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flying-elliska · 3 years

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Shadow and Bone Season 1 Review

Ok so I got distracted by a need to watch all of Ben Barnes' filmography (lmao) but here is my review : It was really fun to watch and it was clearly made with love which is already the main thing with YA fantasy, which is often turned into a soulless moneygrab when put on screen. The actors were GREAT. I did think that the Crows suffered from being mashed up with the Shadow and Bone story, but they were still a highlight. I also think it was a bit rushed, esp. when it came to Alina's training. The costumes were beautiful, I want a kefta now. Plus the crossover fanfic interactions btw the SaB characters and the Crows were just pure joy. Also Milo, obviously <3 I'm in hyperfixation mode so here, have an essay :

The "Shadow and Bone" Characters :

- Jessie Mei Li !!!!!! She really made me like Alina so much more than in the books, she absolutely is the 'human embodiment of literal sunshine' and she was a joy to watch. Her character's arc is cliché but her acting is so expressive and endearing, I really felt for her all the way through. (maybe I'm biased bc Jessie talking about her ADHD and seeing her thrive at the same time is like!!! i love them they deserve all the best.) I like that they made Alina more proactive - even though she does make some stupid decisions... but I just don't understand people who put that down as bad writing, like ??? have you ever met a real person who only makes wise, good decisions ?? a character like that would either be at the end of their story or just in the background because that makes them static. The things with the maps in the beginning does a good job of illustrating how she is just this one girl making rash, erratic decisions out of fear and loyalty and doesn't have a sense of the bigger picture, caught in the tide of bigger events. It works for her character. When it comes to the choice of making her half-Shu, I do think it really makes sense re: her character feeling like an outsider but I do understand the criticisms that the microaggressions felt too relentless and one-note. I am really looking forward to them introducing Tamar and Tolya and hopefully connecting to them over her heritage in a more positive way.

- Mal in the books was one of the most annoying YA characters I've ever come across, so I really liked that they made him much more of a loyal, devoted friend. I found his relationship with Alina cute, it really gives us the sense that these are two orphans who found a home in each other, childhood best friends (and potential sweethearts) separated by war, two army grunts and ordinary people caught up in the wheels of power and war that usually crushes people like them, it's a great way to introduce the dynamics of their world and it's a trope that always makes me emo. It felt a bit too one note to me, though, and too heavily on the nose, like Mal's only personality was his attachment to Alina (and his resentment towards the Grisha) and too much of her emotional arc also relied on him. Them hitting us over the head with the meadow scenes felt like pure telling instead of showing and it ended up being super repetitive and kind of annoying. I am willing to like this pairing, but I wanted more scenes of them just having conversations about things and really understanding why they like each other beyond the whole childhood friends bond that we're asked to accept exists at the beginning. So I hope there's more depth there in next seasons.

- Ben Barnes!!!! Just jksdfhgkdjghdf. I'm not a big villain stan usually and I hated the Darkling in the books but DAMN his performance is just amazing. They managed to make him more sympathetic and human while at the same time making clear the stuff he does is deeply horrible. There's the Magneto-aspect of 'well clearly his methods are fucked up but he's addressing a terrible injustice nobody is doing anything about' that makes it very tempting to root for him ; and again, well, like, Ben Barnes is so hot and charismatic it feels uncomfortable (which I guess is part of the point lol). His loss of humanity is, up to a point, understandable, brought about by despair, loneliness, grief and a sense of powerlessness - living so long he starts to see other people as disposable, losing so many people he stops caring, seeing over and over how hate never seems to stop, etc. It's a logical explanation for going insane.

But the hunger for power is also very much present as a motivation and this ambiguity is there constantly. Does he maybe come to genuinely care for Alina or is it totally bullshit ? I think he does, he's just so fucked up that it comes out as possessiveness and a need to control her. He wants Alina to be his equal but he's incapable of treating her that way. It's tragic, in a sense, but the show doesn't excuse his actions either. Like his monstrosity is a product of this world full of injustice, yes, and that warrants some compassion, monsters are always a symptom of their environment in some ways and dehumanizing them completely is an excuse ; but at the same time, he sabotaged his own cause anyway the moment he started to treat other people like things, as he does with Alina, because that just perpetuates the cycle of violence and hate. At some point he started feeling like he was the only solution and he was owed power for his sacrifices, and he's using his cause as an excuse. When Alina came to him, there was a possibility for redemption, taking down the Fold, and it's a test because there is finally someone on his level of power. But instead of seeking to remedy the power imbalance between them, he made it worse, by lying to her, manipulating her, etc, and the antler collar is the ultimate sign of this.

I love those scenes towards the end (the antler-based body horror has big Hannibal vibes, so messed up). I like Alina telling him they could have had this, that she had compassion for him and his cause, that they could have worked together, and he's the one responsible for screwing it up and this time his claim that he's the misunderstood victim ("Make me your villain") appears delusional and self-serving instead of somewhat justified. The almost-lovers to enemies vibes, the sense of lost potential, and the angst of the whole 'oh you could finally have been loved by people, too bad you fucked it up !', very juicy. There is this fundamental idea that power/respect/love is not something you are owed no matter how good your intentions are or because you're strong or you have suffered or you're willing to commit horrible drastic actions, you have to keep proving you deserve it, and trying to claim power without responsibility of care turns you into a monster. The thing with the stag was an excellent metaphor of the fact that there's things you can't take, they have to be given to you, and the wonderful power there is in understanding that is what allows Alina to harness the stag amplifier's power. This is really when she escapes his grim utilitarian outlook and a different way forward and owns her own power fully on her own terms.

Anyway I hope Alina gets to beat the shit out of him at some point that would be very sexy but I'm also looking forward to see how their arcs parallel and diverge from each other as Alina starts to grapple more with the implications of her power and the harsh dilemmas of war and her own dark side. I want to see him become scared of her, and I feel it will be more visible than in the books where he just has this cold aggressive facade all the time. This one feels a lot more openly emotional which is just a lot more interesting.

- As for the other characters ; Zoya mostly made me sad. The actress has the perfect vibes but I'm not sure I love their take on her character so far, it does make sense in terms of the later books - that she has internalized prejudice regarding her mixed-race heritage, that she is jealous of Alina because of how hard she's fought to get where she is and Alina kind of takes it away from her, etc. But I would have liked to see a bit more of her being badass and sharp-tongued in a clever (even if mean) way instead of spending most of her time being rejected by men and being racist towards Alina. I did like the ending though, of her actually seeing the monstrosity of the Darkling in action and the mention of her aunt. And her brief bonding with Inej was great, just because it was badass but also maybe because it could be a part of Zoya learning to accept her Suli heritage in turn, maybe not right away but in time, when thinking of that part of herself, she won't only think of her parents' ruined marriage and all the pain it caused, but also of that badass and brave acrobat girl who went toe to toe with these really scary monsters without even having any powers and !!!!!

- Also Leigh's cameo was so cute and as an aspiring writer this is just such wish fulfillment

- I honestly think that having the Crows there actually made the S&B story better ? Not only in terms of the much needed levity breaks but also in terms of themes. For instance, Matthias and Nina's story gave us a really raw and visceral view of how the Grisha are hunted. And Inej's relationship to Alina really gave us a sense of what Alina actually means to people who believe in the Saints in a way that doesn't feel just like 'ugh those superstitious people' because we know that Inej's faith is part of what makes her who she is and a person with morals, and something that saw her through the worst moments of her life. It feels so special that she got to meet Alina and given a sign that maybe the world is not completely shitty. And Alina's kindness towards Inej really gives you a sense that she might be, or become worthy of that belief in time, or at least that she wants to, that she's figuring out her power to really touch people's lives might be a good thing, and that she's starting to accept this responsibility more fully. And her arming Inej is a nice parallel to that. I'm very emotional about this scene, because one of the first things we see of young Alina is her taking out a knife to defend Mal from the bullies, because she's protective and brave, but she's also aware the world is a shitty place, and so her giving that knife to Inej is a sort of spiritual transmission and recognition of sorts, that she trusts Inej with that fighting power, that she'll use this knife to defend herself and her loved ones and not abuse it. It's so interesting. And a counter point to the Darkling's fucked up relationship to power that Alina might at some point get afraid she'll replicate. That you could see Alina trying to gather followers and using people's admiration for her like he did but instead she sets them free and empowers them. It's great. And I feel that when Inej takes to the seas, she'll think about Alina. (I do hope somebody tells her Alina's not dead at some point though god). Girls giving each other knives is my spirituality, honestly.

- And I also noticed an interesting parallel between Kaz and the Darkling in terms of being two emo dudes who like to wear black, are prone to violence and have a thing for two very powerful women they think are special and want to have at their side, but of course, they go about it in very different ways. The Darkling comes at it from a place of power while Kaz comes from a place of utter powerlessness, first of all, and he understands why it's important to set Inej free. Him spending the entire season trying to earn enough money to pay off Inej's indenture is the opposite to the Darkling putting that collar on Alina and while I do have issues with how the show portrays him, I do love that. Love is about setting the person you love free !!!! And that confrontation scene was so powerful, when Kaz tells the Darkling Alina was tired of being a captive ! Drag him !

- As for Genya, I liked the actress and her chemistry with Alina, but I'm not sure they did a great job of making her arc very clear, for instance what it means for her to get that red kefta, her relationship with the other Grisha, etc. Her and David are already very cute though. Also very much looking forward to see where that goes.

So yeah I think they did a great job with this bit actually, I enjoyed a lot more than I think I would and even though it is a very tropey story, there's plenty of depth there too.

The Crows :

- I'm a bit more nitpicky about this because I care about these characters so much. I think overall the problem is that the SaB story in the books happens on this massive scale with enormous stakes, and that next to that the Crows' issues feel less important ; it's like their impact is distorted by the gravity of the much larger story. Like for instance, Kaz in the books is very much at the center of everything, this larger than life trickster figure who knows and controls almost everything by sheer cleverness, and he has this sense of allure and mystique that can't happen here, and so his aura just shrinks. On top of that they're not on their home turf. Being introduced to these characters before they've reached their full levels of badass is weird - there is a reason why prequels generally happen after the main stuff, because they count on the love you have for these characters at their full potential to make you interested in their story when they were less badass and interesting. So I had several moments where I was like 'oh this feels wrong'. Tbh the idea that they would even volunteer to kidnap Alina in the first place, what with Inej's backstory, feels kind of wrong, esp since they had no idea of what would happen to her if they succeeded.

- But I still enjoyed a lot of it though, especially the fact that they were this force of chaos in the midst of this bigger narrative that's a lot more self-serious. The bits with the train, or the circus acts were very clever. A lot of the best moments in the show happen when they come to disturb the other plot in unexpected ways. I'm still dead over the whole 'Alina jumps into their carriage' scene, that was fucking gold. The team up at the end !!!! Alina and Kaz making a deal ! Inej stabbing the Darkling !!!! Them stealing the Darkling's carriage !!! They don't give a shit that the story is supposed to be super dramatic it's great.

- Jesper is the one character they completely nailed from start to finish and he's probably my favorite part of the whole show. He's very funny without being reduced to the role of comic relief ; he's just so! damn! cool!!!!!!! I honestly feel this is a thing they actually did even better than in the books, or at least Six of Crows where I felt Jasper kind of disappeared behind Kaz and they insist a lot on his flaws and issues. So before we dig more into those problems I love that they gave him time to be this ultra badass who saves the day several times ; while at the same time, hinting at further developments like his powers or his gambling issues. Kit Young is just perfect, confident without being arrogant, a bit cold when it comes to crime while at the same time being so obviously caring with Inej - I loved their friendship, that was so sweet. My main criticism is that they should have made it clearer he was bi because there are already people calling him gay and that's very annoying. I know some people had a problem with his hookup and like...I can see it's a bit of a cliché...the charming badass bisexual adventurer....it's a trope I kind of love though lmao and the scene itself felt kind of cute and fun. He's not the only person who is shown to have an active sexuality and he's also not the only queer person around and we know he's going to have a more substantial romantic arc later so eh. On a larger note I loved the little casual hints of completely normalized queerness - Nadia thirsting over Zoya, Fedyor and Ivan, Poppy, etc. Having grown up with fantasy where queerness was either completely erased or very tormented and problematic, this was refreshing as hell.

- Inej and Kaz...my faves... They have a kind of relationship which feels so rare and unique in terms of what exists on TV and while I don't feel they entirely replicated it, the core is still there - the mutual respect and building of trust, the longing, the repression, the trauma, etc. One thing I really like is their arc around faith - in the books, Kaz is dismissive of Inej's faith in ways that often feel really shitty and I like that he learns to be more respectful of it. It's very much linked to hope/survival ; Inej keeps this token from her parents and she hopes to find them again ; Kaz tells her it's no use and she'll survive better if she gives up. He believes Alina is a fake, while Inej wants to believe that myths can come true and there is hope for good things in the world. Kaz comes to accept that Alina is the real deal and, out of respect for Inej's faith, to stop pursuing her. I loved the bit about Inej struggling to kill as well - it's the dilemma of what her survival and that of the people she really cares about are worth in such a shitty world - her compassion is a good part of her but so is her survival instinct, and that's the part Kaz represents - that even after she's been through hell, broken in unfathomable ways, even if she gave up all hope and faith in the world, even she becomes dangerous and ruthless to survive, she will still deserve dignity, and to be treated better. And meanwhile she is willing to break her principles, which she holds so dearly, to save him, when he's never had anyone who cared for him like that - enough to keep him alive. That bit in the church !!!!! God !!!!!! Bye !!!!!!! And then him basically calling her his own version of a Saint, that he doesn't believe in miracles but he does believe in her !!! It's very emblematic of their whole arc ; he empowers her to survive in a ruthless world and loves her at her most dangerous ; but he loves her laugh too, he finds her a ship and her parents, he honors her capacity for love and hope even when he can't share it. And she sees that he's capable of doing better, that he's worth caring for. This whole thing kills me honestly and I can't wait to see where they take this next. I'm not mad they're a bit more soft and obvious than in the books, Kaz would just have come across as an an asshole otherwise.

- That said, there are bits of how they introduced their backstories I don't like. I get that making it so Inej was still tied to the Menagerie gave them a very powerful reason to want to kidnap Alina beyond greed so that they wouldn't look like very shitty people. But in the books Inej is terrified by the idea of simply seeing Heleen or the Menagerie and the way they have her interact with her feels weirdly casual and dismissive of her trauma. Also, in the books, the fact that Kaz had to convince Per Haskell to buy Inej's contract through a lot of effort, that he wasn't the one holding that above her head either, made the power dynamics more palatable. I especially disliked the scene where Kaz says he won't free other girls because just Inej is special, it makes him look like he has the power but he's just too much of a callous asshole to do it, and that he just freed Inej because he liked her which is absolutely not what their relationship is about at the start, it's a lot more about seeing Inej's dangerous side behind a facade of powerlessness and relating to her, in a sense, and this scene made it all feel cheap.

- Also, what was that about Inej having a brother ? Not a fan of that either. I'm afraid they're going to make her story all about finding what happened to him, and that's 1) too on the nose similar to Kaz's story and 2) it kind of cheapens her own arc, a female character realizing that what was done to her was wrong, reclaiming her own power and dignity and then making sure it doesn't happen to anybody else, harnessing her personal experience to save strangers, that's so powerful - making it about a family member at first, especially if it's about revenge, it's so much more simplistic and unoriginal and the perspective really annoys me.

- Also not a fan of Per Haskell not being there because he's a very important part of Kaz's evolution, so I hope he shows up eventually - and the way they introduced Pekka Rollins was kind of like...weird and out of place. I just found the Crows' introduction scenes stilted and not as cool as they should have been - well, Jesper and Inej were very cool, but we needed to see Kaz in action first, we needed to see why he's such a menace before we see him flounder later, and I just...I don't know exactly but it didn't work for me. Also this is a very petty thing but I wasn't crazy about the Ketterdam sets, I know this is probably a budget thing but in my head it looked like this incredible mix of Amsterdam and Venice - specific locations in the book directly remind me of parts of Amsterdam I know very well - and instead what we got felt like this very generic London-ish fantasy setting....so boring. Also a lot of scenes that felt to exposition-y. I don't mind that Kaz was a bit softer than in the books, like many people have said some things work in books and don't work on a screen, and you need to make the character's inner dynamics more explicit. But I do agree that, at the same time, he should have been more ruthless towards people outside of his group. Loved that scene where he faces the Inferni though, and how well they illustrated his disability and aversion to touch.

- I don't have that much to say about Nina and Matthias ; I'm still not super sold on the whole 'haha misogyny!' thing and I dislike that so much of Matthias' change of heart relies on the fact that he finds Nina hot. But I did think that the actors had enough chemistry to make their scenes together interesting and cute ; I loved the waffle scene. Even though it's disappointing that they didn't find an actress who was more clearly plus size for Nina, I still think Danielle does a good job bringing her bold, unapologetic energy. I'm really looking forward to seeing the Crows as a whole team.

So yeah, even though the season didn't feel like a perfect, coherent whole, it was just a lot of fun and I really hope they get renewed. In particular I feel like tying the first trilogy to the Crows' story could create such interesting parallels in terms of themes, about power, the cost of survival, hope, trauma, etc etc

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #grishaverse #six of crows #leigh bardugo

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im-fairly-whitty · 4 years

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The Witcher Wolf

M/M. Teen and Up Audiences. Geralt/Jaskier.

It’s been two weeks since Geralt shouted Jaskier away from him on that mountain and Jaskier has been handling it like a champ by forlornly wandering alone in the wilderness with his lute. When he (literally) stumbles across an injured white wolf he decides to take a chance and see if he can help it, appreciating the irony of the situation but not quite realizing why it is that the wolf’s golden eyes look exactly like his Witcher’s...

Inspired by @kayivy 's lovely art! <3

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“So tell me love, tell me love...wait...”

Jaskier adjusted his fingering on the lute, pitching it an octave higher and trying again.

“So tell me love, tell me love, how is that ju-" he shifted a finger. “how is that-" another shift. “how is that just.”

There, that was it.

Jaskier smiled dryly to himself as he slung the lute on its strap to rest against his back, leaving his hands free to dig his notebook out of his pocket as he walked down the long long empty road. He sighed as he scratched a note with his stub of a pencil and tucked the notebook back into his pocket, looking around at the looming trees and scrubby brush surrounding him.

The shadows were growing dusky and long, signaling that he probably should have found somewhere to curl up for the night an hour ago, not now when he’d be scrambling to see in the last of daylight as he made camp. But it couldn’t really be helped now could it?

He could practically hear Geralt chastising him for being thoughtless again, especially when traveling alone.

Jaskier went several steps out of his way to stomp his foot through a suitable stick with a satisfying crack. Because it didn’t really matter what Geralt probably thought, did it?

Finally being chased off by Geralt two weeks ago was plenty painful enough to try and avoid thinking about on its own. Jaskier did not need the stupid Witcher getting after him even in his own mind after he’d been cast off like a rock out of a boot.

Jaskier paused, angrily chewing his lip as he gazed into the middle distance. He fished out his notebook again, scrawled cast off like a rock from your shoe and then stashed it away again.

He might be hurting terribly and handling it badly, but he was also a professional. Waste not want not and all that. If he was going to have to pull himself back together after being utterly rejected by the best friend he’d been following for literal decades, having finally been forced to realize that said best friend truly hated him, then he was at least going to get some decent song material from it.

And yes it was out of spite. And righteous anger. Definitely not heartbreak. Not at all. His newest song was a metaphor see, not a heartbroken ballad of unrequited longing and aching, of course not. Shut up.

Jaskier crashed angrily through the brush on the side of the road as he told off his inner critic, no longer having anyone to talk to but still managing to piss off himself in their absence it seemed. Which was perfectly fine! See? He didn’t need anyone anyway, he could even make himself miserable if he had to, no need to drag any Witchers into his mess at all when he was this self sufficient.

By the time he came back to himself and looked around he couldn’t see the road anymore, but also had only a passing idea at which way he’d come from. Excellent. Might as well keep getting lost then, why not, really? Maybe the world would be lucky enough that he’d fall so far down an unseen ditch that he’d just disappear forever, or maybe he’d stumble on some cursed shrine that would vaporize him, freeing humanity of the huge burden he evidently was. Geralt would love that wouldn’t he? Or maybe-

Jaskier didn’t see the animal lying on the ground until he’d just about stepped on it, shifting his foot sideways at the last moment with a yelp. He scrambled to the side as the huge white furred creature lurched up, snarling at him.

“I was just being facetious!” Jaskier yelled to no one, automatically grabbing his lute to his chest as he stumbled backward onto the ground. “I don’t actually want to die, certainly not eaten!”

He nearly screamed for Geralt out of old habit, but paused when nothing lunged at him, when no teeth or claws latched into him.

The creature staring at him from across the clearing was a massive white wolf. It watched him silently with wide golden yellow eyes, as if it were as shocked to see Jaskier as he was to see it. The wolf was holding one front leg awkwardly up against itself, in the quickly dimming light Jaskier could make out what seemed to be the half chewed off shaft of an arrow sticking out of the poor thing’s shoulder.

“Sorry, very terribly sorry to bother you.” Jaskier said weakly, still shaking with adrenaline as he sat in the dirt, clutching his lute like a shield. “I was trying to find someplace to camp and I was wandering and wasn’t looking where I was going and I didn’t mean- Really that arrow business looks like it hurts, how long have you had that nasty thing stuck in you?”

The wolf still had its ears back at him, tail tucked between its legs as it crouched close to the ground, but it wasn’t growling. Weren’t hurt animals supposed to be more aggressive? He was pretty sure he didn’t have that the wrong way around. Either way, he wasn’t about to look a non aggressive gift wolf in the mouth.

Jaskier very very slowly pushed himself to his feet. The wolf’s piercing golden eyes watched him, but it didn’t move, other than tucking its wounded leg closer.

“Say you’re not that bad for a wolf.” Jaskier said, softening his voice as he edged a step closer. Still no aggressive reaction from the wolf.

As Jaskier edged closer he could see the fur on the wolf’s shoulder was all matted down with dried blood. He thought of the medical kit in his pouch, something he’d learned the hard way to keep on him over the years traveling with a Witcher.

“What if I took a look at-" Jaskier paused as the wolf growled at him, ears pinned back with a snarl. Alright, so it had personal space boundaries after all.

Jaskier dropped to a crouch, his voice going even softer and higher pitched. “Hey now, I know that shoulder probably has you miserable, but I’m not so sure you’re much of a man eater if you left me alone after nearly stepping on you.” He snapped his fingers, digging into his pouch. “You know what though, you’re probably starving, not much hunting gets done on that leg I’ll bet.”

He pulled out several long strips of dried rabbit meat, gently tossing them to land in front of the wolf, trying not to startle it.

The animal’s ears were still pinned back, but it barely sniffed at the meat before snagging it, finishing it off in barely a few bites.

Jaskier edged closer to the wolf, swinging his lute back to keep his hands free, fingers open to show he meant no harm.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy.” Jaskier said gently.

He very very carefully set a hand on the wolf’s back, feeling almost giddy with the adrenaline his brain was giving him for being stupid enough to pet an injured wolf. He could practically feel Geralt yanking him back by the collar of his doublet.

The wolf growled, but it was more mixed with a whine now as it pressed itself against the ground. Jaskier now suspected that it was only in pain, not fear.

“You know I’m not sure you’re much of a wolf at all.” Jaskier said, carefully stroking the thick white fur, hoping to calm it. “There’s no way I’d still have both my hands at this point if you were really wild. For which I thank you by the way, playing the lute one-handed isn’t a skill I have much interest in picking up. You act more like some kind of massive dog, did you have a human family that raised you? Have you been abandoned by your person?”

The wolf’s growl continued, shifting neither up or down, looking somehow very judgmental as Jaskier talked.

“You know you remind me very much of a friend of mine.” Jaskier said with a wry smile that quickly dropped away. “Or, acquaintance I suppose, he never did anything but growl either. In fact you’re probably much more in tune with your emotions than he is I’ll bet, although most rocks probably are if I’m being strictly honest. The man’s really a complete imbecile.”

The wolf snarled, probably just because Jaskier’s fingers had reached the matted blood.

“Alright, so here’s my terrible plan.” Jaskier said, ignoring the snarl. Another unconscious habit he’d developed from hanging around Geralt apparently. “I’m going to try and remove this arrow, which is going to hurt terribly, and then I’m going to patch you up. I’d be extremely grateful if you didn’t dismember me in any way while I do, but if you can’t help yourself I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a very self preserving mood at the moment, so I suppose a final act of misguided heroism isn’t the worst way to go. The last white wolf I hung around mauled me emotionally, so actually it would be terribly poetic if you did finish the job physically.”

The wolf quieted at that, staring up at him with golden eyes.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in temperament. Maybe it found this tone of voice most comforting for some reason? Alright he could work with that.

“It’s quite the tragic tale really.” Jaskier said, keeping up his miserable monotone as he quickly opened his medical kit, pouring some water from his flask across the wolf’s fur to loosen the blood. “The story of a young bard who attached himself to a man so emotionally constipated that he couldn’t even tell when the bard was utterly devoted to him. I was stupid enough to hang around him for years if you’d believe it. Even though he bit far more than you do my friend. With words I mean, Witchers don’t really bite people, you can’t believe all those terrible old wives tales.”

The fur underneath the blood soon resurfaced a watery stained pink as jaskier worked. The actual injury wasn’t very big, just the imbedded shaft and some damage where it looked like the wolf had tried worrying at it unsuccessfully to get it out itself. Jaskier put a hand on the wolf’s shoulder, gripping the shaft firmly.

“So anyway he finally decided he hated me enough to- sorry this part’s the hard bit-" he yanked the shaft out before he could talk himself out of it, bracing himself for the bite that was sure to come.

The wolf yelped, a high whining noise as it jerked with pain under him. But no bite.

“That’s a very good boy.” Jaskier said, panting a little as the dizzying spike of fear left him. He inspected the arrow to make sure nothing looked like it had snapped off before setting it aside. “That’s a very very good boy for not ripping my arm off, very good boy.”

He quickly set to work, patting everything dry, dousing it with a quick splash of alcohol and healing salve for luck, (the wolf only growled slightly at that, staring away into the trees) and then wrapping it up tight in a way Jaskier hoped wouldn’t slip off fur.

“There we go.” He said in relief, wiping sweat off his forehead as he tucked his supplies back into his pack. “Nothing like impromptu feral veterinary care to get the old heart pumping, eh?”

The wolf, being a wolf, of course said nothing, still staring off into the trees. Jaskier checked to see if it were actually looking at something, but no.

“You’re sulking.” Jaskier decided, petting the wolf between the ears before the animal shook its head to get his hand off. “Yes you are, I know that look anywhere. Probably terribly embarrassing to be the king of the forest and have to accept help from a lowly human bard eh? Well I suppose wolves aren’t really the king, not if there’s griffins or something about.”

The wolf looked at him with a long stare, and then shifted carefully to be facing away from him.

“That settles it.” Jaskier said with a smile, looking around and starting to collect firewood in the scant minutes he had before the sun’s light vanished entirely. “I’m calling you Geralt Junior. The both of you would get along splendidly in your stubborn grumpiness.”

The wolf looked over at him, ears pricked.

“Geralt Junior? You like that name?” Jaskier asked with a grin at the wolf’s response.

The wolf’s ears flipped back for a moment, as if confused, but then it hauled itself to its feet with a whine. It took a few halting steps toward him before stumbling on its bad leg, continuing to whine urgently.

“Whoa whoa hey, settle.” Jaskier said quickly, dropping his armful of sticks and kneeling by the wolf, carefully pushing its broad shoulders until it settled to the ground with an annoyed growl. “Lay down, stay. You shouldn’t be walking any more tonight, you’ve got to heal alright? Lay down boy, do you know commands?”

There was a low percolating noise in the wolf’s throat but it stayed down, burying its nose between its paws.

“That’s right, you go back to sulking Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, patting the wolf’s head until he was shaken off a second time. “I’m going to see if I can scrape us together a fire for the night. Feel free to stick around if you like, I wouldn’t mind the company.” He sighed as he scraped a clear patch of earth with his boot and started to pile small sticks and tinder together. “If you do head out in the night I promise no hard feelings though. I’ve been reliably informed that I’m miserable company.”

The wolf didn’t look at him but one of its ears twitched toward him.

“Well you’re already an improvement on Geralt Senior.” Jaskier said dryly, striking sparks from his flint. “At least with you I can tell if you’re really listening or not.”

The wolf huffed, flicking its ear.

Jaskier kept an eye on the white wolf as he scraped a place to lie down next to the fire, rolling out his thin sleeping mat. He really expected the wolf to wander off into the woods at any moment, but instead it stayed right where it was at the side of the campfire as Jaskier settled for the night, steadily ignoring him as he chattering away.

“Well unfortunately for you I’m too tired to work on my songs for the night.” Jaskier said, setting another hunk of firewood in the flames before tucking himself under his thin blanket. He rested on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. “I’m famous for my singing you know, one of the most beloved bards on the continent for my music, you’re missing out on a real treat I tell you.”

The wolf huffed and shifted.

“Well, goodnight Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, resting his chin on his arms. “It was nice to meet you, good luck on wherever you wander to next. Thanks again for not eating me.”

He meant to go to sleep immediately, but found himself watching the huge mound of white fur on the other side of the flames. He sighed quietly. Just like fate to send him such a clear ironic mockery like this. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the shadows of the tree branches above as they moved and whispered in the wind.

Well no matter the irony dripping from this whole situation, it had at least been a bit of amusement. Maybe he’d even start writing a song about it after the wolf was gone in the morning.

Jaskier closed his eyes, willing himself into unconsciousness before his mind could wander into its nightly routine of fretfully wondering what a different white wolf was up to.

***

Geralt Junior was not gone in the morning.

“Well hello again.” Jaskier said, his voice muzzy with sleep as he pushed himself up. The wolf was sitting, watching him from the other side of the fire, which judging from the blackened state of the wolf’s paws had already been scratched out for the day, charcoal markings scratched across the ground. “That’s a neat trick with the fire, bit rude to watch people sleep though.”

He hoisted himself to his feet with a groan, cracking his back and then stopping to roll up the sleeping mat. “I suppose you’re hanging around because you’re still hungry, well I-oh, hello.”

He startled as a cold wet nose pushed against his bare wrist. The wolf had padded silently over to him, evidently no longer limping. The bloodied binding on its shoulder was starting to slip off too.

“You weren’t biting at this during the night were you?” Jaskier scolded, pushing the wolf back a bit so it wasn’t practically standing over him and taking the bandages off. “Because if you were I’ll...”

He trailed off as the bandages slipped away, revealing a small wound that had nearly healed over already in the night. It was still angry and red looking, but the skin was already well on its way to being mended, a far cry from the gaping bleeding wound last night.

“Did Geralt slip something into my salve?” Jaskier wondered aloud, scratching the wolf’s head absently. “You’ve healed nearly as fast as he does.”

This time the wolf didn’t shake off his hand, instead whining at him, shoving its nose into Jaskier’s palm.

“Hey, it’s a good thing.” Jaskier assured the animal, “It means you can go without bandages now as long as you don’t bite at it.”

He scratched harder right behind the wolf’s ears, not missing the way its tail gave half a wag before the wolf caught itself and ducked away from his hand with a whine.

“Don’t you give me that,” Jaskier said with a grin. “I saw that tail wag, you like pats, you big grumpy thing, you can’t fool me with that act.”

The wolf shook itself hard with a huff, then trotted off into the trees without so much as a backward glance.

Jaskier felt unreasonably disappointed to see the animal go, but put on a smile as he waved. “Goodbye Geralt Junior!” He called after it. “And good luck!”

***

“Storm, tempest...” Jaskier muttered to himself as he walked, kicking stray pebbles as he came across them on the road. “Red skies in morning. Warning. Red skies in morning bringing a warning. That’s good, I’ll keep that.”

It had been another long and lonely day on the hot road, but he’d nailed down nearly all the lyrics to his new song at least. He hadn’t anticipated just how much lonelier it would feel to travel solo after having met last night’s surprise visitor, but at least it had helped keep his mind off...other things...

Jaskier looked up at the setting sun. Well, better to get a start on finding a place to sleep earlier than later tonight. Tomorrow he’d reach the next town if he wasn’t terribly mistaken. He stepped off the path, starting to make his way through the brush.

He couldn’t wait to get back to playing, being around people again would help him get his mind off things. He could start working to refill his purse, perhaps even save up for a horse. He could finally feel less alone, surrounded by an audience and whatever one night stands he could manage to scrounge up in town.

If only he hadn’t-

Jaskier froze as he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and felt himself choke as something huge rushed toward him.

He turned to look and startled again, laughing out loud in relief when he turned to see a white wolf bounding up to him, two dead rabbits clamped in its bloodstained mouth.

“You’ve got to make more noise than that if you don’t want me to die of a heart attack!” He cried, but was unable to wipe the grin off his face at the return of his new friend. “So you’re not sick of me after all, huh? I’m truly flattered you know.”

The wolf ducked its head, dropping the rabbits on the ground in front of him.

“Well if this is your way of saying thank you, then I heartily accept.” Jaskier said with a smile, reaching out and patting the wolf’s head, which the animal seemed to reluctantly endure. “Let's find a good place for a fire and I’ll get these skinned and roasted for us, alright?”

Jaskier picked the rabbits up by the hind legs and strode into the woods with a much happier spring to his step.

An hour later a fire had been made and both rabbits disposed of. Jaskier sat on a log as he plucked at his lute, watching the wolf idly gnawing on a rabbit bone.

“Normally I’d start writing a song about you right away.” Jaskier assured his companion as he tuned a lute peg. “But I’ll reach town tomorrow and I’ve got to have this new song tavern ready if I’m to have any new material.”

The wolf twitched an ear, shifting its gnawing to the other side to watch him as it chewed the tiny bone.

“That’s right, a new Dandelion tune, you’re the first one to hear it too.” Jaskier smiled, strumming a few chords.

He wasn’t really expecting the wolf to listen but as he picked out the opening chords he was intensely aware of the animal’s golden eyes fixed on him. Well, so much the better for practice, Jaskier had never shied away from an attentive audience, no matter the species.

“The fairer sex they often call it,” Jaskier sang, his smile dropping away as the song pulled him in. “But her love’s as unfair as a crook.”

The notes flowed and so did the lyrics, the newest words clicking neatly into place as he sang. The emotions of the last two weeks pulled through him one more time as he fixed them into the song, hopefully a space apart from his heart. Maybe showing them off to strangers could get them to dull a bit.

He knew it wouldn’t, but it was too good a hope to abandon entirely. Not yet.

His gaze flicked up to the wolf as he sang, and he was mildly surprised to see the animal watching intently, bone forgotten.

“I am weak my love, and I am wanting.” Jaskier sang.

He grimaced as his voice broke a little on the line, too much emotion getting through. Or maybe exactly the right amount. To his amusement he could see the wolf tip its head at that, but he pushed on through the rest of the song, finally finishing with a flourish.

“Her Sweet Kiss, by myself.” Jaskier said with a half bow, setting his lute down beside him. “You’ve been a wonderful audience Geralt Junior. I’ve been working on it for the last month or so. It’s undergone some, ah, heavy revisions in the last two weeks, but I think it’s turned out alright.”

Jaskier heaved a sigh, trying to dispel some of the heavy emotion still in his chest as he wiped at his eyes. “I’ll have to tone down to waterworks a bit when I’m performing in front of people though. Pining gets you far more coin than crying, I’ve learned that performing lesson the hard way. Perks to traveling alone you know, I don’t have to try hide any of that around you.”

Jaskier slid down off the log and propped his arms back on it. The wolf across the fire let out a long whine, still watching him.

“Oh, I’m alright.” Jaskier assured the animal, wiping at his eyes even as the tears keep coming. “It’s just been, um, a rough couple of weeks. Had someone I loved very much get rid of me in a rather terrible and unexpected fashion. I figure if I sing instead of crying about it I’ll get more coin, just more practical that way really. No use pining after a friend that hates you...”

Jaskier tipped his head back against the log with a shaky sigh, closing his eyes against the tears that still came. They’d end eventually if he waited them out, better to get them out now rather than in front of a crowd tomorrow.

He opened his eyes as he felt a heavy weight settle against the side of his leg. He looked down to see the wolf had laid down beside him, tucked up against his leg as the animal stared off into the trees, head rested on its paws.

“There we go, we can sulk together.” Jaskier said with a teary chuckle, gratefully running his fingers through the wolf’s thick white fur. “I promise I’ll be alright...someday. I don’t know.” Jaskier huffed, wiping at his eyes again. “But twenty two years, and you know he never once called me his friend? I mean he was always insulting me, but he never actually tried to make me- okay, well he did try to make me leave several times, but that was mostly at the beginning. But still, twenty two years Geralt Junior. That’s such a long time to be treated like garbage.”

The wolf let out a wine, looking up at him.

“We had good times too though. So many good times.” Jaskier said sadly, scruffing both hands through the wolf’s fur, focusing on that instead of his own words. “We traveled so many places, had so many adventures. He can lighten up you know, especially if you get him alone and well fed. He’s got such a wicked sense of humor and a smile that could melt snow, even if so few people really see it. He’s excellent at Gwent, even if he always gambles too much at it. He’s got such a good heart too, he’s always trying to do the right thing, even if it comes back to cause him more trouble later.”

Jaskier laid his head on the wolf’s broad back, watching his fingers pet the white fur in front of his face as his voice got quieter.

“Honestly it only makes it worse though. To be hated by a good person hurts so much more than being hated by a bad one...”

The wolf whimpered and shifted, making Jaskier think for a moment that he’d leaned against its bad shoulder. But instead the animal shoved its snout into Jaskier’s chest, continuing to whine.

“You’re very sweet.” Jaskier said with a smile, “Even if you don’t understand any of this, I’m very grateful that you’re listening anyway.” He took the wolf’s head in his hands, kissing its forehead. “Whoever your person was must have been very sad to lose you.”

The wolf looked away, then after a long moment settled its head back on its paws.

“Sleep isn’t a terrible idea.” Jaskier yawned, resting his head against the wolf again. He watched the fire for a few more minutes of silence before his eyes drifted shut.

His last absent thought was that he hoped the wolf didn’t mind being used as a pillow without having properly been asked.

***

It was day three and Jaskier now knew for a fact that Geralt had slipped something into his medical kit, because his wolf companion was trotting easily at his side as they neared the village, only a pale scar on its shoulder that was hidden entirely by thick fur.

Why Geralt had never thought to use such a miracle cure on him when he’d managed to get banged up was beyond him. Jaskier had narrowed it down to either further proof that Geralt really didn’t like him all this time, or else quick healing magic only properly worked on wolves, whether metaphorical or literal.

But as much as he hated it Jaskier couldn’t remember a time that Geralt had ever been rough or hateful with him while treating one of his wounds. Exasperated certainly, but always urgent and attentive, making sure Jaskier healed as quickly and cleanly as possible.

Which somehow left the more poetic answer, something that Jaskier couldn’t quit smiling about as he walked down the road. Though perhaps that was more due to the fact that the village, and thus a comfortable real bed, were now in sight in the distance.

Or maybe it was the massive white wolf padding silently by his side, not having left him once since last night.

“We’re nearly there.” Jaskier hummed happily, playing with the strap of his lute. “Then we'll have warm fires and warm food and warm audiences...”

He trailed off as he walked, looking at the enormous animal walking beside him.

“Although I’m not sure the inkeep will be thrilled to let a wolf into their establishment... or the townspeople either.” Jaskier said with a frown.

To be quite honest Jaskier himself didn’t even know how the wolf would act around people, if it would start snapping or biting if it were to be taken through a crowd or into an enclosed space. He’d known some inns to allow well trained hounds to room with their masters, but that was always with the passing over of extra coin.

For all the wolf was sticking to his side today Jaskier still wouldn’t be all that surprised if the animal peeled off once they got close enough to the town.

Well, there was only going to be one way to find out, meaning it was time for a badly thought out spur of the moment plan.

“So, Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, pulling to a stop and digging through his pack. “We’re about to be around a lot of people when we get to town, and as you’ve seen humans get skittish around creatures like you and I’d rather not have another arrow in your shoulder. I understand if you leave before we get there, but if you do stick with me we’re going to have to make you seem as domesticated as possible.”

The wolf pinned its ears back as Jaskier pulled a wide turquoise belt out of his pack, the dyed leather covered in imprinted flowers.

“I know it’s going to be a hit to your wild beastly pride, but I really think turquoise might suit you.” Jaskier said with a cheeky smile. “Although if you’d rather run off wild you’d better let me know right now, because I’m not going to have you running off with this and leaving me with an incomplete outfit, these things aren’t cheap you know.”

The wolf stared at him with a look that Jaskier could only think of as disgust. But after a verrrrry long minute the wolf sat, looking away with the same disgusted look.

“There’s a good boy.” Jaskier praised, quickly leaning down to secure the makeshift collar around his wolf’s neck. “I think you look rather dashing.” He scruffed the thick fur above the collar. “And with one fell fashion statement you’ve now worn more color than your namesake has in his entire unnaturally long life, so you at least have that going for you.”

The wolf refused to look at Jaskier, instead plodding on ahead without waiting for him.

Jaskier laughed at his sulking wolf, but they both became more serious as they approached the town. The wolf kept scenting the air every few steps and Jaskier found himself smiling uneasily at the people they started passing more and more frequently. Not all of them stared openly, but all of them were definitely at least sneaking looks as they walked by.

“Just stick by me.” Jaskier said quietly, his fingertips finding the edge of the collar and staying there as they approached an inn.

He thought about trying to leave the wolf outside, but the animal pressed close against his leg as he walked into the establishment, as if nervous of being left alone in the middle of town. Well, at least it played well into the pet charade Jaskier was playing.

“That's quite a beast you’ve got yourself there bard.” The innkeeper called from behind his counter. He didn’t sound exactly wary but Jaskier could see the man relax a little when he glanced at the floral colored collar. “Afraid we won’t have no fighting dogs in here, he’ll have to keep to the yard if he’s the kind to pick fights.”

“Not to worry my good man, I’ve had Geralt Junior since he was a pup, though truth be told we had no idea he had so much wolf in him when he was still small.” Jaskier said brightly, lying through his teeth. “He’s big, but he’s a big pushover, I can promise you’ll have no trouble from him.”

He looked down at the wolf, for a moment wondering if he weren’t taking too much of a risk with this one. He didn’t know the wolf, but it had stuck by him so closely and the thought of leaving it outside now made him bite his lip.

The wolf gazed up at him with bright yellow eyes, then at the innkeeper, as if thinking. Jaskier raised an eyebrow as the wolf’s tail started to wag and it started to pant with a very doggish smile, leaning hard against him. For all the world the very picture of a lifelong pet.

Well. Unexpected, but good?

“Well he seems polite.” The innkeeper said, smiling down at the wolf. “I’ll allow it as long as you’re willing to pay extra for a room, but even a hint of trouble and you’re both out.”

“Agreed.” Jaskier said eagerly, “one room and meals for the two of us then please, and I’d like to perform tonight if you’re willing.”

“The place is yours,” the inkeep said with a smile, handing Jaskier a room key in exchange for coin. “Haven’t had a bard through here in a while, it'll do us good to have some song.”

***

Jaskier was used to audiences fawning over his singing or his playing or his good looks, but drawing attention because of a huge white wolf resting peacefully at his feet was an entirely new experience. Word of the new bard and his tame snowy white wolf traveled quickly it seemed, Jaskier spotted people ducking in and then out of the tavern all night, smiling and pointing and even tossing an extra coin to them as the night went on.

And through it all the wolf stayed out at Jaskier’s feet, calmly listening and watching the audience throughout the night, only shifting a bit whenever Jaskier got up to move along to a more rousing ballad.

There was one moment when a young girl pushed through the crowd and fell squarely onto the wolf. Jaskier actually fumbled a chord as he gasped in a breath of startled fear.

But the wolf only huffed in surprise, blinking at the little girl as she recovered herself and hugged him around his great furry neck. A moment later a woman darted forward with a hurried word of apology as she grabbed her daughter’s arm and dragged her back.

“Not to worry madam, as you can see he’s quite tame.” Jaskier said with a tip of his hat and a brilliant smile that belied the way his heart was pounding in his chest at what could have easily been a disaster.

He finished his song and then bowed to the applauding crowd, gathering up all the coin offered to him as the people dispersed, seeing he was done for the night.

Once the coin was tucked away Jaskier dropped to one knee in front of the wolf, stroking the animal’s head and speaking in a hushed tone. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for being so tame. Gods above, I thought we were finished for a moment there, you’re truly a magnificently patient beast.”

The wolf ducked its head away from the praise, but Jaskier saw its tail wag against the wooden tavern floor.

“Time for supper and then for bed.” Jaskier said, getting to his feet. “I think you’re going to be a great favorite with audiences my friend if you keep this up, I’d be willing to bet half our coin tonight was due to you alone. We make an excellent team.”

The wolf got to its feet, tail still wagging as it followed Jaskier to a table. While Jaskier ate several people came up to ask if they could pet the wolf, offering bits of food in trade which the wolf accepted eagerly enough.

By the time Jaskier made it to his room, wolf trailing behind, he was convinced he must have done something miraculous to have discovered such a perfect traveling companion.

“You perfect thing.” Jaskier said once they were in the room, a yawn breaking through his smile.

He scratched behind the wolf’s ears and then stripping off his doublet for the first time in days. Really he should take a bath, but the bed looked far too inviting. He collapsed onto the sheets, sprawling out in the warmth of the room as he kicked his boots off.

“A room, a warm fire, coin in my pocket, and an agreeable traveling companion. If only Geralt could see me now.” Jaskier said, slinging one arm over his eyes with a chuckle that turned a bit sad at the end. “I hope that bastard’s alright, wherever he is.” He said quietly.

He felt a cold nose against the back of his hand and raised his arm, looking over to see the wolf whining at him.

“No, not you, the Witcher Geralt.” Jaskier said with a fond smile, petting the wolf’s head. “I'm sorry if I talk about him too much, I suppose I’ve thought of him too long, my brain doesn’t know what else there is to think about.”

He patted the mattress and after a moment of hesitation the wolf jumped up, lying down beside him. The wolf rested his head on Jaskier’s chest, a pleasant warm weight, better than any blanket he could have asked for. Jaskier carded his fingers through the thick white fur as he closed his eyes.

“I suppose I should try forgetting about him entirely.” Jaskier said softly. “I don’t want to though. I think there’s always going to be some mad piece of me that’s going to hope he’d come back for me someday, our paths always cross often enough.”

He petted the wolf in silence for a long minute.

“I can’t do it again though.” Jaskier said firmly, his voice even quieter. “Even if I do see him again someday I won’t go along with him, won’t even look at him, I can’t. I’ve set myself up for heartache and failure for too many years, working so hard to make him a hero of the people in all my songs. There’s never going to be a world in which he actually listens to me or cares, he always took me for granted, I have to remember that.”

Normally he would have teared up by now, but the comforting warmth of the wolf seemed to anchor and steady him as he petted it. The wolf even let out a long low whine that matched his sadness.

“You understand though, don’t you Geralt Junior?” Jaskier said with a smile, ruffling the wolf’s ears with a yawn. “I suppose if I’m going to move on I should think of a better name for you then shouldn’t I? Maybe a flower name to match mine, take our performances to a whole new level.”

The wolf sneezed violently, shaking its head.

“Alright alright, I’ll give it some more thought tomorrow.” Jaskier laughed. He sighed deeply, pulling his pillow a bit more firmly under his head.

It was much easier to get to sleep than it had been the nights before.

***

Weeks passed as Jaskier and his wolf passed through town after town, settling into a rhythm that Jaskier couldn’t have improved if he’d tried.

They spent days at a time in each town, Jaskier serenading crowds who came to see the wolf bard play, bringing in coin aplenty with new songs that seemed to write themselves. Some were thinly veiled laments of course, but Jaskier found himself falling into much happier tunes again far faster than he would have predicted. Ones about canine friends and cheerful adventures and sunny days and good company.

He still enjoyed the crowds of course, but now some of his favorite days were the ones between the towns, days like this when it was just him and his wolf together on the open road.

“Geralt if you don’t bring the stick back to me I can’t throw it for you.” Jaskier called, plucking a tune on his lute as he walked under the pleasant sunny afternoon sun.

Ahead of him the great white wolf bounded back and forth across the road in and out of the weeds, a large stick in his mouth as he dashed around, never seeming to tire of smelling everything they passed. Around his neck was a fine thick collar with colorful flower patterns woven into the design, a favorite with the ladies and small children. Jaskier had tried some other names for the wolf over the past few weeks but none of them had stuck as well as Geralt Junior had, even that of course eventually dropping to just Geralt.

Things had somehow gotten especially smoother after Jaskier had snapped one night, about a week in to their companionship when the animal was acting especially moody.

That’s it, new rule. Unless you’re in pain or I’m in danger there’s going to be absolutely no growling or snarling at me. I’ve gotten a lifetime's worth of that from your namesake thank you very much, and I refuse to take any more of it.

He of course hadn’t expected his outburst to change anything, but he almost thought it had, his wolf being more careful around him, as if it actually realized how upset he’d made Jaskier.

As they’d traveled the wolf had slowly loosened up in more ways than that too, his previous frequent growls and silence trading for eager tail wagging and barks as they performed for tavern after tavern of people eager to pet and praise him. He never really became rambunctious per se, always still a bit reserved and aloof. But Jaskier was certain his wolf was becoming far happier of an animal while traveling with him than he had been before, and feeling needed like that made him feel warm inside.

It wasn’t very often now that he thought of the old Geralt. Not forgotten certainly, but this new life was filled with plenty of happiness to focus on, instead of the pain he suspected would have devoured him had he not found his new companion.

The wolf bounded up to him, letting Jaskier wrestle the stick away from him and fling it off into the bushes again, then took off after it like a shot. Jaskier wiped the wolf slobber off his hand on his pants and picked up his strumming again with a smile. The one thing he hadn't seen yet was the animal getting tired, the beast having apparently been blessed with incredible stamina.

Up ahead he could see someone approaching from a distance. A horse merchant judging by the string of horses roped behind his own, a couple other men riding with him to keep them in line.

Jaskier politely made his way to the side of the road, halting his strumming to keep from spooking any of the merchant’s stock.

The merchant tipped his head to Jaskier in appreciation as they approached, but Jaskier jumped as he heard barking. He turned to see his wolf rush up to the horses, yelping and whining. The merchant and his boys shouted as they wrangled the spooking horses as they all tried to shy away from the canine.

“Get your animals under control!” The merchant snapped, swinging off in a rapid dismount to catch at his horse's bridle.

“I am so sorry!” Jaskier cried, dashing forward and grabbing the wolf’s collar, trying to haul him back with little success as the animal kept trying to lunge forward, whining desperately with its tail tucked between its legs. “Geralt, down! This has never happened before, he’s usually so good around horses, I-“

Jaskier’s breath caught as he saw one horse that hadn’t shied away, the animal instead yanking toward the wolf. A glossy chestnut mare with a white stripe down her face.

“...Roach?” Jaskier said, his mouth dry.

The mare tossed her head with an urgent whinny as she tugged against her rope halter. There was the old patch of white above her back left hoof, and the horse was actively fighting to try and get near him. It was really her.

“Where did you get that horse?” Jaskier demanded, a hollow icy feeling curling in his gut as he let go of the wolf, rushing up to the mare instead.

“Hey, get back, she bites!” The merchant barked, but he paused as Jaskier stroked Roach’s cheek. The horse crowded up to him, stomping her hoof and tucking her head close over his shoulder.

At their feet Jaskier’s wolf whined and yelped, dancing around in clear agitated excitement that Roach didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Where did you get this horse?” Jaskier repeated, turning to look at the merchant, who was hovering back now. “She belongs to a Witcher, she’s got no place in your stock herd.”

Some kind of uneasy look passed over the horse merchant’s face. Jaskier knew he didn’t cut a very intimidating figure, but he could feel the dangerous heat in his own glare and could hear the growling coming from his wolf beside him.

“We found her wandering a few weeks back.” One of the merchant’s boy’s spoke up, looking nervously at the wolf. “She was wandering with a half loose saddle in the middle of nowhere, the camp she was by looked like it had been abandoned for days, clothes scattered about, the place was a wreck, blood all over the place.”

The merchant shot the boy a look, but shook his head, giving up. “If she did belong to a Witcher her rider was long gone by the time we found her, I swear it. Whoever they were certainly wasn’t still alive enough to retrieve his horse when we found her. Must have taken on a contract that was too much for him.”

“You’re lying!” Jaskier snapped, his fingers curling in Roach’s mane. “You stole her, you saw her outside a tavern someplace and thought you could get away with it. Well Geralt’s probably hot on your tail by now and you’re all going to regret it!”

“I swear to you we ain’t no horse thieves.” The merchant said, his expression clouding. “Besides, she’s been nothing but trouble ever since we found her, kicking and biting anyone who gets too close. We’re just about ready to sell her for glue.”

“Give her to me.” Jaskier demanded, fingers already working at the rope tied at her bridle. “She isn’t yours, I’m taking her back to Geralt.”

“Whoa, hey,” the merchant said, advancing on him, only stopping short when the wolf snarled at him. “We’ve been keeping her fed and watered for weeks now, if her Witcher were going to “track us down” it would have happened by now, and as it is we’ve got to at least get the cost of her feed back out of her.”

“Fine, I’ll pay for her food cost.” Jaskier said angrily. “But she’s coming with me now, as well as anything else you stole from where you found her. And believe me, I’ll know if you try to keep any of it back.”

As long as he stayed angry he could keep the fear back. Because Geralt would never never leave Roach abandoned, she was the one thing in the world that Jaskier knew he loved. And if Geralt had been alive enough to walk he would have tracked the horse thieves in a matter of hours.

So where was Geralt?

The merchant must have done some quick calculating in his head of the risk of an angry bard and an angry wolf and an angry horse compared to a quick and easy payout, because he was soon nodding to his boys who scrambled back to the pack horses.

“It’s alright Roach.” Jaskier soothed quietly, taking hold of her rope bridle once he detached it from the lead rope. “It’s alright girl, you’re safe now.”

His wolf was still whining and pressing up against them both. The horse ducked her head down to nuzzle against the wolf, which struck Jaskier as odd, the old mare generally only allowing Geralt himself to touch her. Jaskier had only worked up to being allowed that particular honor after years of sugar cubes and braided manes and pretty compliments.

The boys returns with their arms full, dumping the contents at Jaskier’s feet. Roach’s saddle and tack, saddle bags and camping gear.

Jaskier’s blood ran cold when he stooped to shuffle aside a sleeping roll to uncover a set of all too familiar black studded armor, and two separate long swords. One silver. One steel.

“These were all at his camp?” Jaskier asked, his voice dangerously on edge and brittle as he searched through the pile, finding every single item Geralt regularly traveled with.

“They were, strewn about in a right mess too.” The merchant said, looking very much like he was more than ready to have this whole mess off his hands for good.

Jaskier numbly checked the saddle bags, looking up as his voice cracked.

“The medallion.” He demanded hoarsely. “Where’s the silver wolf medallion?”

The one thing the Witcher never never took off, not even to bathe or sleep. If that at least was still missing then maybe-

One of the boys blushed, quickly pulling a chain from under his shirt and handing it to Jaskier, whose fingers took it in a kind of desperate spasm. His wolf nosed desperately at the medallion, whining and whimpering.

“That’s all of it.” The merchant said hesitantly, clearly disturbed at Jaskier’s reaction.

Jaskier stood, the medallion clutched so hard in his hand that his fingers were bleaching white around it. He pulled out some coin and handed it to the merchant, who barely glanced at the sum before nodding and signaling his boys back in the saddle.

Within a minute of hurried commotion the merchant and his herd were gone, leaving Jaskier standing in the middle of the road with a horse and a wolf. Trembling as he stood over all that remained of Geralt of Rivia, his Witcher medallion clutched in his hand.

Jaskier breath was coming quickly and raggedly as his mind feverishly cast about for any explanation that didn’t end with Geralt being very much gone forever.

His armor looked roughed up and was spattered with dried blood. Had he been eaten out of his own armor? Cursed entirely out of existence? Either way, gone forever. Leaving behind everything.

Leaving behind Jaskier.

Jaskier was trembling so hard that his knees gave out, sending him to the ground on his hands and knees as his rapid shallow breathing gave way to sobs. The edges of the medallion were cutting into his hand, but he didn’t care as tears ran down his face, his mind paralyzed in a loop of denial and panic and grief.

He was gone.

Geralt was gone.

Jaskier felt a heavy warmth press against him and he reflexively wrapped his arms around the wolf as it crowded against his chest. He buried his face in the thick white fur, holding on tightly enough that it must be hurting, but the wolf only draped heavily across his lap, silent as Jaskier sobbed.

He might have cried like that for minutes or an hour before he slowly came back to himself, the wolf nosed at his ear, clearly concerned.

“He’s, he’s gone.” Jaskier hiccuped, opening his hand to look at the medallion, the silver wolf head glinting coldly back at him. Despite having seen it for years, seeing it apart from Geralt made it look unnatural and foreign. “I mean...I k-know I already lost him...b-but not like this.”

His wolf whined quietly, pressing its head against Jaskier's shoulder bracingly. Jaskier buried his face against the white fur.

“Why did that have to be the last time I saw him...” he said quietly, the hollow feeling inside enveloping him completely. “Why did it have to end like that? I really believed I would see him again. What am I going to do now?”

He felt Roach nudge his shoulder and the tears came again as he looked up at her. He unsteadily got to his feet, rubbing her cheek. “Oh Roach, I’m so sorry. You probably saw it actually happen too, you poor thing.”

He eased the rough rope bridle off her head, rubbing her face as his thoughts started to slowly become coherent again. Geralt didn’t really have next of kin, but the other Witchers would want to know what had happened.

“I know he didn’t like me much by the end, but I hope it’s alright if you stick with me.” Jaskier said to Roach. “I promise I’ll keep you brushed and well fed, no monster hunting, but I’ll take good care of you.”

The mare bumped her nose against his chest affectionately.

“I think we ought to find Yennefer.” Jaskier said quietly, sniffling and wiping his eyes as he pulled Roach’s tack from the pile of things on the road. “She’ll know how to track down the other Witchers, to tell them what happened.”

He slipped her real bridle on and saddled her, then started packing all of Geralt’s things into the saddle bags, hanging the two swords at her flanks. He worked slowly, feeling like he would begin sobbing again if he moved too quickly.

The whole time he worked his wolf kept close to his side, staring up at him as it leaned against him comfortingly. Jaskier stopped several times to pet it, reigning his breath back in each time, away from the point of breaking down again.

When everything was ready to go Jaskier had to take a minute to compose himself before he could look at Roach. He’d packed her up exactly like this so many times, but never to ride alone. This isn’t what he wanted at all. He’d perhaps wished that he had something to remember his Witcher by, but not like this.

He pulled the medallion out of his pocket and stared at it. It felt wrong somehow to tuck it away when it had been worn openly for over a century. He looked at his wolf with a sigh, dropping down to one knee.

“I need you to hold onto this for me alright?” He said quietly. “Keep it safe while we travel.”

The wolf sat very still as Jaskier slipped the silver chain over its head.

One moment Jaskier was looking at his wolf, the next moment he was blinded by a blast of white light. He cried out, falling back in shock, letting go of the medallion chain.

He blinked hard, stumbling to his feet as his vision slowly came back to him, leaving his sight hazy and spotty for a long minute as he dizzily tried to balance himself.

Large hands gripped his arms and he yelled in panic, trying to jerk away from whoever had apparently ambushed him with magic. Were they after Geralt’s things? After Roach?

But before he could react further he was pulled into what felt exactly like a tight hug. He tried to struggle as his vision came back to him.

“Unhand me! Let me-"

“I’m sorry Jaskier.” Said a low voice in his ear.

The voice sounded husky, as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time, but Jaskier would recognize that voice no matter what it sounded like.

“G-Geralt?” He asked, his voice cracking.

The hug loosened, only enough for Geralt to pull back and look at him, his beautiful golden eyes bright and happy.

“I promised myself that if I ever got to speak again that’s the first thing I’d say.” Geralt said.

“You’re, you’re not dead?” Jaskier asked, starting to tremble hard, out of overwhelming sudden emotion or simple shock he couldn’t tell.

“I’m not dead.” Geralt said, gently kissing Jaskier’s forehead, sending him another level deeper into staggering shock.

“I’ve gone mad.” Jaskier said weakly, his legs giving out. “I’ve lost it, I’m off my rocker, the full nine yards, hallucinating. Completely batty.”

Geralt caught him with a chuckle, holding him steady. “You’re not mad, I promise. Not about this anyway.”

Jaskier swallowed, looking up at Geralt’s face as he rested his hands on the Witcher’s bare chest, then looked down.

“If you aren’t a dream of mine, then why aren’t you wearing any clothes.” Jaskier challenged flatly.

Geralt grinned. “Haven’t worn any in nearly two months now.”

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the silver medallion around Geralt’s neck, and even more specifically the loose woven collar that Geralt was unlatching and slipping off his neck.

The last two months all slammed into Jaskier at once, blindsiding him hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs completely.

“You’re Geralt!” He wheezed, eyes painfully wide. “The wolf Geralt, you were the wolf, the whole time, of course, of course! What, what happened?”

He didn’t quite know how his hands got on either side of the witcher’s face, but they were there, his face inches from his own as he scanned the familiar sight. Those golden eyes he’d had by his side for weeks now without ever seeing past them to the truth.

“Took a contract for a beast that turned out to be a sorcerer’s pet.” Geralt said, his voice starting to sound like its normal low self. He rested a hand on Jaskier’s wrist, stroking his thumb across the back of his hand. “I killed the beast but its master wasn’t too happy with me, I guess he had a sense of irony so he turned me into a white wolf. He ran me off, I met some hunters, got an arrow through the shoulder, was convinced I was going to die of either infection or hunger or more hunters, and then you nearly tripped over me.”

“It was dark, alright?” Jaskier said breathlessly, his mind skipping over nearly everything Geralt had said to focus instead on the fact that he was here and alive. “So, so you were with me these whole two months? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried, that first night I tried to scrape out a message with the ashes from the fire, but you didn’t notice. Whenever I tried to communicate you didn’t seem to catch on.” Geralt sighed. “After a week or two I gave up, it was pleasant enough traveling with you and I didn’t think there was a cure to the curse. I never would have guessed the medallion, and even if I had I wouldn't have known where to find it. Things were simpler once I gave up.”

Jaskier’s mind replayed the last weeks at super speed, trying to think of any time he’d noticed anything unusual. Perhaps the way the wolf had trusted him so quickly, how it picked up on commands so easily, how when he talked to it it really seemed like it were listening to him.

Jaskier paled, remembering exactly how much he’d talked. “You heard everything I told you? About, about you?” He asked weakly.

“Yes.” Geralt said soberly. “That’s why I decided an apology would be the first thing I’d say if I ever got back to normal.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip trembled, for once at a complete loss for words.

“Are you sure you’re not still cursed?” He finally managed, his hands dropping to Geralt’s chest again. “You’re being very nice to me and using ten times as many words as you usually do.”

“I’ve had two months of wishing I could talk, I have a list actually.” Geralt said, starting to speak a little faster and more earnestly, as if nervous that he’d lose his ability to speak again. “First, I felt terrible the minute you left that mountain, I was angry at so many different things and I took it out on you because you were the closest thing that I knew wouldn’t yell back. I’m sorry, Jaskier, I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Jaskier agreed quietly, mind still spinning a little, but starting to settle as he listened.

“Second, I do not hate you. I’ve never hated you. I hate that you think that, I hate that I made you think that, it’s not true.” Geralt said, almost sounding angry now.

Jaskier swallowed, nodding silently.

“Third you are my friend, my best friend, I’m sorry for taking you for granted. I'll never do it again or else you can run me through with my own sword.”

Jaskier only managed to make a kind of weak noise in response as Geralt gathered him into another tight hug.

“Anything else?” Jaskier asked, trying to make it sound like a joke, but his voice broke as he buried his face against Geralt’s neck.

“Just that I saw you take those apples at the market when you thought no one was looking, and that you really ought to make sure your poor dog is out of the room before you pull someone into bed with you for the night.” Geralt said, his voice sounding amused.

“You were a wolf.” Jaskier sputtered, blushing furiously as he looked up. “How was I supposed to know you were judging me? And really it’s not like you’ve never been to a brothel Geralt, you’re hardly an innocent, don’t try to shame me with that.”

“And your singing is actually quite good.” Geralt said gently, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist. “Even if some of your recent songs...sting a bit. Being up there with you while you performed every night was...special. I liked it.”

Jaskier swallowed again, unable to keep the dumb grin off his face even as he thought he might start crying again. “So not like a fillingless pie?” He asked, a little facetiously. His eyes widened and he jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest. “What about that time you started howling in the middle of my set? You frightened the entire tavern! I thought we were going to be run out of town for sure!”

Geralt laughed at that, a lovely deep warm sound. “That was because I saw a pickpocket in the crowd, I figured spooking them with a howl would be better than lunging into the crowd growling. It worked too, which was a nice surprise.”

Jaskier laughed too, a real laugh, not the kind of tight ones other people had gotten from him over the past months, the real kind that had only come when he was alone with his traveling companion.

“I think I’m going to miss wolf Geralt.” He said, tilting his head to the side, surprised at how sad he really felt at that realization. “I mean obviously I’m thrilled you’re not dead, or cursed, but the last two months have been so lovely.”

“Well, if you don’t mind Witcher Geralt too much I’d like to keep traveling with you.” Geralt said quietly. He glanced down at the way they were holding each other, then looked back up. “And maybe start a few things over while we’re at it?”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered in his chest, but he chewed his lip. All those nights of telling himself that he’d never go back to traveling with the Witcher coming back to him. All conversations Geralt had actually heard of course, meaning the Witcher knew exactly what he was really asking.

“How do I know it won’t go back to how it was?” Jaskier asked, a bit of fear creeping into his voice. “What happens when talking has lost its novelty and you’re back to growls and grunts, when you’re mad at being slowed down by me and need someone to take it out on?”

“This time I want to follow you. If you’ll let me.” Geralt said, gently resting his forehead against Jaskier’s. “The way we’ve done these past months. You go where you want, and I’ll take whatever contracts I find along the way, that way you don’t have to give up anything anymore to be around me, you can set the pace.” He brushed a thumb across Jaskier’s cheek. “It was nice following you around as a wolf, I think it would still be nice as a Witcher.”

“You use that line on every boy you flirt with?” Jaskier teased, but his smile was real. “I think I’d like that.” His expression grew serious. “But I will take you up on your offer of running you through with your own sword if you start being an imbecile again.”

“Good.” Geralt chuckled, brushing his nose against Jaskier’s. “And I promise no more growling or snapping at you, I’ve done well with that rule these past few weeks haven’t I?”

“You have.” Jaskier nodded tearily. “Although I thought it was just because I kept bribing you with treats.”

“I won’t pretend those didn’t help some.” Geralt teased.

Jaskier’s heart skipped as Geralt took his face in his hands and closed the last inches between them, kissing him softly. He closed his eyes, leaning into it, allowing the dozens of clamoring thoughts and questions inside him to still for at least a moment. A very good, very quiet moment.

As the kiss ended he gazed at Geralt, knowing he was probably a bit starry eyed. Behind them Roach huffed and stamped the ground, breaking the moment.

“I haven’t forgotten you either, girl.” Geralt said fondly, letting go of Jaskier and walking over to her, firmly stroking her nose and kissing her forehead. “I was so worried about you, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Roach swished her tail and nickered, affectionately shoving her head against Geralt’s chest.

Jaskier gasped, his eyes lighting up. “I just realized this is all going to make a brilliant song.” He said, nearly giddy at the thought as he fished his notebook out of his pocket. “The Witcher Wolf, a rousing ballad about transformation and reconciliation.”

“Well be sure to put your apple theft in there somewhere.” Geralt snorted, pulling his clothes out of the saddle bags and starting to shrug them on. He grimaced as he pulled on his pants. “Have clothes always been this claustrophobic?”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t mind if you left them off, but I can’t speak for the townspeople.” Jaskier said with a smirk, already scribbling snatches of lyric ideas in his notebook. He looked up, eyebrows raising as he watched Geralt struggle into his boots. “Hang on, that’s why you never licked people like other dogs do, because you were Real Geralt the whole time.”

“I had to keep my dignity somehow.” Geralt said, frowning as his fingers slipped a bit at his shirt buttons. “Darn fingers are going to take some getting used to.”

“Oh, dignity eh?” Jaskier smirked, coming up and doing the witcher’s shirt buttons for him. “So what about that time at the butcher’s last week when you-"

“If you ever mention that aloud I'm tossing you to the very next monster I see and walking away.” Geralt said sternly.

“Oh but now I have so many excellent stories about you!” Jaskier said gleefully. “Wouldn’t Yennifer love to hear about last month, when we were hiking through that forest and you decided to-"

Jaskier yelped as Geralt scooped him up and unceremoniously slung him over Roach’s back like a hunting trophy. Jaskier laughed as he clumsily righted himself in the saddle just as Geralt started moving, pulling Roach to walk with him down the road.

“Better get started on that wolf song, bard.” Geralt said, looking over his shoulder with a smile and handing him the notebook and pencil he’d dropped. “I think that’s a much better use of your breath.”

“Well, if you insist.” Jaskier said, primly taking back his notebook and pencil, but still grinning.

Because he got the feeling that things weren’t going to go back to the way they had been before. He got the feeling that they were going to be much, much better.

---------

Read Geralt’s POV with extra scenes!

[Geralt’s POV Chapter 1] [Geralt’s POV Chapter 2]

#the witcher #geralt #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #actualwolf!geralt #im finally getting smarter and going back to doing hefty oneshots instead of only sprawling multichapter fics and it feels good #wit writes #i felt all my wolf girl powers reactivating while writing this

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ineffably-effable · 5 years

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good omens fic recommendations

If you’re looking for coherent reviews you’ll be disappointed, but if you want a list of quality recommendations - with excerpts & some vague ramblings as to what the reader should be in the mood for - enjoy!

29 recommendations underneath the cut.

(17k) Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture

Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

Mood: beautiful slow burn, misunderstandings, heartache that would be solved if someone taught these besotted idiots to communicate.

Paradox: Crowley has never risen from his seat and gone to stand behind someone at a counter, never put his arms around their middle and pulled them tight against him. Has never apologized with a touch, with a closeness, with the thin line of his body. So why does it occur to him that he might do that now? Might press up against Aziraphale from behind and rest his forehead on Aziraphale’s nape and ask silently to be forgiven. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world when he knows, intimately knows that it’s not.

(51k) how deep the sand by Handful_of_Silence

After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about.

And then Aziraphale disappears.

Mood: tragic twist of fate, separation, hurt/comfort, guilt & devotion.

He thinks about the picnic they’d have had. He’d have pulled the top down from the Bentley and let the wind tussle his hair, the weather of a glorious August now gone warming his skin. They would have chatted, sitting carefully on a tartan blanket, and they’d have made their own plans.

They might have even found the right time to talk properly. Honestly. About everything that’s been, about the possibilities that could be now that everything’s different.

About maybe not going back to London. Going back to their Jobs.

About leaving it all behind, together.

The words Crowley didn’t say are clogging up his throat.

(14k) Made Flesh by rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

AU in which Crowley is two entities, and Aziraphale isn’t sure how he feels about either of them.

Mood: oblivious idiots, daemon!fic-if-you-squint, pining & tamed desire.

Eleven years pass, attended by another marked change; the creature cannot bear to be out of the same room as Aziraphale. The angel, isolated and frayed as he is by the fear of the coming war, has no problems with this development – he needs the company – although sometimes he looks into the yellow eyes and feels the spear of a nameless sorrow. If it comes to it, Heaven will win, of course; the certainty, however, is bitter. He tries not to think about what will happen to Crowley, or to this small being that runs at his heels as he moves, gripped by a contagious agitation.

(8k) Ad Astra by drawlight / @drawlight

Some things can only be said in the dark.

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities.

Aziraphale swallows. His eyes hold Crowley’s. Crowley stands very still, wretched. Terrified. Watching Aziraphale’s very wide eyes, the open of the mouth. There is a softness in Aziraphale’s look, in the swallow of his throat. It could be? (It might not be.) He wants to scream it; he wants to say nothing at all. Let me stay in this bit of maybe. Maybe is not no, maybe means perhaps, someday. Maybe means you might feel the same. (You might not.)

(13.3k) Alegría by drawlight / @drawlight

After the End That Wasn’t, Heaven and Hell are leaving them alone. Entirely alone. (This is a story with nothing of miracles.)

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities + domesticity

(Yes, I know the mood is almost the same as above, but honestly this is @drawlight, what were you expecting? Read it if you want a Crowley that will absolutely wreck you & leave you heart-broken.)

Aziraphale is a touch-strong man. He touches everything (Crowley knows, he always watches). Aziraphale loves and he likes to love through his skin. His fingers on a particularly fine leather binding, dipping into the embossed author, the tooled name of the title. His hands breaking apart a loaf of Italian sourdough, fingers coming away with residual flour. Dipping his hands into sacks of grain, rubbing a fine weave of silk through. He touches Crowley too, in his usual and gentle way. The touch on the arm to still Crowley’s whiplash self, to make a point during an argument. Aziraphale who thinks nothing of oh, my dear, you’ve got an eyelash just there, let me get it for you. Crowley has a good memory. He catalogs them all, cross-examines them. Six-thousand years of maybes and what-ifs and what was thats ? But Aziraphale is just as easy with his touches on glass bottles while pulling out his favorite vintages. He touches his favorite fountain pen far more often than he reaches for Crowley. No, in context, it means nothing. It’s just Aziraphale as usual. Don’t look too closely, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.

(13k) small infinities and all that by JustStandingHere / @billypotts

Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

Mood: slow burn, domesticity, best friends falling in love & all the beautiful awkwardness that entails.

And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them.

(12k) the deft, sweet gesture of your hand by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale’s door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

Mood: beautiful writing, mixed signals, feeling unworthy of the millenia-long object of your affections, unable to create gifts that are good enough for the people you love and being in love with a complete idiot.

Aziraphale has tended to the sick and injured during periods of plague and war many times throughout his long life, and he tries to adopt the same kind-but-impersonal detachment as he carefully washes Crowley. It is slightly harder, Crowley being the sole object of six thousand years of repressed desire, but he’s also Aziraphale’s closest friend, and a person besides, so he does him the courtesy of not ogling his bare legs or torso as he goes.

(9.3k) Slow by write_away / @theirdarkreturning

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

Mood: Miscommunication, with a hefty side order of pining and the urge to yell at your screen in the vain hopes of getting through to these two idiots.

For Crowley - that was the demon’s name, and it’s best to memorize it quickly, before he changes it yet again - knew that the angel would love him if he just asked, and Aziraphale - the angel, though there’s no rush with him, there never really is - knew that the demon would take him in with open arms if he just asked. It’s just that neither of them were good at asking things of one another.

(14.7) Lead me to the banquet hall by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons

Crowley loves taking Aziraphale out to eat almost as much as Aziraphale loves eating, but it’s always a bit of a one-sided affair. Aziraphale has never understood why. Crowley planned on keeping it that way, but best laid plans…

Mood: wonderful footnotes, pining, creating a shrine to the object of your longing and then submitting to the mortifying ordeal of them finding it.

The thing about Aziraphale is quite simply this: Crowley can never have enough of him. God, Satan, everyone knows he’s tried. Crowley has spent centuries glutting himself on the sight of him only to be empty again days later, wondering whether it’s too soon to show his face in the bookshop. Aziraphale drifts from brasserie to bar in his quest to indulge in the best of human culinary expertise; Crowley follows after, because he knows Aziraphale will be there. It isn’t enough, but it’s something, and the only thing Crowley can ever expect.

(14.2k) all i need, darling, is a life in your shape by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Mood: domesticity with pining, chosen family, acts of love, boyfriend sweaters & idiots in love.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes indulgently, passing out the rest of the gifts and sneaking little glances at Crowley as he struggled with the box. He’d worked so hard on it, searched all the best yarn shops in London for the perfect skeins. He even had to sit on hold for hours with the manufacturer of the yarn he chose because he needed another skein from the same dye-lot, knowing that Crowley would want only the best, and he’d notice even a minor inconsistency in the coloring.

(27k) Long Is The Way, And Hard by Kate_Lear

A story of Crowley’s thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

Mood: slow burn, denial, temptation, jealousy, lust to love, character growth.

Aziraphale hasn’t shared his bed with anyone. He can’t have done, because if he has then Crowley is going to hunt down that mortal – in this world or the next – and enact something creatively and comprehensively bloody upon them. Possibly involving methods from the Spanish Inquisition, that have scabbed over in Crowley’s memory and that he shies away from picking at.

(25.7k) your weekend lover by witching

Mood: miscommunication, mutual pining, ineffable idiots who are on the same page but reading a different damn book

It was purely physical, they had agreed on that from the beginning. Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember why he had agreed to that, but he suspected it had something to do with not ruining their friendship, or some such nonsense. At any rate, that was the deal. The new Arrangement. Purely physical.

(16k) I’ve Got You To Help Me Forgive by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)

Pt1: Crowley deals, more or less, with the Fall. Also, Crowley has feelings. The angel doesn’t help with that. Also, sunny rocks are very nice.

Pt2: In which tea is made, a story is shared, and a leap of faith is taken.

Mood: Lust, first times, innocence, ineffable sex, memory wipes, Aziraphale showing initiative and being a bit of a bastard, overwhelmed Crowley, Gabriel is a total dick. Fair warning this isn’t PWP, it has loads of plot and feelings too and fantastic characterizations.

The air in Crowley’s lungs took leave of him all at once. Memories he hadn’t given a good look at in ages resurfaced. Memories he’d quite ably buried, thank you very much and he sat up abruptly, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. He set his sunglasses on the table, then pressed his face into his palms and gave it a good scrub. After a sidelong glance at Aziraphale who sat there patiently watching him, he asked, “What am I supposed to do with a question like that, hmm?”

(13.9k) The Lightness of You by Rend_Herring

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

Mood: When you want to mix up your pining & angst with a bit of humour, sex and a praise kink.

The jasmine vine actually tries brushing up against Aziraphale’s cheek and he blushes, says, “Oh, you,” all indulgent and sweet-like. It leaves a fragrant white blossom behind his ear.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says sincerely, and Crowley glares openly at the traitors. “That’s very kind of you.” His smile really is a beacon of otherworldly radiance. An orchid blooms on the spot, the epiphyte whore.

(7.2k) summer and his pleasures by witching

absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.

Mood: drunk dialing and dirty talk, idiots in love

Something clicked in Aziraphale’s mind, and he held back a curse word threatening on his tongue. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he found himself just in that sweet spot of intoxication where he was cognizant enough to recognize that he was doing something he absolutely shouldn’t do, but not quite enough to stop himself. “I would, you know,” he said, full of newfound confidence. “I’d – if you were here, I’d make it… very much worth your while.”

(3.6k) Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.

Mood: Jealousy, lashing out, withdrawal, oblivious idiots slowly learning how to use their words.

Is Crowley jealous of a musty old flat above a used book store? In the millennia he’s spent slowly twisting his own heart around Aziraphale’s little finger, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s been jealous of, to be honest.

(11k) A Touch Like Sunlight by goodomensblog / @goodomensblog / @just-quintessentially-me

When Aziraphale is threatened by angels who seek justice for Aziraphale’s crimes against Heaven, Crowley comes up with a plan to keep him safe from harm.

Mood: PTSD from witnessing the attempted murder of your husband, it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, self-sacrificing idiots & badass idiots protecting eachother.

“Right! Brunch!” Aziraphale says, bouncing up on his toes - as if they hadn’t just been discussing the murder of archangels. “Do you think they have crepes?”

(13.6k) These Things Were Here by MajorEnglishEsquire

Crowley, following times of overwhelming distress, resorted to the snake form as a means of finding comfort and solitude.

Mood: displays of affection, love shown through care-taking, using your ineffable boyfriend as a security blanket.

Nothing like it happened again for years. The pattern, however, was too recognizable to be mistaken when it did reoccur.

When commended for some catastrophe of which he was no part, Crowley became a completely disconsolate mess, but he still actually handled those occasions better than when he was, in fact, party to such disaster.

If he was blamed, but not actually at fault, Aziraphale may find him on the verge of discorporation due to alcohol poisoning, but at least he would say what was wrong. It was worse when he had an assignment he couldn’t breathe a word of. It was worse when he would smile bitterly and leave silently, haunted beyond expression.

(4.6k) let sleeping snakes lie by kythen / @kythen

The world doesn’t end. Crowley falls asleep. And Aziraphale stays by his side, waiting for him to wake up again.

Mood: acts of love, comfort, warmth, home

To some extent, he understands Crowley’s need for sleep. It had been an exhausting decade for the both of them, what with the end of the world business, and it had culminated spontaneously in them cutting off their ties with both Heaven and Hell rather dramatically, which were the only ties that either of them have ever had since the Beginning. Just as Crowley had sauntered from the ranks of Heaven to Hell, he had finally found his way out of Hell and into something that finally felt like freedom.

(6.4k) All The Dreams We Had by ImpishTubist / @impishtubist

This time will be different, Aziraphale thinks. This time, Crowley will remember.

Mood: amnesia, groundhog day - but centered on a single relationship - and with more angst

It takes a year for Crowley to fall for him again, a year until the air raid and the church and the books; a year before Aziraphale finds himself pressed up against a brick wall and exchanging desperate, burning kisses.

Crowley’s forgotten again by morning.

(70k) The Place You Need To Reach by Zetared / @zetablarian

When Crowley is forcibly recalled to home office, Aziraphale conspires with a denounced saint and strikes a deal with the agents of Hell to get him back.

Mood: sacrifice, loss of self, trauma, love, tenderness and fantasy-novel-esque world & character building

“I have a journey to complete,” Aziraphale reminds the Adversary, primly. “May I begin?”

“In good time, Aziraphael. In good time. Tell me, do you recall the rules correctly?”

Aziraphale grits his teeth at the purposeful use of his forgotten name, but he doesn’t mention it. “Yes, of course. Using no miracles or ethereal influence of any kind, I must walk through the circles of Hell and complete an unknown task in each to earn passage to the next. I must not look behind me, where Crowley will walk. I may speak to Crowley, but he cannot speak back. I will not hear him or see him or feel even a hint of his presence. I will move forward, and, God willing, he will follow me.”

(1.9k) Kissing, Accidentally. by skybound2 / @skybound2

The one where Crowley gives in and kisses Aziraphale while he has him pinned against a wall.

Mood: hilarious footnotes, brilliant Crowley internal monologues and ineffable kissing against a wall.

No. No what actually happens is that when Crowley slams Aziraphale up against a wall in the middle of a hallway at a former-Satanic-hospital-turned-paintball-complex to express to him how very not nice he is, his hindbrain, forebrain and all other portions of his brain, decide that while denial has been a lovely place to reside for the previous six millennia, they are rather due a relocation at this point. And “Oh! Would you look at that! Here’s the oh-so-very soft mouth of an oh-so-very-beautiful angel right in front of us! And all we have to do to get there is to just…lean forward an inch. Less than an inch, in fact! How fantastic!”

(9.3k) Build Our Kingdom by Mackem

Mood: : ineffable dates, promises kept

“Ready for lunch?” Crowley drops to his knees to start unbuckling the straps on the basket as though this is something they do all the time; as though he hasn’t just effortlessly catapulted Aziraphale back in time almost fifty years.

“You remembered,” Aziraphale breathes as wonder courses through him. He mentioned something once during an awkward moment, half a century ago, and now here kneels a demon atop a picnic blanket.

“Hmm?” Crowley barely shoots him a sidelong glance as he concentrates on opening the basket.

Aziraphale’s eyes do not move from him. “You remembered,” he repeats, no less stunned. “Crowley, you really didn’t have to.”

Crowley’s hands still. Eventually, his eyes still on the basket, he murmurs, “Well, we did The Ritz, didn’t we?”

(9k) On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate

For two ineffable husbands, they don’t really touch each other much. Here is a story on why that might be.

Mood: touch-starved idiots in love, heart-breaking internal monologues, misunderstandings, miscommunication, protective idiots.

Crowley had decided long ago that curiosity should have been a sin, because it has been the one thing consistently tempting him in his existence. He’s done everything he can think of and more, just so see what it was all about. But this, with Aziraphale, feels more than just an experience he can add to his endless tally

(8.2k) dum memor ipse mei by NeverNooitNiet

There is something, Aziraphale thinks, that is inherently selfish— unangelic, even— about grief. But then of course, the same could be said about love.

Mood: identity angst, calling Aziraphale out on his bullshit

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous ,” Crowley snaps. “Of course I don’t— angel, do you have any idea just how much more straightforward my life would be if only I were able to hate you?”

(5.6k) bent to the very earth by Ark / @et-in-arkadia

Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

Mood: tenderness & kisses & sex against a wall

Aziraphale kisses him back because that is what makes sense, kissing Crowley, why, the thought crosses his mind often enough—he just never had the sort of momentum that seems to fire up Crowley now. Crowley whose hands are shaking before they ball up as fists on Aziraphale’s lapels, Crowley who keeps kissing him and kissing him like otherwise he’ll drown.

(40k) Lit in the Darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain / @toedenandbackagain

Mood: Aziraphale and Crowley sleeping together through the ages. Mutual pining.

Aziraphale, despite being nowhere hear as gangly as Crowley, is somehow still all arms and legs when he sleeps. Crowley takes an elbow to the face three times before he wedges the angel between the wall and his body with an angry growl, making sure to trap the flailing limbs tight beneath his own.

Works In progress

this gorgeous ineffable wives snippet by @mia-ugly

Mood: beautiful writing, emotional vulnerability, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known,

“Whatever happens tomorrow -“ And something will happen, they won’t walk away from this. They’d never be allowed. “Darling, you should know -”

the bucket list

by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons / @watsonshoneybee

If you’re going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

Mood: saying the absolutely wrong thing at the wrong time, reaching your breaking point, miscommunication and heart break.

“You know, we are the way we are,” Aziraphale said slowly, pressing it a little, brushing his wing up against Crowley’s, “but we can also change, Crowley. We have done, over the years. We’ve changed quite a lot, since we first met.”

#ineffable husbands #good omens fic #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic recs #ineffable husband fic recs #this is basically a love letter to this wonderful fandom #good omens #good omens fic rec

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.81

Lance was silently fuming in his grave. He’d lost his temper with his friends, and now he’d exiled himself to the backyard to avoid them. He didn’t want to be mad at them, but when they pulled stupid shit and made jokes over becoming a vampire, he couldn’t cope. Coming home to a home that kind of no longer felt like his was bad enough. He’d hoped that what Matt wanted to show him was him kicking Pidge’s arse at some video game and Matt was simply making fun of him. Not this. Not some half baked idea of investigating Lotor. Rieva had been so scared they’d been forced to return to Platt, and now she was happily conspiring with Pidge and Hunk, like that fear didn’t matter. There was a reason hunters existed. They took care of things like this. Not two werewolves and two humans who’d only just found out that things really do to bump in the night. He wanted his life back. He wanted things to go back to hunting dumb ghosts and the occasional yucky feeling of death when they did. Why couldn’t they understand how he felt? He shouldn’t have lost his stupid temper, but being a vampire wasn’t something to joke about.

Being the light of his undead life, Hunk was the one who came to talk to him. Shovelling off Lance’s death dirt, Lance faked death until Hunk made it impossible to ignore him

“Lance... I don’t know if you can hear me... but... Can we talk, buddy? I’m not used to this... You look dead in there and I don’t like how it feels seeing you dead”

That was the nicest thing Hunk had said in ages. That he didn’t like seeing Lance laying in his shallow grave

“I’m not changing my mind”

Hunk sighed, Lance hearing the way his clothes rustled as his friend sat heavily, just short of where he’d dug Lance up

“I don’t like this either... but Pidge wanted to help... and she needs someone there to keep her grounded”

Hunk was good at that. Provided Pidge was still listening and not swept away in an investigation

“She needs to leave it alone before she ends up dead”

“But you’re dead... and you’re okay?”

He wasn’t okay. He’d just gotten very good at existing

“I’m not going to watch her go through what I went through”

“What... I mean, you totally don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I guess... maybe I don’t see the problem with you being a vampire”

Hunk wouldn’t. He saw the absolute best in everyone. Even when they didn’t see it in themselves, he kind of... brought it out of you. Lance couldn’t tell him. He didn’t want Hunk to pity him. He’d barely been able to tell Matt without Keith’s support

“I... I can’t tell you. I can tell she should fear being a vampire. If Pidge was turned, she’d never be the person we know again. That’s if she kept her mind”

“But you... kept yours? You’re not secretly a serial killer are you?”

Lance could almost see Hunk worrying his pointer fingers together

“No. I was turned young. Too young... My mind and body were more flexible. When we get older we get set in our ways. Our sense of self evolves as we grow. That’s the secret to keeping your sanity. It’s holding onto every little bit of humanity you can find”

“That had to be rough... I...”

Hunk was so pure he wasn’t seeing the truth

“You don’t know what to say. You’re cautious. I can hear the way your heart beats increased. I did everything I could to keep you out of this. But that all went up in flames in an instant. Yeah. I knew Matt was a werewolf before he came back. I prayed Pidge wouldn’t find out... and look what that got us. A whole lot of awkwardness and mistrust. You guys can talk and laugh about it because you’ve never seen a vampire properly. You’ve never seen humans paraded around as fresh meals on a lead. You’ve never felt hunger that robs you of your sanity. Pidge only saw a sliver and you were there to witness what that did to her. This isn’t a game and we can’t just drink slushies to feel better after a bad hunt. A bad hunt means you’re dead. Throat torn out for the fun of it... if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky... it’s not a quick death”

If you’re unlucky you turn out like Adam, but that wasn’t Lance’s secret to share.

Hunk fell silent. Lance’s hearing not good enough to hear the metaphorical cogs kicking over. It was a long moment before Hunk replied

“You’re right. We don’t understand. It scared me when Matt suddenly showed us his wolf. I don’t know how to cope with any of this. I can’t even tell Shay and she totally thinks I’m flaky”

That wasn’t fair. Hunk was only flaky in the sense he was like a warm croissant

“I know. Since I met you guys... I... I was scared. I’ve never had friends as close as family before. I’ve never loved having people around like I love you and Pidge. I’ve spent my adult life trying to atone for what I am. Realistically I should have died when I was a kid. I never enjoyed lying. My ego never thought I was better than you. If anything I envied you both. You both grow old. You grow old and fall in love. You make families and you know love. When you don’t age you get to watch everyone you love grow older and die before you. I love you guys warm and breathing...”

“I don’t think Pidge is going to give up. Her... um... dad... he like knows about this kind of thing. And her mum... she’s pretty mad at both of them”

That made sense. Kind of... He’d thought Colleen and Sam had some sense that he wasn’t human. Though how they knew hunters wasn’t as clear. Platt was a big place. Most vampires and werewolves knew how to keep their heads down when they really needed to

“I love her. I love her and I don’t know if I can support this. I can barely support Keith and he’s been a hunter for years now. I don’t... I spent a long time not being part of that world for a reason. Nothing good ever comes out of it”

“Keith did...”

Touché. Keith and Shiro... they were a different kind of hunter. Eyes opened by personal tragedy that should have left them blood thirsty

“Keith... with him... it’s different. He feels like... he feels like he’s been our friend for years. He was really hurt over what happened. He’s not the best with social cues and friends. He’s been through so much and I was so happy that you guys wanted to be friends with him”

“He’s... nicer then when we met him”

“That’s because he was convinced I was a blood sucking monster that fed on you as you slept”

“That doesn’t make me feel good”

“Relax. I swear I never ever fed on either of you. I had blood bags, and I never wanted to. I wanted to be human”

“Is there a way to cure vampire-ism? Is it “ism?”. Do you guys have like a preferred term?”

“I’m fine with whatever. But no. There’s no cure. I’m as dead as I can be without being in a hole in a ground”

“Dude, you are literally in a hole in the ground”

Touché again. He was kind of cold buried up to his shoulders... His poor death soil hadn’t been taken care of at all. Stupid dandelions had invaded... He’d always kept the garden so meticulous

“I know... Hunk, I don’t know what to do”

“I don’t know what to do either, bud. What would Keith say?”

“I don’t think he’s talking to me. I told him I was coming back here today and he didn’t reply”

“Oh, man... I’m sorry... I didn’t know you two were...”

Two were what? Fighting? Lance thought they’d made up...

“I don’t think we’re fighting... he just normally answers or he’s working... or sleeping. Shiro did get slightly drunk last night”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Curtis finally took him on a proper date”

“Like in public?”

“No. They went to this underground vampire fighting ring that serves great wings. Yes, in public. Just because Curtis is slightly cursed doesn’t really mean anything”

Lance could hear Hunk scratching the back of his head

“Dude. Relax. I’m joking. Curtis’s curse doesn’t mean he can’t go out and enjoy himself with Shiro. He styled his hair to hide his horn”

“So like curses and magic are real? That’s a real thing?”

“Yeah. I only found out about it not that long ago. Curtis used to be a hunter. I suppose he still kind of is, but he works for Coran now”

“Like you work for Coran?”

Hunk was curious, yet kind of freaked. Lance could hear it in his voice. He’d come out here for peace, but instead found himself having a much needed talk with Hunk

“I don’t work for Coran. Coran takes care of like all the supernaturals and hunters in Platt. I’ve known him since I was turned. He helped me and my family out a lot with adjusting to me being the undead”

“So if anything goes wrong...?”

“I go to Coran. He’d welcome you guys too. He’s heard all about both of you”

“I don’t know how that makes me feel”

“Nothing bad. Just... you guys really mean a lot to me. You’re not the first humans I’ve been friendly with, but you’re the most important people in my life to date. And Keith. I didn’t even tell him I was coming back today. I messaged him... but he didn’t reply...”

Silence fell between them again. Lance content to let Hunk take his time, which he did, before finally starting to talk again

“Lance. Is there a reason you left Platt? If you were happy there... you could have stayed to be with Keith if you’d wanted”

“I was in Platt because Rieva was concerned for our safety with Lotor around. Lotor comes from a really bad family. Like worse than every vampire movie you’ve seen put together. His mother’s worse than Elizabeth Bathory. Hell, she probably got her twisted ways from her...”

“Or from pop culture”

Lance shook his head, sending dirt across his face. That was the trouble with burying himself. Maybe it was time to invest in a nice body bag, or a proper coffin to keep the dirt out

“She’s been alive longer than pop culture has existed. If Lotor suddenly proclaimed she was Elizabeth, I don’t think I’d actually be surprised”

“Is she really that bad?”

“Rieva didn’t tell you? The woman’s got a screw loose up there. More like she’s walked into a hardware store, pulled every packet of screws off the shelf, opened them all, then thrown them everywhere as she then bosses the staff into cleaning up the mess she’s left”

“That doesn’t sound good”

It sounded like a total chaotic shit show. Kind of like how the Blades conveniently marched to the beat of their own drum

“Not particularly. Bud, I know you always see the good in people, but you need to see Honerva isn’t a person. Those invisible lines the of law that keeps us in line doesn’t apply when you’re that powerful. Going after Lotor could bring that madness down on all of you. Not just us, but everyone you love. I’m so happy you and Shay finally started dating, and I’m not telling you to choose but if you ever feel you have to, then please choose her. You two are so perfect for each other. I want to see you grow old together... I want you both to be happy”

Hunk sighed heavily

“I... don’t know if I can ignore what’s happening... I don’t want... I don’t want to see people hurt because I wasn’t brave enough to do something”

Because Hunk loved his friends as fiercely as Lance loved them

“Then... then I don’t know. But don’t chase anything. I can let Keith know, or Coran, but I can’t lose you, even if it makes you hate me. The world is a better place for having you and Pidge in it... always remember that. I’m going to take a nap out here”

Moving seemed like effort. Inside smelt like werewolf. The gremlin was cranky. Here seemed as good as any spot to wallow

“You’re going to take a nap?”

Hunk sounded surprised. Then again, he wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground. Lance wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground, but the soil felt kind of reassuring

“It’s fine. I spent three months making this soil. It’s actually good for me. Helps promote healing all that... I’ll be okay”

“I don’t like leaving you in there alone”

Lance snorted, mentally imagining Hunk trying to climb in beside him

“I’ll be okay. Just don’t let Matt pee on me. I think I need some me space”

“Should... should I cover you back up?”

“If you want to. I’m pretty cozy in here”

“But... don’t you need to breathe?”

“Eventually. I breathe. But I can also hold my breath a ridiculous amount of time”

“Dude... that’s so weird”

“Welcome to having a friend who’s a vampire. Seriously though. I really love you guys. I want to be here with you... I... Thanks for coming to check on me. I know this isn’t easy for you”

“Well... like... you know... we’re like best friends... right?”

“Best friends forever, buddy”

** I can’t help it. I love our boy interacting with his besties and being friends again**

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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angelkurenai · 5 years

Text

Back to green - Dean Winchester x Reader

Title: Back to green

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: None

Prompt: hello! could you write a deanx reader one shot set in10x03? the reader helps Sam capturing Demondean, but while they are curing him the reader has to go help another hunter. When Dean is human again he ask about y/n and Sam and Cas tell him that she'll be home soon. But after a few days he start to think she has left beacause all the things he had done as demon. He is pissed with the guys because they aren't telling the truth. when they start arguing the reader come back and it's a happy end?

A/N: Yes, yes affter a tiring year I am finally getting th chance to write all the requests I got so long ago!

“Hey fellas.” a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he was finally pulled out of darkness both literally and metaphorically. Staring up at his brother and best friend and feeling everything he did – feeling anything at all – had never crossed his mind as such a sweet relief but here it was. “You look worried.”

Sam let a soft laugh before speaking “Welcome back, Dean.”

They had both rushed to undo the ropes and he had never been more thankful for it. Not because they hurt but because they felt like they were still holding a monster down and he was many things in life but he wished, he prayed and hoped he wasn't a monster. Not the kind of monster he had been only a couple hours ago. You had tried so hard, spent so many nights awake jus to convince him he was only good, just to let him see that there was no monster in him – certainly not like the ones he hunted. And after all this time he was almost convinced, he was almost ready to see himself through your eyes and to see the good in him- if he found any that is, because it just wasn't as easy for him as it was for you.

It didn't help that images of what he had said and done flashed through his eyes. It didn't help that the guilt started building up inside his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. It didn't help the harsh reality dawned on him like a bucket of ice cold water. It didn't hep that when the thought – monster – ran through his mind, his eyes jumped up to the two other men's direction and didn't find you there. He frowned, his eyes moving fast to the door, only to feel disappointment and sadness slip deep into every cell of his body.

“Where's...” he cleared his throat, a little wobbly but able to stand on his feet “Where's (Y/n)?”

He took notice of the way they both seemed to freeze in their place and it did nothing to calm him down. He remembered, he remembered very well the things he'd told you while still a demon. He remembered all the things he came up with that could hurt you, could break your heart, anything to make you pull away from trying to take him back to Sam, to save him and in the end to cure him. When you injected the blood he had been particularly harsh – no longer caring for flirting because even as a demon he was very attracted to you – and the thought made him sick to the stomach. They were all lies. Big fat lies that made him want to punch himself for saying them, for being the reason you were in pain even though you had looked unphased by it.

“Wh- why hasn't she shown up yet? Or is she going to-?”

“Oh uh she's not here actually. As in, not in th bunker.” Sam cut him off a bit gently but no matter how he said the words, there was no version of Dean taking this calmly.

“N-not here? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Where did she go?” his voice raised a bit but not out of anger, there was absolutely no anger in it. Just desperation and fear, a kind of fear that shook him to the core and could be worse than any kind of physical pain he had endured in his whole life. Fear of you leaving him.

“She had somewhere else to be for a couple days, but she will be back soon.” Sam tried to sound reassuring, and maybe he was, but to Dean all those words only made him more on edge than he already was.

“That's not comforting Sam. Where is she exactly? And when is she going to come back?”

“Dean, (Y/n) is fine, alright? If that's what's worrying you the most then she is just fine.You know she can handle herself either way.” Sam shook his head.

“We have more pressing issues at the moment.” Castiel agreed but Dean only huffed.

“She's the most pressing matter. Always.” Dean clenched his jaw, eyes hardening but once more with no anger especially not directed at Sam. He had began to grow extremely scared. “Did she leave because of me?”

“What?” Sam blinked in surprise “No! No, Dean, this has nothing to do with it! Come on now, I think we all are a bit too worn out and you are overthinking.” his brother brushed him off.

“She should be here. She... I wanted her to. I needed her.” he almost ended up mumbling to himself, tearing his eyes away from his brother.

It wasn't that Dean didn't believe them. It was his brother and best friend for crying out loud. He trusted them with his life, there was no doubting that. But this time he had that small voice in the back of his head that kept telling him to have doubts. It took a while to realize that that small voice came from something far deeper buried in his chest and that was his fear of losing you. So, yes, it wasn't that Dean didn't believe them but he was having a hard time believing them and in the end? Yeah he didn't really believe them.

Because if their words were true then why were you not with him now?

Besides, it wasn't as if Sam or Cas had told him where exactly you were at the moment. Only that you were going to behome soon. Which also wasn't comforting on its own. Soon started out as a day or two and now had turned into over two weeks. And so it wasn't that hard for the fear, which he had felt from the first moment he opened his eyes as a human and didn't see you there, to settle in deeper.

Every time he woke up on his bed alone or every time he wanted to reach out for you because of how bad he needed you and you weren't there to comfort him, he felt his worry and fear worsen. His doubts kept growing and he was almost sure at this point that you weren't gone because you had something to take care of. He was almost convinced that he had hurt you to the point you didn't want or, worse, couldn't face him after that. He was also convinced that when you did show up, that was going to be it for him. You were going to break up with him, tell him that after everything he did when he was that- that monster made something snap inside you, something break, and there could be no fixing it. And there would be no fixing Dean either, because without you he was going to crumble down and even worse he was terrified to think he'd turn into a monster.

And he missed you, he missed you the way someone would miss air when they held their breath for too long because it was just so important for them to live. You were important for Dean to be able to feel alive likewise. But when the nightmares of his time as a demon came, when the nightmares of the pain he'd felt during the time Sam cured him came, and you still had not come to comfort him and hold him, Dean was sure he felt his life slipping right through his fingers.

He'd look at his bed and felt a painful lump form in his throat as his eyes welled up with tears that ended up burning him worse than holy water did when he was-- No. He kept telling himself to stop thinking about it. Because if he thought about it more then more thoughts would crawl into his mind about your absence and the lack of communication... at least when it came to him.

“Alright, yeah. Don't worry I'm making sure he's eating and resting.” a small pause on Sam's part “Come on (Y/n), don't worry about that too, we're doing just fine. We're all ok.” another small pause “Ok, good luck. Goodbye.”

“That was (Y/n)?” Dean didn't let a single second pass before Sam hung up.

“Uh yeah she said-”

“You were talking with her on the phone and didn't tell me? And why the hell has she been talking to you in the first place and not me? It's been days since she- she-” he couldn't stop his voice from raising but lately he's been more and more on edge.

“Whoa calm down, will you? She didn't have much time to talk, otherwise she would have talked to you as well. You- why the hell are you acting like this?”

“Why am I-” he started quoting his brother, his voice raising even more “Because she hasn't given me a single phone call. Because she hasn't picked up her damn phone, always keeping it turned off, no matter how many times I call her. Because when she decided to call, it's you who she talks to and not me and if I tried to talk to her then I'm sure she'd easily find another excuse about being busy.” he threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

“Dean I really think you're overreacting. Her phone's dead, that's why she can't pick up, and I'm sure if you asked to talk to her and she had the time to, she would talk to you. She's not... avoiding you or anything like that.”

“Oh yeah? Then why is it starting to feel like it?”

And it was. At first it bothered him, maybe even confused him, but then it tied in with everything he remembered saying to you and he saw it as another proof of you far too hurt to forgive him let alone be with him again. He really tried to believe Sam and Cas, really did for the first couple of days despite that small voice in the back of his head, but after all this time he felt like he had lost all hope. When his fear got stronger and he turned into being terrified he realized he was not far from losing his mind.

“She's not coming back, is she?” the words that rolled off his lips were in a hoarse whisper. But being spoken in the silence that had set amongst the three men meant they could be heard crystal clear.

“Wh-what?” Sam blinked, looking up from his computer as Castiel also looked up from his book. Dean still was the only one that had not looked up from his beer.

“(Y/n)- She's not coming back.” this time he looked up, shifting his jaw “And you know it.” both sentences were statements “And neither of you want to admit it.”

“No, Dean what are you talking about? We told you she will be back soon.”

“Yeah, Sam, you said that nearly ten days ago! Ten. Days. Ago! But so far no sign of her. And all I keep hearing is words of comfort. But if you would really want to do me a favor-- Stop lying to me!” he nearly roared and Sam's eyes widened. He got up and actually knocked his chair down in the process.

“Dean calm down, please.” Sam emphasized on the word, his eyes remaining wide as he looked at the expression on his brother's face. He looked like he was oiling for a long time now, but he was on th verge of bursting right now and Sam and Cas were sure they wouldn't like how it turned out.

“We're not lying about anything. Neither of us is. (Y/n) will be back-” Castiel started only to be interrupted by a very angry Dean.

“Soon. Yeah, heard that. 'Bout too many times, actually, and I'm sick and tired of it. You both know she won't be. And if she will then it's not going to end well. Something which you both know but won't fucking admit! Instead you're- you're feeding me all these lies about how she's busy but neither of you is being anywhere near clear about what all of- all of this “busy” is about. And the more I ask you the more you avoid my questions. And frankly-” he shrugged, shaking his head “I don't care anymore. Because I know.”

“Dean no you don't really. You can't understand what-”

“It's because of what I did as a demon. Because of what I said to her as a demon. It's because of all of it that I- I'm losing the woman I-” he felt like choking on his words but his voice kept raising more and more and Sam and Castiel were willing to let him yell, hopefully to feel better in the end “(Y/n) doesn't even want to see me and you see it's because of what happened but didn't say a damn thing because you know that's the reason why she's not going to talk to me, not going to want to see me, not going to want to ever come closer to me. You know Sam that's the reason why I've already lost (Y/n) and--”

But the following words got stuck in his throat when a fourth voice was heard, more specifically your voice. “Well, I didn't know I died already? Gotta say, I hope I make an attractive zombie.”

“Wh-what?” his voice came out very hoarse as he slowly turned his head to watch you walk down the stairs. It almost felt like his heart stopped beating. He was almost sure he was dreaming. This was too good to be true and his heart could barely take it.

“You know-” you dumped your duffel bag on the floor “Seeing as death is the only thing that can separate us. You're not getting rid of me that easily, Winchester.” the tenderness in your words and the fond smile on your lips made his heart want to jump out of his chest, too much hope for him to take. However when you noticed that he wouldn't dare give you a smile, yours fell as well. You frowned a bit and glanced at Sam “What's going on here? I barely heard anything.”

“Well, why don't you ask him yourself? I think there are a lot of things you two have to figure out.” he smiled a bit in relief, patting your shoulder “Good to have you back safe and sound, (Y/n).” he added before both him and Castiel were gone and left you too alone.

“Honey” you whispered “How are you?” cupping his cheek you saw him lean into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut within half a second and for a moment he looked so weak that you felt like he was going to crumble down any moment now.

“I'm sorry.” you added softly “I'm sorry I had to go so early. Gosh, I wish I didn't. I actually hate myself for not being here for you these days, especially now after you were... cured. I stayed until I was sure you were going to be back to your old self b-but then I had to almost jump in a car for fear of her life.”

“H-Her life?” he tilted his head to the side and you copied his movement.

“Yes. You know... Maria's? To help her with the case she took up. You know how she can get a bit uhm reckless when she's too excited about a case a-and I didn't want to leave her alone on this.” you said softly, but when you noticed how perplexed he looked you asked again “Wait- why? What did you actually think?”

“I- I was- I imagined that-” he blinked rapidly “I thought that you left... That you left me.” he clarified “Because of what I did. Because of what I was. Because of the monster.”

“Oh my God.” you blinked, your eyes widening and your heart nearly dropping to your stomach “No. No. Oh my- Oh my-” you choked on unshed tears. Your cradled his face in both your hands before you pressed your lips hard to his but with as much love and passion as you could.

“You and I should have a talk.”

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vaguely-concerned · 4 years

Text

Some more mass effect andromeda thinky thoughts as I run around heleus getting some achievements!

- the murderous angaran ai is genuinely so fucking funny. “How are you feeling here on Aya?” “I hope you die” “Is there anything we could do to make you more comfortable?” “BURY THIS PLANET UNDER FIRE AND ASH” “o.oookay. Goodbye then.” “I HATE you.”

- I hope I never become irresistibly moved to write mass effect andromeda fic b/c there really is no other description for a good 70% of the expressions reyes makes than :> and how could one capture that in words

- as mentioned I’ve been doing a bit of achievement hunting and in the process I’ve been switching up a lot of gameplay stuff from how I handled it the first few times around and let me tell you it’s baller as fuuuuuuuuuck -- it just looks so awesome and is so satisfying between the maneuverability of the jetpack and biotic charge and the effects. special shoutout to what happens if you biotic charge a frozen victim enemy and the biotic pull/push combination. (throwing people around like ragdolls is actually so much fun I’ve kept doing it even after I unlocked the achievement lol)

- lol lol when you get meridian online there’s the montage of every planet coming back to life, right? well the one on kadara is from inside kralla’s song, with umi looking out at everything that’s happening. and all I can imagine is her jaded-ass voice going ‘what the fUCK did that asshole kid do now I only just cleaned up after the bar brawl he started with his krogan grandpa and now he’s rearranging the entire fucking planet right from under us goddess I need a drink’

- the implication that reyes ‘cards so close to my chest you won’t even know I’m playing’ vidal just does not shut up about how amazing ryder is to anyone who’ll listen gives me so much life. when you try to be mysterious and laidback but the human pathfinder is so fucking cute tho Y____Y (also go watch his scenes if you’re being standoffish with him the entire time -- he clearly wants ryder to like him so much right from the beginning, he’s doing so much work to no avail and I feel sort of bad for how funny I find it haha. interesting that it really does seem to be an emotional thing as well as y’know the practical/tactical benefits of having the pathfinder on his side. methinks the charlatan might be a bit lonely there behind all his masks lol)

I think this is why I’m willing to give him some benefit of the doubt too, despite all the cloak and dagger stuff -- he’s so immediately drawn to ryder, who you can never make a bad person, really. something in him must respond to that, if potentially only in the ‘attracted to traits I do not possess myself’ way hahaha

- I love sam. so so much. some of the open world implementation is still grating (yes sam. yes I know I can mine this area for resources through my mining interface. we’ve been doing this for a hundred hours sam. you’ve been right here with me the entire time sam. please sam), but he’s SUCH a good and I’d argue underutilized concept (emotionally at least) and the best boy. the fact that he can get SARCASTIC on you fsdhfjsadh he’s growing and learning! he’s doing so from inside your brain which is kind of unsettling but also SO COOL! there’s something about that level of intimacy, of always knowing there will be someone there with you in your head that is super interesting and deserves to be examined more fully -- both how it could be comforting and how it’s r e a l l y not how people or ai are generally designed to work lol.

he also gives us a unique link with our dad and I wonder if the writers would have explored that in more depth if there’d been more development time -- it practically SCREAMS out an invitation to get to play/see things from alec’s POV in short bursts, like the memories you unlock except you could go through playing it as him since sam is common to both of us. (see my ‘our dad comes back through either kett or remnant nonsense in the sequel and we need to find some way to connect with him’ idea. it would be. amazing. listen alec already looked at the ethical guidelines involved in creating ai and went ‘huh interesting ideas but not for me thanks!’, don’t tell me he wouldn’t have left some loophole in so this could happen)

- reyes literally says ‘the cavalry’s here’ when we get to meridian and I for one love him more than words can express (he also asks us if we’re okay in sort of a sweet/worried way right before we get to the control room. aw buddy)

- like we don’t think of them like that because we’re in control of them and see all the stumbles and awkwardness and how young they are all the time, but damn the ryder twins must look like something else to everyone in andromeda haha. they literally stride around like demigods restoring entire planets. on voeld spring non-metaphorically follows in their footsteps. shit dude if we’re talking realpolitik here the angara must feel p r e t t y nervous about this -- there’s no one saying they can’t turn off the vaults as easily as they turned them on. I hope we get them somehow teaching the angara how to do it too, on a smaller scale at least, as a show of good faith or something in a sequel, because that power imbalance is disconcerting

- I’m glad sam and I have such similar priorities whenever we’re on kadara. ‘maybe mr vidal would know. perhaps we should ask mr vidal about this. mr vidal said something relating to this pathfinder maybe we should speak to him’ . yeah sam i know the feeling, same (it does undeniably read as sam having a bit of a crush which is. hilarious?)

- the fact that alec ryder thought ellen responded to his bad boy act in any way when what really charmed her was that he was a great big nerd <3 it’s kind of nice to see a fictional marriage that seems to have just been. nice and stable and chill? just two intellectual equals who like and respect each other very much and not a lot of drama until alec went full alec and started developing rogue ai instead of watching his wife die lol. again I would love for the sequel to involve ellen finally waking up and being like ‘death? trying to claim MY husband? I do not think so, I can die he can’t he’s not leaving me behind’ and helping out and you realize that the reason they were soulmates was that under the relatively rational and unemotional surface they’re both, at heart, batshit crazy mad scientists who are insanely devoted to each other. imagine it tho! the people of andromeda realize alec ryder is back from the dead somehow and doing some Shit out there, they put a ton of resources into curing ellen’s disease because their best shot is something to do with the implants she made, hey presto we’ve got all ryders on the board and in play.

- just want to make it clear that I’m still sad about avitus rix and hope he’s having a good day

- do you think ryder ever asks sam to read something to him ‘aloud’ in his head if he’s anxious and can��t sleep. or just to talk at him about something boring until he nods off. again the possibilities inherent in the concept!!! he has someone who’s closer to him than any other person could be, what’s that like?

- *me sticking to my sidewinder pistol the whole playthrough even though it’s laughably inefficient* I just wanna feel like a cowboy bioware please work with me here

- the male ryder voice actor has such amazing comedic timing, there’s a lot of reaction stuff out in the field he absolutely nails. I enjoy the female voice too and I like how much emotion she manages to convey towards the end of the game especially, but there’s a casual comedy in male ryder’s voice that can’t be beat. (well, it’s not hawke levels, but then nothing ever is, that’s too much to ask)

- I love vorn and kesh so much. nerd krogans unite & make out

- I still want to sit peebee down and have a long serious talk with her about emotional abuse, maybe give her a hug :( fuck kalinda

- this game does not get enough credit for how stunningly beautiful it is, it all got buried under criticism about the animations and it’s a fucking shame. the last few vaults you go through are just mindboggling in scale and visual uh striking-ness. it makes me so sad to think there won’t be any more of it D:

- I really like this mainly casual + logical dialogue options ryder I’ve found; it makes him sound like a younger and more irreverent version of his father, but also softer and less closed off and much more willing to show affection for his family especially.

- i wonder if different people’s individual SAMs will take on a certain tone/unique pattern when they’ve coexisted long enough. have I mentioned. how much I want a sequel to this game

- one last reyes note because don’t look at me okay -- I wonder how much we’re meant to read into ‘being honorable never got me anywhere’. on the one hand I’m fully prepared to believe he’s never even tried doing anything the honorable way in his entire life lol but on the other there’s also some interesting potential in the interplay of that sentence and ‘to be someone’. (there seems to be a deep fear in him both of powerlessness and of being truly seen/recognized -- he equates secrecy with safety pretty explicitly -- which seems... telling? of what I don’t know but telling all the same hahaha) like he might be saying he’s tried doing things the ‘right’ way and it didn’t work and the price was too high, so he just went for this instead with the ends low-key justifying the means. hmmm. :Ia (this is what happens when I get Attached to a character with like an hour of screentime my friends, and I’m already primed to give my entire heart away at the sound of nicholas boulton’s voice)

#mass effect #mass effect andromeda #I'm sorry about this my brain just won't shut up about this suddenly so here we go #reyes vidal #meta

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funtimebunnyblog · 4 years

Text

Diamante d’Italia: Chapter 6

(Chapter 6: Fools fly where Angels fear to tread...)

Narancia rather liked solo missions.

Sure, a mission with Mista or with Fugo was always a wild time too, most espescially when they got to kick the shit out of someone, then laugh about it, before blasting the shit out of them if the target didn't cooperate.

Those missions were ALWAYS chaotic, VERY explosive, PACKED with action and punctuated by the voices of six shrieking bullets but most of all, they were the most memorable.

Missions with Bucciarati could be a treat, a little on the more rare side however as the man almost always paired himself with Abbacchio when not flying solo (he and the others swore those two were a thing but lacked any evidence to prove that just yet).

Just watching how many times the man could unzip someone to pieces and make unusual objects spill out of their mouth before they finally cracked was just always funny to Narancia. Not to mention, listening to Bruno talk and stir up a plan so easily on the spot was something akin to dazzling in the boys eyes.

It always made him feel like he was invincible and he could feel himself glowing from the inside out when the man praised him for doing a good job, Bucciarati was his hero afterall.

Sometimes he'd even get treated to some gelato afterwards.

Missions with Abbacchio could be fun, being also on the rare side and only sometimes chaotic. Watching Abba beat the absolute shit out of a dirtbag (whether it was their actual target or just some chump who made the mistake of telling the Mafioso that makeup was for Women) was always entertaining, but the mission itself really depended on the Goths mood and their target.

His favorite memories with the stone-faced man however would be when they drove down the highway, blasting some sort of loud and unholy music from a strange screaming punk-rock band Abbacchio liked while sipping on fizzy sodas, whether to or from said mission.

Yes, going on missions with his friends were fun and all.... but he absolutely loved going solo once in a while.

Aerosmith circled overhead, high above the buildings of the street and trailing behind Narancia like a tamed hawk would with its master. Narancia walked the streets casually, keeping his eyes out as he compared the man in the picture he had been given to the other bystanders on the street around him making their morning commute.

Today would be simple enough; find the asshole, get the info out of him where a recent traitor to the Boss was and if he refused to cooperate, use "gentle persuasion".

He hoped it wouldn't come to that of course, he didn't quite like to torture-... er.... "persuade" people himself and hopefully the idiot would be smart enough to know that if he fought and perhaps even got away he'd be hunted down by someone else much, much more powerful than Narancia or even Bucciarati for that matter and be given a more unmerciful and much crueler demise than just being shot by a small bombing plane.

There was an entire organization above their little team afterall. A big, BIG organization of thieves, thugs, hitmen, dealers and Mafiosi alike all working under one Man.

Narancia was quite literally just a snowflake resting on the very tip of an iceberg.

Still, being out on his own was always exciting. It always made him feel important when Bucciarati trusted him with these things.

He could go about things how he wanted it, put his own mind to the test and then proudly brag about his skills when reporting back.

Bucciarati always treated him very well after a successful solo mission of course.

He could hardly contain his excitement when he finally spotted the bastardo ducking into an alley off the street ahead, he couldn't have chose a better place to go in behind because it was right behind the spindly teens favorite Gelato spot.

The stronzo matched the picture alright; olive skin (check), strange yellowish hair thats texture sort of reminded him of rice (double check), scar on the cheek (checkaroo), wonky looking left eye (checkity-checkcheck).

"Bingo." He grinned, casually stuffing his hands in his pockets, tucking away the picture along with one, as he shuffled down the street. That intel was already as good as his.

The only thing he had to worry about now was what flavor Gelato he was in the mood for when this was all over.

☆☆☆

Once in his life Josuke believed that there was absolutely nothing better in this world than treating yourself to some Icecream on a warm sunny day.

Now however, he knew better.

Because if there was anything better than that, it was treating yourself to some Gelato on a warm sunny day in Italy.

Christ, he never knew how rich and smooth this frozen dairy treat could be.

All this time, he and Okuyasu had been scammed into being sold the now seemingly regular-old-not-at-all-exciting Icecream when he could've been tasting this absolute delicacy all along?!

He felt like he had been robbed, cheated even, dare he say betrayed, his whole life and didn't realize it until now!

The place he had stopped at wasn't quite like the shop he frequented back in Morioh before school on Monday either, not a cheep little stand on the sidewalk where you grabbed your cone and had no choice but to keep walking for fear of the guy running the place shoving you along with a broom for "loitering", this place was a store in itself and right out in the open too!

A sea of flavors and colours coating the entire counter, all scrumptious frozen dairy treats that absolutely dazzled the eye.

It was like finding an Oasis out in the scorching desert to someone who was dying for something sweet and cold on such a hot day like today.

They even had an area out front of the counter to sit and enjoy everything. The tasty treat, the sights and sounds and smells of the streets and all.

Italy just kept getting better and better by the second.

'Why on earth would someone ever leave here? Or even want to leave here?' The teenager couldn't help but wonder as he finished the last delectable lick of his Vanilla Gelato.

Tonio was always very vague on the topic of his move from Naples to Morioh and usually didn't say more than a simple "I wanted to fulfill my dream!" Or "I needed to see the world!" Before quickly changing the subject to his food and the art of his cooking.

None of them ever pressed the man for the details but now that he was experiencing this place and all its wonders himself, Josuke found himself wishing that he did know why Tonio left.

Maybe one day he'd be lucky enough, or perhaps close enough to the man at least, to find out....

A low hum rang in his ears, coming from right overhead.

His metaphorical thought-bubble was promptly popped with the sharpness of the noise and his attention was ripped away from his reminiscing of Home.

It sort of sounded like-

"A plane?" He muttered to himself, bringing a hand over his eyes and squinting to block out the bright golden sunshine of the late morning.

A tiny little red spot circled overhead, for something so small it puttered really loudly. No one else around seemed to notice it however.

It flew closer into his sights, it was a plane alright with wings a propeller and everything.

It swerved through the air, rolling over once as it sharply turned and disappeared behind the building suddenly with an almost obnoxious whirr.

Was it a toy? He had seen some pretty sweet remote control toy cars and helicopters much like that plane before when passing toy shops or flicking through store magazines that came with the loads of junkmail every week.

He glanced around, hoping to spot the kid who might be holding the remote control (he wouldn't admit aloud that he wanted a turn with it if you perhaps asked him).

'Not a toy.' Came a voice from the corner of his mind, he could feel the phantom of Crazy Diamond standing by his side, though not manifested. 'That was a stand, I could feel its energy.'

In an instant, Josuke was out of his seat, his eyes growing more and more huge by the second as he remembered Moody Blues and all their glory from yesterday.

Another stand? And a special one at that! Non-Humanoid stands were even cooler than the normal ones. And this one was a PLANE!

He looked around, no obvious signs of a user from what he could see, the streets held a few passerby's but nobody seemed focused on the stand like he was, so presumably the plane was following them into the alley?

"Oh wow!" Josuke whispered in excitement. "I gotta take a closer look!"

He would never forgive himself if he never saw the little plane again without finding the wielder of it. He started off down the street, turning into the alley, keeping his ears open and his eyes on the sky.

☆☆☆

"I'm tellin' ya kiddo, I don't know nothin'!" Osso Bucco, a much taller and more built man in size than Narancia, said putting his hands up with a helpless smile. "I don't even know what you're askin' about."

Narancia rolled his eyes, folding his arms as he glared down the man. They had been going back and forth for a few minutes and this was just getting tiring.

"Yeah sure, you don't dipshit." He snapped. "So I'm gonna help you jog your memory."

Osso was always a man of keeping himself in check, keeping your cool was a sure fire way to getting out of a mess like this.

He knew this spindly little shit was a stand user under that damned Passione but as long as he kept himself calm, he would be walking away without a worry and could get back to helping his new Boss organize some things.

Starting a rival Organization was tough under the threat of the one already in motion but as long as he stuck to the plan, his Boss assured him everything would work out in the end.

Osso liked to follow a stronger side afterall, it was just the way you survived out on these streets.

The beefy man barely even twitched when a deep puttering whirr came just inches about his head, clenching his hands into fists when a little plane hovered at Narancia's side, the teenager already had his radar out over his eye.

"I'm gonna ask you again, cazzone. What. Is. His. Name?" Narancia growled out, giving it his all to seem like a brooding threat (all his time watching Abbacchio being his bitter self really helped with that) as Aerosmiths gun turrets appeared, locking right onto its target.

It seemed like a neat trick, having a working plane at your own whim and all, but Osso knew he had an even better one up his sleeve.

Or rather... set in stone.

The corner of his lip twitched as the unmistakable vibrations of oncoming footsteps passed through the stone beneath his feet, someone was headed this way, a street rando was now at his disposal.

This was going to be easy for him to give the runt a slip. Chances were this little stronzo probably didn't even know shit about Earth Angel, the stand of his own possession.

His Boss ensured the discreet nature of all his workers, most especially their abilities.

"Y'know kid. You shouldn't be playin' with guns." The big man said as casually as he could, keeping his hands raised as he waited with all the patience in the world to feel the footsteps come within his range. "You could end up hurtin' someone."

Narancias brow twitched, he had him now.

Ossos lips curled up, it was time.

☆☆☆

Josuke had barely rounded the corner before suddenly, his foot caught on something.

Or rather... something caught his foot.

The teenager fell forward, right down into the hard stone pavement, skinning his hands in the process as he yelped.

For a split second he thought he had tripped over his own feet in his hurry (he knew he was clumsy afterall), but nothing could prepare him for when he rolled over to see a hand made of stone stretching out of the very ground, fingers wrapped tightly around his ankle.

He tried to scream but it barely came out, turning into more of a loud inarticulate grunt, and frantically tried to pull his leg from the hand in blind panic.

The fingers crackled as they tightened into even more of a vice-like grip, they were hard like any rock but undeniably humanoid and mobile.

The hand pulled and Josuke clawed at the ground in a momentary desperate attempt to fight back.

He realized that the pavement was swallowing him up suddenly, not like he was falling down a hole but akin to being dragged into water, the hand pulling him further and further down.

His final cry was drowned out as he was swallowed whole by the stone, along with the last bit of sunlight he could see.

His hand was the last thing in sight to the world around him before he vanished completely.

☆☆☆

Narancias head snapped in the direction of the sound of someones voice coming down from towards the end of the alley, leading out to the street.

Someone had screamed, almost as if crying out for help but it had cut off suddenly. Narancia blanched at the feeling of a shiver creeping up his spine, the deafening silence that followed was absolutely haunting.

His focus faltered for a moment, alarm bells ringing in his head as he realized someone was in danger.

His focus snapped onto place again as Osso began to laugh. Narancia opened his mouth to yell for his stand to fire at will before jumping back, the command dying in his throat as a figure shot straight up from the ground between them, effectively blocking Osso.

Two figures that was.

Josuke had no absolutely idea what in the Hell was happening once again. One second he was running, next he was on the ground, then he was underground and now he was here?!

He squirmed, the realization his arms were pinned tightly at his sides hitting him as he tried to scream again, only to have a hand made of stone clamp tightly over his mouth.

Narancia gaped, staring in shock at the squirming teenager trapped in the vice-like embrace of a tall Angelic statue.

Earth Angels expression was stoic, somehow bearing that sweet sadness feeling of nostalgia when looking upon a carved memory of an ancient one in the soft, yet chiseling, features of its stone face and body.

The way it moved was almost mesmerizing, so mobile and unstiff as if it were completely human but carried that hard and undeniable look of stone, the sound of rock grating and clicking as it moved.

"Now, ya'wouldn't want to be shootin' a kid now, would ya?" Osso grinned, peering around the neatly tucked concrete wings of his stand to take a look at the helpless Josuke, whose eyes were darting around frantically in wide sockets.

"You BASTARD!" Narancia roared, clenching his fist as his chest started to burn with rage.

He hated this cheep fucking move, it was nothing but cowardness to have to threaten the life of an innocent and unaffiliated person just to make a quick getaway.

It happened only a few times to him on a mission, but only when he had been with one or two of the others, and they barely succeeded each time.

Once there had been a VERY close call, where their target threatened to throw a lady he held hostage off a bridge. Thank goodness for zippers and the portals it opened that day.

But that was then and this was now.

And Narancia was all alone.

The young Mafioso tried to move, ready to pounce on the fucker himself so he could get out of that poor confused teenagers way and get a clear shot at his ugly mug, but stumbled slightly.

His violet eyes went wide as he looked down at his own legs.

They were becoming one with the ground, rooted to the very spot he stood but worst of all, turning to stone.

It was almost up to his knees now, his legs looking very much like he had gotten the great Michelangelo himself to carve him a set of ampute limbs.

He whimpered unconsciously as the stone started to creep higher, he could feel a horrible stiffness in his knees and thighbones already, worse than any arthritis he may ever experience in his later years.

That spindly boy, the weilder of the little plane, was in trouble. Josuke knew this and his heart screamed for him to do something, however Earth Angels grip was powerful and unrelenting.

The soft grating of stone clicked close to his ear as the statue turned its head to look at him with its pupiless half-lidded eyes, their soft carved expression never changing.

If he wasn't being attacked by it, he might've actually been comforted by the ethereal beauty perfectly captured in marble they radiated.

Josuke knew he had to stay calm and focused. Whoever this big guy controlling the statue was, he seemed like bad news.

He now fully knew how that poor lady being held hostage felt that time he and Okuyasu witnessed that convince store being robbed.

The plane started to circle by Narancias command, looking for a place to open fire on Osso.

However, the alley was very narrow and there was no open space for the stand to make a full circle, forcing Aerosmith to have to fly up one end and round back quickly.

Josuke almost screamed again as it came barreling back down the alley, gun turrets ready, before the statue moved (dragging Josuke along with it) to block the man from his exposed side once more.

If Narancia hadn't reacted half a second before he did, Josuke would've been packed full of bullets.

"Nice try, kiddo." Osso grinned. "You don't give up, but you ain't gonna win today."

The teenage Mafioso now started to scream as stone crept up his body more and more, faster by the second. It was up to his hips now and starting at the tips of his fingers as well.

Josuke watched in silent terror of it all, his heart wrenching a little as Narancia actually started to cry.

Josuke wracked his brain, trying to formulate a plan, readying to summon Crazy Diamond at his side. Maybe he could break the statue and then get a good shot at the asshole pulling the strings for torturing this other kid.

Narancia Ghirga was sure he was going to die and he didn't want to die, he really REALLY didn't! There was so much stuff he still wanted to do with Fugo and Mista and Abba and Bucciarati!

A thousand things flooded his head as he stared in utter terror down at his marble legs.

Mista still owed him a soda. He had tutoring with Fugo at 3:00 today. Abbacchio had promised him he'd teach him how to properly do make-up. He was going to show Bucciarati the Sailor Moon series this weekend.

He wished Bruno had paired him up with someone, he really did, because he couldn't do this on his own.

He needed help.

He desperately needed his Family!

And worst of all, this other kid was gonna die too! Narancia bit back a sob as the very thought of it came to mind.

"You're gonna be one hell of a statue kiddo." Osso laughed cruelly, indulging in Narancias loud reactions almost as much as he enjoyed watching him continue to try and shoot him. "Ya got no choice now, if you keep tryin' shit, it'll just go faster. Or worse, the freak with the mop gets it."

Josuke froze solid, the plan he had been trying to scrap up his head suddenly getting wiped clean from the slate.

The world around him seemed to slow and the sounds of the lean teenager crying out in fear deafened as his ears rang.

His heart started to pound, thumping so hard in his chest you could see it rattling his collarbone.

What did he just say?

What did that fucking piece of shit just say?

Josuke was unaware of his teeth grinding painfully in his mouth, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles shined white, his own face burning hot red like a knife that had been thrust into fire.

'He called your hair a mop.' Came the bitter answer, whispered in his head.

The soft grating of stone in his ear as Earth Angel turned its head to stare at him again wasn't heard to Josuke.

Osso had even stopped laughing, tilting his head to listen closely to the low growl the kid was emitting, that animalistic look in his unfocused blue eyes made him raise his eyebrows in question.

What the fuck was wrong with this weirdo?

Narancia had even stopped screaming, the dread he felt now forgotten as he watched with apprehension and interest.

Oh shit... he had definitely seen this before.

This guy was MAJORLY pissed off.

Far, FAR too many times had be been on the receiving end of this look with Fugo before to know what exactly was happening.

There was practically steam coming out of his ears, this stranger was going to blow! The sight of a bright fire emitting off the pompadour sporting teen almost didn't phase him because it fit how fucking pissed he looked.

'He called my hair a fucking mop...' came the only thought and it rang in his head over and over. 'HE CALLED MY HAIR A FUCKING MOP!!!'

Josuke didn't see. He didn't hear. He didn't think.

He didn't even feel it when his own fists tore through stone.

[To be continued ...》

(Like what you're reading? Find the rest on Archive of our own! 🙂)

#Diamante d'Italia #josuke higashitaka

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letromantorchwicklive · 5 years

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One Thing Analysis

Kill for kill Eye for eye Blood for blood It’s time to die Retribution tastes so sweet

- We've got her clear, unbridled rage peaking through. Neo's on a mission and it's sole purpose is to kill. Not just that, it's a justified hunt. It's fucking retribution. What happened was unjust and wrong, cruel and shouldn't have happened. She doesn't know what else to do, the only thing that's helping her right now is this.

Gone's the light That he gave Now revenge is all I crave Retaliation soon complete

-A good reference to Roman's namesake and insight to just how much he mattered to her. Remnant is consistently referenced both visually and verbally as a world full of darkness. The darkness is given form through the Grimm and Neo's talking about the only light she's had to survive this darkness. Plus! She's admitting to her desperation for revenge and how it drives her. The tag line of "retaliation soon complete" is also showing, very clearly, that she knows her target or targets (I say target, singular tbh) and is closing in. She can touch the end goal, she's almost there. So close she can taste it.

I was nowhere I had no one I felt nothing Lost without a voice and on my own Then the candle's flame Brought a brand new name But now you've stolen everything and I'm all alone

- Neo has now, canonly, had an incredibly lonely life. Either metaphorically (like, poor family life) or literally (STREET RAT STREET RAT). She's felt all alone, choosing to feel nothing rather than constant pain. Pain and suffering, of course, attracting Grimm. She's also canonly mute! Something I know a lot of people have been on the fence about, but lacking a proper way to communicate would easily have isolated her further throughout her life. Roman was the first person to show her genuine positive attention. "Candle's flame" meaning both light and warmth into her life for the first time in- well, ever. "Brand new name" could also be metaphorical. She could be talking about being named, his name, or him bringing new meaning and life to the one she already possessed. Now, the love they shared for one another (in however you see it- excluding Father&Daughter it’s not canon guys they were both adults) is gone and she's been thrust back into the cold dark world Roman helped her to escape in the first place.

I had one thing And you've taken it from me A single light A single friend But you've made that end

- This is pretty straight forward. Neo had one thing in her whole life that mattered- Roman. He was the single most important thing to her to ever exist and she's livid. Not only did she love him and he love her, they were best friends. Equals. Partners. Neo's also staring down at the single person she blames, Cinder. These words blame one person and one person only. This song is introduced at first sight of Cinder, aimed only at Cinder. The wording calls for attack on one person. When Cinder redirects all blame for Roman's death to Ruby, it doesn't pick back up. It's quiet- Neo's thinking. She's making a new game plan, one taking into account Maiden Powers.

There was one thing To help escape the misery And now it's all disarrayed You took my whole life away You've sent me back to nothing Now you'll pay Pay

- A lot of this is straight forward, like the last verse. Roman meant everything to her, he was all she had and the only thing to make her happy. Not happy again, happy period, because she had been so absolutely fucking miserable by herself. Look at Weiss- who grew up alone and miserable aside from her sister. Look at Ren and Nora- who had only each other. Roman and Neo weren’t necessarily the big bad guys we were shown- they were doing their jobs. So many of these little tidbits in the song are alluding to direct correlations in the main cast of heroes, just if they were in a different place and different time. She’s also screaming (repeatedly, might I add) that her whole life is literally in shambles. Nothing makes sense anymore, there’s no structure, no Roman. Neo says it herself, “You took my whole life away.” Again, this is directed singularly. She’s reinforcing her singular target- Cinder and she will pay.

Life for life Death for death Tit for tat Just one last breath Absolution's nowhere near

- I mentioned it before in my analysis over Cinder and Neo’s brawl, but man is Neo out for fucking blood. This is archaic law, in our world. I mean this literally- Hammurabi’s Code were the first historically proven, written and widely known set of laws. He’s the reason we have the “eye for an eye” saying and Neo is only accepting this kind of justice. As long as Cinder is alive, breathing and even remotely well, Cinder isn’t going to be free of her guilt. The only way that she could ever atone for being the cause of Roman’s death is with her own.

Cue the scene Now it's time Reparation for your crime And judgment day is finally here

- Neo’s become Judge, Jury and Executioner. Will Cinder rise to a good afterlife? That’s none of her business, her business is sending Cinder to wherever she belongs. Neo’s so fucking ready to finish this, to get some closure

I have waited for this meeting For this moment Dreamed about the day I'd make you crawl

- Neo wants more than Cinder’s death. Neo wants begging, pleading, desperation and fear from her. This is probably the only thing that’s kept her going since the Fall of Beacon after finding Roman’s body. This rage is absolutely what fueled her survival through the Grimm infested waste lands that are unoccupied areas of Remnant. Neo wants to make Cinder taste the hell she put them through and to face the same end that so forced upon Roman after it all.

What a sweet release When you rest in peace Vengeance- Justice- Finally mine And I'll watch you fall

- RIP Cinder, there’s no escaping any of this for you. Neo’s determined, this is the only thing she can focus on, the only thing that brings even the slightest hint of relief in her life without Roman.

I had one thing And you've taken it from me A single light A single friend But you've made that end There was one thing To help escape the misery And now it's all disarrayed You took my whole life away You've sent me back to nothing Now you'll pay

- We’ve returned to the chorus, even angrier this time. Out of everything to receive repetition in this song, this makes the most sense. It’s displaying her grief and rage eloquently while showcasing her determination. Neo’s always been shown as incredibly capable, handling herself well and almost always with a level head. It seems Roman was the key to that- they had a security within each other that kept them both level headed. The thoughts “Roman’s alive” and “Neo’s alive” must have been their calming mantras. Sure, Roman would have instances of frustration, but when it came to battle he was always calm and collected. Even more so when fighting along side Neo, but the moment when his mantra of “Neo is alive” can no longer be taken as fact, or could be in serious jeopardy, his collected demeanor is out the window. This fight against Cinder is has Neo struggling to remain level headed. She’s becoming impatient, itching to finally finish off Cinder, bored that it’s not more fun and still enraged that this woman is so selfish as to not realize why she’s grieving in the first place. Neo’s mantra is gone, and it can never come back.

You destroyed my life After years of suffering Finally had a place to go to But not anymore And now it's war And there won't be peace ’til I get What I came for

- Cinder is responsible, and Neo won’t let her back out of it by throwing the blame onto Ruby like there’s nothing she did wrong. Neo spent untold number of years alone, scared, sad and found solace in Roman. They probably found solace in each other, home was where ever the other was. Someone to trust no matter what, years spent together and full of love and respect. His death ripped that away, so now it’s fucking war. Neo vs Cinder, the fight to the death and she’s not going to fall for some scapegoat in the form of a 15 year old little girl. Neo had been in Ruby’s position before, fighting for your life and the life of the people person who mattered more than anything to you and terrified of not succeeding. No, Neo knows that the grown woman who refuses to accept any form of blame is responsible. That doesn’t mean she wont bide her time until the perfect opportunity strikes. Oh no, Neo is not on Cinder’s side. She’s on Roman’s side and even his death won’t change that.

💖💖💖 -Mod Neo

#rwby #neopolitan #neo politan #cinder fall #roman torchwick #mod neo #sorry this took literally forever guys #also sorry if you think of roman and neo as father and daughter but shes literally a grown woman #and also like i swear theyre in the same age bracket #but any way here you all go!!

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crqstalite · 4 years

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SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 9

i said ‘hey 7k sounds like a good place to stop.’ but because i got expository again, i decided ‘hey lets add another 3.4k words to this mess so no one feels like they’re getting cheated out of a story!’ so here’s 10k words of a badass deciding she isn’t taking shit from anyone anymore.

disclaimer: i don’t hate quinn, tri’ama does.

inspiration : cosmic love, florence + the machine.

TRI'AMA._YAVIN_IV.

Another Revanite seizes up before the woman, a grin on the Inquisitor's face, strands of wet hair falling in her face delicately. The shadows cast a menacing look onto her face as thunder claps in the distance, lightning flashing as Tri'ama catches a glimpse of the lightsaber through the soldier's midsection, burning a hole through their uniform. The lavender blade disignites, and Nox hooks the hilt neatly on her combat belt as the person falls to the ground in a heap, eyes rolling into the back of their skull.

"Break?" She asks the two who'd accompanied her on the mission into the ruins. The soft, soothing voice of a mother is out of place on Yavin, and it sends shivers down her spine as Darth Nox acknowledges their presences. Her eyes are anything but warm and inviting, glowing a dark gold. It's as if she's offering them a midday snack instead of a break from the rampant hordes of enemies they've faced all day long.

She's pleased with herself over the murders of what feels like millions of people amongst the ruins, though Naji's presence has gone strangely quiet during their march through. Not a single Revanite has fallen to the Jedi's doublesaber, the occasional healing thrown out. Usually it tended to drive her up the metaphorical walls, but the Jedi Master hasn't said a word. Any Revanite that attacked her, she refused to kill, only to injure in any way possible. In sight or out of it, Mierrio often finished the job. Tri'ama nearly feels bad for the Barsen'thor, surrounded by so much death. The two of them thrived off it, but the Jedi typically didn't. If anything, she looked a little green around the gills as a splatter of blood soaks into her armor.

Nervously, the Barsen'thor -- Naji, nods and they move to a less populated area of the ruins to presumably rest. Thankfully, it's under a stone overhang, so the three have managed to effectively dry themselves for a duration of time. It seems whenever she ends up with one or the other, she manages to get soaked. Tri'ama chuckles to herself, there must've been a constant here somewhere.

The pale woman is a mystery, and impossible to decipher her true intentions even after all the years they'd known each other in passing.

And again after they'd both ascended to the Council.

And essentially attempted to kill each other. More than once.

Darth Mierrio Revel-Kallig is just like a rancor in waiting and a literal beast on the battlefield as she strikes down adversary after adversary with no remorse for the loss of life, but how prim and proper she ends up being while on Dromound Kaas in the sight of the Dark Council. Proper black formal attire, hair pinned up and away from her face, it's hard to tell which personality she's talking to half the time. Right now though, she's in her element. Torn armor, mussed hair, blood all over her robes, and happily pulls out a kolto patch and perches herself on a broken stone. Even Tri'ama has to admit she's still the epitome of grace post-battle, running a hand through her hair when a barely curved back, one leg crossed over the other. As if she's preparing for a photo-shoot instead of the battle of a lifetime. Rolling up a sleeve, she stretches out her arm and looks up to Tri'ama, "Sit for a bit, darling. There's still a lot I don't know about you after all this time that we've known each other. Good a time as any."

Blazes, so this was going to be one of those conversations. Those 'picking Tri'ama apart just because I can and because hypothetically I'm on the same power level as her' conversation. She hated talking about herself to begin with, and now she was concerned Nox may have known this and is taking advantage of it in front of Naji. The other woman is paying attention rather well though, even if she's attempting to appear as if she isn't, eyes closed and glowing dimly in the shadowed area. Can't figure why that would be good for either of them, but she figures she'll amuse the other woman for a bit.

"There's nothing you need to know, Nox." She answers, taking her own inventory after the last big fight as they slowly make their way out of the cave. Dealing with the puzzle within took time, and it was frustrating enough that she was considering just destroying the thing and finding Revan on her own, but Nox had deciphered it quick enough that she'd only had to defend the two against a few packs of wild beasts. She could cross nature excursion off her vacation list after all of this, and readjusts her hood to cover her hair properly before responding, "Nothing that's on a need to know basis, in your case."

Mierrio muses for a moment, pressing the salve onto her pale skin. While it soaks, she looks up to her with a pointed look in her eye that Tri'ama mistakes for the look of a hunting predator akin to that of the beasts they'd just fought off, "What about that Quinn fellow? Your wedding was wonderful to attend, where is he now?"

Tri'ama hesitates, attempting not to make her position on the matter too clear to the women in her company, hiding behind her respirator as to not make her emotions clear.. She's not sure if Naji knows the current state of her affairs with the man, or even whether Nox is just pressing her buttons or not. Does she know what she's been trying to get up to lately? Aghdani had never been close to her, as far as she knew. The Iridonian wasn't friends with many others on the Council as it was, and had never taken a liking to her either.

It wasn't like the divorce had gone quietly either. Quinn was still frustrated in his own way that she was no longer his wife, though made it clear he disagreed with her ruling. He wore his ring proudly, parading around the Fury as if he still owned the place. Well, in his own quiet rebellion that was. She often could sense him lingering in front of her quarter's door, never staying for long but the feeling of desire strong in his presence.

Desire and longing were the only things the man felt nowadays. It keeps her up at night, and she nearly feels bad for him, denying him his true feelings. At times, she even finds herself missing him next to her at night, the other side of the bed cold when she sleeps and when she wakes. But the ever-present scars on her body she can see in the mirror when she suits up for the day are a quick reminder to why. Why those blue eyes are constantly a lie, why his soft, caressing touches during her treatment will only lead to another cycle of pain.

Aghdani had refused the reassignment of the man after only a day with him just as she had feared, an email sent days later that she wasn't going to put up with this new assistant of hers and that Tri'ama could just kill him if she wanted to rid herself of him that badly. The connotation of the message had come off surprisingly well for just being a message as well, just as angry and spoken with a heavy Imperial accent as if the woman had been there herself.

She wouldn't say that she hadn't considered the thought rather heavily. But as much as she fingered the hilt of her lightsaber late at night at the door of the medbay, she couldn't bring herself to simply rid herself of him in such a manner. He didn't deserve justice like that, and she'd only prove herself no better than those on the Council.

It scared her to have his hands roaming about her body again after all the fights she'd managed to get into. Lana had been rendered unavaliable with her assignments with Marr, and she wasn't about to ask Satele for healing either. Naji was routinely gone with Whyatt on other missions to bring both sides of the coalition closer together, and she'd never trusted Nox with her body before. She didn't intend to start now. Though some injuries had become unbearable, and force healing wasn't something learned in a day either.

Naji may have been healing her at the point, she's not sure. There's a certain softness numbing her mind right then, and it feels like her healing.

"Why do you care, Nox?" Is all she can ask, not even looking her directly in her eyes as she processes how to answer her question, rolling her wrist and waiting for it to crack satisfyingly, "Quinn is Quinn."

Mierrio raises an eyebrow, obviously suspicious, "You didn't bring him on planet, you brought that little Twi'lek girl, the one who always talked too much. I remember you used to drag around the poor man like a pet -- blazes he used to act like one too. Waiting on you hand and foot, never an opinion deviating from your own. Kriff, that always gave me a good laugh. It was as if he was made to please a Sith. Breeded to, if you will."

Tri'ama doesn't laugh with her, though Nox is right in some capacity. Parts of their relationship made it clear one was clearly more powerful than the other. It had always been that way, and neither had ever bothered to ask why. Tri'ama had never tried to rise him to her side rather than beneath her, as most Sith-force blind relationships ended up being. Now, she didn't regret doing so considering what he'd done, how much more information he would've had on her. But she regrets her actions before landing on Yavin, even though she knows they were right.

"And in the end, I will seek you out among the stars."

"Quinn?" Naji questions quietly, pulling her own ponytail out and letting her golden curls dust her shoulders. Scarily, Tri'ama had forgotten she was still there amongst all her own scatter-brained thoughts. The Barsen'thor was rather innocent in the matter that she (or as far as they knew) didn't deal in the same sorts of relationships the two Sith did. Was she even married? Or with anyone, for that matter? The Barsen'thor was Jedi, and they had some sort of code against passion of any kind, and marriage seemed like it was in that ballpark. Or love in general. She figured all the people in the Republic were more committal than they were anyways. She wouldn't expect her to understand the struggle.

For some reason, that stings.

She'd been as silent as a mouse for the last few minutes, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and Tri'ama had assumed she was meditating and healing from the past few skirmishes, open wounds now visibly scarring over. Now though, her grey eyes are inquisitive, looking to Tri'ama first, "Is he the soldier who's been with you as of late?"

Mierrio laughs loud at the question before she can answer, nearly out of character for her as she regards the woman with a distasteful smirk that for some reason annoys Tri'ama, "Oh blazes no. Quinn would have a heart attack if he heard you compare him to the Lieutenant. That's Pierce, Quinn is a starchy old fellow who likes to grovel at our dear Darth Amarillis-Quinn's feet and play dutiful plaything."

Tri'ama grits her teeth at the hyphenated last name she'd been able to shed (though without official records being changed accordingly just yet), and Naji looks uneasy at the response, flickering her gaze to Nox, "Right." She's understandably uneasy, the answer was odd and demeaning, brushing her fingers through her tangled blonde hair. She'd been the only one without a hood in their small scouting party, and had gotten drenched, "I wasn't aware you were married, Wrath." She says curiously, the epitome of serene with the backdrop of the jungles as she drops a metaphorical bomb on her.

I'm not, is on the tip of her tongue, And I never will be again. Not to him.

Don't say anything about Theron either, is in the forefront of her mind as she considers that Naji may know more than she's letting on about her and the SIS agent. For a foolish moment, she wonders if they talk about her when she's not around.

"How odd. I believed you would've brought your dear husband with you, Wrath. What is he doing these days, running odd jobs for you in Sith Intelligence? I always despised that lot, poking their noses where they don't belong." Nox questions before she can even formulate a response. So that was her perogative. Either she knew the truth and was trying to get her to say it, or was genuinely clueless and was hoping to get a rise out of her. Tri'ama couldn't think of a time that the woman ever truly liked Quinn, mostly because of his uptight mannerisms. Given she'd never liked the informal manner of her husband, the pirate. Andronikos Revel had never sat quite right with her, and she often questioned how the man had accepted fatherhood so readily by the way Nox spoke of their relationship. Possibly because of her past, she wasn't attracted to such ruffians in the way Mierrio was. At the very least, Quinn had been an open book in his opinions of her.

All until the end.

"Then I suppose your husband has run off again if he's not here either?" If Nox wanted to be petty, she could be petty right back. It's childish, she knows, but she wants to talk about anything else other than Quinn. Anything other than the man that had forced his way back into her life, even though she'd thrown him out. Anything other than the man that kept her perpetually anxious as soon as she stepped on the Fury every night. Anything other than the man who ruined the one good thing in her life.

Anything other than the man who'd ruined everything.

She's scored a point, because her face goes ashen, eyes narrowing in offense as Tri'ama continues on her tirade, "Even if Quinn grovelled, I knew where he was at all times -- who he was with. More than you can say."

"Andronikos remains to be more independent than your fool of a husband though. He could stand up on his own two feet." She nearly growls. Tri'ama has struck a chord with her. Mierrio had always been oddly protective of her relationship with the pirate, and it's rather satisfying to feed off her anger. Nox's had been always been different than Aghdani's, or Lana's. Roiling, dark, hot, and strong. Oh, and it was so easy to get her all riled up just in time for a fight. Years after the Revel's spontaneous marriage, she still couldn't figure what was such a sore spot for her, other than that he used to never be around as often.

In a sense, she's almost right. Though there'd been more than a few times that the pirate had gone missing during one of her especially brutal moments, and Tri'ama had accordingly made note of that for use in later arguments. In the recesses of her mind, she wonders why Nox is even out here fighting with the coalition. According to passing gossip, she'd just recently given birth to her second biological child only a few months ago, not to mention that her Sphere still needed her on other planets. It explained her weakness on the battlefield and her more defensive tactics as well, "My children won't grow up with a pushover for a father, unlike your legacy."

"You and I both know I have no intention of raising a family of my own, Nox." Tri'ama laughs darkly at the proposition (it'd be discussed, but never picked up again -- for good reason), rough beneath the effect of the respirator on her voice, "Hypothetically though, I'll never live in fear that any children of mine will grow up with someone who could leave at a moments notice for their own gain. Or someone more concerned with fighting petty battles than the bigger picture."

The scowl on the other woman's face is enough for her to claim victory over the argument. She's successfully pissed her off, for lack of other wording. She nearly formulates another response, but she's concerned there may be another scathing answer afterwards. Mierrio had never been one to give up easily, especially when it concerned her. They had more important things to attend to anyways, and arguments about ex-husbands and fathers wasn't among them.

"Don't think I haven't taken notice of your interest in the Grandmaster's son, either." Her voice oozes with triumph as Tri'ama makes to leave the overhang. Her eyes widen out of sight of the other Sith, effectively stopping her halfway in between their shelter and the rain. Nox scoffs at the gesture. She'd effectively been caught, and Tri'ama's surprised. Nox has never been one for the small details unless they applied to her, "That's right. It's rather obvious there's something going on there, just so you know. I knew Sith took whatever they wanted when they wanted it, but because you were married I was sure you'd be more committal than this. Can't wait until the Council hears about it. Oh the scandal."

Tri'ama is quick to turn around and find Nox with her hands on her hips, close and with a smirk on her face. Mock surprise dribbles out of her voice, a pale hand coming up to cover her mouth as she laughs wickedly, "You're in love with a Jedi's son. Forceblind no less! I thought you'd hit rock bottom with Quinn, but you just keep sinking."

She won't resort to violence, that's what Mierrio wants. Just to piss her off. Revan won't wait around for Mierrio's playground taunts to shut off. Tri'ama takes a breath, closing her eyes and trying to soothe herself back to being unshakable. Naji picks up her doublesaber from where she'd been sitting and squeezes past her back into the rain, thunder rumbling in the distance. It's nearly akin to her own emotions now. The Jedi is apprehensive, her presence giving it away, and has effectively removed herself from the situation entirely at the risk of being attacked while their backs are turned.

One more word out her mouth, and Tri'ama won't hesitate to defend herself. Or Theron. Asking for a Sith to respect a Republic agent with anything less than a strong distaste was asking a lot as it was, but Nox has lit a fire in her. Flashes of their last conversation still haunt her, still frustrating her late at night as the rain lulls her off into a restless sleep. All that's been on her mind has been Theron lately, and Nox's calculating glare isn't helping the matter. Threatening to tell the Council, it has to be one of the most childish things Mierrio has given an ultimatum to, but to her family, it'd be a major blow.

"I always knew you weren't cut out to be Sith. You may have come from a pureblood family...oops I mean raised by a pureblood family, but you hesitate at the worst of times. Mercy isn't a luxury or a necessity, and your ruthless edge has been dulled over the years," Mierrio cackles, pale face close to her own as her eyes narrow, taking her in, "It's truly sad, you were so promising. As much as you wish it, you'll never be one of us."

She slaps her.

Tri'ama has had enough.

The Sith recoils, surprise evident in her amber eyes as fury boils just beneath the surface. Tri'ama tries to keep her face stoic, unmoving. She won't continue being pushed around by the likes of Nox, and this is just one of about sixty million reasons why. Why she's willing to protect Theron against her, she isn't sure right then. But she's not only insulted him, but herself as well.

Her palm had left a bright red mark on her cheek, and is already bruising her porcelain skin. Her own hand stings through the thin glove, and Nox meets her eyes, nearly ready to respond something fierce before Tri'ama starts herself, "I am Sith. I was born Sith, and I always will be. Just because I don't kick those who are already down like the likes of you and the Council, doesn't change that. Don't forget your own bloodlines before you try to dirty mine, Revel. I'm sure mine extend much further than your own."

And for once in their young lives, Mierrio Revel-Kallig is left speechless. Her mouth is moving for a moment before standing up straight and pushing her own way out of their small structure without another word.

Tri'ama pauses herself for a moment, considering what she's done. When they're no longer fighting Revan, she can't expect any assistance from Nox anymore. She's now nailed that nail into that coffin, and will pay for it down the line. As satisfying as it was to do right then, the consequences may be more than she bargained for. Nox had pull in the Empire, and a power base that could possibly topple her if she wanted to.

She chuckles, watching her hands offhandedly as they check over her own body, saber hilts in her hands and being ignited. Not too many injuries, not enough to warrant a new kolto patch or a request of force healing.

You weren't going to give up anything for Quinn, now you're willing to give up everything you ever knew for a man who'll leave you as soon as someone prettier than you shows up, or as soon as the war orders him to kill you.

No one speaks for a long while on their trek to the small temple amongst the ruins, and Tri'ama is happy to keep it that way. Surely Naji would have her own questions later, but whatever connection they'd had previously has given away to static. Her presence is well hidden now, wound up well within that mind of hers as they continue fighting through Massassi and Revanites alike. Occasionally there's a warm healing over a certain injury or bruise she takes note of, but she doesn't bother saying anything to her when she does do it in a break of their adversaries. They're sporadic as well, and the gouges and bruises are piling up again, bleeding freely in the tears of her armor. She's halfway to believing Naji has grown scared of her.

Mierrio had similarily cut herself off from the rest of the group, but hood lowered as to wear the bruise proudly. Maybe to make her feel guilty, but she smugly reminds herself she doesn't care. Some do deserve to be hurt, and Nox deserves to be knocked down quite a few pegs.

It wasn't intentionally that she brought her past into the issue, she knew that much. Many liked to acknowledge that she was raised by purebloods but never one herself, not even a speck of it within her DNA. It was a constant reminder that she wasn't really an Amarillis, didn't really belong to a great bloodline even though she had been adopted at the age of only a few months. Tri'ama had never known anything else, but had been distant with her family since then.

It was a point Mierrio enjoyed to poke fun at, even though her own bloodline couldn't even be traced further than her ancestor, Lord Kallig. The little Tri'ama had become privy to was that she'd been a slave for years until they'd run into each other on Korriban as teenagers. Also, her children had been fathered by an ex-Republic solider, and well known Imperial criminal. To say the least, Tri'ama considers whether the other Sith are right to whispers about the impurity of their family. With how she's been treated since they knew each other, she also wonders if karma will continue being dealt out like this.

For her own sanity, she prays it does.

"We couldn't keep him from coming. Sorry!" Is essentially the message Vette has sent her once they reach the staging area again, and Tri'ama isn't immediately able to deal with this all at once. Trying to wrap her head around the idea of two Revans is enough at the moment, but getting all the other coalition missions done at some point before the entire planet went up in smoke? She's so exhausted, so absolutely drained emotionally and physically that she's considering shoving Quinn out an airlock just to get back on track, the way Pierce had suggested he go. Deal with the fallout whenever she came down from her battle high.

"It's good that you didn't. I told myself I was not altered by my centuries in the Emperor's grasp. But my actions were those of a madman, consumed by rage. I am glad to have left such evil behind." Revan, the real Revan, had paused, maybe taking all three battleworn women in, and his glance had landed on Tri'ama specifically before continuing, "You must do what I could not, Wrath."

Wrath. That's what she'd been for years, that was her whole identity. She was one of the most powerful Sith in the Empire right now. People respected her as such, gave her credit where credit was due.

The Emperor's...

Or the Empire's, was the question. She'd struggled with the idea for years since the Hand had found her, and even worse she'd learned there'd been one before her that was running around with a Jedi now. There'd been pointed glances toward one another as they went about their tasks on Yavin, but she grew more and more curious about the man as the days passed. He was tall and strong, not unusual for a pureblood, but he had an odd presence she couldn't put her finger on. He was kind enough to Whyatt, and hadn't made any moves to get rid of him as far as she was concerned.

Tri'ama wondered why she was the replacement for him. An up and coming Lord of Sith against a three hundred year old who'd served that time faithfully to the Emperor? She was powerful, but there was no question that he could easily crush her should he will it.

A flash of red catches her eye, and she spins around to focus on it, assuming the worst. Another Sith with red robes, nothing more. They pass by with little more than a glance, and Mierrio continues on while Naji pauses to wait for her. Running a hand through her wet hair, she brushes off Naji's questions and follows after the other woman, nearly frustrated again. There had been too many close calls as of late, and Mierrio's pestering hadn't helped with the issue either. Tri'ama had wanted to cut this off entirely and just be allies again and nothing more. Even if there was a possibility they could continue this affair after Yavin, it'd be frowned upon. They'd be lightyears upon lightyears away from each other, and it was nearly inevitable that she'd fight against him directly one day. To be directly or indirectly responsible for the death of a lover would haunt her until the end of the days. Tri'ama reminds herself this was still the best course of action, regardless of her true emotions for the man. But there was something so horribly alluring about him that she was sure she was going mad, or it was a trick of the Force again. There was no understanding it, and if she could just focus for two seconds without thinking about it, there wouldn't have been a problem.

Even with Quinn, he wasn't nearly as distracting. Her thoughts of him weren't as intrusive as her musing of the agent. Half the time he'd been distracted by her anyways. Turning the tables on her so quickly was so absolutely frustrating because she hadn't expected it. And Tri'ama hated surprises.

Her mind is elsewhere as Naji debriefs Satele and Marr on their mission to the ruins, and Whyatt turns out to be successful in his own small missions for some of the more prominent members of the temporary alliance. The scrawny Iridonian Zabrak man was, surprisingly enough, good for something she found, and was adept with duel wielding. He'd single-handedly fought off hordes of Massassi according to reports, and came back to tell the tale with only a gash over his nose. Well, there were more forest green bruises Naji later fussed over after the meeting was dismissed, but that was all that Tri'ama had noticed at the time.

It takes a bit for her to collect her thoughts and prep with the others for the next, and hopefully, last mission into Revan's hideout. There are battle plans, their flight in. It's going to be haunting her all night, and Yavin doesn't exactly have cantinas where she can numb away the thoughts until morning. The fight against Revan is going to be one where their willpower is going to be tested beyond belief. It had been a long while since she'd been in such a high stakes mission, where it was either kill or be killed. Flashes of her memories aboard Malgus' stealth ship, her short time on Makeb before Aghdani and Nox took over the mission, fighting the cyborg in the sinking ship on Manaan. More recently, the fuzzy memories she has of the mission to the station jammer. All moments that she was convinced would be the end.

This...this might actually be the end. Might be something she won't be able to walk away from.

Tri'ama would be lying if she said she wasn't worried. Yes, the Grandmaster of the Jedi herself is assisting in the operation. Two Dark Council members would be fighting alongside her. A Sith of immeasurable power, the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order and the Defender of Tython, along with her own power.

And Theron.

Yet again, she'd be caught in a lie, should she admit she wasn't fearful for his safety. Not that he couldn't defend himself, she'd seen him fight on more than one occasion, and win. But his last words to her are beginning to ring around in her head. Blazes if she doesn't regret not responding to him and his well-meaning concern, to at. Even the false hope, the false spark that would've been lit for him if she'd stayed, if she'd taken him then and there, would've been better than this strained allyship. Comforted him that she would be okay, promised him that she'd come back to him.

The thought slips through her fingers again.

She doesn't love him, that's what comforts her at night. Admitting that aside from a regretful conversation and mutual admiration, there isn't anything keeping them together. That's the way it should be, anyways. Tri'ama should be able to go about her life like any other Sith. No lingering attachments with someone forbidden to her. Stars forbid she begin thinking she wants to belong to him in such a manner. After this, yes after this, she'll return to the Empire. Maybe someone else will catch her eye, maybe she'll remain alone for the rest of her reign as the Wrath.

All that matters is getting off Yavin with all her limbs intact. And preferably, everyone elses'.

Still, she ponders whether she should speak to him. Before all of this, at least. An ancient evil that could probably snap her neck if he wanted to, flick the light out of Theron's charming hazel eyes right before her was going to face them only twelve hours from now. Either way, it could be the worst way for either of them to go, falling to Revan in such a violent manner.

The tanned ring line taunts her as she moves to slip her gloves back on from where they'd sat on the table previously, having to type rapidly on her datapad earlier with their findings from the excursion in the ruins, and the gloves had interfered with the response time. Theron is not her's, and she is not his. I don't love him, is her first thought. She'd told herself she loved Quinn, and had burned a fire of desire for him for years. In the end, she ended up charred, with scars to prove her naivity.

Before she can even stop the thought, her legs are already moving towards the staging area, where she'd seen Jakarro's ship touchdown weeks ago, and where Theron had left to only ten minutes prior. It's now or never -- and she is hoping it's now. Or, this will haunt her for the rest of her natural and unnatural born life.

You're making a mistake, she thinks, It isn't worth your time anyways. No SIS agent wants anything more than a fling with a Sith anyways.

You aren't worth it.

Shut it.

Red. Red, red. She's searching either side of the courtyard for the jacket, hands in a perpetual fist on either side of her lithe body. People part for her, maybe knowing she's a woman on a mission. Jedi and Sith alike, she's searching for his presence among the dwindling throngs of people as they head off to barracks or shuttles to get rest for the upcoming battle. Nothing stands out to her, and with how many force sensitives are here, she's sure they can sense her desire just as much as the blood pounds in her ears. It'd be embarassing to explain to anyone what she's looking for, and she refuses to do so no matter who comes up to her to ask. Stars forbid Naji had found her after the discussion they'd had earlier with Nox. The woman would know immediately. Even worse if Nox herself sensed it.

She's nearly ready to give up half an hour later, ready to accept she's missed her chance, and hard. It's growing darker, and though the storm had let up sometime ago, it's threatening to return. It's hard not to make it evident she's disappointed. There's barely anyone left, and knowing her crew, someone would come looking for her if she didn't come back soon.

Even the droids who regulated speeder travel over the infinite jungle had been powered down and stored somewhere out of the rain once she reaches the outcropping. It feels like it's been forever since she's been alone with her emotions like this, and it's stifling. Now she knows why she keeps other people around for so long, she physically can not be trusted not to do something rash. She drags a hand down her face, a grimace over her lips as her fingers itch for something to crush. Why is she so damned frustrated? Hell why is this bothering her so much?

Why can't she just be every stereotypical Sith that had ever been born into this hellhole of a galaxy, and not care about how anyone else fares over her own health? Tri'ama hates that she wants him, wants his arms wrapped around her again, wants those burning kisses all over her. Hates that she does want to spend just a little more time with him. Hates that her honest emotions are being spiked by her need to belong, belong to something, belong to someone. Quinn had essentially quenched that thirst for the longest time, but had left her waiting for someone to fill the void. Sith didn't need to belong, they didn't need to love. They needed passion to thrive, and for some reason the galaxy had given her passion as their code required -- in the worst way possible. In the form of someone she couldn't have, in the form of someone she shouldn't have.

But she wants him. She wants Theron Shan more than she knows.

And she hates herself for it. She wasn't going to cry over him, she wasn't going to be making this a spectacle. Her thoughts unwillingly linger to Pierce. she'd admitted she was over Ashley for months now, and here she was, wanting anyone to take her no matter what consequences waited for it. It wasn't right to keep leading him on like that, but all she wants is to fall back into old routines, old comforts to heal her.

"My lord?" A quiet voice questions, startling her out of her thoughts as the sound of boots against stone fills the air. A sinking feeling of dread fills her as she processes the accent that pronounced her name and title for years beforehand, growing ever closer, "The crew was beginning to fret over your extended absence."

"I'm assuming that means you were fretting?" She asks a little too coldly, but as he comes into view he doesn't even seem a tad offended by her tone, "Pierce, Jaesa and Vette know I'm fine and wouldn't have sent you after me."

"I will admit, it has been a long while since I was in your service, I will not attempt to understand the reasoning behind the change in protocol, but I will accept it if that is what you wish." For a moment, he's quiet and Tri'ama really begins to take him in properly. A few gray hairs have appeared since he was gone, a salt and pepper look beginning to take hold on him. A younger her would've appreciated it, had he not betrayed her she would be proud to call him her husband.

"I do not feel conflicted in the least. Not about anything. Including you." It had been shortly after they'd disposed of Moff Broysc, something she doesn't regret to this day, but it had been a welcome surprise about this. She had originally meant to return to her own quarters after the mission debrief, go over what she knew about the Hand, but raises an eyebrow at the admission, curious of his nature. He pauses, waiting for her to allow him to continue, "I've held back long enough. Been too rigid, too inflexible. I won't suppress my feelings and desire any longer."

"You were a tad slow out the gate, Quinn. Pursue me if you must." She'd played hard to get, even though she'd flirted with him only the day prior, "Someone else may have caught my eye while you waited around."

"I know you're only testing me." He answers, such a strong challenge to her. A welcome challenge, of course. Showing even a little backbone was good, but this was the first time he'd done anything, or not taken her words at face value.

"Oh really? But how can you be sure?" She'd asked, both hands on either hip. Flirting and making fun of Quinn had been a pasttime at the time, and she wondered what his response would be this time, "What if there really is some Pureblood out there thinking of me in your stead?"

"I'm sure if he is out there, he was slower out the gate than I was to realize what kind of woman you are. Come to my quarters, and I'll show you." Tri'ama had to try not to widen her eyes at the offer, aware of how important that had been to him, to take control and not follow her lead first.

Tri'ama didn't often like surprises. In fact, she despised being out of the loop about anything. But this one, she had liked the challenge that he'd alluded to, "Lead the way then, Captain."

He had made no move to leave at that point, maybe musing over his next actions, but instead he'd thrown an arm around her waist and kissed her hard. It had been her very first kiss, and looking back on it, she regrets that it was with him. At the time, she found it hot, and had allowed him to drag her off into pleasurable night in her quarters (she had decided against screwing him in the crew quarters).

Once she'd returned to the cockpit in the morning, pleased but finding the other side of the bed empty (a tad disappointed he hadn't stayed the night, but she shivers at the thought now) he'd been there, a smirk on his face and a now-forgotten datapad in hand, "I'm glad we got that settled. I'll return to my post. I hope to see you off-duty again soon."

Tri'ama had very quickly returned the favor, yanking him forward by the leather of his uniform to kiss him hard, datapad clattering to the floor. While surprised, he'd allowed her to, and when they broke apart she had a wider smile on her own face, "There's no doubt you will, Quinn."

But all she has now for his is distaste, and a lack of trust to go with it. The memories had been so wonderful at the time, things she fell back on when she needed an extra boost during battle to remind herself what she fought for.

She can't tell, but she's sure he's armed somewhere. Even with the lack of blaster present, and that sends a shiver down her spine. With no one else in the immediate vincinity, she's eerily reminded of the night aboard the transponder station.

She's reminded all too easily of walking it with her hand in his, and returning to the Fury with her's nearly cut off had she been anymore ignorant of his intentions. Steeling her gaze on the temple in the distance, she asks, "Why are you here, Quinn?"

"I am fully aware you're able to make your own decisions, and would never question your judgement, my lord. But you put me on leave for years, and as soon as I return, you attempt to change my servitude to another. I'm afraid she didn't want me there," He begins, still looking out over the canopy of trees before turning his gaze to her, "You've attempted to rid yourself of me, my lord. So I ask, if you really did not want me around any longer, why didn't you just kill me as Darth Aghdani had made so evident she would do if you did not?"

"I have no interest in acting rash over issues in the past." Tri'ama answers, averting her gaze from his as she takes a shaky breath, "Your death would serve me no immediate or long term purpose, and until Jaesa learns to force heal, you still serve a purpose aboard the ship, even if my own emotions do not align with wanting you here. You betrayed me Quinn, and instead of staying away as I'd requested, you returned against my wishes. I'm sure your astute observations lead you to the conclusion I wouldn't be pleased."

He pauses for a beat, maybe truly considering her words before relaxing out of his perpetual parade rest and turning fully to her, "My lord. I ask you to reconsider the reassignment -- and the divorce. You were frustrated and acted rather quickly, and I barely had any concern in the matter. You pretended as if your love for me disappated in only a few months. You may not enjoy the thought, but I still care for you, my love. You have never left my thoughts."

I still care for you.

My love.

If she wasn't already haunted by the uniform, by having to sit down with him at the opposite end of the table when briefing the crew on missions, if it wasn't bad enough to have him here now telling her all these things years upon years too late. Things she would never accept, things that she would've loved to hear if it were from anyone but Captain Malavai Quinn, she will struggle to recover now. Moving on had felt like such a great idea hours prior to this, but she's terrified now. He's going to be around until she can find another unlucky, lower placed Sith Lord to take him away from her.

Her chest feels like it's tightening around her, as if her heart will begin pounding out her chest if she doesn't get out of here now. She tries to regulate her breathing, but he grows closer to her and it's suffocating. And this time, there's no Pierce to request for something, no Vette to pull her away for other, fake responsibilities. There's no one here to save her from her nightmare, and she's not sure she can continue putting on a brave face in front of him.

She wishes she weren't here right now. Tri'ama wishes she could be anywhere else but here, with only a few inches separating them. She wishes her ex-husband weren't here, trying to win her back after everything he'd done. She wonders if he even thinks about the fact that he deserves the consequences she'd given him, thinks about what they mean.

Tri'ama may have all the armor she can have on right now, but she feels so exposed to him, as if he still knows all. As if he's still the one with all the answers, as if they've gone back to the day after the day she'd confessed she no longer wanted to be called Quinn, to be considered his. No longer wanted to be his wife.

The days she'd lapsed in her judgement.

"My lord. I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wanted to be here to witness your fate." He'd said, not facing her in a large room on the transponder station. She'd been mildly suspicious at the time, confused what he meant. Not completely convinced about what was going on.

"Have you found someone else? If you say it's not me, it's you, I won't be responsible for my actions." She'd answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes as a dark chuckle following the response. Oh, how unprepared she'd been for what came next.

"It's not me or you. It's Darth Baras. I owe him more than you could imagine. It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law, and there's no special signal emitter." She'd still been unbelieving, raising an eyebrow and ready for this all to be a joke to get her away from everyone. It's their anniversary, after all. He'd been too serious though, and she'd had a well-placed sinking feeling about this, "Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed."

"I thought our relationship was real. I thought we cared about each other, Malavai." Her left hand had grown closer to her saber as it had set in. This wasn't some elaborate plan dreamt up by a man in love, this was a ruse. This was a murder by a skilled killer.

"I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But he's forced my hand, and I must side with him. Once you're gone, your crew will either join me with Baras, or be killed." The Imperial accent isn't so comforting anymore, and she draws the hilt of one saber. She had prayed she didn't have to draw it on him, but she's not so sure anymore.

"Baras will run the Empire into the ground, Malavai." She'd foolishly believed if she kept using his name, kept being familiar with him, that she'd win out and he'd see the right in his wrong.

"Baras has always been one step ahead of every enemy. He'll lead us to victory." He had finally turned to look at her, a regretful look on his face though his voice remained emotionless, "After all this time of observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses." Two battle droids appear behind him, blast doors opening with a loud thump. She must've looked so horribly hurt, that he averts his gaze again, "These war droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure."

"I--" She pauses, watching as the war droids walk up behind him. Drawing both blades and igniting the rose read sabers, she had set her lips into a thin line, wishing the tears back, "I know how thorough you are, Malavai. I'm sure this will be greatest test."

"And if I'm right, your last. I'm sorry it came to this, my lord."

The absence of my love, had only confirmed that it really had been the end of her relationship with Quinn. Not the wedding they had shortly after, but the transponder station had been the end. Killing Baras, had done nothing to sate her broken heart.

"Quinn," His gaze doesn't waver from hers, in fact nearly reaching for her hand as she turns to face him fully. Her hands are shaking, and she pulls them away just as a finger dusts his palm, "I am not yours. I will never be your love again. You attempted to kill me, and then hid behind Baras as your excuse for not coming to me with the issue first. I do not trust you, and in this future or any other, I will never trust you again. Whether it has been two years or twenty, your petty begging will not change how I feel about you. You are the Captain, I am the Wrath. I have the final say on my relationship with you, and I say that you have been reassigned. I am not your wife, and I never will be again. Be lucky I have not ended your life prior to this for every transgression you've had since you've returned to my service."

For the second time that day, she's rendered someone speechless, and for the second time today, it's welcome. The surprise is evident in his blazing blue eyes, and then regret, disappointment, "Return to the Fury and prepare the ship to leave after tomorrow. Tell Pierce and Vette that Protocol Alpha is active, understood?"

It takes a moment for him to visibly collect his thoughts, and another for him to decide not to say anything more and face her wrath, "Understood, my lord."

And with that, he's gone.

She spends a few hours waiting there on the outcropping. Channeling her hatred, but halfway in between that and meditating. Tri'ama is far from relaxing, far from feeling as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders. The rain is battering down on her for ages, but she's kept warm by the hatred she has for the galaxy at the moment. Nothing registers in her immediate vincinty for a long time, nothing exists but her.

Something is relaxing her through her force signature. It's numbing the frustration, the anger, the desire, the longing, the sadness as she comes down from her fury. It's a tad frightening, she's not sure why it's there. It isn't her own guilt either, but its soft and calming. As if someone is comforting her through it all, but there isn't any other presence she can sense here in the staging area.

She's drenched when she returns to the Fury, but Tri'ama is at a crossroads, and for once in her life, she's more unsure of where she's going next than ever. No master, only an absentee landlord. No lover, only a man who can't give up and another that she doesn't want to give up.

The end all, be all of their existence begins tomorrow. If Revan succeeds, her life is over as she knows it. The entire galaxy, is over as she knows it.

Looking at herself in the mirror through the haze of exhaustion, she asks herself what kind of Wrath she was. Did she fight for the Emperor, who intended to devour an entire planet once he returned to full strength? Or did she fight for the people of the Empire, and now, the galaxy?

Her golden eyes, accentuated with the deep purple of corruption fade away into grey as she realizes the answer isn't so far out of reach.

Who did she fight for?

THERON._YAVIN_IV.

He's not sure what he's accidentally witnessed when he makes to return to his shuttle for the night. After running a few odd errands for his mother (mostly assisting Master Grace and Iresso with the debriefing of a few missions; with how delicate they were to the Republic, he was glad Nox and Tri'ama hadn't bothered helping), he's almost ready to turn in for the night with a datapad in hand. But, as the thunder rumbles in the distance, the black clad Sith lord is nearly glowing in the early evening moonlight. A storm is coming, nearly an analogy for what they're facing the day after.

He considers for a moment, and finding they're relatively alone, crosses the distance to meet her. There's a lot that's gone unsaid in the last few days, and they haven't exchanged a word, not even a look since she left him after he'd expressed his concern for her, and he's afraid he's really messed up now. Well, it was a given, he'd missed his opportunity by straying away from her, but he felt that his life probably would've been in danger if he'd bothered her with the issue any longer. Other than the odd quote she'd sent him (that had most definitely not kept him up at night, wondering if the Wrath was actually a master at a crypting messages), he's not sure what she truly thinks of him. Of course, she hasn't been hostile towards his faction, which is all he can ask for.

Before he can move any closer, (there's still quite a ways separating them) a well-dressed Imperial man cuts to her. Clearly he'd been coming from where the last shuttle had touched down, or he thought so. He'd been working so long the time had passed faster than he'd expected, and the other man made a beeline for the Sith. Theron almost has half a mind to move to stop him, or hurry his own pace to catch up to the two, but the rational part of his mind tells him to hold back. So he does, waiting and leaning against a ruin. He wouldn't be able to hear much (the Holonet connection was kriffing horrible on Yavin outside of where they'd set up further in the base; there were no other things he could connect his implants to, especially to listen any closer either), but just watching her body language as she realizes the man is there is enough to make him realize something is amiss. She tenses visibly, and keeps herself from making eye contact with him.

Taking a closer look at him, it isn't immediately evident that he's run into Malavai Quinn. It takes him a moment, but when he does recognize him for his profile, Theron knows that this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation for either party involved. Tri'ama had seemed stressed enough earlier in the day when she'd debriefed with Master Iresso and Darth Nox about their run-in with the spirit of Revan, and adding the man to mix doesn't sound like the brightest thought anyone could've had at that very moment. He wouldn't pretend he even began to understand the pent-up frustration and regrets the woman had for her ex-husband, but for some odd reason or the other, he can't bring himself to move to help.

The conversation is short, or he assumes it is for as long as he stands there. It didn't seem to be going well, and he doesn't creep any closer to figure out the true connotation of the exchange either. With Tri'ama wearing her respirator, hood up and that Imperials seemed to struggle with any other emotion than blatant straight faced disapproval, he's not sure that by the time Malavai leaves if one of them won out over the other. For a moment, he panics Tri'ama may have known he was there (Iresso -- the Jedi, not the well-meaning soldier, had mentioned that his presence was frazzled all the time and rather easy to pick out) as she sweeps her eyes over the staging area. But, instead of seeking him out, she kneels down on the speeder pad as rain begins to fall. He moves under an outcropping to keep the storm from doing its worst to him, and for the longest time she doesn't make to leave, changing from kneeling to sitting with her legs crossed. He wasn't sure whether Sith meditated. And figured if he asked, Nox would laugh and Tri'ama would figure he had been watching her and drift away further than she had been before.

By the time another fifteen minutes passes, she's so out of it he's able to leave without a stir from the woman. Theron's sure she knows he's there and just not acknowledging him, but makes it back to his shuttle. He runs the necessary checks, no Imperial tampering, no one has broken in while he was gone. Goes over what he's learned in the day past, finishing off notes, laying out battle plans to study when he got up in the morning. Taking apart his blasters, cleaning out the necessary components, replacing those that needed to be replaced. Putting them back together, recalibrating his implants into lower power mode, it's all routine now. Still going over reports from soldiers and sensors out in the jungle. He was sure Satele -- his mother could've assigned someone else to do this job, but she assigned him the task. The praise that was heavily overlain with professional courtesy was still welcome though.

Running a hand through his hair, he lets his mind wander to her for a moment. In the view of others, she's not exactly maternal. Whyatt is years younger than he is, but she praises him for his work, and there's clearly a connection there that Theron himself yearns for. After learning the Zabrak's story, Theron feels a little guilty for that. A boy -- a literal boy, only twenty two. Barely nine at the time of the destruction, he'd watched as Theron had watched the Temple on Coruscant burn during the Sacking of Coruscant. He'd been a pupil of Satele's after his old Master had fallen in battle, and while he'd been taken under Master Atiya when he became a padawan at seventeen, he still had a closer relationship with her than he likely would ever had with his own mother. Yes, he felt horrible about being bitter about it. Whyatt, like most Jedi, never knew his parents during the war, but according to records, they'd both died during the Imperial occupation. Satele was closest thing he had to a mother figure, and he figured Atiya had filled the role as a father as well. He'd been spiraling at the loss of his Master, which was clear in his facial expressions whenever he was mentioned.

Still.

There's one more thing he ends up doing before going off to bed. Lana (against her wishes, probably. The Sith was horrible with communications these days, but he's still bitter for what she did on Rishi. Childish or not, he still thinks she deserves his thawing cold shoulder) has mailed him a status report of his forces and Jedi on-planet, and he marks it for reading later. But he goes back to the message Tri'ama had sent him. He's seen it plenty of times, trying to decrypt it, see if every letter of every word created a sentence. Evidently, it didn't.

He didn't intend to die with regrets. And right now, the Wrath was one of them. He wasn't particularily attached to her, she was kinder than most and fought for the good of the Empire, but something kept dragging him back to pale, blonde Sith. Unlike how most would argue, it wasn't her body. It was her intellect, her strategic mind. Her battle worn courage, and her startling need to protect those of the Empire. Her soldiers weren't canon fodder, not like how many others would let them be.

He admires her for being a real person rather than a monster who happened to be breathtaking to lay eyes upon.

Hell, that was sappy, even for him.

He'd never bothered responding to her previous message, and curiousity gets the best of him because he responds late that night. Whether she'll respond or not is the real question, but he'll play that game. It's something that Doxie had once said to him, and as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep, he wonders if it's considered regifting. Cheesy, maybe. But inspirational nonetheless. Thought provoking, maybe.

"Some nights I wish to go back in life. Not to change anything subtle, just to feel a couple things twice."

In the early parts of the morning as he goes about his routine again, checking and rechecking his blasters, calibrating and recalibrating his implants. Considering eating something out of the MREs, drinking a cup of caf instead, he gets another surprise that he hadn't expected. Looking at the healing bruises in the reflection of the dark screen, he isn't immediately sure how to react to the message he's received.

"There is my heart, and then there is you. I'm afraid there may not be a difference - T.A"

He didn't know Sith ever signed their names. For the longest time before Lana, he wasn't sure that they even had names -- or were willing to share them with others.

It's nice to know that Tri'ama trusted him with her's, facing possible death.

Looking out in the viewport over the still storming jungle, he considered every single way this could end. Certain death were the words of the day apparently, but he would've liked to return to the Republic. There weren't a whole lot of people that would be devastated over his death, his mother maybe and his father if he was really grabbing at straws. Lana might be upset for a while, but Tri'ama may fight for a long time after he's gone. Or forget about him, that was a possibility, and probably the actual outcome.

With a somewhat renewed sense for survival against this ancient ancestor (something would always circle back to his heritage -- his mother, his father and apparently a very old grandfather with beef against both factions), he makes his way back to the staging area, her words still bouncing around in his head.

He'd fight for something alright. Yes, he'd fight for the Republic, everything he'd ever known and everything he hoped to return to. But there was something new alongside that.

He'd fight for her.

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neurodiversenerd · 5 years

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Madoka Magica’s Beautiful Queerness

I must confess: Puella Magi Madoka Magica is my all-time favorite anime and manga.

I first got into anime when I was 8, sitting down in front of the TV gleefully watching Sailor Moon swinging her sparkly wands around and declaring justice against monster after monster. I’d heard of it from somewhere on the internet, and upon asking my dad, he described it as a story about “a girl who turns into a superhero.” I’d later learn there were countless shows like Naoko Tekuchi’s classic, all falling under the aptly named “Magical Girl” genre.

To be frank, I’m not licensed to talk about Magical Girls as, by being white, I lack that cultural context to fully analyze the common tropes of these kinds of media. As such, I will NOT be talking about Magical Girls as a genre or about how Madoka Magica and Sailor Moon changed it. However, Sailor Moon was what kicked off my interest and from there on out, I sought out other similar anime and stumbled upon something… different.

That was when I came upon Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Unlike many unfortunate (and mentally scarred) fans of the surprisingly dark deconstruction, I was lucky enough to read the Wikipedia article on it and have some foreknowledge on its mature themes. I didn’t actually end up reading or watching the series then and there, and almost forgot about it until the first 3 volumes of the manga appeared in my school’s library.

I’ll admit; I mostly checked it out because of the sparkly rainbow covers, but briefly I remembered that all was not what it seemed. As much as I love girly fluff, I’m also really into psychological horror, and Madoka Magica delivered both.

PMMM follows Madoka Kaname and her friends as they make contracts with an alien cat called Kyubey, allowing them to obtain magical powers and a wish for their souls. Each of the girls realizes, though, that this contract is far more dangerous and sinister than they thought, and that Kyubey may not be fully honest about his actual motivations. It starts out adorable, but then in episode 3, a dark twist quickly turns this innocent show into an emotional and horrifying thrill ride.

The manga’s beautiful art and readability got me obsessed, and I ended up picking up the spinoff manga series and watching the 12-episode anime. Each of course, was equally magical and fantastic, only making me love this fictional universe more. The characters were incredibly human and had a depth that made me care for them, and the series managed to perfectly balance and contrast both its horrific and heartwarming moments. That’s not even mentioning the plot, which was unpredictable and enjoyably surprising, with a perfect ending.

By and large, though, my favorite thing about Madoka Magica was how beautifully queer the story was. The show has been criticized for queerbaiting and pulling out some problematic tropes, as the relationships admittedly are not as obvious as they could be, but upon watching it’s blatant that the main girls are anything but straight. Despite the flaws of this representation, the story manages overall to create an enjoyable narrative about the lives of these girls and the relationships between them.

When the series starts, we first get to know shy, pink-haired Madoka and her spunky, blue-haired best friend Sayaka. In the first episode, a romantic relationship is already teased between the girls, Sayaka hugging Madoka and explicitly calling Madoka her wife.

Sayaka and Madoka are unfortunately something of a rare-pair in the fandom, but their relationship is so genuinely wholesome and loving during the series that it’s a surprise that not many people ship them. They can be seen holding hands and supporting each other through whatever comes, and up until episode 8 they are together through everything.

Sayaka is unashamed to tell Madoka everything she’s feeling, and both are motivated mostly by protecting each other. Unfortunately, they have a falling out because of Sayaka’s increasing distress about her contract, but this is eventually resolved when they are brought back together at the end of the series.

These two aren’t the only couple hinted at, either.

When a new girl, Homura, transfers to Madoka and Sayaka’s class, Sayaka develops somewhat of a crush and remarks about how beautiful Homura is. This is quickly overwritten when Sayaka and Homura become more antagonistic, though.

After Homura joins the cast, Madoka and Sayaka are saved from a “witch” (the monster contracted girls must fight) by a girl named Mami. Both Madoka and Sayaka become fast friends with Mami, both talking a little too much about how “cool” they think she is.

While fighting another witch and alone with Madoka, Mami reveals that she struggles with loneliness and what could even be read as symptoms of mental illness. Madoka responds by holding hands with her, comforting Mami and reminding her that she isn’t alone. Mami then calls the two of them “a magical girl duo,” and monologues about the newfound emotions she feels about her companionship with Madoka. Note that this is only on episode 3 out of a 12-episode anime!

This beautiful moment of non-heterosexuality, though, is again unfortunately brief. Mami becomes careless and is killed by the witch she intended to defeat, leaving Madoka and Sayaka scarred. This is of course, somewhat problematic, given that Mami’s death could be read as an incident of bury your gays. The series does seem to invoke this with the characters’ deaths, and I will concede that I can’t exactly justify this especially since it really seems to take a while to even confirm that character’s queerness. Even so, the deaths are relevant to the plot and drive the story, so avoiding the characters’ demise would actually hinder the story and the message it attempts to deliver.

After Mami dies, the start of Sayaka’s primary arc begins. It’s hinted that Sayaka may have had some deeper feelings for Mami than she shows. She regrets that she didn’t make a contract in time to save her, and fights (and dies) to model how Mami used to. Most of how Sayaka acts from this point forward is in memory of Mami, which is both beautiful and tragic for her character. It’s a testament to the queer undertones of the show that Sayaka is willing to fight in honor of the girl she loved.

Another character named Kyouko is introduced as an antagonist, another one of the “magical girls.” She fights with Sayaka over witch hunting territory, and their philosophical disagreements on how to kill the monsters make them at odds with each other. Despite this, there’s an aspect of Foe Yay to how they interact with each other.

It’s revealed that Kyubey takes a girl’s soul when she makes a contract with him, causing Sayaka to fall off the deep end, while Kyouko begins to see herself in Sayaka and tries to rescue her before it’s too late. Kyouko’s character goes from a villainous one to that of someone who pushes other people away because of their fear of abandonment, supported by what she experienced prior to the series.

She wished for her father’s church to become popular again after he was excommunicated, but once he discovered that his daughter is what he labels a witch, Kyouko is outcast and her family dies by her father’s hand. Her story is reminiscent of the rejection that some queer youth face when they come out to bigoted religious family and can be read as metaphorical for that predicament.

Unfortunately, the series pulls a “bury your gays” moment yet again. It turns out that magical girls are only contracted so they too can turn into witches and so Kyubey can gather energy for his civilization based off this transformation. Sayaka, unable to cope with all the pain that comes with being a magical girl, turns into a witch when she becomes too filled with despair. Kyouko attempts to restore her original form but fails, destroying herself and Sayaka’s witch so that they can be together in death.

It's a sad ending for Kyouko and Sayaka, but it does strangely add more subtext to their relationship considering that they get to a point where they would literally die for each other. The song “And I’m Home” by Wowaka also plays after their deaths, which is a love song between the two of them expressing how despite their sadness, they’ve found safety in each other. During the song, a still image of them holding hands underwater, as if they’re drowning together, is pictured.

Madoka and Homura then become the couple most alluded to during the final 4 episodes of the series. Homura tells Madoka that an apocalypse-wreaking witch is coming to their town, and that she’s been going back in time using her magic to save Madoka from that witch, or to stop Madoka from becoming a witch herself.

Episode 10 is arguably the best episode of the series, where we see the various timelines Homura has lived through and how she bonds with Madoka every time. Madoka and Homura’s relationship during these periods are sadly brushed off as “friendship,” but Homura’s dedication to saving Madoka and Madoka’s willingness to die for Homura in several timelines alludes to something much deeper.

The best scene from this episode is by far when both Madoka and Homura are about to become witches and the two make a promise to destroy the world together as monsters. These two are perfectly willing to fall right beside each other, but when Madoka is able to save Homura from her fate at the last minute, Homura is forced to kill Madoka before she becomes a witch and reset again. The scene is heartbreaking and is really when Homura begins to drastically change compared to the other timelines.

Episode 11 features what’s basically Homura’s confession of love to Madoka, wherein she promises to keep Madoka safe at all costs and embraces her. When the giant witch finally attacks in episode 12, Madoka runs out into the ruins of the city to save Homura, and finally decides what to wish for to become a magical girl.

These final moments of episode 12 are particularly beautiful and filled with things that cannot be brushed away with simple friendship. Madoka wishes to erase witches, and through loopholes in the rules of the magical girl contract, is able to ascend to godhood and save every last magical girl from witch-hood. She basically rewrites the universe in her ideals but has to say goodbye to Homura as she leaves earth.

Madoka calls Homura her “very best friend” and gives Homura her hair ribbons to remember her by. Oh, and did I mention that during this time they’re hugging and naked in space? Yeah. Just gals being pals.

This ending is emotional, cathartic and gives a depressing series a strangely happy ending. Other than the naked space hugging (*suggestive eye raising*), it also summarizes the queer themes built up through the series.

The character Kyubey, an alien who uses these girls to his own advantage, manipulates them and profits off of their despair and personal trust. Many people have written about how he could be metaphorically read as an entitled man who views women as objects and resources to be used. Considering that queer women in today’s society are particularly marginalized due to how cishet men often feel entitled to fetishize and marginalize their gender and sexuality, the subtext in Madoka Magical also plays into this.

When Madoka finally manipulates and one-up’s Kyubey for a change, Kyubey is shocked because of what he doesn’t anticipate. From him predicting Kyouko’s death to his original contract with Homura, Kyubey has used the girls’ love for each other as a weapon against them as many straight men do towards queer and trans women. He doesn’t expect Madoka’s love for Homura and for her friends to win over him, and it creates a fantastic ending because of how Madoka’s love is literally able to rewrite the universe. Yeah, gay love saves the world.

One of the key ideas of the show is the relationship of hope and despair, but the emotion of love can easily be included in either, so even though Kyubey can tip the balance of hope and despair he is incapable of doing anything to the love the girls feel for each other. Though he can weaponize it, as shown by Madoka’s wish he is never fully able to erase it. What gives Madoka the hope to continue standing against Kyubey is nothing but the love she’s felt between herself and her (more than) friends.

The whole of Madoka Magica can even be read as Madoka’s coming out story. In the beginning, she’s shy and unsure of herself. Sayaka is blissfully ignorant to the pain of the world (metaphors for discrimination), and Mami is lonely because she’s set apart as a “magical girl.” Kyouko was also rejected due to religion.

The girls are eventually all taken by the whims of Kyubey and his need to use them, but even so they find solace in their relationships with each other. Madoka witnesses these events and gains a full understanding of what it means to be a magical girl, and instead of giving up, chooses to hope for a better world and actively change it.

But the story is also arguably about Madoka falling in love with Homura and gaining strength from the experience. In the end, she literally becomes a goddess when she embraces herself and defies Kyubey’s (and society’s) expectations.

Madoka Magica isn’t perfect. Bury your gays, and almost canon subtext are features that fall under queerbaiting and are somewhat problematic. Beneath it all, though, Madoka Magica is a great story about a group of queer girls of color opposing a system built against them. It’s got flaws, and more steps need to be taken so that the series improves in this manner, but Madoka Magica is a good start and I hope that the 4th Madoka movie will continue to improve its LGBT themes and perhaps even explicitly confirm the relationships.

Until then, I’d highly recommend Madoka Magica for its storytelling, animation, and it’s beautiful (if not perfect) queerness.

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