actually be angry at. These people are essentially normal in every way of the word, they aren't demons and you can't help but feel yourself slip away from everything you once knew as reality. You're finding it difficult to believe what years of Marleyan education taught you, the hymns that were once drilled into your brain permanently are but a vague memory.

You feel disgustingly under-dressed and out of place, you don't belong here not when you're meant to hate these people, not when you're meant to despise them. You should be fighting the urge to shove their heads onto pitchforks or to skin them alive and feed them to pigs. Everyone back in Marley told you to control your impulses but now you're here and you've settled down even having the opportunity to converse with these individuals, share their pain, share their loss, share their suffering, you wonder why you have no impulses to control. Have they brainwashed you? Or is it that you're the real demon in this situation?

Fingers mingling with each other on your lap you sit hopelessly alone. Interacting with the so called enemy is much harder than you expect. Worry consistently bubbles in the pit of your stomach and every night is spent tossing and turning evaluating then reevaluating who the bad guy really is. At first the task of daily interaction isn't a big deal, you find it easy enough to approach members of the team and fake interest in their lives until the original plan falls through. You do become invested in your team members lives and stories that it comes to the point where you don't have to force yourself to smile at their jokes or to sympathize with their tales of grief. You become one of them and you swear you're meant to feel like a traitor but eerily you feel like you belong.

Nevertheless you try your best to stick with what you know. You're nothing like Zeke, you're loyal, capable, faithful and trustworthy. Never will you turn your back on Marley.

Rising to excuse yourself from dinner you think you've just about made it and escaped finally able to hide away in the confines of your bedroom but your lips form into a straight uncomfortable line at the feeling of someone's hand latching at your wrist. You're halfway down the hallway just a few more steps away from your bedroom. You hope it's one of the rookies.

"Oi, come here."

Head shooting backwards your eyes land on Levi, his dark curtains fall in front of his eyes - you note that he hasn't trimmed them as he usually does. Despite his size his grip is firm and your wrist squirms around a little trying to manoeuvre out of his bruising grasp. He seems to notice he's underestimated his strength once again and loosens his hold on you. Narrowed eyes analyse your anxious form, they're grey and in this lighting almost glow appearing silver. For a brief second your mouth is left ajar by the delicate but rough manner of his face.

"Everything Okay?" He doesn't typically seem to care very much about anyone, the question activates your senses and you're on full alert but the eye contact you make with him seconds later slows down the gears in your mind, they only whir and hum in anticipation completely coming to a halt.

"Yes, yes everything is okay." You're playing around with the hem of your shirt and you silently question when you were ever this nervous around anyone. You're a Marleyan soldier for heaven's sake not an unrestrained, unsupervised child left to play in a park.

Despite your clear inability to cushion and shield yourself from your Levi's stabbing gaze you attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll be going I just feel a little —" At first you had thought to fake you were ill but at the feeling of a sudden strike of pain you hold onto your stomach, the ache burns into your abdomen and without permission it travels higher up towards your ribs. "A little unwell." You manage to wheeze out. Hand placed onto a nearby cement wall your thought process is hasty speeding up by the second. Have they figured you out and had you poisoned? No, you barely ate anything today.

You hunch over feeling the bile crawl up your throat, on reflex you clamp your eyes shut not wishing to anger a superior by acting insolent and disposing of your dinner in the hallway. Shaky palms reach hesitantly for your lips and you force yourself to keep it in. Levi would commit a murder if you heaved and gagged letting it all out in front of him.

You motion towards the door trying to emphasize that you can handle yourself in the privacy of your room. Tears bite at the sides of your eyes and your vision is so blurred you can only make out the faint outline of the man who was just in front of you.

"Relax. I'll clean it." Your hair is brushed away from your face securely held back and you can't hold it in any longer, the acrid storm surges through your throat, you retch at the harsh sting it leaves behind. Breathing heavy, perturbed and anxious you gasp in all the air you can get.

"I knew you looked ill." His hands hold your jaw gently, the pads of his fingers are calloused but his touch remains soft. A tissue dabs at your mouth wiping away the excess untouched sick.

Just like the sick which surged through you less than a minute ago you feel something else entirely tear into you. You can't put a finger on it but it's dangerous for you to not feel contempt.

847, i.

Your heart accepts what your mind has been ignoring for months on end when Levi looks you square in the eyes after a heart wrenching expedition. The vacant look on his face is enough for the guilt to consume you whole but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know of your sins.

The wagon of corpses reeks of death and desperation. It's rotten and the smell is sickening. Forcibly you  stop yourself from feeling any more grief. The despair isn't yours to go through.

Your first ever personal loss outside of the walls and you've learnt Paradis is not home to demons. Cheeks burning in mortification you can't formulate any thoughts on your own accord, instead they continuously emerge in bursts and finally a single thought sticks out from the rest - Are you aiding in the destruction of innocent human life?

The both of you are sat on guard duty with the corpses, half of the team has been wiped out in one sweep. Your trembling hands don't seem to want to steady any time soon and you sit there with your guilty conscience strangling you slowly, your airflow is getting shallower. Shorter, quicker breaths leave you. The imaginary gash in your chest is bottomless, and your lungs push and pull in a power struggle.

Levi's coarse hands abruptly hold onto yours and the floodgates open again, he doesn't know what you've done to him, done to his soldiers, done to his people. If he knew who you really were, would things be different?

"This was out of your control."

Do you tell him?

The question sits in your mind for a while until you shake your head. He takes it the wrong way and think you're responding to him.

"This was not your fault." For the first time in months you've heard his voice crack under pressure.

"Pe- Petra she- I could have taken one for the team and died instead of her." All that remains of your dear friend is her blood soaked cloak. Her body was one of the few that had to be hauled away earlier to decrease the carriage's load.

The fabric still smells of Petra, smells of honey and chamomile and the simple soap offered at the base, but it still smells of her.

Firm hands grab your shoulders and Levi's fingers dig sorely into your flesh.

"Don't."

"But I- I didn't contribute as much as her and she has family who are alive." Hiccuping you try to bare with the fact that you'll wake up tomorrow and not see her preparing breakfast for everyone else. You know you could have propelled her out of the way just in time if you hadn't been so taken aback by the entire situation.

"You were her comrade. She made the choice to die for you."

You want to reach out, sob into his chest and yell that you regret it all, scream and tell him about the secret you've been hiding. A sorry excuse of a comrade you are to let her die on the battlefield not knowing your true identity. The tears roll down your cheeks and Levi feels his heart constrict and squeeze as he comprehends the lack of regard you have for your life. "It should have been me." Is repeated over and over again, your eyes are raw and bloodshot, the vicious wind sinks its teeth into you.

"Then die."

"If you're willing for her life to have no meaning. Die." The words he spits out are as cutting as the bitter wind. He feels cheated and you're finally able to come to your senses.

He's faired much worse but you doubt he's ever acted out the way you have in front of another person. In this never-ending void of darkness locking away the dull ache caused by deafening loss is the best choice for everyone.

Much like the night you had been sick he takes a grip of your jaw and directs your face towards his, this time he's not as gentle as before but you conclude that it's because he's drained, completely exhausted from the battle. The eyes are the windows to the soul but Levi's window panes are shattered, completely crushed by the weight of the constant burden he has to carry.

"I'm sorry." You croak out the apology. He grits his teeth because he doesn't want you to apologize but he doesn't voice out his opinion. As a substitute he presses his arms against you, the terribly raw panic is murdering you. Levi's gruff voice is a mixture of faux irritation but mutual understanding.

"Cry." He allows for your head to loll against his shoulder.

As the dark envelopes both you and him the scent of the dead only becomes more and more pungent, recalling fond memories of Petra and the others you know your heart settles on a decision before your mind does. You're a two timing back stabbing traitor for this. What you hated Zeke for you have become yourself.

Disloyal, unfaithful and fickle.

That day you place your loyalties with Paradis.

847, ii.

Levi's wiping down one of the kitchen tables, you're kneeled on the floor scrubbing vigorously. The others have already given up, panting they've left using the excuse of fetching water from a nearby well. Your back aches but you find cleaning reassuring and somewhat of a decent distraction.

"Why do you like to clean?" You're used to Levi asking you abrupt questions by now, after all the two of you have been acquainted for well over a year now. Through that year he's learnt about you and you about him. When in the midst of what looks to be humanity's final year's, twelve simple months is enough to form a bond worth a decade.

"I'm not good at a lot but I am good at cleaning."

"You know that's not true idiot." The tone of his voice indicates that your answer doesn't please him.

"But I do think I'm good at cleaning? Maybe not as good as you but I am half decent."

"Not that. You're good at much more than half the people I've ever met." He sneers, his footsteps edge towards you. "Purely being a good person is a talent these days."

You suppress a flinch because you aren't a good person at all. Neither are you that middle ground between good and bad. Rough around the edges and uneven, you're shards of glass ready to slash and hack away at him if Marley somehow lures you back.

The confession, if you could even call it that catches you by surprise and anger fills you. You almost want for him to not trust you and call out your bluff. It's a little unnatural how badly you want for him to realize the truth.

Your head turns up to stare at the man who's a few steps away from you. "Or am I just good at acting genuine?"

You don't even mean to snap at him and you don't even realize you have until you see his eyes widen and mouth part in imperceptible surprise. Biting your tongue your attention is diverted back to the wooden floor. Driving your washcloth into the crevices and dips of the floorboards you ignore Levi's leather shoes which now stand right in front of you.

"Are you questioning my judgement of character?"

Be born in Marley, That's what you had done, trained to destroy people you thought to be devilish entities, foolishly chose to grow attached to the so called enemy. Your mind lingers onto a specific thought and you're deathly afraid to be thinking it in the first place but there's no more avoiding it.

Falling deeply in love with Levi is your worst mistake to date.

"What I did. It was out of my control." you reply, voice hard.

"Not disclosing what it was?" He asks.

Your silence is his answer. Kneeling down to where you are he disarms you, the washcloth is taken out of your hands and he places it onto a table.

"You are a good person." His voice is brusque and he states it like it's a fact, something you should know. Hot tears threaten to spill over, he's stupidly naive for not rethinking that opinion of his. Lips thinned and eyes watering you don't know how to feel.

"Levi. I'm sure you'd like to think that but I am not."

"You love the members of the corps unconditionally I can see it in the way you look at them."

"Sometimes you look a little sad when you stare." The last sentence he adds in has your pulse racing. He's right, you often feel miserable thinking about how everyone would react knowing who you really are.

"I'm not interested in bad people." He sounds distant saying such warm words and it takes a moment for them to actually sink in. You don't quite believe you've heard him correctly. The dread sinks to the bottom of your stomach and the feelings you've buried at the back of your mind hit you like a tsunami. The thought of him feeling the same way for you, is agonizing.

"Stop being ridiculous." The uncertainty is killing the both of you.

"Loving you is not ridiculous, if you don't feel the same way you can say that and I'll step away. We'll be back to normal."

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You're just saying that." Your voice quivers and the intensity of this new revelation is too large for you to cope with.

"Why would, you," He begins, voice just above a whisper, "ever think that way?"

"Why would you even look twice at me?" You reply.

"Because I worry for you."

"You worry for everyone."

"I worry for you the most."

Instead of letting you respond to him this time he carries on speaking.

"We both know we feel the same."

You already knew you were in love with Levi, you didn’t need for him to tell you. You knew you were in love when you tried to memorize his facial features, you knew you were in love when his laughter was the cause of your laughter, you knew you were in love when you threw yourself in front of that abnormal for him.

That's when you begin to understand what all his signals meant. You now knew why he'd let you stare so intently, you now knew why he laughed particularly hard when it was you who had made a joke, you now knew why he scolded you and nearly broke down at the sight of your injured arm after that specific expedition.

You know it. He knows it. You both know what this will lead to.

But you still lunge onto his lap, you still press your wobbly lips against his. You still choose to surrender yourself to him and he still reacts by taking a hold of your shaky hands which lay on his chest. He envelopes them in his warm grasp. Slowly but gradually the ice thaws and dissolves. Heartbreak, anguish and suffering when one of you loses the other will be the end of your romance, you're sure of it. Hell, the both of you are in the middle of a war but your heart flames up thinking of all of the possibilities.

Perhaps it'll play out the one way you wish for it not to.

Could your ending be in betrayal?

848, i.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus-"

"Cut the crap and kiss me." Levi's crude interruption isn't appreciated by Erwin but everyone knows Levi doesn't care all that much for formalities and hates being in the spotlight for too long.

Gripping him by the collar of his suit your lips are a centimetre away, he stops you tightening the hold he has on your waist. His lips gently press against your collarbone and his breath meanders towards the shell of your ear.

"Swear you won't die on me."

Gulping you look away apprehensively. You know you can't promise that.

“Oi, I’m expecting an answer.” His voice flickers slightly.

Forefinger holding your chin up you see your soon to be husband close to tears, he valiantly blinks them away. Levi has never been one to make his pain public and your heart twists in your chest as you realize just how much of a hold his feelings for you have over him.

"I can't promise that, you know it'll only hurt more." The strange bitter taste in your mouth won't let you comply with his request and by measuring his reaction you see his eyes cloud in an unidentifiable emotion, you're sure it's nothing positive.

"We may not have a happy ending Levi but we'll always have a happy middle."

Levi scoffs in derision, he has to think your attempt at being meaningful is ridiculous.

You lean into him and it's all so heart-wrenchingly familiar yet foreign. His body sags comprehending that not everything will go the way he wants it to. One of you is guaranteed to leave first.

Hands finding purchase in the cloth of his white dress shirt Levi doesn't cringe at you creasing the fabric as he usually does. He allows for you to call the shots this time, your lips brush faintly against his before you nosedive into him. No resistance is felt and he replies almost immediately. Everyone applauds as his fingertips press into the back of your skull and you find that this is all incredibly hideous. The innate disloyalty you feel, you throwing your entire life away for this man but you find yourself not caring. To hell with that miserable life crammed with sin.

Levi smiles against your mouth, you assume you're meant to magically smile back but you can't make yourself. It's uncomfortable relishing in the undeserved happiness knowing it won't last forever.

The world you live in isn't ideal nor is it forgiving.

Momentary joy is all an antagonist can hope for.

849, i.

Jean can’t take his eyes off the newly weds.

You’re cooing into your Levi’s ear gently, his cheeks flush scarlet at the feeling of your hot breath against his skin and he scolds you for having the gall to rile him up in public.

Jean sniggers finding some sort of odd delight from the interaction - he’s never seen the Captain this content and at ease.

849, ii.

You don't know why you've dragged yourself out of bed just to stare at your husband's face but you have, despite the toll life has had on him he seems sound for once. His breathing peaceful yours is anything but that. When it's dark the weight becomes heavier, your skin tingles and your throat burns aching for release.

Eyes blurring your hands shake reaching out for him but you can't find the courage to make contact. Nothing will ever warrant plaguing him even more with your existence.

The memories become increasingly bitter.

"If we make it out of this alive we'll have children and they'll look just like you."

"I want them to look like you." had been your reply.

Levi winced not seeming to like the idea.

"No, I want them to look like you. You're beautiful."

How wrong he was for thinking that.

You, beautiful? He'd stab himself ten times over if he knew just who exactly he had said those words to.

850, i.

Zeke had betrayed you after finding out who you were to Levi but you half expected that he would tell him the truth at some point regardless of that fact.

Tear stains travel through the mud and grime on your face, Levi's eyes are indifferent as he twists his wedding ring off his finger flinging it into the surrounding rubble.

Without your permission he yanks your arm forwards intending to take your matching ring away but you hold on digging your heels into the dirt beneath you.

"You disgusting bitch. Give me it."

You scream, high and awful, he continues jerking at your arm the muscle throbs crying out for him to stop but he doesn't and no one steps in to put a halt to any of it. Levi having had enough grabs at your neck ruthlessly. In any other circumstance he'd be labelled callous or cruel but everyone on the battle field shares a similar empathy for their Captain. Neither they or Levi had expected your disloyalty.

"I said give me the ring if you know what's good for you." His fingers slide around your neck, his seemingly low words cling onto the little respect he has left for you.

"No." Your defiance has his eyes hardening in and posture tensing. "I'm not handing it over."

Levi says nothing, he only holds onto your throat tighter, if he really keeps at  it your windpipe will be crushed in no time. You know he's holding out on purpose, he's still giving you a chance. He expects for you to stand your ground, say you never deceived Paradis, say something, anything to make him let go of you.  

"Marrying you... It just happened somehow. I know it was selfish of me." He squeezes harder. "I know it was. I'm sorry Levi." Gasping and breathless you clench and unclench your fists finding it too difficult to explain.

Your mouth opens, you want to tell him you haven't seduced him like he thinks you have, tell him you dropped that plan of yours long ago but then you falter at the last second.  It's typically hard to tell when Erwin's infuriated but it's painfully obvious when you make eye contact with him over Levi's trembling shoulders. It's enough to tell you to give up. Enough to tell you that you're beyond redemption, you've ran and hid long enough.

"Hand over your titan." Levi says nothing to Erwin's proposition, the hold he has on your neck loosens but his silence is sickening. It means he agrees.

This is fate's idea of a cruel joke.

But you agree, on the basis of one condition.

"Fine but-"

Levi cuts in, all regard for you devoid from his system.

"You're in no place to be making demands." He snarls, his patience quickly running thin.

However Erwin urges you to continue speaking taking you aback.

"If it's not too much maybe we can accommodate your final wish." Erwin had always been thoughtful in nature and you thank him for even bothering to show you a sliver of benevolence.

Everyone's looking, all eyes are on you. Some are blinking away tears, others are disgusted unable to stare at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Levi falls into the latter.

Brazen with not an ounce of shame you mention the ring again. "Let me keep it." Your left hand covers your right and underneath the flesh is the last symbol left of your union with Levi.

Whispers and murmurs orbit you, none of them are kind and Levi loses it.

His reflexes are paralyzing, he's back at it clawing your neck mercilessly but you don't scream or shriek as you did previously. You take it, you let him unload his frustration.

"Levi. Let it go for the sake of humanity." Erwin says pointedly. Irritation pricks him, he wants this over and done with and your rebelliousness doesn't look as if it'll be tamed any time soon unless you're given what you want.

Levi's face is crimson, the fresh blood from the expedition still steaming. "Y/N, I'll saw your arm off if I have to." But, you know he's already given into Erwin's orders when he throws you to the ground letting you crash and wheeze for breath.

850, ii.

Levi's been appointed to guard you for your final night alive. The room feels wistful as you think back wondering if the life you lived was respectable.

"Why did you stare at me when I slept? Did you think of killing me?" Half commanding and half pleading his voice cracks. He coughs attempting to cover it up.

You jolt not expecting the interaction at all and you're not the slightest bit surprised that he had seen you all those nights staring so deeply. He'd always been a light sleeper. You turn your head up hoping he's looking at you.

He isn't.

"I wanted our children to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

It's now his turn to recoil, only he does so in repulsion remembering the familiarity of those words. They had left his own lips not too long ago.

"I'd never have children with the likes of you." He sounds tense then.

You understand. No one would want to have children with someone as hated and as despicable as you.

"I know." You whisper faintly.

850, iii.

When Erwin's eyes glaze over unable to focus on anything in particular Levi assumes it's him growing used to the titan powers. What he doesn't expect is for his Commander to bang his head against the floor unrelenting screaming your name.

Pairs of hands move to stop him but he thrusts them aside wailing. Levi stresses trying to figure out what it is you could have done in the wake of your death.

But Erwin Smith. Courageous, brave Erwin Smith, who never cracked at loss of life for the sake of humanity, who always eloquently spoke to everyone around him at all times, finds himself slumping down to his knees and weeping for you.

The warm blood from his self inflicted assault still trickles down his nose, a tremor shakes through his entire body when he thinks of breaking the news to Levi.

The edge in Erwin’s voice grows dangerous.

"We made the wrong choice."

Erwin can't word it any better than that.

But Levi understands right away, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes he was ignorant enough not to.

Hange sticks an arm out aiming for his shoulder but he stumbles away nearly falling back into the floor not wanting to be touched by anyone.

He finds that he is not human enough to cry. It’s that or he’s not human at all without your presence.

854, i.

Levi has grown old without you, lived to see months and new seasons without you by his side. Over time his eyelids have become heavier, the corners of his mouth naturally droop and he remains perpetually somber.

Sometimes you visit him in his dreams, each time you make a silly comment about how his grey eye bags make him look like he’s been punched in the face. “Levi Ackerman, I swear if you don’t sleep soon!” You cushion the blow by whispering sweet nothings, reassuring him that you still think he’s beautiful. 

Occasionally you add in that you don’t blame him for the past, but those conversations only last for a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t blame you.” It always starts off with the exact same phrase. 

“I should have listened to you.” Levi’s tone is stern and uncompromising .

“Lev, I was never going to tell you to spare my life. You tried to listen to me, I could tell you wanted me to deny it.”

Levi refuses to answer you, he still thinks he’s at fault.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of that ring. He regrets throwing it away recklessly into the rubble.

Some day he’ll return to Shiganshina to find it. The idea sounds laughable but he has to find a reason to smile as he fights for his life.

That is what Levi thinks as two set’s of jaws snap shut onto his legs, a flurry of red surrounds him. His throat constricts at the feeling of his thighs being ripped away from the rest of him.

“I tried.” He whimpers to no one in particular, eyes blank and losing meaning.

“I know Levi, I know.” The same voice from his dreams soothes him.

“Do not despair. Find me again in another world.” The biting wind adds in.

Levi’s eyelids flutter shut unable to do much else.

He’s unsure if he has the courage to face you again in another lifetime.

[tardytothepardy]

Fruits Basket - Vol. 20

I want to try to break the book into three main chunks. The last time I did that, it was easier to write about. So uh, the first chunk has to do with Tohru and her feelings about Kyo, and Kagura's reaction, the second chunk is Akito and Ren's past being revealed (it's totally a mess but it's to be expected), and the third chunk is about things unraveling.

Ok cool let's do it. (The picture was at the end of one of the chapters, I just liked it a lot idk) (also tumblr needs to increase the character limit for the alt text, it's only 200 characters, which goes by quick. twitter has like,, 420, which is more manageable)

Tohru came to Kazuma's house to visit Izusu, and Kagura came to confront Tohru about something. What possibly could it be (as if I didn't say so in the beginning)? Kagura was talking about it a bit with Kazuma, and he said he just hopes that Tohru's feelings don't come from a place of pity (which is a mild "oof" point for Kagura, because that's mostly why she loved Kyo), because Kyo has had to deal with people either flat out hating him, or being nice to him out of a sense of pity. Even Kazuma admitted (earlier in the series. I don't remember when but I remember reading it) that part of the reason he took in Kyo as a child was because he was making it up for how he treated his grandfather, the previous Cat. Over time, those feelings fell away, in favor of genuinely caring for Kyo's wellbeing, but Kazuma doesn't seem to be the one who would forget about stuff like that. (Also it turns out that the previous Cat's partner basically stayed with him out of a sense of pity, as well)

It turns out that Izusu and Tohru were talking about the same thing, and Tohru worried if her feelings for Kyo were selfish, because she wanted nothing to take Kyo away from her, not the curse, not the Sohma family, nothing. Kagura then bust into the room, smacked Tohru across the fucking room it seems, and said, "Then fucking tell him that!!" (direct quote, 100%) Izusu yelled at Kagura for hitting Tohru, asking what right she had for doing that, but given Kagura's nature, it doesn't seem completely out of nowhere. She just got pretty emotional in that moment.

For Tohru, it seemed to knock the right screw loose for her, and she thought back to when she was talking about her father to Kyo, and if he said really anything against what she was talking about, she apparently would've just zipped her lips and pretended she hadn't said anything, and moved on, but he didn't. Which is pretty nice of him to do, honestly. Anyway, when she came to again (because she got knocked out from Kagura's emotion-packed slap), Kyo was sitting there, because Kazuma had called him, ("Hey dude so there was a smackdown here and Tohru got knocked out lmao" is how I'm imagining the call. kjdhkfgjh can you imagine Kazuma saying "lmao" I can't) but Kyo didn't ask about the fight (which was a Wise Lesson from Shishou™), another nice thing for him to do, though in my opinion it would be a pretty easy thing to explain.

Ok, so now onto the second chunk, which kinda has some of the stuff in the third chunk later on but whatever. Story flow, it's pristine today.

It starts with some of the,, maids? or something that are in the Sohma house (they never get names so far as I can tell, and I don't really know what to call them, but at one point someone referred to one of them as a maid, I think? Idk.) talking about Ren, and wondering why Akito still let Ren wander around freely like she does. Another said that Akito can only do so much, because apparently there is a crowd of people in the house that are "Ren-followers", and if she had Ren be completely contained within an area, there's a chance that those followers might start some shit, which would be a headache to deal with. One of the maids said that Akito has been sick (or holed up in her room) for too long, and the rest of the Juunishi are doing nothing to help, which does not help with Ren, who spouts out stuff about how the Juunishi doesn't really care about Akito at all. The maids seem to have a particular thing against Ren, because they view her as an unsuitable woman who somehow managed to become partners with Akira, the previous God, I think, but also the father of Akito.

Speaking of Akito, she has a box. That same box that Ren tried to use Izusu to get back. Something about that box has to do with Akira, and it seems important to both Akito and Ren, though honestly at this point Akito is probably just holding onto it out of spite for Ren, I wouldn't be surprised (I, too, am a petty bitch. I understand the mindset). She asked Kureno if he has any idea what is in it, and when he says he doesn't, she simply says, "Father."

Now we jump over to Ren and Shigure, who are also talking about about that elusive box. Apparently Shigure was tasked to get the box, but obviously he didn't succeed. He said (thought? He didn't say it aloud, it was one of those thoughts thing--- anyway) that he didn't really care, he didn't even want to touch that box, much less even look at it, it was no loss to him. Out loud, he says that it would be inappropriate for him to hold it, and Ren agrees, saying that only she can have it, just like how only she could have Akira, when he was alive. Are you already sensing where this is heading? Well, I'll say it anyway.

Flash back to Kureno, he's thinking about Akira, from when he was younger and Akira was still alive. He remembers Akira as very beautiful, in a fleeting way. Akira was sickly, all the time, and sad. Everyone knew that he wouldn't live for very long. But since he was the head of the house, of the family, it was imperative that he find a partner and produce an heir. That person was Ren, who was one of his care-takers. The rest of the staff (or something??) didn't like that she was going to be with Akira, it seemed unsuitable, but she was the only candidate. She was the only person who recognized how lonely he was, is what Akira said as a defense when people objected. And so, they were married. The older members of the family despised it, the younger thought it was the beginning of a new change, a new era. Ren said (because this section is flipping between Kureno and Ren) that it was only them two (haha grammar): Akira and Ren, they were all who mattered. She was everything to Akira. So when she had Akito, well, that muddled things. Because now there was another person that Akira loved: his own fuckin child. That's right. Ren got jealous of her own child because Akira loved his very own daughter. That's,, that's something. Shortly after that, Ren decided that Akito would be raised as a boy. Or maybe it was while she was still pregnant. At any rate, she said it was because it would be unsuitable for the head of the family to be a woman, but we all know the real reason: it's so that Akira wouldn't be loving another girl, even though that other girl was his daughter. Jfc Ren is a handful. From Kureno's memory, it seems like even as a kid, Shigure recognized that.

Back to Shigure and Ren, Shigure says that he feels sorry for Ren, probably thanks to all that upset she has. She says the same, that the Juunishi have had to deal with the abuse that Akito has dealt to them simply because of that "bond", and that there's no way that anyone could honestly love Akito. Shigure also comments that sometimes he thinks that if Akito had been raised as a woman, she'd look exactly like Ren, which instantly pisses Ren off. She just starts screaming about "Who do you have to thank for Akito being born! I'm the reason that (insert angry comment about how she's the only reason why x happened)". I'm kinda glad she isn't in the series much, this is exhausting. I know she's in the book later, and maybe a bit more in the next few, but jeez. It's a lot.

Anyway, let's end the chapter with Momiji having his curse be broken. The end is near (for the Juunishi, not this post lmao).

The second that the curse breaks, Akito knows it (that's probably the bond. I doubt it's some kinda "we'll be friends forever uwu" kinda thing, it's just kinda an awareness of each other, or maybe just God's awareness of everyone) and races towards Momiji, begging him to not leave. Now that the curse is broken, Momiji is confused as to how those thoughts he had prior for Akito were even there, now that he sees Akito clinging onto him, whimpering and panicked. Momiji waves her away, saying that he'll keep it a secret, and that Akito should go rest, wasn't she feeling sick earlier?

We pan over to the school, where Haru is asking Yuki if he's noticed anything off about Momiji. Haru can't place it, but something seems off, maybe not. Kyo ends up running into Momiji walking down a hallway, and asks him about it (he overheard the others talking about it), and Momiji just out and says it: his curse broke. He said he imagines that Tohru would be happier about it if it were Kyo's curse that broke, and that he (Momiji) lost. (I guess he lost in some unspoken one-sided competition of "getting" Tohru, because y'know she's not her own person who is capable of deciding these things for herself or anything)

Later, Momiji goes back to the main Sohma estate, to apologize to Akito for how he acted yesterday, but also to say that he won't be staying there any longer. Akito takes it like a champ, slapping Momiji across the face and insulting him, saying that he's a traitor, he has nowhere else to go, his family either doesn't remember him or hates him, he'll never be happy! and Momiji's just like, "Yeah lol I already feel lonely", that he can't be with the person he loves, and he no longer has that One Thing that previously connected him to most of the other people he's close with, and that there's no going back. He does say though, that it's not Akito's decision or place to say whether Momiji will ever be happy or not, because he might not be happy now, that does not mean that he won't ever be happy in the future. He then asks Akito how long she will stay at the house, thinking that eventually, everyone will come back to her, that no one will be happy without her. What if it's actually her that is most afraid-- Akito isn't down for an analysis, she just tells Momiji to leave.

Let's now go down memory lane, down a nice and happy time, especially for Akito and Ren: Akira's death and it's after effects. Happy times. (apparently i was wrong, the thing i said was the third chunk that wove in nicely with the second was just the second chunk, i think this is the actual third chunk)

Akito is thinking back (on a rainy morning, extra points for setting the mood) on her relationship with her parents. With Akira, it was nice, he always was kind and caring, telling Akito that she is what everyone has been waiting for, and that she thought she was the one Akira loved the most. With Ren, however, she was always cruel, from the start. She always glared at Akito, she was always mean. Akito hates her. We're brought back to the day Akira died, where Ren bursts into the room, asking why she wasn't notified sooner, why Akira had to die alone. One of the attendants said his condition worsened too quickly to call Ren close by, but also that Akira hadn't died alone; he died with Akito by his side. The attendant said that Akira's will had been passed onto Akito, she was now the head of the family. Ren was angered at that, there's no reason for Akito to still be around now! She only tolerated her child being around because Akira liked her, but now that Akira is gone, there is no one to love or care about Akito. Akito said that wasn't true, that all of the Juunishi will love her, because of their bond. (Which is basically what Akira said. He put most of that stuff into her head, and she doubled down on it whenever Ren said anything against it, which might as well be every single time they were around each other)

Back to the present, Kureno comes in the room to talk about something, but Akito interrupts him, saying that she was happy when Yuki was born, as the Rat. It was mostly just something she used to prove Ren wrong, and she used it as long as she could (much to the deterioration of Yuki's mental health). She thought back, over the years, to all the bad things that had happened, how she tried so hard to keep everyone close, and how all of them had, one by one, come to "betray" (cough cough, try to live their own lives, cough cough) her. After Shigure and Yuki left to their present residence, Ren said that they had given up on Akito. When Akito again mentioned their bond (which, really, now that I think about it, has basically been the singular thing straining to keep everything under control. Akito's sole sense of identity was being God, she's never had anything else.), Ren waved it away, then challenged that if any of the Juunishi can go out into the world, experience it in all it's freaky magical ways, and not be taken in by it, and instead return to Akito, then she will have been proved wrong, Akito's claims this whole time will have been correct. If they failed to, however, Ren said that Akito would have to give up the Sohma name. But Akito believed it, she truly believed she was right, that nothing big enough would come between her and the rest of the Juunishi (Tohru has entered the chat). She had to believe it, she just had to. But now, it's evident, between how Haru reacted upon learning about Izusu, Momiji's demeanor after the curse broke, the general way that the rest of the Juunishi float away from Akito, that it isn't true, and with that, she has nothing to hope for.

Upon this realization, Ren bursts into the room, knee-length hair floating around her, eyes crazed, knife in hand, demanding for Akira. Demanding for that box, and whatever contents were inside. In response, Akito fuggin yeeted it at Ren, she didn't give a shit. It flashed back to right before Akira died, and he soothed Akito by saying that, despite dying, he will always be with her. He wanted for Ren to be happy. He wasn't upset that he was dying so soon, he knew that he was just a man who was going to die, but he was happy that he was able to have a child, and to have had that child with Ren, and since that child was special, it was proof that their relationship was a special one. Back to the present, Ren scrambles to the box, tears it open hungrily to find,,, nothing. The box was empty. It'd always been empty, said to have held Akira's soul, but it was mostly just something to help Akito with Akira's passing. Suddenly, Akito grabbed the knife that fell from Ren's hand, poised to stab Ren but then--

Hiro's curse broke. Ren can thank that bond she always scoffed at for saving her life. But hey, now Hiro can hold his baby sister, which is nice. Yay for family moments.

Boo for Akito, because it's just really grinding in that the curse is quickly falling apart, and there's absolutely nothing that she can do about it. Ren taunts Akito, asking if she was trying to kill her. The attendants blow up, one yelling at Ren for making such a scene, taking a knife with her, and another scolds the first for giving Akito that box in the first place, it's stupid! The first attendant said that Akito knew from the start that it was empty, common sense would say that much! (idk man it could've held one last letter from Akira to Akito, a letter wouldn't affect the weight of the box significantly, it's not common sense)

Akito leaves the room, and Kureno follows. Akito says that it was both common sense but also not, that there wasn't anything in the box. She wanted to believe there was a chance that something was in that box, some kind of invisible energy that would help her. But even after opening it, seeing that it was empty, she still held onto it, knowing there wasn't anything. And that was her common sense, that's what she thought. She'd never been given any other way of thinking, of living, so why and how should anyone expect differently? Kureno says that she can start learning now, that that was what he wanted to talk about earlier, that she can't stay here, she'll never be able to move on, to which Akito cuts him off with "Fuggin now, bitch?? You're saying that now?? That doesn't help me! It would have helped in the beginning! But not fucking now!" (which btw is true. i doubt akito was even allowed to go to a public school, that she was schooled within the estate. i really believe that she's never really been outside of the the properties that the Sohma family owns) Then she stabs Kureno, with that knife she's been holding all this time. She reasons with it saying that Kureno's "halfway kindness" has been killing her this whole time, that it can't be fixed by Kureno saying that maybe Akito should go touch some grass. As Akito is running from the scene (more like haggardly stumbling), she continues thinking that it's Kureno's fault, it's not on her, until she remembers what Yuki was saying at the New Year's gathering about blame. It doesn't really fix anything, it just momentarily makes you think that you're not in the wrong. *record scratch* What if it's Akito's fault, then? All of this? What if it's her fault? What if it's the fault of the person who made everyone change? What if it's Tohru's fault?? (dun dun dunnnn)

Meanwhile, back at the other Sohma house (Shigure's house?) Tohru has some confessing to do. Before that though, Kyo has some confessing to do, though not about the same thing. He tells Tohru that he knew her mom before she died, and that he was the reason she died. He tells her that they met when he was really young, and how they had kinda become friends (in that way that people become friends by talking often, but Kyo never told Kyoko his name, because he had some weird thing about having a name so similar). That all fell apart the day that Tohru went missing. He promised that he would find her and rescue her, but after finding that Yuki had done it (the evidence was The Hat), he lashed out, and never talked to Kyoko again. Years later, when he was at the crosswalk, who was beside him but Kyoko, who he recognized instantly. He wasn't sure what to do, whether to say something to her or hold back. He was totally able to grab her arm, get her out of harm's way, but he didn't, he was too scared. (plus yaknow the whole cat thing) He beats himself up about, still to this day. He does the same with his own mom's death. It was his fault that his mom killed herself, she couldn't stand having such a monster as a child. It was too much for her, and she couldn't take any longer. (It wasn't. I won't say that his mom wasn't put under strain for having Kyo, for knowing that he wasn't human, that he turned into a weird monster if his bracelet was taken off, but from what we've seen of his dad, it was probably at least 85-90% his dad's fault. He was too caught up in the politics of the Sohma family, ashamed of the fact that Kyo was the Cat, the worst out of them, that he couldn't even salvage having one of the good freaks to have as a child of his, and he took it all out on his wife and later his son.)

And the book ends on that cheery note. (Why do I say stuff like that why I am I like this)

[vampiresuns]

Corazón Sufriente, Corazón Sangrante

3.5k words. The Crews of The Jagged Ruby and El Corazón Sangrante spend the night in Hinode. However, Captain Syd and the crew of Inuwashi cross the waters of the Strait before they even set sail the next morning, rattling the beings that inhabit it. Having no option but to sail as soon as they can, they are forced to face the storm waiting for them in the water.

The crew of The Jagged Ruby, El Corazón Sangrante, and Inuwashi belong to @apprenticealec​​. You can also check her map and lore about the Strait of Sirens here.​

This is the second and last instalment of Part VI of Secrets of An Ancient Moon Series. 

Want to read more of these series? You can find it’s masterpost here.

CW: Brief mentions of unhealthy family dynamics.

Rodrigo was something completely different from Jacqui. An entire different type of fish — an analogy he had hated. Not that him hating it was about to stop Jules from using it. 

They had known him for less than a day, yet they had already argued about at least five different topics. All of them unprompted. They had argued about slang, about whether their shared mother tongue was actually called Alzor or Nopali; Jules said both were acceptable, Rodrigo wasn’t so convinced. They had also begun bickering because Rodrigo, finding them again after docking in Hinode, tried to make for their ‘interrupted’ introduction earlier that morning, only to be met with Jules laughing through their nose and telling him he was shorter than Saoirse. They did not expect to touch a nerve, but they did.

Then it was some random thing neither of them knew how they ended up talking about, Jules ‘hoarding’ Jacqui, and finally because Jules had had the gall to make an assessment out of Rodrigo and be right about it.

“You too, huh?” Jacqui asked him. “What did they tell you?” 

Rodrigo grumbled something about ‘hearts’, and ‘choices’, and people like ‘us’. “Anyway, I told them there could be an ‘us’ if they wanted to, grabbed their face and the next thing I knew fucking Saoirse was standing right behind me, like what the fuck.” 

Jacqui laughed. Rodrigo looked at him as if he had just told him the worst of insults. 

“You know they do that because they think it’s funny, right?” 

“Shut up, Jacqui.”

Rodrigo’s Quartermaster looked over his Captain’s shoulder, snorting at the same time as Saoirse said: “Hi, Rodrigo,” making him jump from his chair.

None of those wouldn’t be the last of Julianus’ offences against Rodrigo that night. The crown jewel of them all would come when they asked him and Jacqui for how long they had been together. While Jacqui clammed up, Rodrigo answered ‘20 years’ like it was nothing. However, when Jacqui tried to tell him Julianus didn’t mean as Captain-and-Quartermaster, he laughed, and left. 

“So it’s not like—? Oh.” Saoirse laughed softly, and kissed their temple.

In hindsight Jules should’ve anticipated Rodrigo coming back to steal their drink, since they “weren’t going to finish it.” 

In any other circumstances, Jules would’ve rolled their eyes, yelled something smart back at whomever took their drink, and carried on. That drink, however, had pisco mixed with a soft drink. It was a popular mix in Altazor, but slightly harder to find in other places — mostly due to the lack of pisco— and, it was Rodrigo who had taken it. 

“Hey! That’s mine!”

Rodrigo began walking away faster.

This would be one of those moments which Julianus would never forget. The blur of faces as they chased Rodrigo in the tavern part of the Inn, Manolo’s and Manuela’s concerned faces. Walking over someone’s table after climbing on a chair without thinking too much about it. Or rather, without overthinking about it. There were no what-abouts, no ifs, no what-will-whoever-thinks. Just them, trying to calculate their odds as they tackled Rodrigo into the ground. He yelled something about his coat getting dirty, Jules told him he shouldn’t have stolen his drink. 

Neither of them were putting on a real fight, though at the same time they were. Rodrigo fought better, but Jules was more slippery and had, per Saoirse’s own confirmation and now for everyone to witness, an unexpectedly strong thigh-lock. 

Meredith was yelling insults at Rodrigo and cheering on Julianus, with either ‘you go, Sanlaurento’, or ‘that’s my legal bastard’. J. C. would not register it until hours later, and while they suspected it was solely because they were fighting Rodrigo and had tackled him to the ground, it still brought a smile to their face. 

Looking at them as they fought, Saoirse and Jacqui stood together. Jacqui refused to get involved, claiming this wouldn’t have happened if Rodrigo had not stolen their drink. 

“You know those fights between siblings which start to get too serious?” He asked Saoirse.

“No, not really.”

“Well, this is a little like those.” 

After a moment or two, he spoke again. “So, this is ‘your Julie’.”

Saoirse’s smile was the brightest Jacqui had ever seen in them. “Sometimes I think I will anticipate their thought process. Sometimes I do. Others…,” there it was again, the smile, “I have no idea.”

The fight ended when Saoirse got Jules another drink, and helped them get off from Rodrigo who was yelling at them not to get his face, while Jules yelled at him that he got theirs first. They were both perfectly alright, despite their dramatics, but in the morning Julianus’ forehead would develop a small bruise right where their hairline began, Rodrigo having accidentally elbowed them. It was, for once, a legitimate accidental blow. 

Later, Saoirse would say that Jules had a very thick head, as they held ice to their forehead just in case. Jules was sharing a bedroom with Theo, and while the ship’s medic would’ve been able to do just the same, Saoirse wanted to do it. They, on the other hand, had to sleep in the same room as Meredith, to keep the Queen safe. 

Theo had offered to change places with Saoirse, swearing ‘most ardently’ that he would never let anything happen to Meredith. Saoirse, bound by the code by their own choice, declined.

When the two of them were alone, Saoirse having left to their own bedroom, Theo gave Jules a sympathetic look.

“You look melancholic, my dear friend. Empty bed blues?”

“No, not really. I do know how it goes, and besides, it’s their job. You don’t see Saoirse complaining about my law books, do you?”

“So what is it? If you wish to talk about it,” he said as he sat on Jules’ bed, “I am happy to be your faithful confidant.”

“Thank you, Theodore. Do you promise not to think it’s stupid?”

Theodore crossed his heart, then put his open palm above it and raised his other hand. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Jules was silent for so long, gathering their thoughts, that the doctor thought they’d never speak. However, they did, turning to them with such vulnerability in their face that Theodore, poetic and candid as he was, almost gasped. 

“I’m not used to being in a place where I want to find out what happens tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after. It’s like my mind decided to have this moment, out of all possible moments to realise I am not going anywhere.”

“Anywhere how? Oh, Meredith wouldn’t turn you away!”

“No, not like that. Anywhere as in here, in this world. That this is my life and I get to live it, for many more years than I ever thought I’d get to live.”

Theodore hugged them. Jules didn’t expect the gesture tensing for a fraction of a second before fully leaning into it. Theo was hugging them with both his arms, but he was doing it around their side, not in front of them, which made returning the hug a little awkward. Jules still did their best. 

“I’m so very glad we are friends.”

Jules smiled. “So am I, Theo. You deserve good things.”

“So do you.”

“Just take the compliment.”

“Pot and kettle! You take the compliment!”

They bickered some more, like old friends who have known each other for their whole lives, until Theo sent them to bed on Doctor’s orders. 

They would both sleep happy, soundly. Julianus would dream of sweet nothings and their feet would stay warm all night with the weight of Marcius over them. Yet that wouldn’t last until the morning. Everyone slept in a little later than they did at Sea, only to be woken up with alarm from members of both crews announcing Inuwashi had crossed the waters of the Strait.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

They could’ve waited a couple days to pass, but the fear of not making it to Ethari on time was worse — Jules had no idea until then, but due to a couple of reasons beyond anyone’s control (namely the weather and some routes alterations) they were behind schedule and could not afford any more delays. It meant they’d head to risk going through the waters with its very, very angry sirens. 

This time, no crew song appeased them. The message was clear: anything or anyone they got their hands on would not see the surface again.

On the distant horizon, Julianus could see the outline of a ship. It looked tiny in the distance and by the way Meredith cursed in it’s direction, they assumed it must be Inuwashi. Meredith cursed again — it had begun to drizzle, and it looked like a storm was beginning to brew. 

Saoirse, for once, looked concerned. “Jacqui says Rodrigo exhausted his illusion magic, they’re too uncontrollable for him to properly cast anything on them.” 

To make matters worse, a ripple went through the water. With a violent halt, both of the ships stopped moving.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! If I could kill Syd, I fucking would!” Meredith yelled.

“I know,” was Saoirse’s serious reply. “But I don’t think that was Syd.”

“You’re seriously going to tell me that wasn’t Gharial or however the fuck they’re called?”

“No, it was, but Syd is not stupid enough to endanger you right before a Quinquennial Meeting without a loophole, and Gharial just likes getting Syd into trouble.”

“It doesn’t fucking change anything.”

It was chaos as everyone snapped into action to make the ships move again. The sooner they were all out of the Strait the better and by the turn of events it was going to be a long, tiring task. 

“Alright!” Meredith yelled, raising their voice so everyone listened to her. “Keep everyone from the railings and if you can move with a lifeline, do it. I want all of them secured! I will only say this once: if anyone falls, we will not be able to retrieve them so anyone with a range weapon — do whatever idiot that falls a favour if they do.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

What nothing told you about life or death experiences was how absolutely absurd they were. There were no big revelations, no reel of your life going before your eyes, no philosophical moments where the ulterior meaning of life was revealed to you. It was just you, and whomever else was with you in that moment, running around as survival instincts kicked in. As they did, the realisation that you might as well die came to you, and instead of thinking about everything you did not get to do, or everything you could’ve done differently, all you did was noticing really stupid details, about really stupid shit. 

Julianus didn’t need to wait to have another experience with death to know whomever said otherwise was fucking lying. 

Instead of thinking about anything that would’ve risen up to the dourness of the hour, they were thinking about their art teacher from Altazor, the one they had when they were in primary school and they had taken an art extracurricular. When they were around ten, they went through a phase where they only wanted to paint the sea. Their teacher had shown them a Neviv painter who painted ships and stormy seas, and Julianus had decided they only wanted to paint the sea from then on. 

The sky looked like the paints of that painter. Julianus couldn’t even remember the name of the painter.

They had stopped taking the extracurricular not long after that. Part of an ongoing issue they had associated with lack of confidence in their sense of self, and their struggle to keep habits. The former had to do with having been indirectly punished for their openness of self, which left them more vulnerable to other people’s opinions. A vulnerability they were never given proper tools to deal with. When they tried to find who they were in front of the world, too many factors had convinced them for years that who they were was inherently wrong. From mean peers to their own parents, or the expectations of their family, and no matter what image they projected, it all weighted them down. 

The other had to do with a long time undiagnosed hyperactivity and focus divergency. No one believed them about it until they took the matters in their own hands, because how could someone ‘as smart as them’ have it. It simply had to be laziness, or something other. They had been over this already, about how too many people had opinions on who Julianus Sanlaurento had to be, or was, without actually bothering to check who they actually were, or even given the chance. 

The other extracurricular that succumbed to all of that was magic. However, they had taken it up again in their last years of schooling before university, as they had in free hours they were left alone to their own devices. That halt in their studies had made them more knowledgeable in the history of it and the relationships different cultures had with it, than to the practice itself. It was one of the reasons why the Sea Palace had had no interest in them, besides the fact they thought (both Jules and the Scholars) they did not have any particularly differential ability in it. 

They never stopped practising it after that, even if they never mentioned to anyone, unless they were forced to. They had taken it up under a mentor again in Firent, where they took it as a university extracurricular with a magician who was adept to energy manipulation — electricity in particular. Jules had taken to it like fish to the water, even if, once again, they ended up using it for little. 

She always said plasma and electricity weren’t harder to manipulate than other types of matter. People tended to be more afraid to do it, because it required the magician to make themselves a receptor of that energy, and for a series of reasons, people did not seem comfortable with malleable matter that may or may not zap you. 

Somewhere to their right, Drew hissed. 

“Are you alright, darling?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, I just grabbed my knife and I got a static shock.”

Jules snapped out of their trace. “Swords work as conductors of electricity, right?” 

“What?”

“Like, you can catch electricity with a sword, can you not?”

Drew and Elizabeth looked at them with concern. Also, like perhaps, they had gone a little crazy. 

Theo, however, had their answers. “It’s metal, so in theory it would work. Though not all metals conduct the same way, but that’s the principle of a lightning rod… why do you ask?”

“If I do something that’s potentially really stupid, involves magic, and I technically know how to do but haven’t done it in years and never outside of the context of a classroom, do you promise to not let me fall into the water? I don’t actually want to die.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Julianus was either a genius, insane or terminally stupid. They were about to find out.

Storms had always been their favourite weather and they knew an electric storm had to be in the making. Sounds around them were too clear, humidity was annoyingly oppressive, there were no birds flying, Marcius was hiding under the covers of Saoirse’s bed (Jules double checked he was safe) and it smelled like a storm. 

Electric storms came with lightning. With the right magical knowledge, anyone could manipulate them. However, they needed to get to the Beak of the ship, and there was no way Saoirse would let them do that if it put them at the risk of falling into the water. El Corazón Sangrante, however, wasn’t that far away from the Ruby. It was a sensible jump, even by their poor eye-estimation of distance.

All they had to do was try. 

From the perspective of anyone else in the crew, this was what happened: Julianus used a rope from the rigging to jump from one ship to the other (a very bad experience, which they would not like to repeat). They told something to Jade, Rodrigo’s sailing master, and for some reason, Jade agreed to it. Perhaps, she was as desperate as everyone else to get out of the strait. Meredith, still on the Ruby yelled-asked who let Sanlaurento do such a thing. Saoirse looked at them with confusion as they ran with the rapier they had gotten for them during a raid in hand; said confusion turned into dread when they realised what part of the ship they were running towards. 

The panic they felt when they saw them climb past the forecastle and onto the very narrow surface to stand before the bowsprit began, threatened to dissolve the body they chose to use every day. They ran towards the bow of the Ruby, ready to jump into the water if they needed.

“Julie!” They yelled, trying to make them turn, but it was like they didn’t listen.

A thunder broke behind them as they lifted a leg over the railing. That’s when they saw it. With both arms extended, their sword on the left hand pointing towards the sky, a lightning strike hit Julianus. 

Jules condensed it in their free hand as it sizzled and crackled without harming their skin. Angling themselves, they threw it into the water, hitting one of the sirens straight on the chest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Having to face the Siren songs that close to the water was, perhaps, one of the worst life experiences Jules had ever gone through. It was something about their rabid eyes and the promises they sang of.

They could see them, almost. They could see themselves in it. A model child, a partner, two children and a pet. A stable job. A good relationship with their mother. Esteem and respect from the social circle they had grown in at the expense of nothing. The sirens sang and they went to a different school, they had different tastes, they had more knowledge, a better capacity to concentrate, a different career, they were more athletic. They were immaculately perfect, always pleasing everyone and always knowing the right thing to say. Whomever that abomination the Sirens sang about was, it wasn’t Jules.

They could see why. They could see how they would twist their fear of never being enough, their fear of being utterly mediocre, against them. They could see how they took that away, and left a perfectly sanitised carcass that, in a lower point of their life, they would’ve given into. 

The wind played with their hair as they felt one thing, and one thing alone: rage. 

Their frown was set as they began feeling static build around them and with steady breaths they stood in posture. They lifted their sword as their angry, teary eyes met with the fishy ones of the sirens in the water. It wasn’t about being stronger than them or more powerful than them. Neither was the case: They were just Jules. 

Just Jules. Poetic, hopeful, intelligent, strong-willed, imperfect, full of love and terrified to give it, yet determined to plant the garden of their life no matter how many times it was destroyed. Jules who was full of grief, and full of happiness, and Jules who knew they would never have the life that was promised to them, because that life required of them something they would never be able to be without sacrificing who they truly were. 

It was okay. It was okay not to have that life and not to be that person. Whoever they were now was better anyway. 

Lightning struck their sword. They knew what to do. 

When the Sirens went quiet, numbed by the electric sock, they slid their back against the wood of the ship. Hanging on some rope and their sword for dear life they sat down with their head between their legs. 

Saoirse found them moments later, pulling them up and carrying them back to Meredith’s ship in their arms. 

“I can walk you know, I’m just a little dizzy.”

Saoirse didn’t put them down. “Were you going to tell me you could manipulate lightning, or was I supposed to find out this way?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant to mention. Did it work?”

They let out a noise of annoyance. “Yes, yes it worked. But if you want to do that again, it’d be better you practised. You could’ve fallen into the sea, you could’ve—”

“But I didn’t. I’m here, Saoirse.”

They shot them a look, but the relief that it worked, and the wonder that their Julie could do such a thing won this time. They kissed the crown of their head. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“I mean it. Let’s get you some water and something to eat.”

“I’m sorry I scared you, I really am.”

Saoirse sighed. “You’re forgiven. You did great.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Beyond the Strait of Seals, Captain Syd of the Inuwashi looked at the lightning strike back in the waters of the Strait. Hideko stood besides them. 

“I didn’t know Saoirse could do that.”

Heron spoke behind her. “Are we sure that’s Saoirse?”

“Well, colour me surprised Cabin Boy, I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

[ashesgraves]

An Orcs Promise

The choice part 2

Your choice: Ellera

Warnings: little angst, some swears, family meetings, suggestive words.

Link to other parts:

An Orcs promise: https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/646150675798032384/an-orcs-promise

Part 2. https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/646294553661423616/an-orcs-promise-part-2

Part 3. https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/646373247166906368/an-orcs-promise-part-3

Part 4. https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/646477938321244160/an-orcs-promise-part-4

Part 5. https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/646486100736638976/an-orcs-promise-part-5

The chosen: Oridan https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/646771371691622400/an-orcs-promise

The chosen: Killian https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/647330998732881920/an-orcs-promise

The chosen: All https://yourlocalorcishbandit.tumblr.com/post/647482818600009728/an-orcs-promise

Taking a deep breath you picked up the vase and walked over to Ellera. Softly placing it in her hands, you took a step back a nervous smile on your face. You could see tears starting to build up in her closed eyes when she felt the vase in her hands. Peaking an eye open Ellera looked down at you with such love and joy. Her face displaying all her emotions. The boys opened their eyes with a bit of disappointment but also joy. They may not have won your heart but you’ll still be part of the family.

Two weeks had passed since you chose Ellera as your mate. They have been the best two weeks of your life so far. Your days filled with working in your shop and getting to come home to your almost finished cabin. She helped you finish your carving, got you some lumber, plotted out where the cabin was going to go and started building. You were honoured to have her help you build. Sure you didn’t get much done when working together because you two were usually too busy staring at the other work.

With you gone at your shop it was easier for Ellera to do and finish her work, she loved your company don’t get her wrong but you two could not work together. No work would get done and you’d only stare and compliment one another. So she took her chance whenever you were away to finish everything up. It worked out quite nicely as well. Once fully moved into your home you both took turns meeting each others family extended and all.

Of course yours and her parents already loved you both but, what would your grandparents say? What would her aunts and uncles say? Only one way to find out you supposed. Going to sleep that night felt impossible to you, you were so anxious at what your family would think of Ellera. You knew interspecies relationships were fine I mean look at your mother and father! But an orc? Maybe that one was uncalled for.

Waking the next morning your limbs tangled with Elleras, your head on her chest and one of her arms protectively holding you in place. Groaning softly as you tried to detangle yourself and pull away from her. “Ellera.. we need to get up and get ready.. we’re seeing my family” whining when she only pulled you back down farther and holding you with more force. Sighing softly to yourself. “ okay five more minutes...”

Five minutes turned into another two hours. Jolting awake you looked around panicked. Your family was going to be here any minute you needed to cook and clean and get ready. You didn’t have time.. wheres Ellera. Oh no.. had your family already shown up and kidnaped her thinking she was a terrible mate? Had they thought she did a few things before the wedding night? Oh no oh no oh no. Racing to get up and get ready you almost started crying when you heard knocks at your door. Calming yourself you go and get the door only to find Ellera with her arms filled with ingredients and freshly baked goods.

“Good morning little lamb I hope you slept okay.. I got some things so we can cook a good meal for your folks!” Your heart stopped. You were mad but also incredibly impressed taking a look around the cabin it was clean.. and looked good and smelt like freshly baked bread. Feeling tears in your eyes you hugged Ellera tightly. “L-Little lamb are you okay I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. I know you couldn’t sleep the other night so I wanted you to sleep I cleaned and got things so you wouldn’t have to worry or stress yourself I’m so sorry my lamb. “ her voice was shaky as she spoke worried she had upset you.

Softly shaking your head no you hugged her tighter. Your voice muffled by her chest and clothing. “ I was worried about you gone when I got up.. I thought my family kidnapped you thinking you did something terrible with the house a mess and me not even awake. B-but you did all this.. “ you were so happy you couldn’t express it. Leaning up and kissing her cheek you smiled and took some of the baskets. “What are we making?” The rest of your morning was filled with cooking, baking and last final touches for getting ready.

Once they did show they loved Ellera she was sweet, kind, funny a good cook and handy woman. They knew she could take care of you and you could take care of her. It all went by so smoothly until Ellera had said it was time for you to meet her extended family. You had three days to prepare yourself. You had hoped you had more time until that came. Meeting your family take a few weeks meet hers and be done. Not meet the family then get ready to meet the other family.

You hated large crowds and gatherings you needed time to recover and recharge your social battery. But you think you might be able to manage with Ellera at your side and you couldn’t wait to see the boys again. Despite your choice you stayed good friends with them, hell they acted more like your bothers than anything else now. Spending the rest of the day cleaning and getting ready to pack and travel you were exhausted come bed time.

The next day was filled with more nerves and jitters as you put the final touches together on what you were taking for your trip. Ellera had practically disappeared this morning leaving you to the house by yourself maybe giving you some extra alone time. You appreciated it but also you didn’t, it gave you time to start over thinking things. Shaking your head you needed to keep packing. So wrapped up in your packing you hadn’t even noticed Ellera was home with two other sets of footsteps following her. “Little lamb in back!”

Perking your head up at the sound of her voice you wondered over to the front door to greet her only to be met with her bothers. “Oridan Killian!!! What are you guys doing here ??? How are you?” Your mood instantly changed and Ellera was quite pleased with herself there.

“Well our dear sister told us you were coming down to meet the family. A terrible idea if you ask us. They’re loud and annoying but that’s how orcs are anyways anyways. So she figured you’d be all nervous especially after your own family meeting so we came down to cheer you up! “ Oridan smiled brightly and hugged you at a crushing force. The type of hug you’ve come to expect from him while Killian patiently waited his turn. He gave you a much softer and gentler hug.

“It’s good to see you again.. ma and pa will be ecstatic to see you as well but be warned of our little cousins they tend to bite. “ Killian spoke with a laugh as he showed you some bite marks he got after babysitting the terrible twos. You felt so much better Ellera knew you too well you wished you could do something for her.

With the boys around the rest of the day flew by until it was time to leave. Meeting Elleras family. You’ve never been up to the stronghold before this would be a first and you were scared but you had a surprise up your sleeve. Maybe it could get you some extra brownie points. The trip was just as short as the day before with the boys present. Time flew when the three siblings were reunited it was a bit funny. They acted like typical siblings throwing insults and punches but yet they loved each other and were so close.

Arriving at the stronghold stopped your heart. Met at a gate by some rather large and terrifying looking orcs you felt yourself shrink into seat and scoot closer to Ellera who happily wrapped an arm around your waist. The place was filled with mostly orcs a few humans and fae sprinkled around here and there. Oh gods you were doing this. This was really happening. Okay you can do this. Pulling up to the Thundered house you could tell you were all the last to arrive. Reaching in one of your bags you pulled out a satchel gift giving was huge in orc culture so you had been making carvings for them you had no idea if you had enough or if they would even like them.

Walking into the home you felt so small. Everyone’s eyes were on you. You felt yourself freeze up and going to find Elleras hand but instead you found Mrs. Thundered a wide smile and open arms. Letting a small sigh of relief leave your lips you rushed over and tightly hugged her. She had always been like a second mother to you. So of course she received the first carving. A simple bear with two little Cubs you had a matching father bear with one cub, you didn’t have enough time to make one whole carving but you hoped it was enough.

Nodding her head in acceptance and appreciation Mrs. Thundered spoke that the party may continue. Females had much more power than the males did in this stronghold it was a matriarchal group so of course Mrs. Thundered had plenty of respect it also helped that her family was so large. Going about and meeting all of Elleras other family members you gave them all a small carving. Some broke into tears others hugged you and some just nodded paying not much mind to you. It had been such a long day you were ready to curl up in Elleras arms for the night.

“You did so good today my lamb. My folks are very impressed by you. Smart bringing gifts that got you off of a few lists. They didn’t like I moved away from the Stronghold but that’s a them problem. “ that explains why some of them didn’t want to speak with you.

“Thank you.. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you or the boys. Here.. this is for you.” Pulling out the final carving it was of you and her made with such detail and care it made her smile so wide and her eyes shine. Taking it gracefully in her hands Ellera lead you upstairs to her room.

“I have a treat for you tonight my lamb~“ Her voice was low and sending shivers down your spine as she lead you to the bed. Pushing you down Ellera laughed a little as she flopped down beside you. “A full nights rest no interruptions no waking early and breakfast in bed” glancing over to your face she laughed more when she saw how red you were.

Embarrassed you smacked her arm and hid your face. “ you can’t speak like that and expect me not to think of other things!! That’s unfair you knew what you were doing! “ Pulling you into her arms Ellera smiled and kissed all over your face like she did when you chose her.

“Hush my lamb plenty of time for that after marriage. “ she spoke with a teasing tone. Holding you closer in her arms you were glad you chose her. Shaking your head as you drifted off into one of the best sleeps you’ve ever had.

You had made the right choice.

[ofcastora]

@lavolumnia replied to your post: i wanna read more from this AU

In which I continue the DiVerona Regency AU // Part 2 of me transforming Castora and Vivianne’s baking class into a Regency women’s archery club, inspired by this historical club and these outfits ft. Bridgerton-level historical accuracy. Also in which Castora becomes deeply invested in her mother-figure’s happiness and bears witness to a bodice ripper romance, but does not care for it at all. 

MENTIONED/APPEAR: Vivianne Sloane // @lavolumnia, Everett Craven // @evcravens, Priam Taravella // @priam-taravella, Cosimo Capulet (NPC), Silviana (NPC), the du Pont family, the Daly family

It was a truth universally acknowledged by all who had the misfortune of taking a stroll in Hyde Park in the morning hours in the month leading up to the Hyde Park Amazon’s Liston Hall showcase and ball that Lady Vivianne Sloane and Miss Castora Aguilar were very awful at archery. Nothing, sans for hanging at the Old Bailey for accidental homicide, would prevent them in their endeavors, however. 

Both ladies were quite indomitable and all members of the ton who sought a stroll and all squirrels seeking whatever squirrels sought quickly learned it was best to steer clear of them all together. On the bright side, while they made poor exhibition archers, perhaps in another life they would have made fine huntresses; neither of them had gotten anywhere near a bullseye, but they have gotten significantly closer to skewering a squirrel.

“It appears, Lady Vivianne, that we are actually getting worse.” 

“Nonsense.” Such a thing cannot be possible was the unspoken truth. 

Castora loosed another arrow. It did not land on the target, soaring high overhead and landing squarely in the tree behind it. “Perhaps you are, but I think my form is improving.” 

It was Vivianne’s turn to try; the arrow skimmed past the edge of the target, nestling itself in the dirt by the unfortunate tree that caught Castora’s arrow. 

“I can see that.” 

If the pair still had any arrows in the quiver, Castora was quite certain that Vivianne would have stabbed her with one. She gently placed her bow on the ground, fighting the impulse to break in two. It looked like Vivianne had the same thought as her. “Shall we?” she asked

This was, perhaps, the most depressing part of their practice sessions – collecting the evidence of their failures. 

“I suppose we have no choice –– unless you could hire a lady’s maid for this purpose?” 

“A lady’s maid for the sole purpose of fetching our arrows?” 

“I dare say she would have her work cut out for her.”

Castora pulled a stubborn arrow from the dirt, ignoring how it stained the hem of her dress. She took a look at their de facto practice field, something akin to distress on her face. “At least we did not lose any arrows in the Serpentine today,” she muttered. “Do you think it is too late to ‘come down with something’?” 

“Mrs. Silviana will have your head.” 

“Good. She can take it. She’s so often taken leave of her senses, maybe she’ll find use for my head,” Castora remarked. 

Vivianne raised an eyebrow, “You are quite bold to assume she has the sense to take advantage of such an opportunity.” 

They had reached the tree where Castora’s last arrow had lodged itself. Oh, damn it, she thought, seeing that it had landed about a foot taller than Castora herself. She jumped, trying to grab hold of it, but could not reach. 

Vivianne, who Castora was quite certain could reach it, stood by watching the younger woman take out all her energy on an arrow, the corners of her lips threatening to curve into a smile. 

A few more attempts occurred, each more feeble than the last. Castora leaned against the tree to catch her breath. “I simply have no wish to embarrass myself in front of the ton, Lady Vivianne – yes, I am keenly aware of the irony.”

"Surely you cannot be afraid of them?” Vivianne asked. Castora wished she could read her expressions better – was the woman surprised by this? Disappointed? 

“I am aware of the reality of my circumstances,” she said grimly. “And I feel like I have exhausted my quiver of accidents for this season.” Castora was a wit, a court jester the ton tolerated despite her father conning half of their father’s out of a not-insignificant sum of money because of powerful friends, a beautiful cousin they would all like to wed (or bed), and because someone had to provide some amusement, but their tolerance was ever-wavering tightrope. She could walk it, but she would always teeter. 

The fall was inevitable. 

Vivianne looked seriously at Castora, then smirked. “Yes, that game of Pall-Mall was certainly something.”

Castora’s cheeks burned. “It was an accident and Priam Taravella knows it.”

“If your aim with a bow and arrow is any indication of your aim in general, I believe you.” It was not. They both knew that – and Castora had surmised that Vivianne realized that she had been aiming for her future-stepson-in-law’s head, but that was to be expected when the beast knocked her own ball out of the way on purpose. “If it is any consolation, Miss Castora, I promise that I will be there with you to suffer Silviana and that exhibition together.” 

“Thank you.” She understood the hidden meaning – no one would insult her at the Exhibition with a future duchess by her side. 

Vivianne stepped forward, easily reaching the arrow. 

Snap. In her efforts, the arrow had split – the tip and a quarter of the shaft remained lodged in a tree. Vivianne glowered at the remnants of the arrow in her hand. 

“If I have to look at another arrow today, I think I might die.” 

“I quite agree, Miss Castora.” She was quiet for a long moment.  Then, she asked, “How about tea?”

--

A maid poured their tea and quietly left. Castora looked around at Vivianne’s apartments in wonder – surely, this was the most beautiful place she had ever been in. If I ever have the funds to decorate my own lodgings, I should like to make it look like this, Castora thought. 

“Who do you picture when you fire an arrow?” she asked. Vivianne sipped her tea, thinking over the question carefully. 

“Silviana,” she answered. “And a few others, but lately mostly Silviana. And yourself?”

“Silviana, too.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was not the whole truth. “I take turns picturing all the people who have made me cross.”

“And somehow you rarely hit your target.”

“Perhaps I would have more luck if the person I wished to strike was in the vicinity. There is only so much the imagination can do.”

A lull fell over the conversation. “I suppose you must quit this place when you and the Duke marry.” An odd expression crossed over her face at the word marry.

“Nonsense – this is mine.”

“Yours? How?”

“My late father bequeathed to his cousin, Philip Allard, in his will -–”

“–– The Duke of Beaufort?” 

“Yes. His only daughter, Lady Daphne, is married.” Castora detected a hint of a grimace in Vivianne’s voice. “Since the family hates London, he saw no use for the property, so he gave it to me.” 

Ah. This was as close to Vivianne’s as it could be, and yet it did not truly belong to her. It was charity. It was alms for a less fortunate relative. Castora understood. At least Vivianne owned something, bittersweet though it may be. 

“My distant cousin who inherited Uppercross after my Andrés’s passing pays for my lodgings in London for the Season.”

“Do you reside at Uppercross the rest of the year?”

“No,” Castora scoffed. Uppercross wasn’t the home she had as a child, the one she lost twice over. It did not belong to her anymore. It never did. “I usually take invitations from friends in the countryside. I toured the Lakes with Lady Pandora the last year.” 

“Your mother does not miss you?” It did not surprise her that Vivianne knew that her father was gone, but did not know what happened to her mother. No one really cared what befell Isabella Aguilar in the wake of her husband’s scandal. 

“My mother is dead,” Castora replied flatly.

“Mine is too.”

“I suppose that makes us both orphans.”

“It’s quite an ugly word, do you not agree?” Vivianne sipped her tea. “It comes from the Greek word orphanos, which means ‘bereaved.’”

“Orphanos.” Castora tested the word on her tongue. “You are right. It’s ugly. What is the best way to shed the label, orphan, do you think?” 

“Why, marriage, of course.”

Castora hesitated before asking, “Is that why you are marrying Duke Capulet?” It was odd, their match – after all, before all this Vivianne Sloane had been a spinster. 

Another one of Vivianne’s inscrutable expressions crossed her face. “No. Not the whole of it.”

“Is it a love match, then?”

“What constitutes a love match in your opinion?”

“The fool’s errand known as love, of course,” Castora replied. “But I suppose it can be a love match if you love his house, his title – I would hardly begrudge anyone a desire to become a duchess – although I would characterize that as a love arrangement, not a love match.” 

“I did not take you for a romantic – is that why you are still unmarried? Holding out for love, Miss Castora?” Such blunt questioning from anyone else would have offended her, but from Vivianne, Castora did not mind. 

“I do not wish to marry.” Only the greatest love could persuade me...or an offer from a Duke, a Marquess, an Earl, or a Viscount. Barons and men with gambling debts need not apply. Both options struck her as improbable, if not outright impossible. “It seems to me that every marriage I’ve witnessed has only brought misery...particularly for the women in the match.” Sure, her Uncle Aguilar’s marriage was quite happy by all accounts – surely, it helped that Ramona’s mother died young before the marriage had time to sour. 

Vivianne seemed curious. “What do you intend to do then?”

“My cousin, Ramona, is adored by the ton. She shall marry well.”

“And what if you received an offer from someone suitable?” 

“I would...consider it, as long as he is not a drunkard or a gambler. Actually, I believe I could deal with a drunkard. No gamblers,” she said. “Anything is better than ending up as a....governess.”

“I could not picture you spending your days tutoring children.” 

“My mother was one, actually, before she married. She worked for a good family, too. One that Vivianne was likely acquainted with. That was the other thing about Isabella Aguilar – she was intelligent. She was unfortunate, but bright. Love robbed her off her senses and killed her in the poorhouse. “She was unable to get back into the line of work with a child, however.” 

“Children complicate matters,” Vivianne said solemnly. The rumors of Vivianne Sloane’s first Season being delayed by a year floated back to the top of Castora’s head; there were whispers of a bastard child, but Castora had know interest in Vivianne’s secrets unless she chose to share them with her. 

“We do,” Castora said. “Lady Vivianne – I hope this goes without saying, but could you –– could you not repeat that my mother was a governess?” 

She nodded. “You have my word. Drink your tea, Castora. Before it gets cold.”

--

Liston Hall was a lovely country estate of middling size; it was pretty, spacious, and very green, everything a country estate ought to be, but it paled in comparison to the surrounding homes such as Campden Court. The true glory of Liston Hall was its apple orchard, where the archery exhibition would be held. 

Castora had not been to Gloucestershire since she was a child, accompanying her mother and forced to bear witness to her demise. During her year here, she had never been to Linton. The families of the other Gloucestershire estates – the Craven’s of Campden Court, the Daly’s of Aubrey Park, and the du Pont’s of Kellnych Hall – were not the type to deign to visit Linton Hall.

At least, that’s how Castora remembered them. She prayed that some things never changed. 

Whether or not the neighboring aristocrats visited seemed irrespective today – more than half the ton was here, but no one in the ton that Castora actually liked –-- except for Vivianne.

Who she could not find. 

Good God – she had one friend, or one person who was close to a friend, here and she could not find her. There was only so much small talk a girl coud do with a glass of lemonade, as anything stronger would not be served until dinner.

Leaving the hall to look for Vivianne, Castora collided into the chest of a gentleman, almost spilling her lemonade all over him.  Well, perhaps there was a splash or too on his shoes....and slight more than a splash on his white cravat. Said gentlemen did not seem angry so much as annoyed, however. Still, Castora wished she could melt into the floor.

“I apologize, sir, I am sorry,” she started, her cheeks aflame. 

“It is quite alright.” Oh no, this was worse – he was trying hard to be genteel about this. Something about his voice – and face, and countenance – looked familiar, but she could not place him. 

“Let me fetch a servant, perhaps they can....wash it?” 

He looked at her curiously, as though he was trying to place her, too. “I live at Campden Court – I shall send for a change of clothes direct.” 

Realization hit Castora like a ton of bricks. “You are Everett Craven, Marquess of Montrose.” She dropped into a courtesy and cursed every God for not answering her prayers. “I apologize again, my Lord.” 

He had come into the title several years ago with the death of his father and was one of the most desired bachelor’s in England –– and one of the most skilled at fending off ambitious mamas. He was almost more desired because he was, by all accounts, a proper gentleman who left rakish activities to the rest of his peers; it truly was a miracle he left London alive and unmarried.

She had heard more fearsome stories about him, however. The Season before her and Ramona’s debut, he accompanied Catherine Daly to London, as Lord Daly was unwell at the time, and practically bit off the head of every man who came near her.

“I am. Pardon me – have we met before, my lady?” 

Yes. See, while Isabella Aguilar was unable to find work as a governess, her former employer, the damned du Pont’s of Kellnych Hall, had found employment for Isabella at a lady’s maid to Lady Daly of Aubrey Park. She told them she was a widow, and with Bastian du Pont’s introduction, they accepted a lady’s maid with a child of the right age to be a playmate to their three daughters. 

Melting into the floor suddenly seemed insufficient. Perhaps she could suddenly collapse and die, like a lady in a novel, and be reincarnated as a bee. Yes, that seemed good. 

“No, I do not believe we have had the occasion, my lord.” She shook her head again, “Just Miss. Miss Castora Aguilar of Uppercross.”

“Castora? That is quite an––” 

"–– You can say unusual, my Lord. I cannot take offense since I have ruined your cravat.” At least it didn’t spill on his pants. 

He looked at her again. “Are you sure we have not met before?”

“Perhaps in London?” Castora lied. “London is full of faces and names, it’s hard to keep them all straight. Especially during the Season.”

Just as he was about to say something again, Vivianne rounded the corner. “Miss Castora, there you are ---” Whatever words were on her lips died when she saw the Marquess. It was quite a spectacular (and quite unsettling thing) to see Vivianne Sloane rendered speechless. 

She looked at the Marquess. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Is it too late to melt into the floor? Castora wondered, thinking about how to best extricate herself from the situation. 

Suddenly the lemonade-stained cravat seemed like the least of everyone’s problems. “Lady Vivianne,” the Marquess greeted. 

“Lord Montrose,” she said, similarly stiff. Neither pair seemed to notice Castora. They only had eyes for one another. God, now would be a lovely time to answer my call for death. 

She took a step backwards in the hopes of sneaking out and leaving them to...whatever was going to happen, but unfortunately, Fate had other plans for them as a person – namely, Duke Capulet – had rounded the corner in search of his wife-to-be. 

Duke Capulet was tall and distinguished with greyed hair; age suited him. He walked like someone who never doubted his importance and was unused to being denied. Castora had a difficult time thinking of him as anyone’s husband, or father, or guardian. 

“Montrose,” he said in greeting, falling back to Vivianne’s side. The man appeared jovial and pleasant, but there was an air of darkness about him – and he appeared to be in quite a fowl mood.

“Capulet,” the Marquess replied. Castora searched Vivianne’s eyes for a single clue as to what was happening. The future Duchess gave no indication that anything odd was going on. 

“What on earth happened to you, Montrose?” the Duke asked, gesturing to his clothes. 

“I was not watching where I was going and collided into the young lady whilst she carried some...water?”

“Lemonade,” Castora quietly corrected.  “The Marquess is too kind. This is my fault.”

“Regardless of whose fault it is, I hope you shall excuse me to get this matter sorted with.”

“Of course. Shall I see you at the exhibition, Montrose?” 

The Marquess nodded, made his courtesies, and left. 

The Duke’s attention fell to her, “And who are you?”

Vivianne answered for her, “Miss Castora of Uppercross, dear. She is in the Hyde Park Amazons with me.” The Marquess of Montrose seemed surprised at the revelation that Vivianne was in an archery club.

“Right, of course. You and Lady Vivianne have been hard at work these past few weeks, I have gathered.” He looked at her. “You are Aguilar’s girl, are you not?”

“His niece,” Castora said quickly, pretending not to know his meaning. “He passed away several years ago.”

The Duke did not stop. “Your father was an interesting character, more than what one would expect from one of Montague’s whelps. I think he tried to swindle me during a game of vingt-et-un.”

“My family is very lucky to consider the Montague’s our friends, my Lord,” she replied diplomatically, keenly aware that she could not afford to offend one of the most powerful men in the country.

“For your sake, Miss Castora, I pray the apple falls far from the tree. My dear, see that you never play cards with her,” he said with a snake oil smile. Castora supposed it was a charming smile, if one could ignore the malice hiding in his words. Still, she laughed at his joke.

And I pray the same for your daughter, you wretched man.

“If you will pardon me, my Lord, I think I am going to replace my lemonade.”

“Let me accompany you, Miss Castora,” Vivianne said. “We have much to discuss before the exhibition.”

They returned to the main hall, arm in arm. Castora squeezed Vivianne’s hand, and the woman squeezed back in silent apology. What reason is there to marry this man? Surely a duchy is not worth it? 

“I apologize for the Duke. He is not himself after travelling.”

There was something odd about resorting to pleasantries with Vivianne – they had so often bypassed them in their conversations in Hyde Park. A cold sensation settled into Castora’s bones.

“No apologies necessary, Lady Vivianne….how do you know the Marquess of Montrose?”

“Hmm?”

“It looked to be like you two knew each other.” 

“A lifetime ago. I did not think he would come.” Castora quietly wondered if Vivianne had been making the same prayers she had made on the journey over.

--

Castora was lined up with the other ladies of the Hyde Park Amazons...in the very back of the group, where no one could see her miss the target. Vivianne was not there. 

“Mrs. Silviana, have you seen Lady Vivianne?”

Silviana startled at Castora’s voice. “Oh, you are here.” 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” She remarked before asking again, “Where is Lady Vivianne?”

Silviana’s eyes narrowed. “She has a headache and she is unable to join us. I am quite surprised, Miss Castora, that you do not have one as well.” 

Damn her, Castora cursed, Damn her for leaving me to fend for myself. Damn her for breaking her promise. 

“Are you alright, Miss Castora?” Silviana asked. 

No. I feel rather foolish, you useless twit, she thought bitterly. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Right, dear. And – do remember to aim, please?” She nodded and glared at Silviana’s retreating figure. Aim. She could do that. 

--

At last came time for the Exhibition. Gentlemen and ladies of the ton and other appropriate social circles gathered around the Hyde Park Amazons at a respectable distance, mostly on the sidelines by the tree. For this exhibit, the ladies were to fire five arrows and hit their targets. The more advanced archers would perform in a play about Artemis and her huntresses later in the day.

Five. You only have to get through five. 

On the first arrow, she thought of Vivianne and aimed. Predictably, she missed – not as poorly as usually, however. On the second arrow, she thought of Vivianne and aimed. She missed again.

On the third, Castora vowed to clear her mind. Do not aim for anything but the target. When the last thought melted away, Castora closed her eyes and fired the arrow. The audience gasped. 

Did I hit a bullseye? She opened her eyes to find that no, she had not hit the target. Her arrow was nowhere near the target. In fact, she could not see it all. Why is everyone staring at me?

The Hyde Park Amazon next to her, sensing Castora’s confusion, helpfully pointed at an apple tree towards the edge of their circle. Pinned to the tree by Castora’s arrow was a gentleman’s hat. One of the lower hanging apples helpfully fell to the ground. 

And not just any gentleman’s hat. No, it was Duke Capulet’s hat. The man was positively glowering at her. 

“Oops.” She swore quietly under her breath using a word she learned from Marcelo that no lady was supposed to know. I almost killed a duke. I almost killed a duke. Fuck, I almost killed a duke.

But she did not feel so bad for Cosimo Capulet after all. It wasn’t like she had stabbed him. It was only a hat, after all. It could be worse, Castora thought to herself. I could have swindled him during a game of vingt-et-un. 

Suffice to say, while the play continued without incident later in the evening, the ladies of the first exhibit did not fire their fourth and fifth arrows. 

--

After profusely apologizing to the Duke several times over, each time more insincere than the last, Castora excused herself from the luncheon with, appropriately, a headache. There

There was a knock at her door. Castora cautiously opened it to find Vivianne, standing in front of her right as rain. “Did you or did you not try to kill the Duke?” 

Castora ignored the question. “How is your headache, Lady Vivianne? I do hope you will be able to attend the ball.”

“Castora – did you try to kill the Duke?”

“No, of course not! Not intentionally at least! The only thing I ended up killing was his hat, and a trip to a good haberdashery could fix it right up!” She insisted.

Vivianne closed the door to Castora’s guest chamber behind her. “You deeply offended him, Castora,” she said seriously. 

“I was aiming for the target. I missed. That is not out of the ordinary for me, Lady Vivianne. Nor is it for you, and if you had shown up, you may have done worse!” 

“Perhaps, but as it stands, you are the one who accidentally attacked a duke. You also accidentally hit his future son-in-law in the face with a pall-mall ball several months ago – an incident of which the Duke is very much aware of. You can see why this...why this is problematic.” 

“It was an accident. I have offered to pay to replace the hat, an offer which the Duke said he is considering.”

“Castora, the Duke has strongly suggested to me that I find another hobby outside of the Amazons.”

Her face fell. But you’re my friend, the girl wanted to protest.  “He is not your husband, yet. He cannot make you do anything...unless you wish to leave.” 

“In some matters of life, what you want does not matter.” 

“Surely it does in this one?” 

Vivianne smiled bitterly, “Dear Castora, I forget how young you are sometimes.” 

With that, she left, closing the door behind her. Castora did not know why, but she had the sudden desire to cry for the first time since her mother’s death. 

--

There is absolutely no way this evening can get worse, Castora thought to herself as she prepared to enter the ballroom for the evening festivities. No chance in hell. 

Still, halfway to the ballroom she turned on her heel and thought best not to risk it. On the way back to her room, Castora decided that she did not want to sit in her room all evening and decided to visit the Liston Hall library. 

Scouring through the library, Castora settled on The Mysteries of Udolpho, a novel she had greedily consumed several years ago because Ramona suggested it. She had not liked it much, as Castora was not one for Gothic romances, but she was in no mood to explore. Take me away, Mrs. Radcliffe, to a world far less complicated than ours.

Settled by her desk, she was halfway through the second chapter when she heard two voices, one belonging to a man and the other to a woman, deep in the throes of an argument. The man dragged the woman into the library.

Castora froze – it was Lady Vivianne and Lord Everett. They did not see her from her position, and so they kept on spitting venom Castora did not comprehend at one another. Wishing to avoid another awkward encounter with the both of them, she simply sunk behind the desk before they could see her and waited for them to leave. 

About ten minutes later, they were still arguing and Castora still had no idea what in the hell was going on because she was trying not to eavesdrop, but sometimes she could not help it. 

But what she did hear was the Marquess of Montrose, voice laced with pain, asking Vivianne why she was marrying him. It did seem to be the question of the day. 

“Someone knows about Cyrus.” There was an eerie silence across the hall; Castora resisted the urge to emerge from her hiding place to ask Who is Cyrus? “They are trying to exhort me for money, but no one would dare come for me, or Cyrus, if I am Lady Capulet.” 

“How much? Who is blackmailing you?” Reasonable questions.  

“It matters not, Everett.” I fail to see how that is true.

“Vivianne, how can you say that?” Castora quietly noted the use of their Christian names, and quietly prayed to God for the upteenth time to day, that they would finish their argument somewhere else. 

“Because what is done is done. I cannot break this engagement.” Fair enough.

“You did not seem to have much of an issue with that before.” Ah, okay. There is that mystery solved.

“Don’t you dare. This is not remotely the same situation. If I do not marry Cosimo, then I will be ruined. Cyrus will be ruined. By association with me, Juliana will be ruined. I cannot have that.” A love arrangement, Castora realized. 

“I loved you,” the Marquess said. To Castora’s ears, it did not sound like his affections were in the past tense. Vivianne did not respond to Everett with words, but with actions. 

Oh no. Oh no. Dear God. From her hiding position under the desk, Castora saw the Marquess’s – clean – cravat flying off. Their….noises grew closer, and she heard someone place the other on the desk, knocking the copy of Udolpho off the table, but too far out of reach from Castora. 

How generous, Castora thought dryly, realizing that there would be no escape for her now. 

Castora covered her ears and cursing God, she laid back, and tried to think of England.

--

Much to Castora’s surprise, Silviana welcomed her back the following Thursday to the Hyde Park Amazons, remarking something along the lines of “At least we know you can hit something now, Mis Castora.” 

To everyone’s greater surprise, and Mrs. Silviana’s palpable disappointment, Vivianne showed up for practice. “I hope you are feeling better, Lady Vivianne. You can go and practice with Miss Castora in the back,” the instructor commanded. 

“I know the place,” the future Duchess replied, unable to keep the hint of bitterness out of her voice, before  walking over to her and Castora’s usual spot. 

Castora could not look her in the eye. She refused to do so, for if she did, she would admit to all she saw and heard. Around 15 minutes went by of excruciating silence, before Lady Vivianne chose to break it. 

“How are you, Miss Castora?” 

“I am well.” I want to die. “How are you, Lady Vivianne? How is Lord Capulet’s hat?” 

“We are both fine,” she responded wryly. “Once the Duke calmed down, he did not object to me continuing on with the Hyde Park Amazon’s...you can look at me, Miss Castora, I will not bite your head off.”

Do not say anything, she commanded herself. Do not –– “Lady Vivianne, I was in the library during the Liston House ball.”

Vivianne, who was preparing to fire an arrow, loosened it without bothering to see where it landed. The blood drained from her face. “I do not know your meaning, Miss Castora.” 

“I wish I did not know my own meaning either.”

She lowered her voice, “How much did you hear?”

Too bloody much. “All of it, unfortunately. I did not intend to. I truly, truly did not intend to. I decided against going to the ball, and was trying to read when you and the Marquess entered. I thought it best to hide until you two were finished ––” Everything seemed like a poor choice of words, but Castora persisted. “–– And I did not intend to hear….so much.” 

Vivianne was silent for a long time. The girl in front of her was so distressed that she could not help but believe her, and then, “The Mysteries of Udolpho, really, Miss Castora?”

“I am not proud of it either. Listen, Lady Vivianne, I want to assure you that I...I will say nothing of...of, well, anything, to nobody. I do not know, or care, who Cyrus is. Or that you were once engaged to the Marquess, or that you two appear to still love each other very much.” 

“I appreciate your discretion, Miss Castora, but I must correct you on the last point. Whatever we had was in the past.”

“From where I stood, what was past seemed present.” 

“I would prefer if you did not discuss myself and the Marquess anymore.” 

“As you wish, Lady Vivianne –– however, there is one point, I do have an inquiry on. Who is blackmailing you and is there any way I can help?”

“No, dear girl, there is not.” 

The pair were quiet for a long moment. “I think you would be a better Marchioness than a Duchess. Marchioness Vivianne sounds better than Duchess Vivianne, does it not?”

“That is your opinion.”

“And what is yours?”

“Miss Castora, I thought we agreed not to speak about the Marquess anymore.”

“Yes, but in all honesty, I like him more than the Duke and I think you do, too. He is titled, wealthy, and is capable of weathering scandals. The Craven family is powerful. No one would dare come for a Marchioness of Montrose, either. If Duke Capulet was ever unwise enough to gamble with my father, I do not know how wise he will be in the future. And Juliana Capulet is set to be married in a month to a powerful, wealthy man. She could weather her father’s broken engagement if done with grace.”

“There are more forces at play here than you understand, Castora.” 

“Yes, but I understand enough to know that you do not deserve the misery that is to come with a life chained to Lord Capulet.” Yes, but after everything I was forced to witness in that library, this the least you could do for me. 

“And you are convinced the Marquess is a good man from the five minutes you saw of him?” 

“He is always kind to those lower than himself.” 

Vivianne laughed, “You are a romantic, after all.”

“No, I simply believe that the only reasons to marry are for great, true, unshakeable love, or comfort and protection. The Marquess appears ready to provide you with both,” Castora said.

“I did not realize you cared so much.”

I saw my mother collapse in on herself from misery; I will not see it happen again. “I--I like my friends to be happy, Lady Vivianne.” 

“Happiness requires miracles. You and I both know too well to believe in them.”

Castora could not argue with Vivianne on that point.

Mrs. Silviana screamed and ran up to the region her two least favorite students were exiled to. “Oh my God, you did it! Which one of you did this?” 

The pair followed her gaze to the target where the last arrow Lady Vivianne fired had landed in the center of the target. A bullseye. 

For a moment, Vivianne Sloane and Castora Aguilar both believed in miracles. 

[rethesun]

Is there a name for middle lane larries?

Topic: An opinion on larry

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see.

If someone calls me a larrie, it's not insulting at all, but if someone were to call me an anti i’d be sad, honestly. Below I say many things that make it seem like I negatively judge hardcore larries, but I don't. I find it extraordinary that people can be so brave and sure of themselves, and I wish I could be too. I tend to get along with larries, while I mostly avoid antis unless they manage to be respectful, which is unfortunately quite rare. 

I think it's practically effortless to get toxic when trying to prove or disprove things. I think it's dehumanizing and feels stressful to me as a fan. Therefore I can only imagine the difficulty and what it takes for people in a position of fame to get to a place of inner strength and resilience where the millions of opinions of the world don't affect them as much. It's sometimes hard to judge/differentiate what is and isn't disrespectful, and it hurts terribly to know I'm crossing boundaries. So I'm putting my opinion together in hopes it isn't as counterproductive or pointless as it feels.

I'm not at all trying to convince anyone of a narrative to sway people to believe or not believe. What and how much you know and where you "stand" is down to you. 

Do I believe in larry? 

First and foremost, being a fan of someone means supporting that person without expecting anything from them. It means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as an individual. It means caring about how the person may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place. 

That said, here is my not long-awaited opinion.

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see. I will not disregard what Harry and Louis said back in the day and pretend they had nothing when at the very least, Harry said it on video directly twice. Yes, he was a kid, but people will decide Harry is with a skinny blonde woman older than him for much less, so I don't take what he said as a platonic joke. However, I try to be as realistic as possible. As an outsider, it's not easy for my brain to conclude on most things. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be. One big reason is that I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. Even though I understand controlling narratives in the industry happens and happened to 1D. I don't know to what extent. It's hard for me to judge that any or all of Harry's "relationships" are fake, and thus, he's had a few "stunt" songs for those relationships, etc. It’s plausible that he wrote female pronouns on a song or a few and the song refers to a man/men but that's far from saying this is a stunt song which would imply an entire fake relationship which is too far for me to say wasn't real as I am just an outsider. 

Whether people say it's the fans who say it or the boys behavior, the statement, 'larries ruined their friendship,' is sometimes interpreted as centered around homophobia. I do not see it this way.

However, whether there was or is a relationship, it's entirely reasonable to consider, the circumstances as a whole hurt them and likely the rest of the band in multiple ways that made things really hard. I do not think fans ruined the band or their connections with each other. I think being overworked with little freedom or breaks to discover/express independence were just a few reasons why.

Why I think larry appeared to become distanced to the public eye: 1. Understandably, putting blame on the heteronormative gender restrictive times we were in and still are in. 2. How some fans react to Larry's interactions due to reason number one. Otherwise, all the 1D members, their families, and friends have been honest. That would mean there isn't an elaborate conspiracy; they are just tired of people messing with who they care about and want to live without the harassment. Regardless of whether some fan theories are accurate or not, people in the spotlight and their families deserve peace of mind. They don't deserve to be dehumanized. I wish some fans would understand how wrong it is to swarm people or ask strangers to confirm any personal things. Not only because it's rude and invasive but because of mental health. If that's confusing, imagine if it were you in their position.

I used Zayn's interview because he shared it eloquently while the other mentions that ‘Larry isn't real’ were mostly screen captures of constituents replying impatiently to larry comments on social media saying the Larry thing is delusion and not what real fans do.  Zayn in this 2015 fader interview. "There's no secret relationships going on with any of the band members," he explains. "It's not funny, and it still continues to be quite hard for them. They won't naturally go put their arm around each other because they're conscious of this thing that's going on, which is not even true. They won't do the natural behavior." He goes on to add to the statement, "But it's just the way the fans are. They're so passionate, and once they get their head around an idea, that's the way it is regardless of anything. If it wasn't for the passionate, like almost obsession, then we wouldn't have the success that we have." Before the subject changes, Zayn said that fans would find a way to water down what he said and make any excuses, e.g., that he couldn't speak the truth.

I can't speak for anyone but myself. (I’m a queer cis female) I don't think I would want to 'get dragged through a round of 'coming out' press. Why should sexuality be treated as an oddity by the median, and why should queer people have to subject themselves to that treatment?' The amount of coming out stories and things that could follow a person, or the people around, in the aftermath, would be atrocious. People, personally and professionally, may treat you differently after. The queer stereotypes would be exhausting. Also, it's not always as safe sometimes to be out. Whether there was/is a relationship at all between 1D members. “Being open to everyone isn't easy. Now imagine yourself no less human than right now, but add millions of eyes on you. It's insensitive to assume about someone when they could be doing their best/what is comfortable—please let's stop invalidating what we don't understand.”

Zayn's career connects to Hollywood, and he’s in the spotlight so it's not easy to suddenly believe everything I hear and see is the truth just because someone like him said it. However, at the same time, it's rather discomforting for me to disregard and look into everything people like Zayn or his constituents say. I want to believe the best in people and sympathize and “back him up” in a sense. It's also way to hard to believe all things other fans say because we are passionate and obsessed, so there is confirmation bias. 

Do I concretely believe anything? 

Yes, but those things don't directly confirm or deny anything especially Larry.

I believe the boys were responsible for RBB & SBB.

I have some reason to believe the song Carolina could be about experimentation with drugs since Johnny Cash's Cocaine-Carolina song is plausibly similar. Also, it's not uncommon if you're wealthy or famous to experiment with drugs, including harmful drugs; the environment can make it more accessible and normalized. I don't condone drug abuse; I hope Harry is wise enough not to make it a reoccurring thing. I want him naturally happy and healthy, but it's not my life, and I don't know him to have any right in making that call. I trust from Harry's character and what he said in his Zane Lowe interview that he knows better. However, the song Carolina might be about Townes or maybe it's both, I have no clue. 

I believe SOTT is about "fundamentals" like Harry said it is, not just from the perspective of 'a mother telling the child to go forth and conquer.' I notice some people readily look over the childbirth story, saying 'it makes no sense,' but it can easily coincide with fundamentals, "Equal rights for everyone, all races sexes, everything." Check out this in depth lyric analysis?

I think most of us know and support that Harry is a proud member of the community. If he wasn’t he’d just say that. 

I think maybe COAC and SOTT may have been collaborative. There are multiple writers on both songs and if it’s possible to have a ghost writer then I say it's plausible they chose to write them similarly. 

I think Louis possibly queer codes. Straight people don’t queer code so you might think it’s queer baiting but I don’t think someone sick of gay rumors would go that route. Either that, or he's a passionate and sympathetic ally.

However, Louis is still "with" E. From a perspective of committed fans, it doesn't look like a sincere relationship. As an outsider, again, it feels far too presumptuous for me to have a B&W opinion.

It seems that adults with somewhat official platforms let rumors run rampant, and not many grown adults of the time seemed to correct or silence it. I should have said this early and cannot stress this enough, ANYONE who is not the Louis Tomlinson or in his family tree is in no way an official source. If they're acting like they know things (not just reporting on what's happening), they were/are either trolling or want people to freak out for clout. Being led astray by people looking to capitalize on fans is always a danger. It's insensitive, inappropriate, and unprofessional, but it happened. I am surprised by that and that 1D's management didn't try to protect Louis and his image more. I’m not an insider able to judge him negatively or to overanalyze the situation. So I won't assume he's not a dad, and I hope he's doing well.

(About the above paragraph about Louis this is an update after the original post I made to say I don't have a further developed opinion because I never looked into it and don't know if I will so don't hold that against me please I just personally don't feel like it’s a thing I need to do and I know larries don’t appreciate when non-larries make comments on things without thoroughly looking into things so you won’t see a further opinion from me or judgment unless I do actual research)

In conclusion, and to reiterate, I feel like there is some truth to some things. Again, it feels disrespectful or too presumptuous for me to have many opinions, especially of the negative kind, as an outsider. I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. I am not harshly judging things because I don't have a complete story or the right to. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be to people in multiple ways.

As fans, we can do much better. It's not unreasonable to wish people didn't constantly objectify/sexualize people with fame and didn't harass them/their families about fan theories. Also, always wanting something from these people and expecting them to fulfill god-like expectations as if they don't go through the same human experience and aren't completely flawed like the rest of us, or stalking them—something sick and a behavior that's saddening and disgusting. Real fans just leave them be to live their lives. Please call out stalking and discourage it if you notice it. Overall, I think we can all be a bit more respectful and understanding or try to make an effort. I'm not a superfan, but I'd like to be genuine and not a reason why these people dislike being in the spotlight. I feel like that means being as grounded, realistic, and sensitive about how these people may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place. It ultimately means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as individual.

[#’s are for exposure and may not correlate]

[araeph]

Hi, I finished watching atla. It's a good show with interesting characters. But I wonder why Mai is hated. I mean, she saved zuko and co. at the boiling rocks. She believed in him. The brief eye lock they had after zuko locked Mai says so. I just want to know your opinion.

Why Mai Is Hated

(Disclaimer: This is not an even-handed analysis of Mai’scharacter because that was not the question asked. The question was, Why is Mai hated? The following essayattempts to answer this question, and only this question.)

We’re introduced to Mai as abored teenager who hates being uprooted to Omashu. So great is her indifferencethat when a plague has reportedly struck the city, she merely offers her dadfire flakes and looks bored. Her little brother is kidnapped soon after, andshe casts her mother a disdainful glance when the latter breaks down in tears. Maithen joins up with Azula willingly, again because she is bored, and the princesstries to exchange Mai’s brother for Bumi before reneging on the deal, which Maiagrees to without even a hint that she is worried for her brother during orafter the fact.

At this point, Azula tells Maiwhat she needs her and Ty Lee for: tracking, capturing, and imprisoning GeneralIroh and Zuko according to the Firelord’s wishes as expressed in “Siege of theNorth Part 2.” Per the wanted poster Azula brandishes at the royal guard in“The Avatar State,” Zuko is wanted deador alive. Despite being teased for her crush on him, Mai shows no signs of conflictat her mission or trepidation on Zuko’s behalf.

Azula: (to her men) My brother and my uncle have disgraced the Fire Lord and brought shame on all of us. You may have mixed feelings about attacking members of the royal family; I understand. But I assure you, if you hesitate, I will not hesitate to bring you down. Dismissed.

Along the way, Mai also helpsAzula hunt Team Avatar to exhaustion and capture the Kyoshi warriors so thetrio can infiltrate the Earth Kingdom. Unlike in Zuko’s character journey wherehe learns to understand and empathize with the Earth Kingdom denizens duringhis time with them, the most Mai ever says about the people she encounters isthat their bright colors make her nauseous and it’s amusing when one of the DaiLi almost wets his pants out of fear. Eventually, Mai and Ty Lee help Azula andZuko topple the last standing bastion against Fire Nation world dominationwhile Iroh is hauled off as a prisoner.

Azula, who wants to make sureZuko is kept under control, decides to set him up with Mai in order to keep aneye on him. The couple catch on at a suspiciously timed dinner and decide toescape for a fun evening out on the town. They run into Zuko’s ex-girlfriend,which annoys Mai even though she and Zuko are not dating and, as far as weknow, were never actually together. So she pretends to be a knife thrower froma circus and flings an ice dagger through an octopus atop the unwilling Zuko’shead. Mai then encourages Jin, a complete novice, to throw her own lethalprojectile at Zuko, causing him to land in the fountain and endure publichumiliation. This is supposedly revenge for when Zuko knocked Mai into thefountain … as a child … to save her from being burned at the hands of Azula. Iam not sure why this warrants a payback, but it makes sense to Mai. Oncethey’re alone, Zuko understandably shouts at Mai that she could have gotten himkilled. Mai laughs loudly at this and brushes it off.

Once back in the Fire Nation, Maistarts dating Zuko officially. This mostly involves her ignoring or yawning atZuko’s inner turmoil and scoffing at the gifts he brings her, except for therare occasion when she tries to distract him from his problems by makingunreasonable demands on his servants.

They quarrel constantly untilZuko leaves the Fire Nation and Mai meets him again at the Boiling Rock, whereshe lambastes Zuko for ripping out her heart even though he pretty obviouslykept her in the dark for her own protection. She then says that she doesn’tknow Zuko, which is true, as he locks her in a cell moments later so he cansave the people in his life he has a genuine connection to—and who, thoughformer enemies on the opposite side of the war, have thrown fewer things at hishead than Mai has.

Suddenly Mai betrays Azula forZuko. Why? She loves him. Why does she love him? We never find out, since theonly things she ever says about his character are negative. Ty Lee saves Maifrom her impending execution and Mai later pulls some strings to get them bothout of prison. Once she makes her way to the capital, she announces withoutpreamble that she is Zuko’s girlfriend again, pokes him in the chest, and warnshim to never break up with her again.

In the comics, we discover thatthe “don’t ever break up with me again” rule applies only to Zuko and not toMai, since she dumps him in the very first series. However, let us be fair toMai: Zuko did keep the truth from her, twice, and the first time she sought asolution to the problem by getting the Kyoshi warriors to be his bodyguards.But going behind her back to talk to his evil father is the last straw for Mai.It’s such a deal breaker that she leaves the palace when Zuko is facingmultiple assassination attempts and is borderline suicidal.

Mai’s stalwart stance against notgoing behind your partner’s back to talk with an evil father will last untilher next comic series, when she goes behind Zuko’s back to talk with her evilfather. This and her refusal to turn her father in result in thenear-assassination of Zuko and his entire family, including his little sisterKiyi. Kiyi is later kidnapped because Mai’s father is still on the run and shehas refused to come clean. When Mai finally admits her aiding and abetting of amurderous traitor, she reacts to Zuko’s dismay by yelling at him and neglectingto apologize for endangering him and his loved ones.

Pleasenote that Mai’s redemptive deed in the show was her saving Zuko’s life from amurderous tyrant and that her actions here completely cancel that out.

Mai has meanwhile been dating KeiLo, a nice young man whose affections she uses in order to spy on her fatherfor Zuko. Why she used Kei Lo against her father for Zuko’s sake, only tobetray Zuko for her father’s sake, is never explained. The three of them andAang later wander the catacombs trying to find clues that may lead to Kiyi’smysterious kidnapper. But what isquite apparent is Mai’s utter contempt for Zuko during this journey. Shedeprecates Zuko’s dating style in front of her current boyfriend, insultsZuko’s ancestors, obliquely asks when Zuko will die by inquiring whether he’sreserved a grave for himself, and implies that Zuko has weird friends. Why shefeels entitled to remark on this, when she’s had a total of one real friend herentire life, is anyone’s guess. She caps it all off by saying that, thanks toZuko, she needs all future romantic relationships involving her to beemotionally imbalanced in her favor.

In the end, they fight againstMai’s father, he is captured, and Mai praises him for his bravery … even thoughhis actions consisted of hiding in the shadows and kidnapping children, whichseems like the pinnacle of cowardice. The comic ends with Mai and Zuko smilingat each other, Zuko holding his little sister in his arms (whom Mai hadendangered), and Mai holding her little brother in her arms (whom Mai had alsoendangered). Isn’t family bonding time great?

Where this intensely annoyinglove triangle is headed in the comics is uncertain, although to be honest, KeiLo/Zuko is the only healthy pairing that could result from those threecharacters. Certainly Mai and Zuko don’t resume a relationship after this, althoughthe fandom presumption is that, somewhere down the line, the pair willinexplicably marry.

Aside from Mai’s selfishness,hypocrisy, refusal to grow, and lack of compassion, the narrative around her isdisjointed and contradicts itself at several critical points. Mai is made outto be the goth girl who’s a wet blanket on her parents’ emotions, until “TheBeach,” where we are told that no actually, it was her parentsoppressing Mai’s emotions the whole time. Mai is willing to sacrifice everything in “The Boiling Rock” to save Zuko’s life, except that wait, she iswilling to throw that sacrifice away for her father in “Smoke and Shadow.” But holdon, isn’t that the father she implied was neglectful and oppressive in the first place? And wait, if it’s actually her brother growing up without a fatherthat she’s concerned about, why was she so blasé about her brother getting previously kidnapped in “Return to Omashu”? And which is supposed to be Mai’sredeeming character trait: that she stands up for love in spite of her better judgment (“The Boiling Rock”), or that she stands up for her better judgment in spite of love (“The Promise”)?

Mai’s motivations are muddled. Isher first loyalty to her father, her brother, Azula, or Zuko? The story givesus multiple answers, which it then doubles back on whenever convenient. Thisleaves herself as Mai’s only consistent priority, which is hardly a firmbedrock for constructing a heroine. Mai is not moving toward a fixed point indevelopment; the plot is dragging her along for the ride, while she exists asan afterthought. A plume, if you will, of smoke and shadow, that is fast losingwhat cohesion it possessed.

[fallstreakfeathers]

Don’t Look Down, Chapter 2, Rating: T ~4100 words Warnings: none https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956846/chapters/60761470

If Kita thought the brightness of the moon was overbearing inside the extravagant building, it was nothing compared to being in its direct path. She squinted against the pale beams as she stepped out of the doorway after the white haired demon. His pace was fast, as if he was trying to lose her, and she had to take two or three steps for his every one. She could hear him grumbling lowly about something, but couldn’t be bothered to listen closer. In fact, she wished he’d just close his stupid, too-loud mouth. The soft calls of some kind of animal hidden in the treeline caught her attention and she slowed herself to peer through the ever looming darkness, not that it was overly difficult with the moon hanging in the sky like some kind of sentinel. The green leaves swayed lightly in the breeze. The wind sent small ripples through the field of grass. It was only then that she noticed the scent of living plantlife. A group of small creatures fluttered from the branches, startled by the couple trespassing below them. She blinked slowly. Birds? There was not a trace of sulfur, fire, or death on the air. She stepped over a group of small blue flowers she couldn’t identify. The spotted leaves were jagged, with some sort of liquid oozing from the stems. “Hey, human! What’re ya staring at? Ya never seen flowers before? Pick up the pace!”

Kita said nothing as she placed her footsteps a bit faster. She kept her head down, abandoning her plan to run as light from the lamps that lined the streets glowed bright against the wet pavement. “Can’t believe those jerks left me to babysit you alone.” There’s no way she’d get out of here without knowing where she was going. Did she really expect things to be that easy? Of course not, only an idiot would think that. I’m an idiot. She felt like a prisoner being escorted to her own execution, and the feeling was only made stronger as she caught the curious and hungry eyes of various demons on the streets. Those in the lights of the street appeared human, or mostly so, but a few hid in the shadows and their forms shifted and flittered as they stared. One of these feral creatures approached the group, prowling like some kind of cat, only to scamper away when Mammon growled a guttural, throaty sound. Kita cringed. The short display almost reminded her of those silly groups of kids in her school years who pretended to be dogs or sometimes horses. Of course, she was the local velociraptor in those days, and occasionally a Tyrannosaur. The only difference was the very real threat behind the noise bubbling from the demon’s chest. “You were full of piss n’ vinegar earlier, what’s with the silence?” She released a heavy breath as she continued to pretend he didn’t exist. Earlier she was terrified, now she was just exhausted. If she stayed quiet and kept her head down, if she didn’t make eye contact, then everything would be fine. He’d eventually leave her alone. That’s how it always was. She sneered at the demon that glanced at her ever-so-often and the not-so-quite grumbling that traveled back to her on the wind as they stopped in front of a swooping steel gate with a dry “we’re here.” Kita squinted at the towering building behind it. The mansion almost appeared to have multiple shacks stacked on top of it, along with castle-like spires. Beside it stood a tall, black tree with branches that reached towards the moon. The whole area looked like something out of an old vampire movie. So… demons really like over-the-top crap? Mammon placed his hands on the gate, pushing it open. It swung wide with a creak. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered, “of all the rotten, unfair luck.” She rolled her eyes while he continued to complain with his hands on his hips. “Why do I have to look after some stupid human? It’s insulting! And just so we’re clear, it’s not like I can’t say no to Lucifer, alright!?” Kita sighed, remembering once more that she not only had to survive the year in an entirely different world, but also was going to have to deal with 7 demon lords who, if they were consistent, were all over-dramatic assholes. What did she do to anger God enough that he’d allow this sort of misfortune? “I only agreed to babysit you because…” he babbled “... well. Um, you know...uh…” “I don’t care,” she whispered wearily.

“What?” the demon shouted, “oh! Now you’re really in for it you stupid… although I’m sorta surprised you’ve got the guts to talk to me like that. You should be scared.” What about her behavior implied that she wasn’t? Did she really come off as if she were delighted to be in his presence? “I mean, I’m a demon. Even a human would get that, right?”

She pushed past him onto the stone path that led to the doorsteps of the mansion What makes you any more dangerous than literally anything I could be killed by in my own world? “You’re seriously weird,” he shook his head as he pushed the door open, “whatever, come on then.” Kita glanced around the heavily decorated hallway as the door clicked shut behind her. The high walls were patterned with purple and silver paper. A long plush carpet led from the front entrance and under a wooden archway into another room. A cheery fireplace could be seen at the far end of the room, glinting off the polished wood floors and filling the area with a sweet, smoky scent. Two dragon-like gargoyles stood guard at the front of the hall, with a marble staircase winding behind them both, up into another hall. All in all, the two rooms alone looked like they cost more than she’d ever make in her lifetime. Kita felt even more out of place than she had on the Devildom streets. “This is the House of Lamentation,” Mammon said. He waved vaguely at the space around them, “it’s one of the dorms here at R.A.D.” Yes. It wasn’t like the prince hadn’t clarified that at least four times. “Well, not just one of the dorms. It’s the dorm reserved for student council members.” Kita simply nodded. The sooner he finished talking, the sooner she’d be taken to her room and then (hopefully) left alone. “The others take every opportunity to insult me,” he prattled, as he led her through the hall “callin’ me scum and money-grubber and shit like that… But I’m an officer on the student council too! The elite of the elite. Top of the social pyramid.” He turned to her. “In other words, I’m a big shot! A real big shot! Even regular big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am!” Big ego is more like it. “By the way, Diavolo is even more of a big shot. He’s so important he’s got his own castle.” “I figured he would...you all call him ‘prince’.” If I have to hear the words ‘big shot’ one more time, I’m finding a thesaurus and throwing it at his stupid face. “Right… anyway, the long and short of it is that us seven brothers live here together and-...hey, what's with that expression? If you’ve got somethin’ to say, you’d best do it now.” Kita blinked. Was she making weird looks? “Sorry,” she muttered, “you all call each other ‘brothers’ but you look nothing like each other.”

“That’s really what you’re wonderin’ about? We aren’t brothers in the human sense,” he shrugged, “it’s more like we share a title, we’ve fought together, live together, yadda yadda, ya get it?” “Sure.” “Seriously, you got a personality thing or somethin’?”

Does he ever shut up?

“Doesn’t matter, “ he continued, “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice, and you’d better listen up 'cause I won’t repeat myself.”

She spotted movement from the corner of her eye as the demon spoke, and she glanced to the staircase where another demon stalked down the marble steps. His eyes burned an angry yellow-orange that peeked out from under the light purple fringes of his hair. He was clearly taller than her. Of course he was. Were demons just naturally this tall? “If you ever find yourself in a situation where you’re about to be attacked by a demon, you need to either run or just die.” What? Kita gawked at him in disbelief. The yellow-eyed demon reached the bottom step, glaring as he continued to move behind Mammon. “Are you serious?!” “Yes.” Kita frowned and then snorted. “So just die, then?” “Actually, I vote for you to die, Mammon!”

“Ah! Levi!” the demon yelped, “didn’t see ya there. I...Uhh...L-Listen up here, human! This here is Leviathan, Avatar of Envy. He’s the third oldest of us brothers.” The demon grinned brightly as he spoke, “his name’s sorta hard to say, so you can just call him Levi!” “Uh...no thanks,” Kita deadpanned. Nicknames were reserved for friends. Nicknames meant something. They were special, and not to be given to people who didn’t want to be around her in the first place. She refused to call anyone who wasn’t at least a friend anything short of their name. Besides, ‘Leviathan’ really wasn’t that difficult to pronounce. “Suit yourself.” “Mammon, give me back my money,” Leviathan growled, “then go crawl in a hole and die!” Woah. That was...unnecessary. Kita’s eyebrows scrunched as he flung insults at the white haired demon. “I’ll get it to you, I already told ya. I just need more time,” Mammon shrugged. “More time?! You’ve been telling me you need ‘more time’ for the last two hundred years!” She nearly choked on her spit. Two hundred years? These people were at least two hundred years old? “Hey, no! It’s been two hundred and sixty,” Mammon corrected, “get it right.” This got a small, amused laugh out of her and she quickly covered her mouth as the two demons turned their attention to her. For creatures supposedly hundreds of years old, they sure acted like children. Leviathan shook his head as he grumbled. “Seriously, Mammon, you’re-” “I’m what?” he snapped, “scum? Is that what you’re gonna say?” “You’re a lowlife and a waste of space,” the Avatar of Envy finished with a snarl. Alright, now I just feel kinda bad for him. Kita winced. Nobody should have to deal with being spoken to like that, especially by their own family… brother-in-arms? Sharer of titles? Whatever. “I couldn’t pay you back anyway, I don’t have the money.” “So you’re saying you refuse to pay me back?” “You lookin’ for a fight? Is that it?!” Oh my God. I’m gonna have to listen to this for an entire year. Mammon suddenly turned to Kita again. “Hey, human. Ya know how I told you what to do when a demon attacks? You’re about to witness that for real so…” he paused for a moment, “time for you to die, ‘cause if it’s gonna be you or me, it ain’t gonna be me!” “Wait,” Leviathan said, “ I thought you said-” Mammon smirked at her, and almost as fast as she could blink, he disappeared up the stairs. “-that asshole! He ran off!” Leviathan shook his head in disappointment. “You get what happened, right? He used you as a sacrifice.” “Somehow, that does not surprise me,” Kita snorted. “I’ll admit that Mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you’ll ever meet,” the demon said, “a total lowlife, but that was still pretty dumb of you for letting him use you like that, I mean this is exactly why humans are-” For the love of all that is holy...unholy...do they all talk this much? “Wait!” he exclaimed, “ you’re human! That gives me an idea.” Why did she feel like this was a bad thing? “Can it wait until tomorrow?” she asked gingerly. “Nope. You’re coming with me!” Kita yelped as his hand suddenly gripped her sleeve and he began dragging her up the stairs with him. “Let go,” she barked, pushing her heels into the floor in an attempt to force him to stop. “Quiet!” he hissed as he halted in front of a door. He glanced around nervously before tugging her inside and closing the door. She twisted around, preparing a few choice words regarding her treatment before stopping with her mouth open like a fish out of water. The room she’d been so unceremoniously dragged into was like something out of her wildest dreams. Light shined through what looked like it might be a pool in the ceiling, sending rippled reflections across the tiled floor. Luminescent jellyfish hung vertically, leading down to a porcelain tub with what appeared to be a body pillow laying in it. An enormous aquarium had been slotted into the wall. Coral and various plants poked out of the sandy bottom, and it seemed silly that the only occupant of a tank with such magnitude was a small goldfish.

That was to say nothing of the enormous amount of manga and various figurines placed around the room. In the corner sat what had to be the most computers she’d ever seen in a single house. It... It was pretty badass, she had to admit.

“This is your bedroom?” she asked incredulously. “Uh.. Yeah.” “It’s beautiful.” Leviathan nodded once. “You want to know why I looked around to see if anyone was looking before I closed the door?” “Not particularly but I can take a few guesses.” “Well why do you think I did it? Not that it isn’t totally obvious. Imagine what would happen if someone saw me invite you into my room!” he rambled, “a human who doesn’t even look like an otaku! A normie! Do you know what people would say?” Oh no, he’s one of those kinds. “I don’t honestly care, sorry.” “You should! It’d be insane!” Kita murmured a snide comment to herself as she wandered over to the tall bookshelf by the door. She peered curiously at the unfamiliar, often ridiculously long titles before a thick book with black leather and silver trim caught her attention. “What, human? What are you looking at?” Kita pointed at the book, making sure she didn’t touch it. “Oh, that's The Tale of the Seven Lords! Are you a fan of that too?” He sounded almost...excited? “Not at the moment. I don’t know that we even have it in the human world,” she apologized. “What’s it about?” She must’ve asked something right if the way the demon’s eyes lit up were any indication. “You don’t know TSL? And you call yourself a human?!” “Actually, I call myself ‘Kita’,” she snarked, “you lot seem to be the ones set on the ‘human’ bit.” “Listen, just the fact that you don’t know TSL alone is proof that you’ve been wasting your life!” “Do enlighten me on what I’ve missed,” she snorted. There was something about this one that made him slightly easier to talk to than the others she’d met so far- not that she could put a finger on what it was.

“The Tale of the Seven Lords, TSL, is a series of fantasy novels written by Cristopher Peugeot. It’s a heroic spanning 138 volumes, and the most widely read fantasy series in the world,” he began.

On, and on, and on some more the demon rambled about the book. Books. 138 of them? That was crazy. Do all demons talk this much? Honestly, that’d be true Hell, right there. Skip the burning and rending, just keep talking. Kita listened, not out of any particular interest so much as the excitement in the Avatars voice. She knew what it was like to try to talk to someone about something she liked, only to be ignored or shoved off. She wouldn’t be that person, even to a stranger who’d literally dragged her sorry ass up a flight of stairs. Besides, his energy was somewhat contagious, even if he’d been speaking for at least twenty minutes. “There’s that one really awesome moment where the two of them realize they both like and respect each other, and they high-five! I just love that part,” he jabbered, “I wish I could have a moment like that.” “I’m sure you will,” Kita said. “Wait, you’re still listening to me?” Leviathan gawked. Kita nodded. “Most people’s eyes would’ve glazed over by now…” he said, “uh...oh! Check it out,” he pointed to the aquarium. “See that goldfish there? His name’s Henry. I love TSL so much that I couldn’t help naming him after the main character. I can’t high-five a goldfish though.” “Well you can’t with that attitude,” Kita snickered.

Leviathan frowned, suddenly sullen. “You humans are so lucky,” he said, “you’ve got subscription services that let you watch any anime you want to, you can go to Akihabara whenever you want…” Aki-what? Ah, who cares. “Why do only you guys get to experience the good stuff? I mean humans’ whole concept of pleasure originally came from us demons, you know,” he whined,” so why can’t we take a little of that back now? I want to go to a Japanese maid cafe too, y’know? I want to cosplay as Henry, or go stand in the center of Akihabara, or maybe under that one building in Tokyo that’s shaped like upside-down triangles. Once I’m there, I want to perform Henry’s super powerful signature finishing move for all to see and say the incantation that goes with it!” Is he...Is he breathing? How is he saying all that in one breath?!

“Actually, you know what? I want to be Henry,” he finished.

“Screw normies,” Kita yawned, suddenly aware yet again that she’d been kept up far later than she thought was humane. Of course, these guys were demons. What was she expecting? “Yeah! Screw ‘em!”

The demon frowned again as he spoke. “Alright, enough. This is starting to depress me. I didn’t bring you here to tell you about TSL.” “I was wondering when that would be addressed,” Kita muttered quietly. “I don’t think there’s any harm in coming out and saying what you already know is true: Mammon is a complete, and utter scumbag.” “Got it.” Really, it didn't seem like demons had much of a vocabulary. Not that she had a great one either, but still. “It’s very important that you understand this, so I’ll say it one more time.” “No need, I assure you I understand perfectly. Just… get to the point,” she grumbled, “why am I in here?” “I lent that scumbag money and now I want it back, but being the scumbag that he is, he won’t do it.” “What do you expect me to do about it?” Kita asked, quickly losing patience. She was hungry, she was tired, she was stressed, and a hundred other things already. She wasn’t fond of the idea of spending another hour in the room. “You should probably know how Mammon and I first became enemies.” “I… No. Just get to the point, please,” she sighed. “Fine. As third born, I don’t have a chance to get my money back on my own,” he explained, “but if, say, a human made a pact with Mamon and bound him to their service…” he gave her a pointed look.

“No.” “What? Why not? He’d have to do whatever you told him!” “Not interested.”

“Is it the whole ‘selling your soul’ bit? That’s not always necessary, you know!” Leviathan argued, “it depends on what’s in the pact.” “Not. Interested.” “No, no, just listen, I’ll tell you how to negotiate with Mammon!” Oh, for the love of...

“It’d be useful for you to have him as your servant,” he assured, “despite how awful he is, he’s still very powerful! You’re probably worried being down here in the Devildom, so it’s not like it’s a bad deal for you. Don’t you agree?” “What makes you think I’d even be able to control him? I’m sure pacts aren’t as cut-and-dry as you’re trying to make them sound,” she disagreed. “You’ll do fine.” Sure I would, Kita snorted. She had the authoritative presence of a sea snail. If she couldn’t get other humans to listen to her, what hope did she have of commanding a demon? Much less a demon lord? She wasn’t sure she wanted that sort of power over another being anyway, no matter how obnoxious they were. “Listen,” Kita drawled as she rubbed her eyes, “I’ve had a very long, exhausting, somewhat upsetting day. If you could be so kind as to show me to wherever I’ll be holed up while I’m stuck here, I’ll give you an answer tomorrow when I’ve had time to think and maybe do a little research on what exactly a pact entails because there’s no way in Heaven or Hell that I’ll be doing anything like that until I know precisely how it all works.” Oh dear lord, was Leviathan’s rambling rubbing off on her? Did she take a breath?

“It’s only 3pm,” the demon stated.

“It’s dark.” “We don’t have a sunrise here,” Leviathan explained. What’s shining off the moon, then? Kita wanted to ask. 

She shook her head. It didn’t really matter. “Whatever. I’m still going to bed,” she said,” you can show me to my room or I'll just use the tub.” With a groan and something muttered about “normies”, Leviathan opened the door, motioning her to follow him down the hall. They stopped at the very last door, closest to the window that hung at the end of the corridor. “There’s your room,” Leviathan muttered before walking past her. He disappeared around the corner. Kita exhaled wearily, slowly opening the creaky door. Her shoulders went slack. By the head and foot of the bed stood two trees that stretched themselves against the roof of the room. Lichen hung off the gnarled bark. Some kind of viney plant that looked suspiciously like ivy creeped its way across the stone walls and behind the twirling, curled wooden bedframe. Colorful lanterns hung from the branches, providing light for the room. A smooth table had been placed just behind one of the trees and a group of intricate chairs sat underneath it. Beyond the table, a dresser, as ornate as everything else, held a variety of items on top. A brass skull lay next to a teapot. Hot tea does sound nice right about now. Maybe peppermint...or lavender. Beside the teapot, a group of various books had been stacked along with a small, empty picture frame. Next stood a cabinet that appeared to have been made from a coffin. More books lined one of the shelves, and the top shelf had a small red and gold container. Beside it stood a small horse figurine that reared angrily, and a potted plant rested next to it. In the very center of the room hung a twisted rust-colored chandelier. Open flamed candles burned off the twigs branching from the frame. Is that safe with all the wood here? Two decorated rugs crossed each other over the old and worn flooring. Aside from the color of the pillows and sheets, various shades of light pinks, the room was right up her alley. Kita ran a hand over the silky coverings on the bed, wanting nothing more than to fall face-first into the cloudlike softness of the pillows lined against the headboard. But that’s where they’d expect to find her. That’s where these strangers would expect to find her, defenseless, vulnerable as she rested. Kita mumbled to herself as she searched for somewhere else in the room to sleep. Under the table was a no-go. She wouldn’t fit under the bed, and between the mattress wouldn’t work either. She ruffled through the plant at the edge of the bed, frowning at the lack of space between its branches and the wall. It left a small, cramped crawl space that she might’ve been able to fit into if she bothered to break a few of the twigs. She’d keep it in mind. Kita glanced around the room anxiously. A large air vent protruded out near the top of the wall. There was no way she’d be able to get to that. Finally, her sight landed on the large tree by the headboard of the bed. She curled her hand into the bark, pulling to test its durability. When it held, she began hoisting herself up the ivy and lichen, grunting with the effort as she reached the first branches. She continued climbing into the leaves until they covered her completely, settling flat on a large limb and clutching the main body of the tree with an exhausted sigh. I hope this thing doesn’t have spiders or something.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her.

[astyle-alex]

[Fanfic] Start With Why | the Old Guard

WhooHoo! New fanfic! It's always a great day when I can start posting a new project! (Especially, when I have  a whole project entirely completed and can post it  with confidence that it won't be pushed off on hiatus because I get derailed in the middle of writing).  This was is already complete at 6 parts and will wrap up right before 2020 (finally) comes to a  close.

Start With Why

Fandom: the Old Guard Pairings: Background Nicky x Joe Characters / Focus: OT5 + Copley, reacting to Booker's betrayal Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None (well, language, because the team are all quite colorful) Total Word Count: 10,288 Chapter Word Count: 2,017

Summary:

The thing about betrayal is that it hurts. Sometimes it hurts too much to see the broader situation clearly. But after Booker's betrayal, the team has to look at themselves and see how every one of them is culpable. Booker may have done the deed, but his measly 200 years makes him a child to the others, especially Andy, and like babysitters are to blame when their charge sets the curtains on fire, the Family needs to ask themselves WHY and accept the honest answers. Why Copley, Why Merrick, and Why something made Booker believe that his choice was the right one for his Family...

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Part I :: ANDY

In the Immediate After, Andy is both utterly numb and entirely electrified. She’s chilled through her old bones from the icy weight of deadened muscles, and yet lit from inside by a fire she’d forgotten how to feel as they escape Merrick Labs. That conflicted state of incomparable feeling persists as they drive to a safehouse 20 minutes outside the London center-city, one with enough bathrooms to allow each member of their tragic little band to claim one for themselves (though, obviously, Joe and Nicky share one, regardless).

The privacy of that permeating sense of space permits them all to take their own time in separating themselves from the immediate horror of what they’d just gone through.

It allows them to clean up in their own ways and refocus on the fact that this isn’t really over, not yet. There are still two frickin’ cosmic elephants in the room.

Booker is the first one, the most critical and the most painful.

Copley can wait until a point later in the After.

Andy takes longer than usual— than she used to.

By the time she’s washed away the blood and viscera, by the time the shower has worked the worst soreness out of her aching muscles, and by the time she’s redressed her still-unhealed wounds, Booker’s already gone. Nile, too.

They’ve crossed the little hamlet’s main street to a bar perched right on the coast. The Prospect of Whitby’s an old haunt of theirs, a regular watering hole they’ve indulged in for a few hundred years now (with careful periods of avoidance as generations change over). Booker’s ordered a round of beer for all of them, ensured that he’d selected each of their favorites and instructed the bartender to keep them coming all afternoon, before stepping away— as close to out of sight, out of mind as he could possibly think the rest of them would tolerate.

He’s doing his best not to antagonize them any more than he already has— staying close enough to feel like they’ve got adequate supervision on him, and yet staying far enough away to keep from starting an actual brawl.

Meanwhile, Nile’s claimed a table in the back. It’s their usual spot— the one high-top that’s got the most obvious throw of tactical advantage in the place. Nile doesn’t wave when she spots Andy in the pub’s gloom, but she manages a stiff smile before she glances over her shoulder towards the wrap-around balcony to which Booker has retreated.

“He thinks you’re all gonna rip his limbs off or some shit,” Nile states, with that wonderfully refreshing, un-subtle archness of hers. “Seems pretty sure about it.”

“He’s been drawn and quartered before,” Andy replies, knowingly side-stepping Nile’s unspoken question. “He knows there’s a particular appeal to it as a punishment for us.”

Nile doesn’t take Andy’s shit and shoots a flat look her way that makes old warrior, unbearably, want to flash a cheeky smile. It hurts for Andy to feel such lightness in her chest when her heart is hung so heavy.

“We can’t just let this go, Nile,” Andy tells her, sympathetic.

The kid’s only known Booker a few days. She can’t possibly fathom the sting of this betrayal— can’t possibly grasp how it feels to have a rent torn through their reality when they’ve lived with such a small circle of Family being the only people in the world they trust.

It’s not her fault that she can’t understand, not by any means, but that doesn’t change how she truly cannot understand it.

Nile’s part of the Family, now, so she deserves to weigh in, but she’s just a baby…

Andy aches with pity for her— pity mixed with pride— and let’s her smile soften as the ghosts of 6000 years flicker through the shadows trapped behind her eyes.

Nile draws breath to say something more, but she doesn’t get a chance before Joe and Nicky walk in. They look better, Andy notes with the kind of relief that hits like a car crash, but they also look haunted in a way she’s never seen in them before.

Even after losing Quynh, even after nearly losing touch with Andy (as Andy nearly lost herself to the throes of a depressive psychosis that made her lash out), they’d never broached the sorry state of looking even half this fucking devastated.

They have every reason to feel that way, Andy knows, but as the debate over what to do about Booker gets started— with Nile wanting nothing more than an apology from the man who’d betrayed them and Joe wanting to send large dismembered pieces of him to the moon— Andy feels more and more exhausted.

The ‘debate’ soon becomes a mostly circular argument between Joe and Nile.

Nicky shows his favor for one side’s point or the other’s in a pantomime of subtle touches, nods, and eyebrow raises. He doesn’t just blindly support Joe in this— in anything, really… (it’s endlessly comforting for Andy to be reminded of how healthy their relationship is and how Nicky has remained wholly his own person even after a thousand years as part of a set binary-unit)— but he doesn’t speak up with any of his own suggestions, points, or grievances.

Andy just stares at the ceiling.

She listens to their points, listens to both sides.

Gets more and more frustrated with what she’s hearing from them— frustrated with them altogether. As they’ve been arguing, Andy has realized something very important about the little family she’s managed to gather around her.

“You’re all such fucking children,” she mutters— loud enough for them to hear, apparently, as they abruptly stop arguing and stare at her with a mix of confusion and insult.

Andy is not a mother to these people. At most, she’s an older sister, much older, maybe, but just a sister— not someone who should be in a position to dictate right from wrong for them.

But they are just all so fucking young.

A thousand years is nothing.

Joe and Nicky are like teenagers to her, suddenly— teenagers, at best.

Booker is a toddler in a tantrum and Nile, poor sweet fucking Nile, is an innocent, gurgling infant with that blindingly happy baby innocence shining from her frickin’ skin.

“Why’d he do it?” Andy mutters, gaze drifting out towards Booker’s back.

“He wanted it to end,” Nicky supplies, the reserved statement lilted in Nicky’s way of recognizing that a deeper question should be asked while admitting that he doesn’t know what that question should be.

“Bastard just wanted to get himself an out,” Joe spits, snarling into his beer as Nicky joins Andy in looking out the window at Booker’s back.

Andy sags in her seat.

She knows it’s not that fucking simple.

And she knows they know it, too.

Booker did this for himself, yes, but he also did it for her.

And she can’t imagine that he did what he did without knowing that it would be enough to affect Joe and Nicky, too. That he did it without realizing that escape for him and Andy meant something horrible to Nicky and Joe…

But there’s another question, too, one that not even Nile has thought to ask yet.

Joe and Nile’s argument has picked back up while Andy’s gotten lost inside her head.

It stops abruptly as Andy kicks out at the stool across from her and curses as she hits the table with her fist. They stare at her in various stages of grief and high concern as she stands up and stalks out to the rail where Booker’s banished himself to standing vigil.

“Why Copley?”

Booker blinks and frowns at her with a clear pain in his eyes.

“Answer me, Book,” Andy snarls, eyes on the ocean. “Why fucking Copley?”

Booker tries, shifting uneasily beside Andy as a few false starts claw up his throat. Andy lets him be, leaves him to struggle instead of barking at him to get on with it. She knows he’s trying, that he’s forcing himself to really answer instead of giving her an easy line meant mostly to provoke her righteous fury.

Knowing that he’s really trying does not stop Andy’s grip on the rail from going white-knuckled as he struggles to get his stupid shit together.

And then, finally, Booker sighs and huffs the confession, “I believed him.”

Andy’s posture doesn’t change a fraction, but her eyes snap sideways to assess the loose, defeated curl of his posture.

“I believed him, Andy,” Booker says again, telling her heavily, “I believed in him.”

“And Merrick?”

Booker doesn’t flinch at Andy’s venom. He just looks ashamed.

“I never met him,” Booker admits. “Copley found him and said he was the right person for it all. I checked him out, but he wasn’t very social. And I guess he was just too young or too careful for any big scandals to have come to light. His company had done some legitimately good things, things that have directly saved thousands of lives. What I found seemed solid.”

The regret and pain and self-loathing are all pitiably evident in his little speech— it’s the most words he’s strung together with her since… long before they stormed Copley’s home office.

“He was a kid,” Andy almost agreed. “200 years, and you’re still a fucking dumbass when it comes to trusting kids… but why Copley? Why trust that jerkwad so damn much?”

Booker doesn’t answer right away— can’t answer, more like.

“Because he believes in you,” Booker says, closing his eyes and hanging his head like a man at prayer— his voice cracked with the weight of fraying Faith.

It makes Andy turn to face him more fully, makes her have to fight hard to hold back from breaking her fist on his face at the painful thought that anyone might still believe in the pathetic god damn wreck of a useless, fragile fucking person she’s become.

She’d been an impotent immortal for a century, at least. And these last few decades…

Her efforts to save the world have all been nothing but a futile drop in the god damn ocean, and if she’s honest with herself, Andy can admit that all her efforts had probably always been a senseless and pitiably ineffective pretense at helping people… all 6000 years of this shit.

It had all just been something shiny and simple to flatter her own damn ego.

She’d never really saved anyone.

She’d kept a couple people alive, sure, but she’d never really made things better.

Not in any way that mattered in the long run.

But Booker turns to her, looking more broken than she’s ever seen a man survive and says, “You do so much good, Andy… We do so much good. And Copley sees it. This was supposed to be a gift, to all of us— to the whole god damn world. It was supposed to be one more bit of good, but one that could give us something back, for once.”

It hurts like nothing Andy’s ever felt to have that flung at her, to feel a cherry-picked array of words she knows she’s said too often to ignore their clear impact on her team… It hurts too much to ignore the bite of having that impact thrown back in her pathetic, ancient face.

“Maybe we don’t fucking deserve it,” Andy spits, pushing off the rail and storming back inside the pub— running away to where she knows Booker won’t follow.

The others are looking at her expectantly as she throws herself back into her previously abandoned chair and chugs her beer as fast as she can down it— mortal liver be damned.

When the glass is empty, she slams it down and kicks herself back until her chair is tipping at a dangerous angle with her neck wholly exposed and pointed up to the ceiling.

“God damn fucker really thought this shit would help,” she reports— uncertain if the wail she hears behind the words is clear in her voice or simply screaming in her skull.

- - - - -

Author's Notes:

I love Andy's complicated relationship with Booker, truly.

NEXT TIME: Booker reflects on his own actions, mistakes, and shortcomings. Until someone makes him think about his potential.

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<3

[lassieposting]

I adore your thoughts about deamon culture and upbringing. Something that’s always bugged me is that we don’t really get an insight into the culture and layout of heaven and hell or the non-humanness that makes angles and deamons. Please give more thoughts!!!

OH BOY, DO I

DEMON CULTURE HEADCANONS COMING RIGHT UP 

[1] My personal headcanon is that devil was originally a Lilim word that basically meant “warlord” - the leader of a clan with his or her own territory - and there were thousands of them, because demons lived in warring clans. Every clan had a _devil, _and they all considered themselves the ultimate authority and were constantly fighting for power. When Lucifer staged a coup and took over one of the strongest clans in the Ninth Circle, he basically went on a conquering spree, up to the point that there is now only one devil; all the other clan leaders have bent the knee to him. There’s probably either a Lilim way of distinguishing between A Devil (a warlord) and The Devil (Lucifer, King of Hell), or it’s become sort of an archaic term used only to refer to Lucifer and another name has become commonplace for your bog-standard warlord. The word then made its way to Earth both through Lucifer himself and through other demons before he outlawed possession, and developed its modern meaning from there. 

More under the cut - this is long as fuck. It’s becoming a habit.

GENETICS: 

- Demons live in one of the most inhospitable, treacherous environments of any dimension in the known multiverse. They’ve been shaped by the need to survive in their habitat. 

- Demons in general have a much higher heat resistance than humans, as well as far better low-light vision and enhanced speed, strength and endurance. 

- Hell has different habitats the same way Earth does, though, and the demons who live in the Ninth Circle (the part of Hell we see in the show, the part where Lucifer’s palace is) would have different adaptations to the demons who’ve evolved to live in the swampy marshland of the Sixth Circle (where Maze was born). 

- Demons are an R-coded species, so they have large numbers of babies, less parental care, a short gestation period and a very low survival-to-adulthood rate.  

- Because their babies have such a low survival rate, demons have very little parental attachment and they don’t form family units the way humans do (i.e. child raised by biologically related caregivers, close relationship between parents and child). 

CHILDHOOD:

- Baby demons are born already equipped with fantastic low-light vision, a full set of needle-sharp teeth, and the ability to get up and move around very shortly after birth. They’re not wholly independent - they don’t learn to talk or develop fine motor/dexterity skills until they’re older - but they are very much born armed and dangerous, which they need to be because… 

- They can and do eat their siblings in the nest, like sharks. Cannibalism is fucking rife in Hell. A large chunk of spawn are lost in their first year to fratricide/sororicide. It’s just seen as weeding out the weaklings. 

- In most clans, the spawn are raised communally in a creche run by designated nest-minders; these are usually the weakest members of the clan who would not be any use as warriors. Raising the young during their first few years of life is a fairly low-status position in society, but it does ensure that those weak demons will be fed, housed and protected - nobody wants to have to take over their job, so it’s worthwhile to keep them alive. 

- Demon spawn are…little demons. A large part of why Lucifer doesn’t like children is because of extended exposure to spawn. They completely lack empathy and social skills, so they’re loud, they bite, and a large chunk of nest-minders’ time is spent separating them when they try to kill each other. They won’t develop logic, critical thinking or their (still limited) sense of empathy until they’re a lot older. 

- Contrary to what some might believe, demons do have affectionate nicknames for their young - the sort of thing a warrior might call his trainee, or a nest-minder might call their favourite charge. The English equivalent would probably be kiddo or something, but they’d translate literally as “spawn” or “offspring”. There’s a sort of implication there that you care enough about this kid to see them as family; they can probably rely on you to protect them if they’re in danger. 

ADOLESCENCE:

- Demons don’t have a long childhood, and mostly they learn a trade by apprenticing under a professional. A would-be warrior is trained by an experienced warrior; a kid with a talent for art might apprentice under a leathercrafter; if you’re particularly intelligent and politically savvy you might get lucky and learn from your clan’s devil, if you manage to impress them. 

- A juvenile who wants to be a warrior (like Maze, for example) goes through a series of incredibly dangerous trials to become a fully-fledged adult warrior of their clan. It’s sort of like living in the Hunger Games, but, you know. Permanently. 

* Around the onset of puberty, at around 10 or 11 years old, they’re given a simple weapon and some supplies and sent out into the world by themselves to find something useful to bring back to their clan, to prove that they’re worth the time and effort it will take to train them. 

At this point, they have no formal training. They’ve got a decade or so of viciously scrapping with other youngsters in the creche for food, but they’re expected to get by mostly on their wits, their viciousness, and their willingness to kill to survive. 

There are hundreds of things that can kill a young demon alone in Hell. Demons from other clans. Heat exhaustion. Feral hellhounds. Dehydration. Volcanic eruption. Manticore. Harpy. Dragon. There’s even a chance another kid from their own clan will panic and kill first, ask questions later. 

What they bring back can be any of a number of things. Maybe some priceless gemstones that can be traded for commodities not native to their area of Hell. Maybe information about a territory ripe for overtaking. Maybe spoils taken from dead enemies from a clan yours is at war with. Whatever it is, it needs to be something the leaders of your clan will benefit from, or they might send you back out to find something better. Maze brought back Lucifer.

How impressive your gift is generally determines who you apprentice under; the kids who brought back the most impressive things will usually get sent to the clan’s top warriors. 

Only 30% or so of the kids sent out into the world will come back. The ones who didn’t clearly wouldn’t have survived training, so it wouldn’t have been worth the effort to train them in the first place. 

They’ll spend the next ten years or so (maybe more, maybe less) in training. Their mentor will teach them to fight with a whole load of different weapons, how to hunt, how to torture a captive, how to plan a battle, etc. The ones with leadership potential, training under the clan’s War Chief, also learn - on the DL, because nobody wants to get murdered - how to deal with your devil when they’re being an asshole, and how to bring them round to your way of thinking when their plan for a war clashes with yours. 

In bigger clans, at the end of their training, each warrior’s trainees get put in an arena to fight to the death. Of each class, only the last one standing actually becomes a warrior. Despite the immense amount of lives lost in childhood, demons breed so prolifically that plenty survive to adulthood. 

ADULTHOOD:

- Adult demons often wear identification marks, usually on their faces, to show whereabouts they’re from, which clan they belong to, and what rank they are if they have one. Some clans (like Maze’s) use face paint, others prefer tattoos, still others use scarification or branding. You don’t get to wear them until you’ve proved yourself, so it’s a great honour for a warrior to finally get their stripes.

- This helps establish social order - who you can and can’t flirt with, who you should and shouldn’t pick on, etc. If you’re a humble furs trader, you really don’t want to start a fight with a visiting devil over a casual insult to your work; you’ll get smoked. But fortunately for you, her face markings tell you who she is, so you keep your mouth shut. 

- Demons are promiscuous as fuck and don’t really go in for monogamy. It happens occasionally, but it’s definitely not the social norm. While every demon spawn knows who their mother is, it’s very common to have multiple potential fathers. 

- Demons can and do fall in love. They’re not very open about it, and there’s no way to say “I love you” in Lilim. Any demonstration of love is a demonstration of weakness, and in Hell any weakness will be used against you. Long term relationships between demons tend to look a lot like Lucifer and Maze - ride-or-die friends who hang out naked and have each other’s back against outside danger regardless of the issues they’re having with each other. 

OLD AGE:

- A demon who’s too old to battle anymore but was once a mighty warrior can still command a huge amount of respect; many become advisors to the clan devil - especially if he’s young; Lucifer had to lean on very experienced older advisors as a young king consolidating his power - or train the most promising up-and-comers. 

- Demons can and do grieve, but it’s usually expressed as a roaring rampage of revenge against whoever killed your ally. If something happened to Maze, for example, Lucifer wouldn’t cry or get sentimental; he’d cause so much carnage they’d be talking about it for millennia. By demon standards that would be the most touching tribute he could give her tbh. 

- After someone dies, their clan usually eats them - in a world where the creatures you eat can kill you just as easily as be killed by you, meat is meat and a meal you don’t have to work for is a gift. (This is why Mom asked if humans eat their own when She first came to Earth. Hell was a horrible surprise for both of them for a variety of reasons, and this is definitely one of them.) To humans, this is horrifying; to demons, it’s not even something to bat an eyelid at. 

- Devils don’t often get old. They live in a cutthroat world of power games and ambition, and everyone wants their spot. Devils get to the top by being especially cunning or vicious or physically powerful, and once the thing keeping them there starts to run down, they’re often killed and replaced by someone stronger. It’s just as common for your allies to turn on you as your enemies, so you’re watching your back constantly, never truly safe, always reading into every interaction for signs of danger. There’s a reason Lucifer doesn’t trust easy. As an angel he’s stronger than practically all demons, but Hell-forged steel can kill him; all it would take is for him to let his guard down just a little bit too much at the wrong moment. 

[hastalikhunts]

the first time hastalik ever showed clara a certain amount of kindness beyond words. likely towards the end of his first year aware of her presence in the coven’s compound.

feat: @clara-delaval

Hastalik had been away for two weeks on a mission, his mind exhausted from all that had happened. It was the first one he'd been on that involved being away for more than a few days and he was not coping very well, even eating breakfast with everyone else felt draining, so mid morning he abandoned the rest of the coven and snuck away. His rings knocked on the stone walls as he descended into the room that held the young vampire woman, the closest thing to an escape that he got. Without realising he was warning her of his arrival, subconsciously giving her a chance to prepare for him to walk in, wearing the exact same ensemble he wore daily.

The sound of someone approaching was an unfamiliar curtesy. Clara, by this point, was so used to the door swinging open with an alarming suddenness before she was wrenched out of her bed with an uncaring force no matter how hard she protested. This was why she was waiting in the furthest corner of the room to see what awaited her, nervous eyes poised on the door waiting for whoever might enter. Though he expression didn't give her away, there was a huge sense of relief when only one man materialized in the door frame. She couldn't explain why, but there was a undercurrent of relief when she recognized Hastalik's face. She would hardly call him an ally, but he had been somehow kinder than any other man in the coven.

Hastalik closed the door behind him, looking up and finding Clara at the corner of the room, her red hair falling around her face. For a moment he wondered if vampires needed to wash their hair, Clara always seemed clean and he knew there was no bathroom down here and she couldn't leave the room. "They shouldn't be here anytime soon," Hastalik told her simply. It seemed they drained her less when they'd had a vampire killed that they could obviously use the blood of, she probably had a day or two before they returned to her.

There was a wave of confusion that washed over the vampire when Hastalik didn't immediately make a move for her or speak. The small inkling of security she had felt when she realized it was him vanished when he closed the door, fully restoring the power dynamic to normal. "You're not--... They..." Clara seemed unable to figure out why he had come if he didn't have any use for her blood. "What are you doing here?"

Hastalik had never come down for her blood, he was still not technically privy to that information. He’d found Clara by accident and had only ever come down there to see if she was still alive. He kept waiting for them to kill her but they never did. Hastalik still didn’t understand it. If she was evil they needed to kill her. “You know why I’m here,” he scolded, frowning as he shoved his ringed fingers into his pockets. Though he wasn’t entirely there for that, at least not today. He couldn’t stop thinking of the vampires he’d killed, why had he had to kill them and yet Clara was down here?

She looked appropriately chastised when he scolded her, though she didn't look any less confused. Clara never really knew why he came down. When he did, he just spoke to her, and across all of their interactions she had not yet managed to put together some sort of a motive. With his hands in his pocket, she felt comfortable enough to slowly walk to the edge of the bed and sit there. "Is there something you need to say?" she asked, more or less trying to ask the man if there was something on his mind that had compelled him to come to her at that particular time.

Clara moved and he stepped back, though in the direction of the other side of the room than where he'd come from. So far she'd never hurt him, and had been very insistent that she wouldn't, but Hastalik wasn't afraid she'd hurt him, he was afraid she'd keep convincing him that she wouldn't. "Figured I was gone so long they may have finally killed you," Hastalik responded aggressively, wondering if she had noticed he'd been gone for a solid few weeks. "Wanted to see if they had a new blood bag down here for me to be amused by." His words were half hearted though, not quite as visceral as they had been when he first found her.

Clara noticed when he stepped back in reaction to her movement. She lifted her hands to show him her palms and moved more slowly, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that she couldn't quite shield. "I just want to sit is all," she said in a small voice, lowing her hands when she was seated. Part of her could understand why he was careful, but another part of her felt hurt over it. She still felt more human than vampire, but regardless she felt in most instances here she was treated like a monster. "Would you have been happy if there was?" she asked, looking up at him. Then, with a fake sense of sadness almost meant to tease him, "Are you getting bored of me?" She usually didn't joke with the man, but she noticed that much of the bite had left his voice and it made it feel safer to try and be more casual with him.

Talking with her was hard, vampires tended to spit in his face as he did their's, they'd call him witch names and he'd call them vampire insults back. Clara didn't, even when he called her names she never said any back, which only made things harder for Hastalik. The witch had never enjoyed being mean, or violent, but it was meant to be who he was. He definitely would not have been happy if another person was down there though, not only because for far Clara didn't indicate she deserved to die but because he didn't think he could stand knowing they went through vampires like Kleenex. "You're pretty boring," he said simply, though not exactly her fault when she had basically nothing to do. "I wouldn't have been happy."

Clara's expression flattened to look somewhat annoyed with him when he said she was boring, but then again how much excitement could one stir up in a plain room containing almost nothing.  The expression was mostly for show, though. "I wasn't always so boring," she insisted vaguely. She chewed on her bottom lip and looked down at her lap when he said he would not have been happy to see she was gone, but she thought the both of them must know how realistic a possibility it was that some day the coven might become too careless to go too far. "Do you think someday I will be?" she asked quietly, not looking at him. "That I might... die here, and they just... replace me like it is nothing?"

"Probably not," he agreed of her insistence. Hastalik saw what the outside world had when he was on his trips and even he was boring in comparison to them. He didn't have a television, and his internet exposure was non-existent. The closest he got was video games and they were only ones his father allowed for him to play. Books were the same, curated by the coven. When he was on missions he would sometimes sneak them from stores, sometimes watch TV in truck stops, but it wasn't the same. "Maybe," Hastalik said, she was a female and she was certainly the only female he'd ever seen more than once. No doubt she couldn't make it. "If you've been down here as long as you say then maybe one day they'll just bleed you dry on accident, or on purpose because they need it. I've bled vampires before, takes some times but you can do it. Once your bled the only thing that'll bring you back is blood, we're not too keen on giving it." From what he could tell they fed Clara in small glasses of blood sporadically, she always looked beautiful but she never looked strong, least not physically. "You're nothing to us." Us. He didn't like saying he was a part of it but he was, he had to be, this was his family.

"I was never like the others, you know?" she said, a heavy sort of sadness in her voice. "I don't know how long it was after I was changed and someone--one of your brothers I guess--found me." Clara’s jaw became rigid again as her gaze drifted off and she tried not to let her sadness overcome her. "He said he knew what I was, and that I was alone. I just wanted to get back home and see my mother. He said he would help me." Hastalik almost certainly had to know the rest of the story. He said he would help her--and now she was here, had been for years. "If they asked you to collect my blood, could you do that?" she asked, looking at him. She didn't know he had bled some other, unfortunate vampire before. His next statement had her feeling stupid for asking it.

"I don't have any brothers," he answered, supposing she meant in the way he called the coven his family but Hastalik was quite insistent. Maybe they were his family but none of them were his brothers, none of them had come from his mother, goddess that Hastalik perceived her to be. Still her story burnt in his ears, he didn't want to hear what they'd done to get her here, the tricks they'd taught all of the coven members to be used on them. Vampires were emotional, just as they could be vicious they could be easily manipulated. "I would do anything my father asked me to do," Hastalik insisted, eyes looking into hers but falling away. His father frequently bled her and while Hastalik carried a lot of his features his father was never quite as soft. Even when Hastalik had insulted her he had never held the same deadness to his eyes that his father did. "Eventually."

"Oh," Clara said quietly, replaying her own words in her head trying to determine if it was the language she'd gotten wrong as a non-native speaker or if it was more a nuance of how the coven related to each other. "What should you call them then?.” “You haven't always," she responded, her brows knitting together. Perhaps all of the men always wore the same outfits, but ass a vampire there was more than one way to tell if a human was injured or bruised. "He has beaten you before, in anger over disobedience. Your scent, it changes when your body is recovering. It becomes... It, um." She struggled to find a way to describe it. "Your body is working harder so it smells more apparent? More pure?"

"Family but not brothers, they're not my mother's children or my father's, they're other coven members children," he informed her. He didn't like to talk about his mother, an image of her always on his person. He only knew what his father had said of her and it was very little. What would be most obvious to Clara however was that no women ever approached her, or were ever around. Whoever Hastalik's mother was she wasn't here. No doubt it didn't help bruises were pooled areas of blood beneath the skin, he'd never considered she might notice, or might assume it was his father and not the fact he went out and regularly took vampire's in. "My father knows what is best for the coven and for me. I just don't always see it right away," his eyes remained on her. One day he would see why Clara was down here and he would regret his betrayal in these moments, or he hoped as much. "But eventually I do. If he wanted me to bleed you he'd have a reason."

She nodded when he answered the question, but didn't comment further on the way members of the coven referred to one another. When he spoke of his father, Clara's eyes held a shred of empathy, maybe even pity. "Perhaps you see it differently, but not wrong,"she said softly. "He may not always be right either? It is in our nature to make mistakes." She was trying to plant a seed of doubt, though she worried it might just anger Hastalik. "Either way, you do not deserve to be treated cruelly for a wrong action." It worried her that he felt that there would always come a day when his morals aligned with those of his father, especially because he was the only one to ever show her a modicum of empathy. "I'd better not give him a reason then..."

"His words come from experience," but he was faltering in his resolve because Hastalik had never understood why his father wanted him to harm those in the coven. His father had always said that it was practice but if that was true why could he not practice on vampires? Why had he needed to practice his abilities over and over again on younger members within the coven. "Pain helps remember situations, so you won't make mistakes again," Hastalik said but he brushed his nose with his knuckles because he was getting emotional, a trait his father insisted came from his mother, and likely had. "Why wouldn't you want to? I mean, what's worse? Being down here for the rest of your existence or dying? You're a monster anyway, better to die." He wasn't trying to be cruel but genuinely believed what he was saying, because if she was good and vampires were bad, then maybe all she needed was an escape from the life she had.

"Can I tell you something that I want you to think about? A saying that is very important to us back in France?" she asked, nodding toward the other end of the bed and inviting him to sit if he so chose. She didn't recite the saying to him until he gave her permission, worried that she would just prove herself to be pushy or manipulative or whatever horrible thing he wanted to believe she was. "Pain is not the only way," she said quietly. For some, death might seem like the easier way out. But when she had been kidnapped by the coven it was when she was travelling home to visit her sick mother. Clara didn't know if her mother was still alive, but the hope of seeing her one more time was enough to make the suffering worthwhile and keep the hope of escape alive. "I barely lived before I was taken here," she said, shrugged her shoulders slightly. "The years in here would be worth the change of just one more day out in the real world."

Hastalik did not sit, keeping his tall looming figure where it was, though the gesture did stick in his mind, especially looking at the expression on her face as she made it, not commanding but soft. "It's not the only way, but it's our way," he said back quite instantly after before he held his breath a moment. "I'll think on it, but only if you say it in French." Her hope almost snapped Hastalik's resolve, but only almost. It was hard for him, to see such a beautiful face, and to hear her speak with such honesty and innocence all at once. He'd worshipped his mother from the moment he understood he lacked one, and as a byproduct he worshipped women, more so than others in the coven. Each had their own Greecian God they worshipped, Hastalik the only one among them that did his blessings and rituals to women. His father did not approve but his visions were enough to keep his father's displeasure at bay. Mostly he just didn't know what to say to her answer so moved to head for the door. "Perhaps you'll still be here when I return."

Clara wasn't surprised or hurt that Hastalik didn't sit. She chose not to argue with the our way statement he made. If she did, it might be perceived that she was trying to lead him to an alternate conclusion and being manipulative. Instead she nodded, when he requested the phrase in French. "L’habit ne fait pas le moine." she recited. "It means The clothing doesn't make the monk." She simply nodded at his statement, watching him make his exit.

[avenger-hawk]

Hello, it's me again. Thank you for answering my last question, I really apprecite how you give an elaborated answer, thoroughly explaining your point of view. My next question for you: is there any other character (or characters) that you would have like to see Sasuke interacting with, but in cannon he had very little contact or no contact at all? Why?

Hello again, and thanks for coming by~

This is a cool question, there isn’t just one character I’d have liked to see Sasuke interacting with more, mostly because I really love Sasuke’s interactions with almost anyone, some superficial fans see him as smug and arrogant or always brooding and ‘emo’ but to me he’s neither. He’s just aloof and usually lost in his own thoughts, and uninterested to most things with no problem in saying it, but when he is interested in something or someone he has his own cute way of showing it. But let me start with the list of characters. 

Shikamaru

Both are very smart but in different ways. Both are observant and strategic. Both are usually lost in their own thoughts, one in contemplation of clouds and stuff, the other lost in memories and plans and considerations. Both are familiar with revenge, although one has been condemned and the other not at all. At his best Shikamaru is open-minded, as shown in the way he never had prejudices against N*ruto as a kid. I think in a post-ending setting he might be one of the first to actually talk to him because he knows how it feels to want revenge above everything, among all things, so he shouldn’t be one of those who judge him. At his worst, Shikamaru’s individuality has been brainwashed by Konoha like everyone else, so he might keep an eye on him cause he doesn’t trust him. Which means darker interactions and possibilities. Also his shadow jutsu is an interesting one in this setting. 

Kiba

Sasuke loves animals. Kiba has a dog, actually Kiba is a sort of dog as well lol. He’s similar to N*ruto because of his assertive, loud, enthusiastic attitude but he’s less flashed out ofc, and he lacks N*ruto’s possessive, imposing and generally negative traits. Like I said here Akamaru would sense Sasuke’s kind soul and Kiba would follow his best friend’s ‘advice’. Sasuke would get along with Akamaru and Kiba would talk to him, Sasuke would not be talkative at all but he’d pet Akamaru a lot. Their interactions would be kinda like NS but healthier? But lol the word itself sounds so boring. Cuter sounds better. Also, Kiba being ‘beastlike’ in certain ways, and Sasuke being passive means possibility for dark imagery.

Sai

I’m really disappointed that except for fighting in the beginning they didn’t really interact in canon because Sai is his replacement…and tbh Team Yamato was much better, as a team, than Team7. Anyway. Sai and Sasuke have something in common: they both were loved and protected by their big brothers, who died, sacrificing themselves for them, in a way or another. It’s a lot in common, actually. I wrote a scene about this in my fic In Power We Entrust The Love Advocated. Both are blunt, but in a different way. Sasuke knows what he’s saying and why, if he steps over social norms it’s because he doesn’t care. Sai ignores social norms, he’s without filter and awkward, and he tries to learn with sometimes terrible results. Their interactions would be awkward and weird at first. Sai was Danzo’s subordinate, this would make Sasuke wary of him; but also, Sai was Danzo’s slave, he had no choice in this. Almost like Itachi. Sasuke would understand this very well. Also, my personal headcanon is that since Danzo formed Root after the massacre, he told Itachi’s story to those shinobi, both to teach them that shinobi must carry on every mission assigned no matter what, and to teach them that emotions are a bad thing. Sai would more or less know about Itachi and he would tell Sasuke, in a way that didn’t judge, but that instead admired him. And Sasuke would appreciate. Their interactions would be more relaxed then, but still there would be weird comments on Sai’s side.

Ino

I don’t ship them and I don’t care much about her but her desperate cry when he was sentenced to death impressed me very much. It doesn’t just show a girl’s crush, it shows real empathy and compassion for the destiny of a person she once had a crush on. Cause she did move on when she first got interested in Sai imo, like normal people do btw. So it would be cute to see a girl interact with him for real, with no secret agenda or smth. 

Gaara

What a wasted potential their relationship was…in pt1 creepy monster Gaara was interested in him, before N*ruto took over. In pt2 Gaara acts like the Kazekage with a desperate broken Sasuke attacking their meeting, but he also sheds a tear for him. Gaara was really saved cause he was a monster. Sasuke isn’t and was never one, and he didn’t need to be saved but the narration pushes that direction. Gaara was interested in Sasuke’s fate in ep479, I think he would not judge him (his official Kazekage position aside) and he would like to bond with him somehow. Sasuke admires strength and Gaara is very strong, so he would not ignore him. And Sasuke talks about politics as well. Gaara would listen and talk as well. And he would stare at him a lot. But I wrote about this already. Besides there’s a lot of dark potential as well. Because imo it’s interesting to think that there’s still some darkness in his heart and somehow he’d let it out with a passive masochistic Sasuke who feels like he needs to atone for his sins. 

Kisame

He was Itachi’s partner, he knows a lot about Itachi because he’s observant, and Sasuke is the one who killed his partner. He was snarky about it with Obito and Sasuke himself but I (like to) think that he was feeling something, like resentment, towards Sasuke for killing Itachi. After all, no matter his reasons, he sure preferred Itachi. I also like to think that during the time Sasuke and Team Taka stayed in Obito’s hideout as Akatsuki members, he made no mystery of the truth about Itachi, and I like to think that he asked Kisame about his brother. (which kinda opens to the dark stuff cause Kisame being angry at him because he killed Itachi…you got it)

Tobirama

I find him very interesting despite disagreeing with his politics, and I really liked his interactions with Sasuke, especially the way he first insulted his clan and rudely talked to him, but then he tried to protect him against Madara. And I liked how Sasuke humbly, pragmatically and with an open mind he listened to him without letting his feelings get in the way, without getting offended. I would have liked to fight together more, and to see him protecting him more actively, not being blocked by those black sticks. And I would have liked him to openly praise Sasuke and his abilities like he did in his mind.

Madara

I’ll forever be salty at how their interactions were little and not emotionally charged at all. I mean Sasuke is the last Uchiha alive and Madara was another founder, the former head of the clan…I get that he was fighting a war and I know he did show interest in Sasuke’s eyes (and he acknowledged the pain he felt to obtain them) and he did try to get him on his side, and I get that Sasuke was all hyped up to protect the village because Itachi, but still. Like, Madara’s plan was to create a new world, he could have told Sasuke, he could have told him that Itachi would have been there, since his allies Obito and Kabuto were defeated or being defeated. Ugh.

my madasasu tag. my madasasu edits and meta.

Orochimaru (&Kabuto)

I like all part2 interactions between them, and I really like the way they became after Orochimaru was brought back, but I’m also interested in their interactions in Otogakure, the way he trained Sasuke, the forbidden substances he got him to take, the forbidden jutsu he taught him and the forbidden things they required to be done (think whatever here lol). The way he trained Sasuke to take poisons and not be affected, I’m sure they were all painful and hard things to bear, and I’m sure than in part of them he was strapped to a table, and others he was really really exhausted and badly injured, after. Not to mention the way Orochimaru talked to him, how he manipulated him using Itachi and his weakness compared to him, how he was ‘kind’ to him in his creepy way. All the things Sasuke had to witness beside him and how he decided to free the prisoners, and Team Taka ofc. Speaking of which.

Team Taka

They did have a lot of interactions but I wanted more both pre ending and post ending. How Sasuke first met them, how he decided they were the ones he needed. Their travels, their conversations, their nightmares, their bonding moments. 

Sasuke and Karin’s conversations. Both suffered great trauma, both lost their families.

Juugo being protective and loyal over Sasuke but also! his dark side coming out against him and Sasuke welcoming it and becoming his cage, but kinda getting hurt in the process.

Suigetsu admiring Sasuke and wanting to be noticed by him but being obnoxious and mischievous. And kinda sadistic. And Sasuke being ok with it cause he’s passive. 

Special mentions, in and out of canon:

Deidara

I really loved their fight, the strategy, the contrast between their personalities. I like that both have an inferiority complex, especially towards Itachi, and they both worked hard to get stronger, but they act differently. Deidara is loud and apparently messy and he loudly brags his art and abilities, Sasuke is silent and calm and uninterested but he is proud of his achievements, as shown when he explains Deidara what he did and he points out that it’s chidori, not raikiri. His version of the jutsu. Other things in common? They’re both reckless with their bodies when it comes to achieve their goal. I’d love an AU where they interact, like my Akatsuki AU. It’s kinda like NS in a way. also.

Obito

They spent a lot of time together in canon but it’s not shown. It’s some of my canon behind the screen thingies, and I’d love to see any interactions between them. Obito knows the truth about Itachi, he knows Itachi while Sasuke doesn’t. He wants to know anything about his brother and I’m sure he asked him a lot. Obito told him stuff also because he needed to manipulate Sasuke against the village, but also because he feels some little attachment between the other Uchiha, just like he felt some for Itachi. There’s a scene that is always overlooked and that I liked a lot, in ep375 when Obito is about to be ‘killed’ by Kakashi and before he’s taken over by Madara, Sasuke is there and Obito refers to him as ‘fellow traitor’. I like that he kinda aknowledged Sasuke’s presence in that moment ok. To do such thing while Kakashi and Madara are clearly the strongest presences for him, I like to think that Sasuke left an impression on him.

(my obisasu tag and meta)

Shisui 

I mean, in the filler non massacre arc. He did train Sasuke after all. I’d have liked to see more. But it’s no mystery, that arc inspired me greatly and if now I ship Shisasu even in other contexts it’s because of it.

my shisasu tag. my shisasu edits and meta.

Hiruzen

Only because I’d like Sasuke to tell him that he’s just as guilty as his buddy Danzo. That old a**hole.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

My close friends and family members are all pregnant at the minute (or in the case of one cousin, have just had a baby.) For me this is a Big Thing, because prior to that, the closest any babies or Next Generation stuff ever came to me was friends-of-friends, or y’know. Star Trek. But now everyone is breeding and I am being made to feel the passage of time. Are you happy now, fecund friends?

It’s made me think about a lot of stuff, though, in regards to child-raising (not something I’ve ever had to consider before), and there are loads of topics I now periodically come back to and mull over. The biggest current one is social inclusion, and how easily children can turn to bullying.

I don’t actually know what the answer to this is. But:

We are aware, as a culture, that a child who is left out of play time by others has a shitty time of things, and will experience profound effects from that. Our solution? Tell the other children to include them. Tell them off if they don’t.

This categorically doesn’t work, and I reckon makes things worse.

Thing is… I’m an adult, right? And as an adult, if I meet someone – let’s say, someone in work – who I find to be draining to be around, then as long as I’m not a dick to that person, everyone nonetheless understands if I choose to limit how much time I spend with them. And I don’t mean “an awful person who makes offensive jokes and sprays when he eats”, I literally just mean… maybe this is someone with poor social skills? Maybe they’re VERY ENTHUSIASTIC ALL THE TIME, and after a while you just need a break. Maybe it’s someone who means well, but is constantly negative and critical of everything, and so you need to only work directly with them in small doses. Maybe it’s someone who tries to cover up their social awkwardness by talking about subjects they’re comfortable with, but it tips fully over into constant arrogant boasting. Maybe it’s someone who just… can’t carry a conversation, meaning you have to do all the work in keeping it going, meaning after about an hour you’re emotionally exhausted.

None of those people are bad people – they just socially clash with you, or rub you up the wrong way, you know? As an adult, it’s understood to be acceptable for you to restrict how much time you hang out with them for. You’ll work with them for an afternoon, and then maybe avoid them the next day by working elsewhere. You’re pleasant to them, and professional, but to save your sanity you just keep it to small doses – and, possibly, as long as it’s small doses, you can even enjoy their company.

We deny children that option, though.

When I was a child, I was the middle child of five cousins – my sister Beth and cousin Will were older, and would play together; I would play with my cousin Stephanie. And then her sister Louisa came along. She was the youngest – in truth, I think she probably was slightly babied by the adults, since she was the last baby born to that generation and the rest of us were growing up. But mostly, her great crime – in the eyes of Stephanie and I – was just that she was younger than us, and so needed different sorts of interactions than us, and we were ourselves too young to be able to offer them. We therefore found her childish and annoying, and felt like she kept demanding our attention and getting the games wrong (which she was, but in her defence, she was A SMALL CHILD.)

(Quick disclaimer – we are all adults now, and Louisa is an absolutely fantastic human and never gets the games wrong.)

But, she wanted to play with us, and The Adults TM would always insist that we let her. And so we did! Except… not nicely. We made her play as a boy in every game (huge insult when one is a pre-teen girl). We made fun of her when she got shit wrong. I remember us convincing her that the giant from the BFG was real one time, and she ran to the adults crying, and I remember thinking it was worth the row we got because it meant we got a peaceful ten minutes before she came back.

Obviously, as an adult I can be horrified by that; but what I remember thinking as a child was actually not that it was unfair that we had to include her, but that Beth and Will never had to do it.

I was a child, so I didn’t have the social or developmental toolkit to articulate the problem, but as an adult, I can see it clear as day. Louie was five years younger than me. Playing with her meant, essentially, babysitting her. In small doses, that worked; but I would hit a limit fairly quickly and then want to relax into my more natural play mode with Stephanie, but I couldn’t, because I wasn’t allowed any sort of break from poor Louie. I can recognise what I was thinking now: I didn’t resent it because Beth and Will didn’t have to babysit. I resented that they didn’t have to take a turn, which would have given me a break.

And so, we ended up bullying her. It’s not something I’m proud of (sorry Lou.) But it’s what happened.

And my point is, this is not unique. Adults in our culture routinely force social inclusion on children, but completely ignore that, actually, everyone has the right to limit how much time they spend with people they just don’t like – or even, people who just drain them. That includes children. And if you don’t respect that right to space, you’re pouring a huge mental load onto people who don’t yet have the emotional skills to handle the situation, and thus in the attempt to stop a child being isolated, you cause the child to be bullied instead. Moreover, you teach the other children to be bullies.

Yeah, like I say, I don’t particularly have an answer to this. I read an article by a woman who spotted that her daughter, when she was about 12, was excluding another girl in her social group. What she did was not to insist that they included her, but to make her daughter go into school the next day and find out three cool things about this girl. Her daughter was Deeply Unimpressed, but did it – it actually led to the two becoming very good friends, because suddenly there were specific things they could talk about. I think that seems like a good way of doing it for many situations, since oftentimes children do need help to develop the necessary skills to interact with people in a way they’ll enjoy. Sometimes, the problem is just that children are seeing the status quo, and not the people, you know?

But… that doesn’t always work. Sometimes, people just clash. To go back to my earlier analogy, if the work colleague who bothers me turns out to play the fiddle in a folk rock band, owns three llamas, and likes making his own wine out of birch sap, then that’s cool! But if he’s still mentally draining to be around, all that’s done is give us some things to talk about during our limited work sessions. Because I’m still going to need to have time away from him to recharge.

Technically, I suppose the answer is more supervision of a specific type. For Louisa (honestly, she is SO GREAT, I cannot stress this enough), we probably could have done with The Adults TM only sending her to play with us for a few hours, and then with Beth and Will for a few hours, and then maybe coming and playing with her aunts for a few hours, you know? That would have helped immeasurably, because then we could have grit our teeth if she was being annoying and just waited it out. Or, actually, we probably could have gone along with it and enjoyed it, because we knew it was just for a little while. I’m not sure how that necessarily extends to a school environment, though.

Like I say, I don’t know the answer. Part of this issue is going to be an unpalatable truth – ultimately, the child who is being excluded just wants to join in, but it’s never going to happen that way because if they aren’t excluded they’re victimised. And no one, but especially not a child for gods’ sakes, is going to want to have to acknowledge that they are only likeable in small doses. That’s heartbreaking, but unfortunately, that’s just how it goes sometimes.

(Full disclosure: while I have been on the “Please leave me alone” side of this debate – most notable, up above – I have also been on the other side, many many times. I’m not for everyone. An acquired taste. It fucking sucks.)

And, hey, some kids are always going to be bullies anyway, and would either exclude or bully anyway, and this isn’t really discussing them. I’m talking about the fact that the “You have to play with them” approach takes kids who would otherwise be perfectly lovely and turns them into little bastards, because we’re ignoring the underlying issues: we are taking children and expecting them to perform the mental and emotional labour of adults but without the ability to set up any boundaries or space, and then are AMAZED when it goes wrong.

[twdeadfanfic]

Don’t look back Pt.1/3

*Summary:  Daryl is used to his brother coming and going out of his life, leaving him alone, since he was a kid. He’s used to Merle meaning trouble too, and to be dragged into all his messes as Daryl loyally follows his brother. But this time Merle’s mess has reached top and has affected more people than the brothers, and Daryl finds himself wanting to step in and fix it, as once again he’s left alone by his brother. Inspired by me wondering how Daryl felt about having always done as Merle says and yet being always left alone, and especially by wondering how is Daryl so good with kids, handling baby Judith so good, like a pro since day one.

*Tags/Warnings: There’s cute stuff here, but the main tag is Angst.  Daryl’s pov, there’s an OC (well…two…), but still, this is mostly a Daryl Dixon fic. Once again, this gets pretty angsty, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Angsty week has started! I’ll post all three chapters this week cos my birthday is coming this saturday. This is very diferent to what I usually write, I’m so excited and nervous...

Also, I’ve been reblogging some pictures of Norman Reedus that I’ve called “young Daryl” and some gifsets that I think kind of have a bit of the vibe of this mini-series. If you want to check it, this is the tag Don’t look back.

Link to my masterlist with my other works can be found on the description of this blog. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but tumblr doesn’t show posts with links in the tags.

----

It’s still early in the day when Daryl comes back from hunting, a handful of squirrels and a rabbit inside his bag. He has been out in the woods hunting since before the sun went up, didn’t have anything better to do. He heads back home to get his kills ready, not sure of what to do with himself.

Merle is gone again, and by now Daryl should be used to it, Merle has always been coming and going from his life, due to him whether leaving to who-knows-where or why, or to him ending up first in juvie when they were kids, then in jail when they grew up. But this time he had been home for a long, long while and now Daryl finds he can’t remember what he used to do back when Merle wasn’t there.  

He is just too used to follow Merle everywhere, doing whatever shit he had in mind for the day, just like always, just like Daryl began to do when he was a kid without nobody else and Merle was around long enough, until he inevitable was left alone on his own again. And in those lonely times, Daryl still doesn’t know what to do with himself. He likes it, though, the solitude, he doesn’t like to deal with people, he’s not good at it, and it’s clear people doesn’t like to deal with him either.

It’s not only him, the people in that town doesn’t like to deal with the Dixon’s in general, nor their asshole of a father nor his brother. They had a reputation already before Daryl was old enough to understand it. It extends to Merle’s small biker gang, to a lesser degree although the whole town knew they were trouble.

It’s the gang’s fault that Merle is gone again, in a way, though it’s mostly Merle’s fault. As always. Daryl should be used to it. Merle has been trouble always, but it seems that since he founded that gang, he managed to multiply that trouble for ten. And now it has finally reached top and exploded.

Daryl should have expected his brother to end up in something like that at some point, honestly.

Merle had been doing drugs almost since Daryl could remember, doing whatever was necessary to get them, dragging Daryl along, though somehow Daryl never used. In recent years, Merle had begun dealing too, and it wasn’t like Daryl wasn’t used to all of his brother’s more than questionable business, so he just kept tailing along. He hasn’t anything else to do anyway, nobody else to be with, besides his brother. Only Dixons care for Dixons, Merle taught him that when he was a kid.

And with the gang, Merle’s humble business had grown into something…well, something still rather small, but big enough to get into trouble. Merle has a way of finding trouble. And of course, Daryl can’t help but still do what he’s told, and follow Merle around. That’s what Dixons do. And Merle’s blood,  so they gotta be together.  And Daryl likes bikes and being in the gang ain't’ that bad, and his brother’s around, so he helps with anything Merle needs from him, any business that needs to get done, doesn’t give it a second thought.

Except the last one. The one that ended up with his brother in jail for longer than usual, one of the members of the gang dead, and the club broken.

Daryl doesn’t even really know what happened. Apparently, his brother took good care on keeping him in the shadows for this one. Daryl is still unsure of why. It would be beautiful to think that Merle thought it would be more dangerous than usual and so he wanted to protect him, but Daryl mostly thinks it’s because Merle thought he’d mess it or chicken out. Daryl’s always trying to prove himself to his brother, since they were kids, but Merle always finds something to put him down, to show him how he’s not good enough. Maybe he thought like that again this time. Daryl doesn’t know if that makes him lucky or not. It makes him pissed, though.

Daryl doesn’t take shit from anyone, doesn’t care about anyone, doesn’t give a single shit about what people think of him or how they talk at his back. Except when it’s his brother. Merle’s blood. It’s his family, his older brother, the only thing Daryl has. That’s different. It makes sense in his head.

And now Merle’s gone again, to jail, for longer than usual, though Daryl doesn’t know the details. The death of David hasn’t been linked to whatever business Merle has messed, but Daryl can put two and two together, besides the other men from the gang have stopped meeting or even talking. Not that Daryl would miss them.

Two weeks have passed since that and Daryl is still confused about the whole thing, and he is still not used to not having his brother around anymore, able to do whatever he wants to. But he doesn’t really seem to know what he wants to do.

He is so wrapped on his own head that he doesn’t realize who the woman ahead on the street is, doesn’t even see her until it’s too late to hide or take another street. She must be one of the people he doesn’t want to ever see again. Daryl doesn’t really remember her name, something like Claire he thinks, but the important thing is that her husband got killed because of Merle’s gang, hell, because of Merle too probably, for whatever shit mess of a business he got him in.

And to make it even worse, the tiny bundle wrapped to her with some sort of scarf reminds him that they had a baby not even a month ago. It’s strange, it doesn’t make sense, but looking at her feels like a punch to the gut. She’s fumbling with some bags, trying to carry them while also carrying the baby, but she seems to have lost her grip on one, too distracted to notice who is walking next to her.

Daryl wants to take advantage of that to walk past her quick and hope he doesn’t see her ever again, but somehow he finds himself stopping next to her, asking her if she needs help. He kicks himself and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth, he doesn’t even know why he did it.

“Oh, thanks, no I-” Claire begins talking without looking up, still fumbling with the bags, and once she does look and sees him, she stops for a moment, and Daryl knows she has recognized him. They had seen each other a few times before, though they hadn’t really talked much. She looks different now, though, sad and tired, exhausted even, her eyes rimmed red and with deep dark circles under them, and that stabbing pain in Daryl’s gut just get worse. “Hey, you’re Daryl, right? Merle’s brother.”

Daryl nods, looking to the ground, unable to hold her gaze. He expects her to yell at him, insult him, slap him, anything like that, but she doesn’t, and they stay in awkward silence for another moment, a couple seconds that felt eternal to Daryl.

“I heard he was sent to jail,” she finally says and Daryl still doesn’t look at her. “Are you holding up okay?”

His eyes snap up at that, looking at her with a confused frown on his face. Is she serious? Is she really asking him how is he doing? He tries to listen for some hidden intention behind it but she sounds genuine, and Daryl doesn’t understand how could she be the one asking him that. Claire seems to see something in his face, and she shrugs.

“It’s just I’ve never seen you not at your brother’s side.” She explains and Daryl doesn’t know how to take that but he’s embarrassed anyway. That’s what he must look like, his brother’s shadow, nothing else nothing more, that’s what he must be. Daryl wasn’t with him when he got himself sent to jail, though, or when Claire’s husband ended up dead. Once again, Daryl can’t look at her.  “Just thought it might be strange for you not to have him around.”

“I’m used to him not being here, at him coming and going,” Daryl mutters, eyes still trained on the ground. He wonders if he should ask her the same, his husband is gone in a worse way than his brother, but he already knows the answer and doesn’t see the point in asking.

There’s another awkward silence before Claire finally gathers her bags as best as she can. “Well, see you around, Daryl.”

“You sure you don’t need help?” Daryl finds himself asking again, he still doesn’t know where it comes from, but he feels guilty about the whole thing for some reason, and the image of her looking so overwhelmed, so sad and exhausted, makes his stomach clench.

She chuckles, seeming embarrassed. “I guess when I left home this morning I was feeling more powerful.” She tries to joke weakly. “Didn’t know I was going to end up having to carry all this shit…I had to do groceries, and then there was a lot of baby things that I still needed to get, and since I was already out I decided, why not…” She’s sounding as overwhelmed as she looks, and Daryl looks at her, wondering if she really doesn’t have someone to help her with anything now. “At least this tiny one here it’s not heavy, but-” She stops and lets out another awkward chuckle. “Sorry, you don’t care about any of this.”

“It’s okay…” Daryl mumbles awkwardly, he doesn’t know what to say.

“I told half my life to that poor cashier too… I guess that after being days only talking to a baby it makes you speak to any adult you see around...” She tries to joke, but she sounds sad and embarrassed. “Anyway, sorry again, I gotta go.”

“You don’t have any family or nothing?” Daryl gathers enough courage to ask, still half expecting her to flip him off at any moment.

Claire seems embarrassed again as she gives him a tiny, weak smile. “Not besides this tiny lady here.” She nods to the baby, tightly snuggled to her in that strange long scarf, but Daryl can’t look at her without feeling like someone is stabbing him. “But she’s a handful…so, yeah, everything I need.” Daryl notices her voice faltering and he doesn’t dare to look at her. “Well…as I said, I gotta go.”

“I can help you with the bags.” Daryl forces himself to ask again, though his voice is barely audible.

Claire seems unsure, looking from the bags to him, and then back at the baby and the bags. “I don’t want to bother you…”

“Ain’t no bother.”

“Sure?” She asks, and Daryl nods, eyes still down. “Well, okay, if you really don’t mind…it’d be nice, actually, thank you.”

Nodding, Daryl takes as many bags as she allows him and follows her in silence until she stops in front of what he assumes is her door.

“Thanks, really.” Claire gives him a small smile, opening the door enough to push the bags inside. The baby had been quiet, but now Daryl notices her moving, peeking up from the scarf, and he couldn’t help but look at her with curiosity. Claire notices and her smile grows a bit bigger. “Oh, you don’t know her, do you? That’s Emily.”

The baby looks at him for a couple of seconds, blinking, and then she seems to decide he’s not interesting enough and snuggles her face into the scarf again.

“She looks like David.” It’s after it lefts his mouth that Daryl realizes it was the wrong thing to say, but he can’t help himself. He never thought he’d see someone’s features in a baby, he’s always thought all babies look the same, and he’s puzzled to find Emily’s eyes and nose are similar to David’s. Maybe kids do look like their parents…Daryl doesn’t like the idea that much. She looks at Claire and her eyes are wet, so he rushes to mumble an apology, but the woman shakes her head.

“Yeah, she does look like him, doesn’t she? Has some of his features.” Claire swallows hard. “It’s a good thing.”

Daryl doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

“Well, thanks again.” Claire smiles sadly and makes to walk into the house but she stops. “Daryl… I appreciate you helping me today with the bags, but I need no pity, alright?”

It takes Daryl aback a bit, but he nods. He understands, he could never stand pity. He turns to leave and Claire calls after him.

“Hey.” Daryl stops but he doesn’t turn around. “I know why you did this. But I’m pretty sure that whatever happened to-” She stops herself from saying the name as if it hurts. “That whatever happened wasn’t your fault. And I’m sure too that you are not your brother.” Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if he fully understands it, and he stays silent. “But what the hell do I know, I don’t know you. Anyway, I need no pity, and I think you need no guilt.”

Daryl still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t turn around, and when he hears the door closing he walks away, her words echoing in his mind for days.

*

Daryl can swear he’s not following Claire or stalking her, or anything like that, but in the following days he finds himself bumping into her and the baby more often than not. The town’s small after all. At first, he doesn’t dare to approach her again. Then comes a day when he sees her carrying groceries and Daryl finds himself offering his help again, and she agrees. Other times he just greets her and then lets her talk to him about whatever she wants if she feels like it. It seems she likes it, needs it even. She still seems lonely.

At first, it was just a couple of awkward, polite sentences, that eventually turn into long conversations in which Daryl doesn’t say that much but that he enjoys anyway, and he likes that after them Claire looks less miserable. She still looks sad, tired, lonely, and Daryl still feels like someone stabs him when he thinks about it, but he doesn’t know if he could do anything about it, or if it’s his place. He doesn’t know either why he wants to help her, he just wants it. And if he’s honest with himself, their conversations make him feel less lonely too, and he finds himself looking forward to find her on the street.

He doesn’t interact that much with the baby, doesn’t know how, doesn’t think she’d like him anyway. She doesn’t seem very interested in him whenever he’s talking with her mom. There’s one day, though, when the baby gets an arm out the scarf and wraps the tiniest hand Daryl has ever seen around one of his fingers. Daryl doesn’t’ know what to do, and he freezes, doesn’t even dare to breathe as the baby tugs at his finger, looking at it as if in deep thought. Whatever babies think about. Daryl is taken aback when he hears Claire’s quiet laugh, he doesn’t remember hearing her laugh before, and he couldn’t help the smile that tug at the corner of his mouth as he looks from the baby to her.

It’s in about two weeks after that that Daryl gathers enough courage to knock on her door to give her some of the pieces he had hunted. He’d been thinking about that for a while but hadn’t dared yet, he doesn’t know what she’ll think or if maybe she’ll be angry he went to her place.  His stomach clenches with nerves as he knocks on the door and it takes him all he has not to run away.

Claire seems surprised when she sees him there, though not angry, and her surprise and confusion only seems to grow when he awkwardly hands her a rabbit, telling her he hunted it and has enough to spare one. Daryl looks down, waiting for her to say something, awkward and self-conscious, thinking she’s going to laugh or yell at him, but then she’s smiling and thanking him, even though she still seems confused. Next time Daryl brings her one of his kills, he makes sure to get it clean and ready first.

About a month later, after several talks while Claire walks Emily, and several rabbits delivered, one day Daryl knocks on her door with a bunch of squirrels that he had hunted that day and that should last her for a few days. Claire opens the door and gives him that smile that no matter what is still sad.

“This doesn’t look like rabbit.”

“It ain’t. It’s squirrel.” Daryl’s curiosity gets the best of him and he peeks at Emily, who’s once again wrapped in that scarf, snuggled tightly to her mother, and seeming asleep. She’s still tiny but Daryl thinks she looks a bit bigger.

“Squirrel?” She seems surprised. “I’ve never cooked that before.”

“I make stew with them.” He usually hunts more squirrels than rabbits, but he had thought maybe Claire would like the rabbits more, and now he’s unsure about having brought her squirrels today.

Soon she gives him her sad smile, though. “Thank you, Daryl. I’ll try.” Daryl nods and turns to leave, but she stops him, speaking again. “Actually…maybe you could show me how to make that stew?” She asks and Daryl is not really sure of what she means. “If you want, maybe, you could come in and show me how you cook it, we three could have lunch together. That’s if you don’t have anything else to do.”

Daryl looks at her in silence, not knowing what to do. It makes him feel awkward, getting into her home, but she’s smiling softly at him, waiting for him to say something without pressuring him into anything. He chews on his thumbnail, nervous, but nods, they had spent a lot of time together talking after all.

“Alright.” Claire walks him into her place and he follows her to the kitchen in awkward silence. “Feel free to use whatever you need to.” Daryl feels uncomfortable about going through her stuff, though, and so Claire lays out everything he might need and then steps aside to watch him work on the stew, asking questions from time to time.

Daryl can’t help but feel nervous and self-conscious feeling her eyes on him, making him clumsier than he’d ever be. Claire seems to notice and she gives him more space, telling him she’s going to change the baby and leaving him alone for a little while. She comes back with Emily on her arms instead of wrapped in the scarf, seeming more awake.

“The stew will be ready soon, I can go now.”

“If you want to.” She sits down on a chair, cooing the baby. “But you can stay and have lunch with us, I told you. We’d want you to.” Daryl bites his thumbnail again but finds himself nodding. “Great. Sit down if you want.”

Daryl does as he’s told, and for a moment he looks at her and the baby in silence.

“Do you want to hold her?” Claire offers, catching him glancing curiously at Emily, and Daryl immediately shakes his head, panicking at the idea.

“No!”

“We’ll try not to take offense in how fast you said that no.” Claire’s chuckles quietly.

“Didn’t mean it like that, just…” Daryl shrugs helplessly.

“I’d be okay, Daryl, she’s not a bomb.” Claire jokes. “Come, hold your arms out.”

Daryl is more than unsure about it but finally gives in, trying to copy the position of her arms with his. Claire holds the baby with only one arm with a skill Daryl is sure he’ll never have and reaches out her free hand to gently reposition one of his arms before carefully placing Emily on them. Daryl is paralyzed, can’t even breathe, but the baby doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t cry or fuss, just looks up at him.

“There you go,” Clair says but Daryl can’t tear his eyes from the tiny baby to look at her. Slowly, he begins to relax, holding her with more confidence, a silly smile spreading across his face.  Claire laughs quietly. “Why don’t you hold her while I make her bottle?” Daryl nods, still looking at Emily, wondering if he had ever seen something so small before, wondering how could something so small be a person.

He’d already decided he wanted to help her mother if he could, make her life easier, first out of guilt and later because he found Claire’s really nice, but now those feelings seem to multiply, and Daryl finds himself wanting to protect that tiny human being in a way that takes him aback. It scares him at first, making him want to give the baby back to her mother and run to never come back, but that feeling is soon gone as Emily reaches out to try and touch his face with her tiniest hands, smiling.

Claire’s words as she speaks while she makes the bottle make Daryl come back to earth.

“It was easier when I could just latch her to a breast and she’d feed herself, I hate this thing of having to get bottles ready and what not, but I don’t have milk all of a sudden, they said it might be stress or what not.”

Daryl’s cheeks burn at her words, can’t help it, with her talking about her breasts and what not all of a sudden. Claire turns around and laughs at his flustered state. “Really? Did that embarrass you? You’re cute, Dixon Jr.”

That only makes Daryl blush more and he shrugs, defensive, but tries not to bother Emily.

“You really aren’t that much like your brother, are you?”

Daryl doesn’t know what she’s talking about and so he just stays silent, uncomfortable.

“I don’t mean nothing bad. Merle came once to talk with David, when Emily was just a few days old, and voiced his opinion about how lucky she was of being ‘sucking on my tits’ all day long.”

Daryl blushes even more, he doesn’t think it’s possible but he does. It does sound like his brother, though, Daryl can almost hear his voice. He’s not really sure of what to say to that.

“And David didn’t say anything to my ass of a brother?”

Claire laughs quietly again, her smile ever sad. "David was a good man and I love him but he wasn't one to stand against Merle Dixon…actually, I don’t know anyone who was.”

Daryl hums a yes, he knows that well. He also has the suspicion that whatever Merle and David talked that day, it involved the business that got one of them in jail and the other killed. Another invisible dagger of guilt stabs at his gut.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Claire asks softly and Daryl doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, because it’s stupid but he does miss his ass of a brother. He can only imagine how Claire must feel.

Claire finishes with the bottle and sits down next to him, reaching out to pass him the bottle and Daryl looks at her confused. “Feed her, it’ll be okay. She looks so comfortable there.” She does, almost like she likes him to hold her, much to Daryl’s disbelieve. He shifts carefully and holds his breath as he holds her only with one arm, reaching out to take the bottle. As soon as Emily sees it close to her mouth, she latches onto it and begins drinking, and Daryl feels all kind of weird things going through him as he looks at her.

Once Emily finishes her bottle, Clare takes her again. She burps her and then she begins to wrap that scarf around herself and the baby, holding her snuggled to her. Daryl looks at her amazed, wondering how she knows how to twist it, fold it, knot it and everything to keep it in place with Emily looking so snuggly, and all that while holding the baby.

Claire notices and she smiles. “Yeah, it takes practice. It’s a baby sling, I like to have her close while having my hands free, but at first I almost strangled myself.” She chuckles.

“Looks like she likes it too,” Daryl observes, Emily has her eyes closed as she almost hides her face completely in one of the folds of the material, probably about to take a nap.

“Yeah…” Claire smiles softly at the baby. “You think that stew is ready?”

"Oh, yes.” Daryl feels like an idiot, he has forgotten about it. He gets up and turns off the stove while Claire takes out a couple of bowls and spoons, setting the table. Daryl pours the stew on the bowls and sits down, hoping it’ll be good enough.

Claire takes her bowl, mindful of Emily, and takes a spoonful. She looks at Daryl with wide eyes, blinking as if surprised, and he isn’t sure if that’s good or not.

“Man, you can cook! I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this.”

Daryl can’t help but blush at that, looking down to his stew, and they both eat in silence, though somehow it isn’t as awkward as Daryl might have thought.

-------

Well...what do you guys think of this?What do you think of the idea? I’m nervous about if you’re going to like this new thing or not.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you liked it! If you have a moment, please let me know your thoughts in the comments, your feedback makes my day! It seems I finally was able to write a short thing.

As always, English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes.

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[xautunno]

Munto Fanfic - Superhero

Superheroes weren't uncommon. At least, not anymore. With the changes of the season and each orbit of the sun, more and more superheroes appeared, followed by more and more villains.

One particular group of good-doers called The King's Court were a famous bunch for their unique usage of magic. They weren't local to a particular place in Japan and many spotted them across the nation. Even outside, but the media made a distinction between those of The King's Court and those of other groups such as Edna and U.A.

Their leader, The Red King or simply King, appeared fearless and powerful in battle and considered the leader of The Court. His right hand man dubbed The (Blue) General ranked second to The King in terms of prowess. Some debated whether The General could be called The King's equal.

People speculated where they came from. They had unique features such as elven ears, unusual hair and eye colors, and tall physiques. Even one of their younger members, The Apprentice, had these characteristics though he lacked the height of the others. None of them even bothered with masks.

The only real theory stemmed from an anonymous user online that suggested their differences came from their usage of magic. Members of Edna also possessed the same characteristics, though their territory mainly expanded over China. Their lack of masks would prove futile because of this and rather than mingle with a society that may have been unkind to these differences, they've learned to keep their heads down low or simply adopt the full-time job of being a superhero.

.

Yumemi didn't mean to stay out so late, but she needed to get her project done if she planned to graduate on time. However, the last thing she expected to find when she turned the corner of her usual route home was several figures blocking the path. She would have been concerned, even frightened, except with their hoods down, their faces were exposed.

The ears were the first clue that they were magicians.

At her surprised gasp, they turned. Their capes flung back to free their arms and hands for battle, feet jumping to position, and fists at the ready. They quickly relaxed at the sight of her high school uniform and arms filled with books that would be unable to do any real harm.

"Sorry," Yumemi squeaked out her apology and made a quick bow before she hurtled herself across the street.

"Wait." One cut her off, feet floating above the ground before gently touching the pavement. Toes first, then the heel slowly descended into a graceful stop before her.

She recognized the large man as The Healer. He stood well above her in height with broad shoulders she could probably sit on like a chair. His stance suggested a pridefulness about him, but his eyes softened at the sight of her and a small, reassuring smile made its way to his face.

Holding her books tightly, she peered up at him and spoke softly, "I was just heading home…"

"It's pretty late, isn't it?" One of the Healer's companions stopped by her side, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

Yumemi's heart beat fast at the sight of blue hair. A familiar sight on the TV.

The General. The right hand man to the King.

The one Yumemi swore up and down Ichiko crushed on.

"Oh… well, yes, but-"

"Rui. Shuza. Go on ahead." The voice came from behind and at how quickly the other two bowed before complying told her all she needed to know.

"It's really okay…" Despite her protest, the Red King gently prodded her books from her grip and tucked them under one arm before offering her the other.

Yumemi tentatively placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, stifling a giggle. He really did act kingly.

"What's your name?" They began their walk with the King leading them down the road.

"Yumemi." A dust of pink spread across her cheeks as he tested the name on his tongue.

"While a pleasure to meet you, Yumemi, it is late." His light scold irked her.

"I believe I can manage." Her voice beguiled her words with its soft tone and distinctly unconfident manner.

"Of that, I have no doubt." Insulted, she halted and ripped her hand from his arm. "Yumemi?" His surprise only further riled her.

"Don't mock me." She just had enough of that from school. Hero or not, she wouldn't take it from him.

The King pondered for a moment. Finding that while her words held a subdued undertone to them and she lacked the confidence to voice herself at a more appropriate level, her actions held no such thing.

Stiff from his unfamiliar, yet famous presence, he was sure, her body movement proved to be quite fierce and moved without delay. The minute his words registered, which took no more than half a second, her feet stopped and with how her hand moved, if she hit him, it would hurt.

"I wasn't jesting, Yumemi." The hero took her hand and placed a charming kiss to her knuckles. "I apologize for the offense."

Embarrassed, Yumemi resisted the urge to puff out her cheeks and stomp her foot. She was not a child.

But who used the word 'jest' anymore?!

"Apology accepted." Yumemi let him lead her hand back to his arm.

He could feel it in her movements as they renewed their walk, that she held his arm not because he placed it there but because she completely allowed it to happen. He mistook her awkwardness for a lack of confidence and quickly adjusted himself to not make that mistake again. She just might hurt him next time.

Her strides kept easily with his own, despite their height differences, and he detected no exhaustion from the strain to keep pace. She didn't really look at him, even when insulted, but rather gazed around their surroundings. She never once let her head droop and kept her chin held high. It sent an effective message.

She controlled the situation. And he gladly let her.

They walked in silence until they were at her home. The rest of her family casually inside wasting the evening away.

"Have a good night, Yumemi." The Red King planted a chaste kiss to her cheek, watching as her face exploded in a color that rivaled his hair.

"You too." She retrieved her books rather forcefully from his arm and fled up the stairs and into her home.

The hero waited for the door to close behind her before lifting from the ground and turning to head off.

"Her eyes were a lovely green, don't you think, Shuza?" The first words out of Rui's mouth came as soon as the King landed beside him.

While Shuza didn't bother with a response, their leader did, "shut up."

"Oh! Lord Munto, welcome back. Was your walk pleasant?" Munto ignored the question as he surveyed the scene before him.

"Rui, let's go." At the command, the General's mirth vanished and a stoic indifference replaced it. One everyone with a TV knew.

.

Yumemi didn't tell a soul about the encounter. For one, it would lead to annoying pestering and possibly more teasing. Secondly, her classmates might not believe her. Which would result in said teasing.

She already got enough of that from her obvious different characteristics. Over the years, her hair lightened more and more from its dark coloring to that of a rich blonde by second grade. The other kids already thought her eyes strange considering her family didn't have them, but when her hair changed…

Nowadays, the teasing focused on her spaciness and tendency to daydream. Every time the teacher called her out on it, at least one person snickered. Teachers that gave assigned seating made sure she was placed upfront and on the other side of the room. It didn't really help.

Yumemi relaxed in her local library, seated naturally by the window and watched as the light faded from the sky and storm clouds rolled over the town. Her notes and books were laid out in front of her - not that they ever could hold her attention for long.

A vibration against the table sent her jumping in her seat. Her phone. The usual text from her mom assuring her of the time and not to be late for dinner.

She'd be out late again.

And caught in the rain without her favorite umbrella.

Unlike the other's caught without protection, Yumemi walked, not caring that the rain seeped into her clothes and chilled her to the bone. She'd get wet either way.

Yumemi slowed her walk to a complete stop at the small sight of a weed pushing up from the cracks. Its little flower petals were a glossy yellow with a small, green, round nub in the center. The sight brought a smile to her face.

"Yumemi?" She perked up at the voice.

The rain stopped hitting her and she looked up to find an invisible barrier directing the water away.

"Yumemi?" Again, he called to her, a bit concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Red King?" He chuckled at her surprise, happy to finally received a response.

"Are you alright?" Despite having to repeat himself, he felt no impatience or annoyance. "You're soaked." He tsked before wrapping his cape around her shoulders.

"I forgot my umbrella." It was all she could think to say.

"I see that." Munto smiled her way and offered her a hand to stand.

She took it without much hesitation.

"No worries." He shrugged it off and nodded to the rooftops where several others stood. "Rain or otherwise won't bother you anymore."

"Oh… thank you." A blush rose to her cheeks as she caught his eye.

A smile hovered at the edges of his lips and his gold eyes were warm and bright. His hand brought hers to the crook of his elbow and his warmth spread to her.

"What caused you to stay out late this time?" His hand covered her own, warming her stiff and cold joints.

Together, they began to walk.

"Oh, I lost track of time." Yumemi kept her gaze firmly in front of her. Last time, she had been hyper-aware of his presence to the point she couldn't properly focus on him… now, she felt the firm muscle under the black fabric he wore.

This time, he donned a long sleeve black shirt with matching black pants with an unusual blue cape. The color red had been his trademark from the beginning. A vermillion or sangria, a darker red, mostly seen during his night debuts. A scarlet or crimson, a brighter red, often seen in the media due to his day time appearances. Either or, they were both red at the end of the day, but try telling that to some of Yumemi's classmates and what may start well won't end well.

Munto chose to stay silent, obvious to the ears surrounding them, but he noted her sudden flustered-ness.

As they neared her home, Yumemi crawled to a stop and detached herself from his arm. Before she could even thank him, one of his comrades jumped down to greet her, followed closely by the General. She could feel the King stiffen beside her.

"Yumemi-hime-"

"-hime?!"

"-should you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask anyone of us." He bowed politely to her and she squeaked in surprise at the formality.

Her eye did manage to catch the smirk on the blue-haired magician's face and how he looked to the King with laughter in his eyes. She chose not to steal a glance at the man beside her and quickly thanked them before dashing inside.

Munto's cape hanging off her shoulders.

"Marty…"

"Oh, he was only being friendly, Lord Munto." Rui grinned at the irritation on his friend's face.

"We need to return home. We have much to discuss and this is no place for it." Munto lifted from the ground, his companions following.

Once inside, Yumemi quickly told her lie, letting it bitterly roll off her tongue in all its vague glory. She casually brushed aside her younger brother's pestering of the stranger who walked her home. Her parents accepted the story, grateful she arrived home safely, even if soaked to the bone.

For the next few weeks, her thoughts were occupied between the Red King and his comrades and the school work that never stopped coming. They hadn't crossed paths again, mostly because Yumemi made a conscious effort to return home long before dark. Ichiko definitely appreciated that no longer scowling at her at the end of school for heading to the library alone rather than straight home.

Yumemi washed the cape and folded it neatly by her window sill. She expected to wake one morning and find it absent. However, it remained each day and night.

Tonight, she really hadn't meant to stay out late, but the train she needed was delayed last minute. She prayed for only cloudy skies and no rain, but it poured the minute her train left and continued to do so even after she got to her station.

She didn't want to get soaked again and anyone could be out there in the dark this time of night and the equally frightening possibility of running across a known villain made her head spin and she had no intentions of getting hurt when the possibility of getting help or someone finding her body until morning were impossibly high and -

A baby's cry snapped her from her thoughts. People crowded the station, many soaked to the bone. These parts of the town contained a lot more foot traffic than her usual route home.

Sighing, Yumemi secured her belongings in her bag and headed out. Dinner waited for her at home to satisfy her stomach's needs. She didn't get sick last time, so she figured her luck wouldn't run out just yet.

And perhaps, she'd meet a certain redhead.

As Yumemi headed down the sidewalk, finding overhangs to pass under, no hero came. No, rather the paranoid feeling of being watched followed her. She looked around, but very few were out in the storm.

"Hello?" No one answered.

Yumemi finally arrived home. Completely soaked. She decided to never be out late again. The fear gave her a headache, the storm chilled her to her core.

Worse, the very next day her nose began to run and she was left with tissues falling out of every pocket she had.

"I'm okay." She smiled in her friends' direction. "Just tired and a bit sick."

"Feel better!" Suzume waved cheerfully her way before heading home, followed closely by Ichiko who kept the girl from tripping over her own feet.

"Get some rest!" Ichiko gave her blonde friend a pointed stare.

Yumemi nodded, her friends' concern making her smile. She didn't intend to stop anywhere. Just straight home and to bed.

Students from other schools loitered on the sidewalks, grabbing snacks and hanging out. Those getting off work early or walking their small children home also were out and about.

With the sun high in the sky, Yumemi didn't feel so paranoid. Her feelings of being watched vanished, but the feeling of a scratchy throat and utter exhaustion only begun their stay. She'd need some cold medicine and tea when she got home.

Her mother gladly made her some with snacks and sent her on to her room. Dinner would still be another hour or two.

Chikara sat at the kitchen table, already working on his homework. Instead of joining him, she made her way to the stairs and up to her room as her mother insisted. She unpacked her school bag and took a small sip of her tea.

Yumemi managed to get a good amount of work done before dinner. She finished her tea and snacks as well which pleased her mom.

Dinner remained mostly uneventful for her. Chikara talked a lot about his school day but Yumemi waved questions of her day away.

"She's coming down with something." Her mother brushed her hair back and sent a worried glance to her father. "Why don't you go rest? You look tired, honey."

She wished them all a good night and headed up to take a warm bath before bed. It would help with her sinuses.

The blue cape remained. Even when she woke the next morning, it hadn't moved an inch.

Disappointment welled inside her but she brushed it aside and smoothed out any wrinkles from the fabric.

While she tried to keep it brushed aside, Yumemi still felt it welling in the pit of her stomach. Not that it stayed for very long as that very night, light tapping on her window woke her.

Her family had gone to bed hours ago, but it's not like they'd tap on her window for attention. They could knock on her bedroom door.

Yumemi rolled over to find a familiar figure floating just outside. She panicked, sitting straight up with her mouth gaping wide.

Munto chuckled at her surprise, motioning her to open the window so they could speak.

"Red King?!" She whisper-yelled at him, voice hoarse.

"Lord Munto would be better." He gave her a charming smile before settling down on her window sill, feet hanging off the edge while he leaned against the frame.

"Munto, what are you doing here?" His eye twitched at the obvious dismissal of his title but if she noticed, she made no comment.

"Coming to see how you're doing. I assume you got caught in the rain again?" Her cheeks flushed, answering his question before she did.

"Yes…" Her body shivered despite her long-sleeve sleepwear and the thick comforter at her waist.

On instinct, Munto unclipped his cape and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I apologize for letting the chill in." Still, he made no movement to enter her room or close the window. "I haven't seen you out and about late into the night."

"Well… Oh!" A small formed on her face as she snapped her head up to look him in the eye. "I have your cape. Washed and everything."

Munto leaned forward, legs stretching out as he did his best not to fall, and grabbed her elbow with merely his thumb, pointer, and middle fingers. It stopped her quiet effectively and her hands fell into her lap.

"You may keep them." A teasing smirk hovered on the edge of his lips.

Just as quickly as he came, he pulled away and shut the window. Yumemi was about to turn and return to sleep, but he quickly rapped his knuckles against the glass to get her attention one last time. He pointed to the latch, giving her a disapproving stare at her forgetfulness.

Yumemi locked the window and waved at him. He returned the gesture with a simple nod of his head before he floated off into the night and out of her view.

She slid out of bed, taking the cape and draping it over the back of her chair. The blue cape sat on her desk, having been moved earlier when cleaning. The red one would have to be cleaned and then, she'd set it next to the first one she received.

.

One girl on a single quest to collect them all… All the capes.