What if Aziraphale wasn't on earth between 1941 and 1967?
What if, the same way Crowley was brought back to Hell in 1827 Aziraphale was recalled to Heaven in 1941?
Hear me out: Aziraphale has been making slow but steady progress within his character arc right? In 1941 at the end of the night, sharing drinks with Crowley in the bookshop, Aziraphale was willing to accept that things are not always black and white and sometimes there is room for shades of grey (albeit very light grey). Compare this to his thinking concerning Elspeth. Aziraphale kept flip flopping back and forth over whether Elspeth's actions were good or bad. He didn't seem to consider her actions were ethically complicated. In his mind they could either be good or bad depending on whatever information came to light in the moment.
It also seems that after the church, the magic trick, and the shades of grey discussion, Crowley and Aziraphale are back on good terms with one another. At the very least, talking and willing to spend time together again. Other than the mention of how easily accessible the holy water is in the church, Crowley doesn't seem to mention or allude to his request again. However, in 1967, it feels like their interactions are strained again. Aside from the awkwardness and tension in their conversation, it's also strange that Crowley is surprised to see Aziraphale in the Bentley (despite being PARKED IN FRONT OF THE BOOKSHOP) and that Aziraphale is only aware of what Crowley is up to through second-hand means “I work in Soho, I hear things." (You don't need to 'hear things' when Crowley is conducting those things IN FRONT OF THE BOOKSHOP)
So what happened? My theory: Aziraphale has been serving out a punishment in Heaven since 1941.
Fandom consensus seems to be that there is a 1941 pt. 3 coming next season and many are hoping for a kiss or something undeniably romantic (I am too ngl). But what if it's actually a scene where Aziraphale gets dragged back up to heaven?
Shax said that 80-90 years ago was the first time that she heard about Crowley and Aziraphale being an item. We can assume that this 80-90 years ago was during Furfur’s failed evidence presentation to Dagon and F(r)iends.
A lot of demons were hanging around in that scene. It wouldn’t surprise me if one of them (or Shax herself) got in touch with an angel in Heaven and let them know about the rumor downstairs of Crowley working with an angel on Earth.
Obviously, Heaven can’t allow that, and who else could it be other than Aziraphale? He’s the only angel down there, so they recall him. Without evidence though, and given that (1) it's a demon's word against an angel's; (2) less than a century and a half ago, Gabriel awarded Aziraphale a medal for his work on earth (bookstore opening cut scene); and (3) as far as we know, Aziraphale hasn’t had any major offenses other than frivolous use of miracles, I don’t think Heaven can really do much. That doesn’t mean they don’t do anything, I just don’t think they do anything like use hellfire on him or make him fall.
Despite the lack of evidence, Heaven still has to make an example out of Aziraphale for getting caught working with a demon. I think whatever punishment Heaven doles out, keeps Aziraphale up in Heaven for a long time.
(Small tangent: If it can be traced back to one event rather than a slow progression over millenia, this rumor is also probably what makes all the archangels be so cruel to Aziraphale (or at least finally gives them permission to act on what they’ve been wanting to do for ages). Maybe this is when they start looking into Aziraphale’s past endeavors and notice Crowley everywhere.)
It could be worse, if there had been evidence, it would have been worse. Still (Aziraphale might think), this is Heaven, 'the side of good', they wouldn't take it too far. He probably received a trial before his punishment began. And yeah the trial is more for show than anything else, but it's not like Hell would have bothered with any of that. Hell would probably delve right into whatever torture they'd decided for punishment. His time spent in Heaven, no matter how intense the punishment, would have been a breeze to tolerate compared to what Hell would do to Crowley. Speaking of which...
By the time Heaven lets Aziraphale back down to Earth, I think he would be a mess of mindless worry. He had just come to terms with his feelings for Crowley after all. Maybe this is why Aziraphale decides to give Crowley the holy water after all. He's had more than enough time in Heaven to realize that as much as he wants to protect Crowley and keep him safe, all that intent means nothing if he's stuck in Heaven because of his own carelessness. In Aziraphale's absence (or destruction), holy water could keep Crowley safe, at least from Hell, even if it is dangerous. Once Aziraphale is back on Earth, when he hears what Crowley was plotting, it probably further cements his decision to give it to him.
If Aziraphale got taken up to Heaven right after the magic show, he probably has no idea if his palming of the polaroid worked for sure. The bookshop is a safe place for Crowley to be away from Hell, but how long will that last? Is it still an embassy with Aziraphale up here in heaven? Is Crowley defenseless against the other demons down there? Did Hell come for Crowley after all even without evidence?
So how long is Aziraphale gone for? We already know that after Crowley got sent back to hell in 1827 and Aziraphale didn’t see him again for “a very long time.” The next meeting we, as an audience, see between them is the holy water request in 1862. So at worst, Crowley's been in Hell for ~30 years. Heaven probably would have taken Aziraphale back for a similar amount of time. And wow look at that, 26 years ago by between 1941 and 1967.
There’s enough ambiguity in the set and dialogue to allow for this length of absence as well. I already wrote a post about how ridiculous Aziraphale is for saying 'I work in Soho I hear things' in 1967 when the whole scene takes place outside the bookshop and how equally ridiculous Crowley is for seeming to think Aziraphale wouldn't notice him prancing around the block plotting to steal from a church. But maybe Crowley conducting his holy water heist business all over Aziraphale's corner of Soho is because as far as he knows Aziraphale isn't around anymore. In my post, I point out that the bookshop is blocked off by the "Striptease" and "Love Shop Cinema" signs but that you can tell it’s the bookshop because of its pillars.
I admitted that it was weird to cover up half the windows, but didn't really have any diegetic explanation for it. Maybe the explanation is that Aziraphale’s bookshop has been abandoned for years. In which case, I think Crowley might be hanging around Soho caring for it and the books, making sure it doesn't get vandalized, protecting it from snooping humans, etc. (tangent: this could also be why Aziraphale says that the bookshop is both of theirs. Maybe the "plenty of use" he said Crowley got out of it was while Aziraphale was away. Maybe Crowley used it as a pseudo base of operations.)
Aziraphale being gone would also explain why, suddenly, 105 years after his initial request, Crowley is plotting to steal holy water from a church. Aziraphale has been gone a long enough time that Crowley is starting to get antsy. Maybe he’s starting to think that Aziraphale is gone for good (not dead, he is an OPTIMIST DAMMIT). I think Crowley is spurred to start the holy water heist because he thinks Aziraphale isn’t going to be assigned to earth any more and whoever they're sending down next is going to be more of a smitey kind of angel. And if Aziraphale isn’t around anymore, then the demon-proof-except-for-Crowley-bookshop/embassy is also likely not going to stop any demons from getting to Crowley whenever they want. If Aziraphale is really not coming back, then Crowley is alone again, on his own side, for the first time since they saved Job's kids. He's gonna really need that insurance now more than ever and unfortunately, he has no one else to rely on. He’s gonna have to procure it himself, even if it’s dangerous and dumb.
Aziraphale's absence (as much as I am loathe to let go of the theory that Aziraphale and Crowley are just being incredibly dramatic idiots) can also explain some of the dialogue from the 1967 scene.
“What are you doing here?” might seem a silly thing to say when Crowley is parked outside of the bookshop, but makes sense if he's reacting to seeing Aziraphale for the first time in years, so damn close it can’t be a dream, right inside the Bentley.
“I work in Soho, I hear things,” is not just a way to give the audience exposition that Crowley wouldn’t need but a way for Aziraphale to explain why he’s there.
The barely concealed desperation in Crowley's voice when wanting to give Aziraphale a lift home (despite being LITERALLY OUTSIDE THE BOOKSHOP), or to take him anywhere he wants, makes a little more sense if he hasn’t seen him in years, wants to catch up, and doesn’t even know where Aziraphale would be staying if not the bookshop.
If this theory is true and Aziraphale has been absent between 1941 and 1967, it could explain why we don't see the bookshop in the 1967 scene even though everything else in the scene points to it taking place on that corner, it would give Aziraphale a reason for deciding to give Crowley the holy water after all even though hes been stubbornly opposed to it for more than a century, and it could also explain why even though he was making a lot of progress character wise to, it felt like he was regressing again.
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Nene’s Role in Wonderlands x Showtime
The release of The Miniature Garden’s Coral seems to have confirmed some things I’ve recently speculated might transpire in future Wonderlands x Showtime events-- namely regarding Nene and how she may actually be the most important member of the troupe-- so, let’s talk about them! I’ll be using zui’s lyrics video for my translations, so hopefully they’re accurate.
With the past couple of WxS events in mind, it’s easy to see that this 3DMV is also about endings. While the MV begins in a sunny blue afternoon light...
...the characters and set eventually bask in a beautiful sunset orange, signaling the end of the day. The lyrics even mention being “between the end of the blue sky and the beginning of the night sky,” further emphasizing that we’re in the middle of the story. When the sky is blue, the troupe expresses uncertainty: Rui mentions that he feels lost, and Tsukasa, scared. But eventually, Nene admits that, in this beginning period, she was “spoiled by the sound of the waves,” AKA that the commotion surrounding WxS’s formation led to a troupe that became a source of comfort for all of them.
Once the sun sets, there are a lot of “even ifs.” Nene sings about how she’ll continue to sing this song, even if things are starting to look unsteady and she’s not sure if she should proceed. However, by the end of the song, she resolves to "still sing this song” while keeping up a smile.
I think that the fact that Nene says she will sing this song is incredibly important, because, as established, this song is about endings. Meanwhile, back in Mr. Showtime, Tsukasa firmly didn’t want WxS to end, and was holding out until closing time. Rui’s What Sort of Ending Are You Wishing For? and Emu’s Starry Sky Orchestra seemingly both acknowledge an ending as well, but it’s not at all easy. Rui seems to fall into a resigned depression at the thought, keeping a whimsical facade up when the very thought of separating kills him inside. The thought haunts him, MV riddled with hourglasses that he can’t get out of his head. Emu can only tolerate taking the first step towards a breakup with tooth-rottingly sugarcoated promises of eternal togetherness and literally holding hands as they go (I love her btw this is not Emu slander). She never even says the word “end,” only “tomorrow.”
Rui, Emu, and Tsukasa are basically Denialx3. Rui tries to deny his emotions regarding disbanding, Emu tries to deny that the ending is coming at all, and Tsukasa tries to deny that there’s nothing he can do to keep them from inevitably drifting apart. And that’s where Nene comes in again.
Rui’s dream is to perform technically complex shows that will resonate with an audience. He can do that from Phoenix Wonderland. Emu’s dream is to keep the Wonder Stage up and operating forever. She has to do that from Phoenix Wonderland. Tsukasa’s dream is to become the number one world star and make everyone smile. While this would likely take him away from the park, in another story, I could see it being possible that, in the end, Tsukasa decides that making the people in his local community happy is more important than trying to change the entire world. Thus, he could also follow his dream from Phoenix Wonderland, even if it’s not ideal.
But then there’s Nene. Her dream is, and always has been, to perform in Broadway musicals. Broadway is a live performance in New York City. There is no possible way for Nene to get what she wants while staying in Phoenix Wonderland. And that is possibly why Wonderlands x Showtime’s ending is the easiest for her to process.
Now, I’m not trying to say that Nene doesn’t love her friends. She adores them. Her three previous commissions have proven that. It’s the amount of love she has for them that will propel her to make what is actually the best choice for their dreams. Nene is the little mermaid, both when swimming freely the oceans with a beautiful, unstoppable song, and when enduring pain herself to stand with and for the ones she loves. Her friends, in this situation... are coral.
Remember that coral, “blurred” and uncertain in the water and “stained orange by the setting sun”? The miniature garden is Phoenix Wonderland; the coral is Emu, Rui, and Tsukasa; and that coral is stained orange by its desperation to keep rereading the final chapter instead of closing the book for now and putting it away to revisit in the future. Coral, while a beautiful living organism, is also completely static.
Static like stone statues which, at least by my interpretation, is what the rest of WxS turns into at the end of the 3DMV. The three of them (and Kaito) are paralyzed with the fear of the suffering an ending would bring. Only Nene is alive and human to be the one to show the group the benefits it can bring as well.
There are a lot of aspects of this song and Nene’s entire personality that lead me to believe that she will be the one to bring about change in WxS. First, she most often “has the braincell,” so to speak. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she performs this song with Kaito, the most mature of the WxS vocaloids, either. During April Fool’s 2023, she was put into the Solid Heart class. One might think that troupe leader Tsukasa should be the Solid Heart, and that shy Nene should be the Cautious Heart, but they (accurately) sorted it the other way.
Nene is a very strong-willed person. In other stories, it might be seen as a negative that Nene is always the most hesitant one to get into shenanigans, or that she would even dare to be the one to suggest a WxS split in the first place. What an ungrateful wet blanket Nene is, willing to throw away her friends for the sake of her own selfish dream. But in this story, staying at Phoenix Wonderland isn’t really what will make Rui or Tsukasa happy, and even Emu may have to graduate to focusing on the entire company instead of just one stage someday.
Nene’s friends brought her out of the darkness and into the light of day, and she is so grateful for that. She knows how amazing they are, which is how she knows that they can make more friends and continue to do even more amazing things in the future if they can bear to leave their high school part-time jobs behind and enter the real world, just like her.
So, Nene’s role is to be Wonderlands x Showtime’s guiding light. She’ll tell Rui what sort of ending she’s wishing for, and then console him when he can’t repress his tears. She’ll be the one to hold Emu’s hand while they take that next step into tomorrow. Her three best friends helped her to grow from the loner who operated a robot from the theme park bushes, and she’ll help them step out of that theme park and be who they truly want to be.
There is one other thing I wanted to mention, though...
Tsukasa.
As I mentioned previously, while all three of Rui, Emu, and Tsukasa are in denial, Tsukasa is the most actively in opposition to an ending. He’s also the troupe leader, and the sole creator of the Wonderland Sekai. If someone is going to actively try to stop Nene from suggesting separation, it’s definitely going to at least start with him. But as Nene has already stated in The Miniature Garden’s Coral, despite any opposition that makes her question whether or not she should proceed, she already plans to continue singing her beliefs about a bittersweet yet timely goodbye.
And, their conflict is something that’s basically been foreshadowed from the beginning too, right? Nene has always roasted Tsukasa, giving a counterpoint to his blindingly bright worldview. In upcoming chapters, however, I believe that may start to transform from simple fun banter into a genuine conflict with clear sides drawn...
And THAT’S why ColoPale gave them Childish War.
Nenekasa nation get ready, ‘cause I don’t think this is the last Nene and Tsukasa fight we’re going to see.
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birds without feet;
Notes: I return to the blog with this monster of a ficlet. This was actually written for @nin-deer who very graciously allowed me to share it on the blog as well. A small imagine that grew out of control haha... enjoy~
Ft: Beacrox
It was but a subtle shift of air that caused him to abandon his project. In an instant, he whipped around, knife in hand, its sharp blade poised just above the intruder's jugular, ready to cut deep with the slightest pressure.
Despite the threat of a blade at your neck, your smile was relaxed as you lifted the roll of parchment in your hand. “Delivery!”
His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, noting the shifted curtains he pieced together your point of entrance. Only when you wiggled the paper impatiently did he finally drop the knife and swiped the parchment from your hand, ignoring your huff of laughter as he scanned over its contents.
“It’s nice to see you too Beacrox. How have you been?”
Your attempts at casual banter were ignored, but the moment you began reaching for the food on the table, his gaze snapped to yours, promising pain should you attempt further.
You were wise enough to heed his warning as you stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Sheesh, you’re not going to make any friends if you keep acting this way.”
Crumpling the piece of paper, he threw it into the fireplace as you clicked your tongue in mock annoyance.
Had he cared for your opinion, he might’ve been annoyed, alas it was easy to dismiss as he threw a pouch in your direction, the clink of gold muted as you caught it from the air. He watched as you tossed the bag a few times before pocketing it.
You must have caught the confusion on his face as you glanced up with a grin. “I know you won’t cheat me of my payment.”
Though it was the truth—Molan’s motto was always to repay what’s due—such blatant admission of trust from someone working in the dark underbelly of society puzzled him, and without meaning to, he’d let his displeasure slip through. “It could’ve been filled with rocks.”
You blinked, head tilted as if you’re considering the possibility, then you laughed. “Then I suppose I’ll be a few pretty rocks richer.”
He scowled and returned to his work, grabbing his knife to hide the flush of annoyance he felt by your flippant answer. You knew such responses would annoy him, and he refused to give you the satisfaction of being correct.
One does not survive long in the underworld with their morals and innocence intact. Your deliberate pushing of buttons was another tactic to wheedle information from your targets, and he wasn't inclined on revealing anything. You already know far too much as is.
“Leave,” he ordered, his limited patience well and truly spent.
“Always a pleasure talking to you, Bea~”
He threw the knife in his hand, but by the time he turned around, you were already gone. The only evidence of your visit was the lingering echoes of your laughter and a missing tart from the plate of desserts he'd prepared earlier.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
As you kept the package just out of his reach, he couldn’t help but think: for a grown person jaded by the underworld, you sure liked acting like a child at times.
“You just thought of something rude didn’t you?”
His gaze snapped to yours. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” he warned coldly. The Molan household might have fallen from grace but just because he had traded his daggers for kitchen knives, they were no less lethal in his hands. Was it confidence or foolishness that made you dare to test his patience?
The silence in the kitchens was deafening as your eyes met across the counter.
“I haven’t,” You said finally, “not once.” Your smile was wry and lacked its usual cheer but the heaviness in your tone bore the weight of many secrets, of someone who knew far more than what they’re letting on. He’s faced with an uncanny sense of unbelonging and emptiness that seemed eerily familiar.
But with a blink of an eye, the mask that had slipped had righted itself. “I have a change of mind,” You sat on the edge of the counter island, tension and somber mood shaken off, replaced with an all too sunny smile. “I’d like another form of payment for the information I’m selling.”
He felt anger lick up his throat as his fist clenched above the table. “That was not part of our deal.”
“An amendment to the agreement then, if you will-”
“I refuse.”
Your peals of laughter filled the room, “You didn’t even let me finish!”
“I refuse.” He repeated sternly. Knowing your personality, it would be an amendment that would greatly irritate or inconvenience him.
“I’d like you to cook a dish for me.” You continued, ignoring his words.
There was a sharp snap as the corner of the table cracked under his hand as incredulity stole over his face.
To begin with, payment for your services had never been cheap, each bag of gold was worth more than several months’ worth of food. If all you wanted was a decent meal, then you’ve already been charging enough to dine at any of Roan kingdom’s finest restaurants.
“It’s not a dish that can be found on any menu in the kingdom.” You tutted as if you knew the thoughts that were going through his head. “It’s not something that can be bought with gold.”
You’re pulling his leg. “And why do you think I’d care to create a dish no one’s heard of?” Beacrox asked through gritted teeth.
“I know you don’t.” You laughed, lips slanted with a smile. “It’s something I’ve tasted a long time ago but have no idea how it’s made. I’ll describe what I remember and if you believe it’s impossible to recreate or not worth the hassle,” you shrugged in an exaggerated display of nonchalance, “then I’ll take the usual payment like nothing’s changed. It’s a good deal for you right?”
Nothing about this deal made sense. You’re essentially offering your services for free while he’d benefit regardless of whether he succeeds in recreating the dish or not. His expression was stiff as he crossed his arms.
You set the package down on the table gently and slid a piece of folded paper next to it. “Take your time to think about it.” You offered as you pulled your hood up. You left the kitchens as quietly as you’d arrived, leaving him to brood in the silence left behind.
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“Here.” he sets the completed project on the table with the reluctance of a person who would rather be anywhere else but in the kitchens at that very moment. He folded his arms, pinning his hands to his chest, resisting the urge to snatch the plate and throw it in the trash, calling off the deal.
Beacrox had no expectations of being able to recreate a dish he had never heard of. Yet, from the moment he set the plate down, you stiffened in place, your pleasant smile melting away, replaced by shock.
“Well?”, You flinched as he prompted impatiently. You pulled the dish closer, your smile weak and crooked.
“I was just a bit surprised that’s all..” your voice trailed off.
He filed your reactions away in the back of his mind.
Your grip was uncertain but eventually you picked a piece from the plate and placed it in your mouth.
You froze in place, and he immediately slid a cup of water and bowl over.
But you surprised him when you kept it in and swallowed. “It…” He watched as your face straightened slowly, all visible emotions ironed away into one of careful neutrality.
“..tastes nothing like it.”
When vague subjective descriptions on a slim piece of paper were all that he had to work with, he’d expected this outcome. The bag of gold he had prepared in advance was tossed onto the table as he reached to retrieve the dish, only to be deterred when sharp pain sprang across the back of his hand. The surprise he felt from the fact he’d failed to catch your movements was swiftly replaced by irritation when he realised you’d slapped him.
His eyes narrowed, “What are you-“
“I’m taking it.” you said and to his utter confusion, went on to shove another bite in your mouth.
“You just said-“
“I know what I said.” you huffed, “I never said the dish had to taste right did I? It’s a good first try-“ His eyebrows lifted as you suddenly lost the ability to maintain eye contact with him. “Anyways, I’ll be the judge of what’s accepted and I say this passes.”
You've always been an eccentric character, but just when he thought you couldn't faze him further, you managed to render him speechless yet again. Till now, he’s yet to figure out your intention behind your request, if taste was not a priority then what use was creating the dish you’re looking for?
“Get out of my kitchen.”
“But I haven’t-“
“Out.”
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Of all the informants in the kingdom, none possessed skills that could surpass yours. It was why, despite the many headaches you induced, Beacrox had chosen to suffer your pestering for so long.
Not one of his sources has ever confirmed how you acquire your information or seen you in action. Yet the intelligence you provide, which has, at many times, sounded unbelievable, had been proven to be true time and time again.
Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that, despite the ease with which you uncover others' secrets, the same couldn’t be said vice versa. Little to no information could be found regarding your background, whatever was found was obviously doctored, being far too mundane for someone of your skills. You were either incredibly thorough at covering your tracks or an experienced fraudster, and Beacrox was inclined on believing the latter.
Your unpredictable behaviour made it hard to judge whether you’re an ally or foe, so it was only natural that he’d sought for leverage to hold against you in case there’ll be a day you’d decide to betray them and sell their secrets to their enemies.
That was the only reason he would consider playing along with your games.
Though he knew not the significance of these dishes to you, he had hoped they would provide some insight on your background or places you’ve been to where other sources have failed to narrow down.
But of course even the meals you’d request would be harder if not just as difficult to trace as well.
It was only a matter of time before you caught onto his intentions, after all, he’d never kept his investigations a secret. Yet instead of pulling back like he’d expected, you had become bolder in your requests, eyes sparkling with mischief as if you understood the frustration he was going through and still remain one infuriating step ahead of him at all times.
He’d considered the possibility that you could be pulling his leg, but there was something about the nostalgia in your eyes as you taste each dish that made Beacrox believe in their authenticity.
He glanced at a small box hidden by the side, within held a small but steadily growing pile of recipes of unknown origins. Not for the first time, Beacrox found himself questioning if all these peaceful days have turned him soft after all.
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A familiar, unwelcome figure was sitting in his fresh crate of produce.
A quick scan around the area confirmed that you were alone and he walked over to assess your state. A splatter trail led up to the crate you sat on and his brows furrowed in distaste. The darkness made it difficult to immediately see any obvious signs of injuries and when you made no reaction to his presence, he kicked the crate below you.
“Ow.” you stirred, complaining with a soft laugh.
Conscious.
“Why are you here?”
Your unannounced visit broke one of many unspoken rules governing their kind. As people maintaining a delicate facade, unexpected visits were not merely discouraged but deemed perilous. No one would fault him should he choose to silence you then and there - such was the severity of your faux pas - yet he stood, only mildly irritated, at the disruption you’ve brought to a peaceful night.
It took a moment longer than he liked before you gathered enough strength to speak. “Sorry,” you apologised and for once, actually sounding it. “I just need a little rest. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
Your laboured breathing and unfocused gaze suggested otherwise and he folded his arms as the dreadful feeling of his plans for an early night slipped through his fingers like fine sand.
“How bad is it?”
Impatiently he waited for you to process his words, your sluggishness a strange contrast to your usually sharp wit and quick retorts.
“It’s been treated.”
The smell of blood was sharp and acrid, he would have to clean the stains soon if he wished to avoid its scent lingering in the area. “I will not ask again.” He warned.
You were exhausted, it could be seen from your posture and expression. Though he understood the instinct to hide one’s weakness, from the moment you chose to rest here it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ the truth comes out but a matter of ‘when’ and Beacrox would preferred if it happened sooner rather than later.
Just as he was contemplating the benefits of leaving you to your fate, your lips loosened. “Stab wound on the left, missed vitals. I’ve been tended to but some of the stitches might have opened up.”
That would explain the bloody trail you left. He should count his blessings that it didn’t sound too bothersome, assuming you hadn't foolishly downplayed the severity of your injuries. Your arms came up defensively as he began moving towards you, eyes widening with surprise, “Wait-“
His arms slipped under and around and with barely a grunt of effort, he lifted you up. The sudden motion drew a muffled groan from you and he allowed you a brief moment to collect yourself before he began moving. From this position, he could acutely feel the heat radiating from your skin and the tremors that wracked your body.
Your confusion and trepidation were clear and it was with some hesitation before you decided to open your mouth-
“Save your breath.” He advised and you obediently swallowed your words.
He moved you into the storage shed behind the kitchen. Though dark, he navigated through the small space easily, setting you on the surface of several boxes, he stepped back to note that you’ve lost consciousness. The walk hadn’t been far but you must have exhausted your reserves traveling here.
From the darkness he brought out a small knife and paused, looking at your face, sweat slicked yet slack from tension, having found an escape from the worries troubling you - however temporary. He recognised that this moment might be a rare opportunity to unveil the secrets you hide, yet as quick as the notion flitted through his mind, it was dismissed just as quickly. With methodical precision, he cut open the side of your shirt where red had stained through.
The wound was as you’d described, if not a bit irritated and swollen. Basic first aid had been applied, though the messy stitch work left much to be desired, it did its job in holding your injury closed. A few stitches had come loose and will need to be reworked but nothing that he’s not capable of handling even with his limited medical knowledge.
As his gaze roamed to your face checking, yes, you were still unconscious, he left and returned moments later with a candle, clean water, cloth and a clean shirt.
A dusty shed and mere candlelight were far from an ideal setting to perform any kind of wound care, but he doubted you’d care at this point. Pristine, white gloves snapped on, he made short work of cleaning, restitching and bandaging your wound.
He was about to tilt a bottle of potion into your lips when you mumbled. He paused, waiting to see if you were regaining consciousness. You mumbled again and he frowned. It took him few moments before he realised two things: you weren’t waking up anytime soon and the words you’re mumbling, weren’t in a language from Roan or even any of the neighbouring kingdoms.
As a master assassin, he had learned many languages, so the fact that you spoke one that he couldn’t place piqued his interest. He watched your lips, intent on studying and memorising the unique intonations and pitch, however, it seems your instincts finally kicked in, and though still unconscious, you’d stopped mumbling.
Even out cold, you’d find a way to be bothersome. There was nothing more he could do, he left the folded, clean shirt he brought along by your side and with one final glance at your still form, he closed the doors behind him and locked it.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
He returned the next morning to a broken lock and an empty shed. In place of where you’re supposed to be was instead a piece of paper and a bag of coins.
“Thanks for last night. Sorry about your spuds, I’ve replaced them for you :)”
A glance to the side confirmed the presence of a fresh crate of potatoes and a slip of paper containing the description of a dish never heard of before in the kingdom.
And for the first time ever, a name to go alongside the unfamiliar dish.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
You never mentioned what happened that night and he didn’t pry. Still, something seemed to have shifted between the two of you.
He no longer chases you away the moment you appear, while you've learned to place yourself to avoiding getting in the way of his cooking. He pretends not to notice when you arrive with injuries and you feign surprise at finding mysterious salves appearing nearby.
“Aw, did you miss my company?” you teased when you caught his gaze assessing you after dropping by from one of your longer absences.
Beacrox made no attempt to conceal the dry scowl on his face. “Like one misses a rat infestation.”
“Charming~” you beamed.
Some things, still don’t change no matter what.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
In the end, it was the one question he couldn’t figure out.
“Why me?”
The dishes you've shared are simple, you could've hired any other chef, given the same descriptions and they would’ve achieved similar results. But you chose to badger him, an unknown chef working for a humble count's family instead.
You paused in your devouring of yet another strange dish, blinking as if surprised that he would be the first to initiate conversation.
“Why Bea! You should have more confidence in yourself, you’re one of the best chefs in Roan!”
It was as obvious a deflection as he ever saw. His fingers tightened around his arms and he took a slow breath. So you’re going to be stubborn. Well, two can play that game. He tried another angle.
The words tasted foreign on his tongue, but they were something that turned over and over in his mind since that night. He’d probably horribly butchered the pronunciation but it seemed the meaning was successfully relayed from the way your eyes widened and your pupils shook with recognition.
The utensil held in your hand clattered to the table and Beacrox kept his eyes trained on you, taking in your paling face. When it didn't seem like you would offer an explanation, he continued.
“It’s what you kept repeating that night.“
A myriad of emotions crossed your face: shock, confusion, fear, and finally, resignation.
In the silence, you slowly repeated those same words. Sharp, crisp and wholly foreign.
"“Home,” your voice was soft, but it was the loudest thing in the kitchen. “‘I want to go home.’” you swallowed thickly, a wavering smile on your face. “that’s probably what I said.”
There was a lot to unpack from that revelation.
He was suddenly reminded of how you’d react to the dishes each time, savouring each one, scouring the plates clean despite the differences in tastes. You ate not to fulfil the hunger of the body but to satisfy a craving of the mind. After receiving the recipe with a foreign name, it had confirmed one suspicion of his, that wherever these dishes came from, whether it was a place or a person that you're reminiscing about, they're likely no longer accessible.
You're reliving memories through dishes you barely remember. Chasing ghosts in your memories in search of some semblance of normalcy.
Trust was a limited and rare currency in the underworld, hoarded jealously and coveted by many. You’d handed him the leash he’d sought since he agreed to your little game yet he felt gutted by the weight of the revelation, his shoulders burdened.
“Why me?” He repeated softly.
You watched him. “I don’t know.” Your voice sounded small and so tired. “I thought maybe, if it’s anyone, you’d probably understand.”
What does the concept of home and person mean when they no longer exist? Who are they but displaced people playing roles too big or small to hold their histories? Bearing memories of a place and person, but unable to find an equivalent?
It was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked.
“But I wasn’t lying you know?” you added suddenly and he looked up in confusion, the smile you wore was weaker than usual but it was genuine.
“You are one of the best chefs in all of Roan.” You declared in that same, familiar confidence which you use to share all those impossible, far-fetched sounding intel that always, turns out to be fact.
For some inexplicable reason, it was that simple statement that dispersed the tempest building within.
Beacrox sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and exhaled through his nose.
And perhaps, there was a small, exasperated chuckle.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
“Bea please marry me.”
It wasn't often, but on rare occasions, he would nail the taste of a dish right.
He didn’t bother with a response but moved to refill your plate nonetheless.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
“Thank you.”
He paused while wiping the dishes. “For what?”
“Just,” Your gaze dropped to the plate before you as your fork tapped lightly against the edge. “Thank you for the food.”
Beacrox watched as you returned to eating, mind filled with memories of all the dishes he's made, of greatswords and bladed edges, and thought of what home and belonging is.
We’re not so different. The idea of it wasn't as horrifying as he had thought. Once, perhaps he would’ve been unnerved by the sentimentality. There are still so many things that remain a secret when it comes to you, and yet, as you close your eyes to savor each bite, he feels as if he knows you better than most.
You ate in comfortable silence. He rolled his shoulders and allowed the tension in them to drop off.
This might not be ‘home’ but for now, this moment was as good a resting place as any for people like them.
“You’re welcome.” he said softly.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
BONUS:
Once again, it begins with a ridiculous request from you.
“Bea please, you have to prepare this for Choi Han. I’ll even sell you my kidneys, I really need to know his reaction.”
What value would owning your kidneys have? That you’d blatantly suggest such things to an assassin like himself was laughable, stranger still was his playing the fool and following along anyways.
He didn't question how you knew about their mansion's new guest, though your sudden interest in the visitor when you’ve shown no such interest in past guests was worthy of note. Even he had unconsciously tensed when the young master had introduced him. Something about the newcomer didn’t seem right. They were strong, but their potential was untapped and raw, like an uncontrollable beast on the verge of lashing out at any moment.
The glimmer of something in your eyes further confirmed his suspicions. You knew something about this stranger though you refused to reveal more, only promising that he’s not a threat to him or Ron.
He frowned at the pot of red he’s stirring, the pungent smell wafting through the room. Footsteps from the doorway had him looking up, but the person that crossed the threshold was not the person he’d expected.
The young master stepped in with a cautious look in his eyes.
“I thought I smelled..” brown eyes narrowed at the pot he held. “What’s that?”
Beacrox glanced down at the strange dish he was asked to prepare, wondering why of all people that could’ve come, it would be Cale Henituse.
“A dish a friend taught me to make.” Then for some reason unbeknownst to him, he offered. “Would the young master like to try?”
Cale hesitated, but eventually slid himself onto a seat, choosing the one farthest away from him. At least the young master seemed sober. Beacrox felt no fondness for the young master he served, even if it was true that he had begun to change recently, raising even the interest of Ron.
Spooning a small portion, he set the dish and utensils down before Cale, ignoring the young man’s flinch as he gauged Cale’s strange expressions.
The young master stared at the dish as if it would leap up and attack him, his strange wariness reminded Beacrox of your reaction when he first presented that first unfamiliar dish to you.
“.. there’s no way..” Cale muttered to himself as he poked and prodded until finally, he tried a bite.
“What.. the hell?”
Beacrox had never seen the young master's eyes bug out like that, and he decided it was quite an entertaining sight, even if the dish’s original target wasn’t meant for the redhead. Still he stifled an irritated sigh as a thought crossed his mind when the young master exclaimed.
“How the hell did you learn to make kimchi?!”
“What the hell did you make me do this time _______?”
Notes: I've had lots of thoughts while writing this imagine turned fic. Nin-deer gave me a simple prompt of "cooking" and I went and turned it into lore- OTL
even I don't understand the intricate workings of my brain.
I've had to cut out some chapters details as it was growing out of hand so I hope everything's links together properly. I've reached that stage where I've reread a piece of writing so many times, nothing makes sense anymore.
I've deliberately left the dishes 'cooked' vague so you're free to imagine whatever cuisine you'd like that Beacrox helped butcher 👍🏼
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