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dandivinity · 4 years

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Madokannon: Religious Symbolism in Madoka Magica

If there’s one word I’d use to describe the show, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica, it would be deceptive. If you’re wondering how a cute Sailor Moon rip-off with even brighter colors and a moe art-style is deceptive, congrats, you fell for the deception. As the series continues, it becomes clear that the show is not a cut-and-dry monster of the week where good always triumphs. Rather it is a pastel-colored Faustian bargain where even the best intentions can lead to dire consequences. In the end it is only through the titular characters unshakeable hope and faith and no small amount of divine intervention that the series reaches it’s bitter sweet conclusion. This is obvious upon a first viewing. What is less obvious is the nature that this divine intervention takes. While the show occasionally makes direct connections to Christianity, It seems to me that the theology implemented is Buddhist through and through complete with Four noble truths, samsara, vile rebirth, and an allegory of the bodhisattva Kannon.

Let’s start with the basis of the show, the wishes. This is one of Madoka’s most prominent aspects and the largest concern from the beginning of the series before the villain’s true underpinnings are revealed. For those of you not familiar, 1). Why are you reading this? And 2). The set-up of the Madoka, like most magical girl anime, involves a cute animal mascot offering the girls magical powers in order to fight monsters. What makes this set up unique however is that the oh so cute cat-bunny-thing known as Kyubey also offers the girls one wish as an incentive so that they would accept it’s “contract”. Now the use of the word “contract” is an obvious red flag meant to alert us to the Faustian nature of the deal. And yes, the agreement comes with several hidden clauses that Kyubey conveniently leaves out such as the fact that becoming a magical girl involves having your soul removed from your body and placed into a gem because it’s “easier to protect”. But Kyubey’s not exactly stealing it like a Christian devil would. More importantly than the hidden clauses though, is the wishes themselves.

Now stories of the devil tempting people with promises of wealth or power are quite common in Western literature, as are tales of djinn or monkey paws providing wishes that always go wrong in Near Eastern lit. But what’s extraordinary about Madoka is that for the most part the wishes the girls grant are simple in nature and rather generous. Our main focus point, and the only wish we see pursued from beginning to end in chronological order is that of Sayaka Miki. Sayaka is established to be crushing on a boy who was a former violin prodigy before a car accident left him paralyzed with no hope of playing ever again. Sayaka wishes for him to be healed, and just like that, it’s done.

The boy does not relapse, nor does he lead into another accident. He simply starts a miraculous yet slow path to recovery, until the series finale where he is shown without crutches and playing beautifully for a wide audience. The problem? Well as pointed out before Sayaka even makes the wish, she’s wasn’t actually doing it for him: she was on an unconscious level hoping that he’d be forever grateful to her. Does she hold this over him? No. Does he reject her? No. She simply doesn’t ask. Sayaka is too busy with her new responsibilities and ashamed of what she has become to ask.

And frankly the importance of Kyosuke in Sayaka’s fall is largely overstated by the fanbase. Yes, he’s a large factor but even more so than wanting to heal him or his gratitude, Sayaka wants to be a hero. This is heightened when their magical mentor dies within the first three episodes. Sayaka now feels like it’s her responsibility to protect her city as no one else will. Unfortunately, she’s simply not as strong as her former mentor or the new morally unsound magical girls that seeks to dispose of her (both Kyoko and Homura). This is really what leads to Sayaka’s downward spiral as she comments, “The world doesn’t need a magical girl who can’t even kill a witch”. Sayaka wants to be a hero, and she wants to get the guy and she gets neither. Her desires, both fulfilled and unfulfilled, all lead to her suffering. This is the First Noble Truth of Buddhism.

I realize this isn’t the most convincing argument on its own but let’s zoom out a bit here. What is desire if not earthly attachments? Attachment and inability to let go of attachment is a concept found in nearly all the wishes in the show. It doesn’t matter if it’s Sayaka’s wishing for her friend’s health, Mami literally trying to cling to life, or Kyoko (in the most directly religious moment in the show) wishing that people would come to her father’s sermons so that her family could have enough to eat. All of these desires are moral in some way and yet they are still desires. More importantly, they all involve a longing for what once was, and are attempts to return things to how they were rather than moving on. This inability to let go is characterized not just in the wishes but in the reason they’re implemented in the first place.

When Kyubey finally explains why they knowingly cause suffering to countless adolescent girls throughout time, they explain it’s to harvest enough renewable energy from the emotions of magical girls to stave off the entropy of the universe. The whole process is rather convoluted and -let’s face it- an excuse to deconstruct magical girl tropes, but that doesn’t change the fact that preventing the heat death of the universe is still Kyubey’s number one goal. That combined with their inability to truly understand the suffering they’re causing has caused some of the community to question their villain status or at least say they’re a villain with a just cause. And while postponing the heat death of the universe may be noble in the long run, it is a literal fight against the impermanence of the universe. A fight that we know from Buddhism is doomed to only lead to personal trauma in the face of inevitability of a changing world. But it is this fight against impermanence that kyubey embodies so well, and one that is baked into the wish-based magical girl system they run.

Ok, enough beating around the bush. It’s time to talk about Homura. After spending most of the show as a mysterious red-herring villain that knows far too much, Homura finally gets an episode dedicated to her near the end of the show where it’s revealed she’s a time traveller who restarted the timeline over and over again in order to make her wish come true; to be able to save Madoka. Specifically Homura has to replay the same month over and over again until she can succeed in saving Madoka’s life and cannot escape until this goal is reached. This obsession leads to a very literal samsara, by repeating the timeline again and again Homura is actively choosing to trap herself in endless cycles of suffering, death, and rebirth all because of her attachment to the mortal world. Through this process we can see Homura fall apart becoming more and more monstrous in her single-minded focus to save Madoka at the expense of everything else. By the time she arrives at our main timeline that the rest of the show takes place in, Homura is comparable to a hungry ghost. She’s directly accused of walking through the world as if dead, unable to feel anything except for the desire that damned her in the first place, her obsession with Madoka. When even this too seems lost, she nearly becomes a witch.

In Mahayana Buddhism, rebirth on earth is not the worst thing that can happen after one’s death. If one leads a sufficiently desperate life they can be reborn as an animal, hungry ghost, or in hell. This is where Madoka’s witches come from. Perhaps the most tragic twist in Madoka Magica is that if a magical girl falls into despair (usually due to her wish’s inability to make her happy), her soul gem will transform into a grief seed which then becomes one of the monsters they fight. These nightmare collage monsters have new names separate from their old identities and live in pocket dimensions where they lure people in. These pocket dimensions often in someway manifests the desires of their old lives being filled with sweets, TVs, or (in Sayaka’s case) violinists. Interestingly, when Sayaka first dies and is reborn as the witch Octavia in a train station, her labyrinth is also full of railroad tracks. She relocates to a concert hall and the labyrinth follows suit, but train wheels remain despite having no apparent bearing on her previous life. This could be a reference to Buddhist beliefs about your final thoughts and which direction you look when you die having bearing on which realm you’ll be reborn into.

Homura’s obsession in contrasted by Madoka’s ability to let go. Madoka’s final wish and subsequent ascension has often been compared to Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross, and rightfully so. Madoka’s wish to become a cosmic force that can take on all the despair of magical girls before they become witches at the cost of her own mortal life has many strong parallels to Jesus suffering on the cross to redeem humanity. However that idea only works if Jesus is suffering. Madoka is stated to be taking the grief of every magical girl who ever became a witch onto herself and we even see a far future version of her becoming a witch large enough to destroy the world. But before it does it is shot down by another version of a truly ascended Madoka in a white dress. This version states paradoxically that since her wish applies to all magical girls that would become witches, that includes herself. The fluidity of time and direct denial of the necessity of suffering or sacrifice are at odds with Orthodox Chriastianity, or at least its perception of Jesus. Rather I argue that the way Madoka saves all the magical girls, her subsequent erasure from existence, and even such mundane symbols such as the white dress all link her closer to the Bodhisattva, Kannon.

Let’s take a closer look at the scene where we see Madoka actually ascends and manifests to relieve the potential witches of their grief. We see Madoka split herself into thousands shafts of light, all of which appear above different suffering magical girls in different places and time periods. And above all of them Madoka appears, she touches their corrupted soul gems which are then purified before shattering, allowing the magical girls to die in peace. A rather sad ending, but one that’s better than rebirth as a witch, which we already identified as equivalent to the hell realm. So while it is unclear where the magical girls are going to go after they die (or even if they go anywhere at all as we just saw the gems holding their souls shatter, possibly destroying them), we can know that Madoka is saving them from a worse rebirth. This directly parallels miracle tales that surround the Bodhisattva Kannon, especially in her Chinese incarnation as the white-robed Guanyin.

Kannon is the primary example of Bodhisattva or one who has put off Budhahood to aid those still on earth. Kannon in particular swears to never ascend until all living things have been freed of samsara. She’s often depicted as having 11 heads and a thousand arms to better reach all those suffering in the world at once, like how Madoka splits herself into a myriad of forms. Many of these tales have devotees of Guanyin spared from tragic fates such as beheadings or shipwrecks. However a few, adapt these stories to instead refer to a more metaphorical salvation, especially in the pure land tradition popular in Japan which then says that anyone who calls out to Kannon on the verge of their death will be still die and be reborn to the pure land rather than wherever else they were supposed to reincarnate. Madoka’s god form even highly resembles the Chinese incarnation, Guanyin. Wikipedia states, “Guanyin is generally portrayed as a young woman wearing a flowing white robe, and usually also necklaces symbolic of Indian or Chinese royalty. In her left hand is a jar containing pure water, and the right holds a willow branch.” While we never see Madoka with any water; the flowing white dress, red gems along her collar bone, and branch-like bow (though on that seems to be more of a sakura branch) all bring to mind Guanyin.

Finally Madoka’s ascension ends with her body dissolving into glimmers of light as she explains how no one will remember her, but she’ll still be there. This dissolution of the her spiritual body is a visual symbol of ego-death. Madoka recreates a word where she does not exist, and had never existed, yet still manifests as a concept and virtuous force that leads others to salvation rather than as a sentient entity. This is the Nirvana. Madoka hadn’t just ascended to godhood, she had surpassed it and achieved nothingness, as her buddha nature radiates throughout the world, ultimately changing it into something better. This is the paradox of Buddhism and the goal of any buddhist practitioner, to achieve an inner peace so strong you become a part of the universe like madoka had. And the new world she created was better for it.

That is at least until the show decided to make a movie sequel and trick madoka into descending. At that point she stops acting as a Buddha and instead as Pistis Sophia in line with the obscure belief system of 2nd century Gnostics. But that will be a conversation for another time.

#madoka magica #buddhism #madoka kamane #kaname madoka #kannon #guanyin #kuan-yin #samsara #homura akemi #pmmm sayaka #pmmm #Essay #Religion #Religious studies #I should've submitted this two months ago when it was still relevant.#oh well

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fisheoctrashdump · 3 years

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Willow 1-20 e w e

Holiday

She's not a big fan of holidays. Growing up, she didn't really celebrate holidays with her family. She didn't dress up and go trick or treating or get presents on christmas. She learned to hate pretty much every holiday, but her favorite will be Valentine's day. She loves the idea of making chocolates for all the people she loves (both romantically and platonically) and having an excuse to be so full of love for her friends.

Cooking

Willow isn't technically bad at cooking, but she's much better at baking. It's something she enjoys doing a lot, and she feels very fulfilled when she shares her creations with her friends and family. She thrives on compliments for a lot of her ideas and actions, but most of all for baking.

She doesn't have the passion for regular cooking, so most of the time when she cooks she tries to rush through it.

Sleeping

Willow had to learn to be a light sleeper. Noises and lights will keep her awake, so she has to be in total darkness and silence to fall asleep. Movement on or near her bed is also sure to freak her out.

She sleeps completely wrapped in her blankets like a little burrito.

I keep imagining that after she gets used to the Lovelace family and feels comfortable being there, she lets Dobby sleep on her bed ;w;

I also keep thinking about Willow talking softly to Zeron in the dark when she's overthinking and can't sleep. Even if he's sleeping, she feels better after she unloads all of her worries and anxieties, leading to her actually being able to sleep.

Driving

Willow can't drive, actually. (Not just because she's not old enough yet lol)

She has semi frequent syncopal episodes, commonly due to stress and fear. She can't and won't be able to drive because of it.

Bathing/showering

She hates showering and tries to avoid it for as long as possible. She hates looking at her body. It makes her feel sick and uncomfortable. It also has to do with the fact that she can't get motivated to shower as often as she should.

Hugging

She likes hugging others, as long as she is comfortable around them. I think she will very often try to get hugs from bleblesscra, Galatea, and Zeron in the future.

Kissing

Willow feels suffocated when being kissed. It's a psychological thing related to her trauma. I'm not sure when she will feel comfortable enough for mouth kisses, but cheek and forehead kisses are fine owo

Sex

Willow lost her virginity when she was nine. She is still sexually active, but not by choice.

General physical contact

Again, she doesn't mind it as long as it's with someone she's comfortable around. It's very obvious to see Willow flinching away from Erika's seemingly affectionate touch, no matter the circumstances. She probably wouldn't be too comfortable with Arvid touching her, either, but for different reasons. Currently, she is really starved for attention and human contact, and I imagine becoming friends with Zeron will mean Willow looking for any and every excuse to be physically close to him.

Physical appearance

Other than the picrew thing I did for her, here's a few little other things about her appearance

Willow has naturally black hair

She bites her nails, so her fingernails are always short

She chubby ;w;

Wardrobe

She wears a lot of purple, blue, and yellow. She also tries to wear hoodies, high collared shirts, and chokers to cover the hickies on her neck (or at least try to). Doesn't stop people from seeing them and nicknaming her "slut" for it lol

She also tends to wear baggy clothes to conceal her body, and wears more layers than necessary if she knows she's going to be alone with Erika at any point that day.

Jewelry

She doesn't wear a lot of jewelry. She wears chokers as her main accessory, and she really likes snake themed jewelry if she's feeling up to wearing it. (Like rings, necklaces, and earrings)

She will get a vertical labret at some point in the future, and I can also see her getting an industrial piercing of some kind, but I'm not sure exactly what kind yet

Nickname

A nickname I've been crying over for the past weeks is Cupcake. I'm not sure who comes up with it, but the nickname makes Willow incredibly happy, and a lot of her friends and family pick up calling her that nickname (even Arvid.) I've had a few ideas on who comes up with it, and I think either Sacra, Galatea, or Blez? Those three stick out as most likely in my mind, for some reason.

Dancing

Is ice skating kinda like dancing? Lol

Either way, nobody can convince Willow to dance. A shame, cause she would actually be pretty good at it. She feels too self conscious to do so, like everyone would be watching her if she did

Singing

She doesn't sing much. She has a pretty decent voice, but she won't use it often. I imagine Arvid encourages her to sing with him later on because he's a sucker for dramatic duets lol

Anger

She doesn't really get angry. All of her anger is usually converted into sadness, and she's more likely to cry during a stressful event.

Soft spot

Arvid

Cute pokemon things. Especially desserts and plushies.

Snakes/ferrets she like the long bois

Favorite possession

The choker she stole from Arvid. She jokes that she needed it more, especially since she was able to steal it from him so easily (and he didn't notice it was missing for nearly a month)

Favorite photograph

She currently doesn't have one. I'm gonna take a pass on this one, because I'm really not sure.

Relationship with ___

Erika

Willow has a lot of complicated emotions involving Erika

The most prominent being fear. Willow is terrified of Erika and the things she does, not just to her but also to other people. She has a certain level of adoration for Erika, however, because Erika was the only person that pretended to give a damn about Willow for, well, basically as long as she can remember. Erika of course used this to her advantage and broke Willow's spirit with the many horrible things she did to her.

Despite everything, Willow remains obsessed with Erika because she doesn't believe there can be any other way. She is aware that Erika sees her as useless and disposable, but sometimes when Erika is showing her the attention she craves, Willow convinces herself that that is what it means to love someone.

She tries to fight against Erika when they are alone together, but ultimately will lose. It's a common occurrence between them, and some days Willow wonders if fighting back is even worth it.

Erika being removed from her life (in whatever way we decide to go about it) will feel like both the best and the worst thing to ever happen to her. Erika has Willow convinced that they need each other, and working through all the damage and trauma Erika caused her will take a significant amount of time.

Arvid

She feels safe with Arvid. That's the main point of their relationship, is that Willow clings to Arvid for a sense of security.

Initially, Willow felt like she and Arvid had a lot in common. She watched most of the school harass him when she entered middle school, and she understood the feeling. She watched Arvid from a distance, wishing she had the confidence to talk to him, until seventh grade. She finally forced herself to make conversation with Arvid, and hoped for the best.

Getting to know Arvid provided Willow with a lot of relief, also. She had someone she could escape to when she absolutely needed it, and he never pushed her to talk about anything. The more she got to know Arvid, the more she identified with his unspoken feelings of isolation and fear of abandonment.

She realizes she has a crush on Arvid shortly before he starts high school, but having a crush on him causes her so much grief because 1) Arvid is gay, and she knows this and 2) some part of her feels guilty for feeling that way about someone, almost like she's betraying Erika somehow.

Arvid and Willow don't get a chance to hang out as much now that he's in high school, and she's mostly gone back to the way things used to be. Alone and unwanted by her classmates, with no one to escape to.

Galatea

I'm not sure when or how Willow becomes friends with Galatea, but I just imagine their friendship making Willow feel so safe and happy. I'm sure at first the age difference will make her nervous, and she probably won't trust being alone with Galatea no matter what, but I imagine Galatea has very friendly vibes in her own unique way, and because of this Willow warms up to her pretty fast.

In addition to always trying to impress Arvid, Willow will also try to impress Galatea almost constantly. She will also often give Galatea gifts.

Something else I've considered for their relationship is Willow having a crush on Galatea, but not like in the way Razi does or in the way Arvid and Fel have a crush on Chuck.

Because of her past experience with her relationship with Erika, I imagine Willow being very confused about how she feels for Galatea. The only older sister figure in her life before now made Willow feel like her emotions didn't matter unless there was sex involved. With Galatea, Willow will feel as though at some point to keep her around, she has to do the same as she did with Erika before. Hopefully by this time, Willow will be in therapy and be able to figure out how to ensure her relationship with Galatea remains a healthy one.

Bonus random things I thought of/info I wanna share ;w;

Arvid leaning in to Willow for their first kiss and Willow immediately passing out (kinda funny when you think about it but also :( )

Willow is nonbinary, but she doesn't have specific pronouns. Most people just use she/her and she's fine with that

Her favorite color has been purple pretty much her whole life. She didn't consider blue a favorite color until she met Arvid

Willow enjoys a variety of different music genres. 2000's - 2010's pop is the one she enjoys most, but all her favorite bands belong to different genres (Like Simple Plan, Mindless Self Indulgence, Hey Violet, Halestorm, and NF)

The scenario you came up with Willow asking Zeron to give her a mohawk will be canon (at some point after they meet, probably also after she is adopted)

She has a suicide note saved that she intends to give to Arvid, because she knows he's the only one who would care enough to know her final thoughts

#willow......................#willow #hnmp gen2 #headcanon ask game

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years

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10/29/2019 DAB Transcript

Lamentations 1:1-2:22, Philemon 1:1-25, Psalms 101:1-8, Proverbs 26:20

Today is the 29th day of October. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I'm Brian. It’s great to be here with you today as we continue our journey through this week and through, of course, the month and the year and the Bible. And we have come to a day where we are making some changes into some new territory, new books, new letters in both the Old and the New Testaments today. So, obviously, we begin with the Old Testament and we’ll be beginning the book of Lamentations today. So, we can see there's an arc, there’s kind of a flow that the Bible takes us through. And, so, we reach certain books like Job or Ecclesiastes and issues of the heart that we don't normally deal with are brought up and that's what the book of Lamentations does as we move into kind of mournful territory. Again, the idea of mourning or lamenting or regret or grief, you don't usually sign up for those things. They visit us all, but we don't usually get in line for them. But the Bible leads us into all of the territory that we will experience as human beings and that…that's where were headed and it comes at a good time. As we’re preparing to move into the final push of the year. It's important that we explore this territory.

Introduction to the book of Lamentations:

The book of Lamentations is actually composed of five poems and they’re poems of lament over the fall and the destruction of Jerusalem. And it's right here that we need to just pause for second and put ourselves in the right frame of mind. We can think of the ancient fall of the Roman Empire, the ancient fall of Jerusalem and go like, “that happened thousands of years ago. Like it doesn't really affect me.” And if we were to name any modern city like, you know, lamenting over the fall of Tokyo or lamenting over the fall of New York or the fall of London, I mean even saying that snaps us to attention because we can only imagine what that would…what that would do to the world and what that would be like. So, when Jerusalem fell at the time of the writing of Lamentations it would've been like any of the major cities that we just named or any of them around the world falling. So, we can try, at least, to appreciate the magnitude of the soul wrenching emotion that these poems are coming from. Jerusalem was lost and we've been…we've been reading the prophecies and the stories of that destruction, and the exile that came as a result of it. The temple of the Almighty God had been destroyed, right? Fire consumed the city, ash was thick in the air, blood was in the streets. In Hebrew, the book of Lamentations is called “eicha”, which means “how”, “how could this happen”. And we know…like…we know that it did happen. The Babylonians finally breached the wall of Jerusalem and subsequently destroyed the wall and the city, and there's plenty of archaeological evidence of this conquest that can be seen in Jerusalem even till today. How it could happen was…was largely the topic we were covering as we read through the prophecies of Jeremiah. We just concluded that yesterday. Jeremiah warned for decades of the impending doom that would befall God's people if they didn't turn from…from the trajectory that they were on. And now, here in Lamentations the prophecies have come true. This book doesn't…doesn't explicitly name its author. So, that makes things a little bit more difficult, but the traditions of the book was written by Jeremiah, which is one of the reasons why Lamentations follows Jeremiah in the Bible. But that…that's been up for debate among biblical scholars for centuries. And there's plenty of compelling theories that are in favor of Jeremiah being the author, but there's many compelling reasons why he couldn’t be the author. But there is a general consensus on one thing, whoever wrote Lamentations was probably an eyewitness to the destruction of the holy city. The Babylonians did conquer Jerusalem and they did utterly destroy Jerusalem in 586 BC. And, so, Lamentations was probably written shortly after that today. And today in the Hebrew culture, on the ninth day of Av, Lamentations is read on a day of fasting to commemorate the fall of Jerusalem and the reading of each of the poems is a backdrop for personal lamentation, personal reflection, personalizing the story in our lives. And like we said a little bit ago, nobody signs up for that. Lamenting isn’t an easy thing. Grief is hard but…but it has a way, right? It may never ever quite leave us, but it has a way of washing us clean. It whittles us down. It strips off all of the fluff until all that's left is what is true, what is bedrock, what is real. And even though it’s intensely painful it's also freeing. When we’ve gone into the depths of sadness and we’ve reached the bottom then there's hope there for the future. And lamenting helps us to not stuff things inside, and name them and give them voice. Lamenting helps give us a language for suffering and it gives us a language that acknowledges that things have changed and may never ever be the same again and that we have to let go of how it was or how we once were, and be renewed again, begin again. And we’ll find in this book of Lamentations that sort of language and we’ll find it in our own lives as we enter into the book of Lamentations. And, so, we begin. We’re reading from the Amplified Bible this week. Lamentations chapter 1 and 2.

Introduction to the letter to Philemon:

Okay. So, now we’re moving into our New Testament portion, obviously, and we’re entering into some new territory there as well and it's another personal letter from the apostle Paul, this one not a pastoral letter. This one, a personal letter to an individual person in a church. And this book or this letter or epistle is 25 verses long. So, we’ll be beginning and completing it in today's reading. And this is the final letter clearly attributed to the apostle Paul. And it probably accompanied the delivery of the letter to the Colossians, which was a congregation that Philemon was a leader in. So, our likely scenario is that Philemon was likely one of the more wealthy and influential people in the church in Colossae and according to the letter a congregation met in his home and he had a servant who was named Onesimus and this servant ran away, probably stealing from Philemon in the process, which would've been an offense punishable by death in those days. So, Onesimus probably fled to Rome with the idea of disappearing. At the same time Paul was in Rome under house arrest, awaiting trial, and in a strange twist of divine providence Onesimus came into contact with Paul and under Paul's instruction became a follower of Jesus, and after beginning to follow the Lord he served Paul's needs in Rome. So, you have Onesimus the slave being freed to move around to serve Paul and you have Paul, the Roman citizen who's been arrested for his religious convictions who is under arrest. So, sometime later Paul wrote a letter to the church in Colossae with the intention of sending Tychicus on the journey to hand deliver it, but in the process Paul also wrote a personal note that's been preserved to Philemon and sent Onesimus the runaway slave to accompany Tychicus back to his hometown and his…his master, which would've…which would've been a frighteningly large step of faith, one in which he was taking his life into his hands, but the influence of Paul in his life and watching him as he was imprisoned gave Onesimus the faith, the boldness, to leave his life in God's hands as Paul was doing and do the right thing. And this letter actually packs…packs a punch it. It shows the importance of forgiveness and shows us that no matter how much authority we have or how much power we have over someone if…if they’re a believer in Jesus then they’re a brother or a sister, part of the family of God and none of us, no matter how much we have or don't have deserve that. It's God's gift His love for us. And this little letter gives us a real-life example of how God does work things together for the good of those who love him. And, so, we begin, and we’ll read in its entirety the letter to Philemon.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for Your word and we thank You for bringing us into two new different territories in the New Testament today, but we also thank You for the closing reminder, that gossip keeps the fire burning in a bad way, in a consuming way, in a destructive way. And yet when that is removed, the fuel is taken from the fire and contention quiets down. And, so help us Father, not to be…not to be gossips, not to run around today saying things about people behind their back, even just in conversation. And help us Father, perhaps even more importantly to not be consumers of this kind of behavior, to not listen, to not participate in it, because it does no good. It gives us offenses to carry around that we don't have, and it blurs things and infects our relationships in a very negative way. So, come Holy Spirit into our words today we ask in the precious name of Jesus. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello Daily Audio Bible family this is a Leonora calling from the Florida Panhandle. Six years ago, I started listening to DAB. It was an awakening to God’s word like I’ve never had. It burst a closer and growing relationship with our Father. I am 35 years married to a man I love very dearly and have been unequally yoked to a nonbeliever. Five years ago, I called in asking for prayer that after my husband soon retired, I shall continue to have quiet time with our Lord and stay focused on my walk with him. Now, five years later I confess it has not been an easy path. The enemy has a field day with my husband, and I am constantly tested. I need your prayers for strength, for focus, and self-discipline. I have just retired from my nursing career and it seems even harder than ever now to stay focused and make time for our Father and I am ashamed of that. My husband is a good man, but he will not yield to a God he is so unsure of. Please Lord, give me the strength to live through You and in You and every word and deed so that I may show my husband your faithful love. May the scales drop from his eyes in Jesus’ name I pray. I love you all so very much. I listen, I cry with you and pray for you always. Thank you, dear family. This is Leonora calling from the Florida Panhandle. I love you.

I’m sitting here with a patient. I’m a psychiatrist and I’m just reaching out to the Daily Audio Bible family to pray for her suffering from depression and anxiety. It’s affecting her whole life and she’s really scared right now with the different logistical effects it’s having on her including finances and connection. So, please pray for her Daily Audio Bible family. I’m really grateful for you. Take care.

I stand at the patio door watching snow fall upon the deck, the lawn, and the bushes beyond. The lilac leaves hold the gathering flakes as cupped hands receiving a gift. No wind disturbs the downward journey. As the flakes collect upon the deck I think of a summer day when I walked in prayer during the Daily Audio Bible long walk cottonwoods cast their seeds into the air swirling in unseen eddies and gathering near buildings and curbs in great clubs resembling snowdrifts. My praise rises to our Creator. This snow may disappear within a few hours but for now a silent fall of white upon white speaks peace. Oh Lord Jesus my heart aches for those who feel no peace. I lift up my brothers and sisters for whom each day holds pain and anguish. I ask for Your provision for those seeking work and safe homes. I pray for restoration of relationships. I pray for children who have lost their way. I seek Your forgiveness for those who took the wealth of Your house and spent it on pleasure only to find themselves living among the pigs. I weep with those who mourn for loved ones, beloved pets, or the loss of a life they once knew. Show them the path to move forward. Send light on their darkness and comfort their pain. I rejoice with those who rejoice. I stand with many who wait in faith not yet seeing the result of their hope but trusting in You anyway. May Your blessing fall upon this ministry as generously as the snow. Keep us united in love across the oceans, rivers, and hills that separate us. Keep us united until all the world here’s Your word. Amen.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family this is Heather. I’ve been listening for about five years and I’ve always been too scared to call in, but I love to listen and pray with you my family all around the world. Brian, thank you for the work you do. It’s so wonderful and soothing to hear your voice and God’s word every day at the touch of a button and I love praying along with each and every one of you that calls in. And today I’m calling to ask for prayer for my family. My husband recently retired from the military and it’s been five months and it’s been hard to find a job. He’s had a few interviews and a few rejections and most of all he’s starting to lose hope. I’m not really sure of his salvation but my prayer is that not only would he find a job, but God would use this to really get a hold of his heart and show him where his true identity lies. Thank you so much for praying for our family. I love you.

Hello Daily Audio Bible my name is Melissa and I just want to clarify that our Lord is awesome and powerful and mighty and wonderful and He’s working in our lives even when we don’t know what He’s doing. Today is my birthday and I just talked with my birth father that I have never known for 50 years for the very first time. And this all came about because the Lord…I don’t know…He provided an illness in me I guess…He provided it but I had adrenal tumor and I had to go through many problems seeing doctors, psychiatrists, Prozac, and they found out…I said, “there’s something’s wrong”, God was speaking to me, He led me to see an endocrinologist and they removed my adrenal. So, I’ve been on steroids since April. So, just pray that my right adrenal will wake up. But in the meantime, I searched out my family birth history that I’ve never desired or wanted to do before, and I’ve already contacted my birth mother and my birth father, and it’s been amazing stories and an amazing 10 months. And I slip back, and I see how God has worked and He has used all this to bring about other people in my lives and to witness to them about how awesome He is and how He’s just worked in my life to do all this. I’m still struggling from how the effects of the adrenal mess with my system and the hormones but I’m working on it every day and with faith and trust in the Lord and you can do it too. Just love Him and just He’s amazing and awesome and I just pray for anybody who’s struggling, that you might not see what’s happening at the moment but you look back and I see how he’s been working His hand on me the whole time and He was there and I thank you Jesus for that. So, always keep Him in mind and look up.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family this is Amari. I’m asking for prayer for my marriage. Been in my marriage for almost 30 years. Last 10 or 15 the been really really rough on me. We’ve come back from infidelity on his behalf and we’ve been trying our best to come back from that. Our marriage…our intimate relationship is just zero. We’re the best of friends and we’re good parents and we take care of business. We just don’t have an intimate relationship. And I admit that during…out of this conflict that I even had an affair because I was trying to fill a void that I wasn’t getting for my husband. But I knew it was wrong, so I broke it off because I was trying to be what God wanted me to be. But still things haven’t changed and now I’m at a crossroads where I’m ready to give up because I want to be loved and I want to be cared for and I want to be happy. Just want the hundred percent of our marriage and not just bits and pieces. So, pray my strength and pray that God would repair our marriage because I want it from my husband…no one else. And I’ll continue to pray for you all and I thank you, Brian for this platform. God bless all of you all and continue to pray for me and thank you in advance for the prayers and God blessing me and my marriage.

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mizu-writes-kumo · 6 years

Text

Well a beast has been a woken. I best see it through, or it will never rest when I need it to.

More Mafia Shance AU. Here are Part 1 and Part 2 (But this is a prequel to them so you don’t have to read them first to understand anything in this one).

Or you can read it here on AO3

Warning: mentions of past murders, violence, cursing, and assassination attempts.

Lance prided himself on his work.

His skills were the best in his family for what he did.

Which was saying something. Because Veronica was wicked smart, business savvy, and the princess of manipulation, groomed to take over when their parents decided to hand over the reigns. Marco was good with the running supply lines, and insuring more than a rich steady income for their family. Luís was good at sniffing out any possible threats to the family and anyone trying to steal from them, among other things.

Lance had little to actual offer their family business.

Sure he was smart, but not to the level of his sister. And he had more than a charming and alluring personality, but his brothers already had that department of people more than covered.

Leaving Lance with little to actually be useful with.

That was until Lance found out how easy it was for him to draw people in and “handle” them for his family.

It started when Luís discovered a well-liked Lieutenant of their’s was stealing and undermining all of them. Out right handling him wasn’t a usual opinion for any of them, as the man had painted Lance’s siblings out to be paranoid freaks out to get him simply because they didn’t like him. But Lance had seen the way the man watched him, both at gatherings and just in general.

And it was so easy, to suggest they go to the beach late at night. Stripe down to barely anything and swim out to a nearby sand bar. Make light conversation about sharks in the water, and how he was so glad he wasn’t out there alone in the moonlight. And lean in so breathless for a kiss, and stab the man right in the gut and twisting the knife.

Lance ditched the knife in the water and swam away before the man could get over his shock. Only his sister caught him sneaking back in to the house, and seemed to half buy his story of meeting some tourist girl at the beach for...well the usual teenage fun. quietly muttering he should be careful before shooing him off to bed.

The body washed up three days later, mauled and chewed on by local sharks. Lance’s handy work hidden underneath them.

No one was the wiser.

Until Lance made one sly comment.

Something about how the man had coming , especially swimming at night with sharks. All behind a glass of water and a knowing prideful smirk. It was then that Veronica figured just what Lance had done so effortlessly for them.

Lance had been fifteen at the time.

Now five years later, he was on the best there as out there in his field.

So much so those who work for his family fear him. Whispers of how the McClain’s will sent their Tiburón to handle their problems. How they should all be careful not go get blood in the water. How he struck in the dark when no one expected him and kept moving. His mother and siblings actively advertised his skills and services to other contacts for their use or problem solving needs.

All of which had gotten Lance to a rooftop in New York during the middle of winter.

Lance was freezing his ass off.

“Ah, mi hijito, we have an easy job for you in New York.” Lance mimicked his mother’s voice as he spun the silencer on his rifle. “Yeah, sure easy job.” Lance grumbled to himself. “So easy. Spending my whole weak here doing research and recon, while freezing my little behind off. So fucking easy.”

Carefully he positioned his rifle on the edge of the rooftop.

He did a quick visual sweep with the scoop. Just to make sure there weren’t any vehicles lingering. Like an obvious surveillance van or unmarked cop car. Because that was the last thing he needed. But it was clear as the last five times he checked.

“I didn’t get to see one damn sight.” Lance complained.

Because it was suppose to be an easy job. A simple get in get out sort of thing. Where Lance barely was required to do anything. And he could spend his week how he pleased, seeing the sights, eating the food, going to a play, and exploring the city.

But then the client had...well demands.

It had to look like a rival gang’s did it. Like they made a hit, which happened to translate to not that clean of sniper shot. No one could suspect it was them at all. And it had to be done specifically at the end of the week. And no, he wasn’t going to get paid more for his troubles.

“I hope this bastard is fucking worth all the effort and grief.” Lance continued with a huff as he moved the rifle to take aim through a window. “I mean really, it’s all so unnecessary.”

Lance glanced through his scope at his target.

The guy was like maybe a few years older than him. Six or seven years at the most if Lance had to take a guess. Tall, and built in a tasteful way that Lance more than appreciated. A large scar across his nose, from something Lance could probably only imagine was horrible. Black hair save a tuff of white at the front. Seating down with what looked like a sorry excuse of a dinner.

Honestly, an attractive guy Lance would have liked to have some fun with before offing him.

But no, he had to make a skilled sniper shot look crappy.

Which just felt like an insult to Lance and his skills.

Lance would see that the client was blacklisted from doing any business with his family in future. He knew they would listen to him. After all Lance was the baby of the family, he could supply no reason what so offer, and they would do it because he asked, and that was a reason enough alone.

Taking in a breath, Lance carefully took aim.

Releasing the breath slowly to calm his whole body. Exhale on the tension in his system. Slow his heart rate down just for a few seconds to do what he needed to do.

Then he eased the trigger back, fired and...

Missed.

Fuck!

The guy moved at the last second, dropping something on the floor and moved to pick up it. A dying plotted plant exploded as the bullet hit it. The man whipped around to the window quickly.

Lance dropped down onto his back on the roof.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

This was not good.

Lance laid on the rooftop staying at the sky for a few moments. Trying to both catch his breath, and scrambling to figure out his next move.

There was a chance the guy hadn’t pin-pointed where they shot came from yet. A quick and easy way to test that was to wave something up to see if it got shot at. But if they guy didn’t know where Lance was, well that might quickly become a being neon sign of ‘Look here I am’

And maybe, if Lance was quick enough and luck more than on his side. Lance could roll back off and fire off a few more shots. Maybe actually hit the guy before he was spotted.

Or he could just ditch the roof all together. And head across the street to handle the situation more intimately. Lance already had a few breadcrumbs plated to point to the rival gang anyway that he would have to plant in the apartment anyway.

Yup, that was the better option.

Quickly rolling away from where he was laying, Lance ditched his rifle. Keeping low as he made his way towards the fire escape and quickly scaled down it. Giddily landing in the alleyway as he pulled out his hand gun to check it, and saw he had the forethought to already put the silencer on it.

Lance hurriedly booked it across the street.

Again, happy to discover the guy was either hiding from possible shots, or still looking to rooftops. Making it so easy for Lance to slip into his building with nothing more than a passing bring at some old lady and her dog.

He quickly made his way up the stairs towards the man’s apartment. A trek he had practiced more than a few times. Both to familiarize his face with other’s living there, so he would become nothing out of the ordinary for them, and know exactly where to go in a situation like this.

Lance dipped a hand down into his pocket for the spare key he had been given to the apartment door. Gripping his pistol tightly with the other as he eased the key in. Twisting it in the lock as slowly and soundlessly as it would allow, for tearing open the door.

The man is huddled behind his over turned table when Lance opens the door. Quickly taking aim and firing at him as he shut the door behind him. And Lance would loved to have said he got the guy right then and there.

But not, the man was like lightening.

Moving out of the way of Lance’s shots, which forced Lance to follow after him for a clear shot. Step further into his apartment. Then the man charged and tackled Lance to the ground. Knocking the gun out of Lance’s hand with more ease than the assassin would have liked.

Fuck!

Lance squirmed under the guys hold.

He wasn’t the best at hand to hand fighting. At least not when it wasn’t somewhat on his terms. Lance could easily knock someone out three times the guys size, but usually he had them ogling at something. This guy was on him and Lance had no leverage.

“Who hired you?” The guy demanded in a growl, pressing his weight down into Lance’s chest.

“Not at liberty to say, I’m afraid.” Lance stated cheekily with a grin. “Assassin-Client privilege.”

And then Lance kicked the guy in the hip, and throw a wild punch to get him off.

He rolled with the punch and scrambled to his feet. Darting for the kitchen where his gun skidded off to. But he’s ankle was grabbed before he could reach it. Pull out from under him.

Lance cursed as he grabbed on to a counter top to stop himself from falling.

Fine, looked like he was going to settle for what he could grab. Which, to Lance’s luck happens to be a knife from a set. He grabbed a handle of one as swing wildly at the man, who barely leaned back enough to dodge it. A look of surprise on his face, Lance took a little satisfaction in.

But it was short lived.

The man grabbed his wrist. In one quick movement, spinning around to elbow Lance in nose. Knocking him into the opposite side of the small kitchen. Twisting Lance around in his daze, and pinning him down over the counter top, with a sharp yank of Lance’s wrist to drop the knife.

“I’ll ask again,” The man spat out venomously. Which if Lance wasn’t in his current situation, he would have found very hot. Another painful tug of the wrist when Lance refused to let go of the knife. “Who hired you to kill me?”

Lance growled in reply.

The man, he has a name and Lance knows it but refuses to use it, twisted Lance’s wrist so the knife point was resting against Lance’s back. “Answer the question, before I stop asking nicely.”

“This is you asking nicely?” Lance asked smartly.

“Who. Hired. You.” The man growled out each word. Leaning over Lance more and more with each word. “I get the feeling you were the one the took the shot at him earlier to. So tell me who hired you to take me out.”

Lance surged up. Slamming his head into the guys nose, and breaking free in his shock and pain. He whipped around, holding the knife at the read as the man staggered back across the kitchen with a loud curse.

“Son of a--”

Lance charged the man. Managing to get in a few good swings with the knife in hand, before the man grabbed his wrist again. This time prying the knife out of Lance’s fingers before kicking him away. He tossed the knife aside as Lance failed to keep his balance and toppled onto the floor with a wheezing grunt.

“I’ll pay you double what whoever hired you is paying.” The man stated calmly.

Lance paused and raised an eyebrow at the guy.

Looking around his apartment, the guy didn’t look like he had much money to his name. Most of his furniture looked older, handed down to him, or found. Only a few things looked new and moderately expensive. But there was nothing in the apartment to suggest the guy any true money to throw around.

Which, given what little Lance knew about him, was probably not true. The guy was a rising Lieutenant in his clients gang, with a new seat at the table. And given that Lance’s client was trying to cross him off, meant he was decent competition.

So the guy had money somewhere.

“You are going to just double $25,000?” Lance asked skeptically.

The guy looks rather surprised by the number. Not in a way that he can’t meet it, let alone double it. More so amazed someone would pay that much to cross him off.

“Whoa, that’s a lot, why is it so high?” The guy asked with his brows knitting together in confusion.

And oh how Lance wished he could have played.

“My services aren’t cheap.” Lance returned confidently as he eased himself to his feet, slowly. Not missing the way the guys eyes ran over his whole form almost hungrily. “Ever heard of El Tiburón?”

“You’re Tiburón?” The guy asked with a cut little puppy tilt of his head. “You’re younger than I would have expected.”

“I’m that good.” Lance grinned out.

“You missed,” the guy pointed out stupidly.

Lance bristled at the words. “I didn’t miss! You fucking moved at the last second.”

“That still fits in the description of missing a shot.”

Lance growled sharply, before charging forwards. The man’s eyes went wide for a second, as he realized his mistake, and braced himself as Lance rammed into them. Stumbling backwards, before falling to the floor under the force of Lance’s momentum.

The two wrestle on the ground for a bit.

Before the man managed to pin Lance down. Holding both of his hands over his head with one hand. And trapping Lance’s legs under his body weight. Glaring down at Lance sharply, until he stopped struggling too much.

And damn, did the man always had stormy colored eyes like that.

“I’ll pay you double, if you stop trying to kill me and tell me you hired you.”

Lance glared up the man for a moment.

The he sighed.

He already knew his mother would be pissed if he killed someone offering to pay more money then the original offer. Lance’s reputation be damned, business was business. And besides, Lance already settled on making sure his family never did business with the first client anyway.

“An asshole named Sendack hired me to take you out.” Lance said easily.

The man frowned above Lance in an almost knowing matter.

“I see there is a mutual dislike.” Lance observed lightly. “Can’t say I don’t understand why. The asshole made me do all this work to make it look like it was a rival gang. I didn’t get to see any of the city I was so busy doing his dirty work, with no extra combination for my grief.”

“Oh, woo is you.” The man said rolled his eyes.

Lance pouted up at him.

“Can you let me up now?” Lance asked suddenly with a huff. “As fun as this position is, unless your going to show me a good time, I would rather not keep lying around in it.”

The man looked down, for a second confused by what Lance meant. Lance was half tempted to roll his hips to get his meaning across. But then it seemed to register in his head and blush dusted his cheeks.

“Promise not to try to kill me?” He snapped roughly as he looked back up to Lance’s face.

“Promise to pay double my fee?”

A moment of thick silence laid over them.

Each of them searching the other’s face for a lie. Or some kind of trick. After all in their line of work they could never be too careful.

Eventually though, the man let go of Lance with a huff. Shoving off of him with a growl and a mean look. One Lance didn’t even wither under one bit. After all, the only person Lance was truly afraid of was his mother, and she was miles away.

Lance slowly got to his feet.

More than aware of the guy watching him slowly. So Lance made sure to make his movements clear and slow. So the man could clearly see what he was doing the whole time. And maybe not tackle him to the floor again.

Carefully Lance reached for his gun. Easily keeping his fingers away for the trigger as he picked it up from the ground. Then in a one quick movement, removed the clip, and tossed it on the counter. The man relaxed marginally in the corner of Lance’s vision.

Then with fluid ease, Lance removed the bullet in the barrel. Twisted off the silencer. And dismantled the gun half way. Resting it all down on the man’s counter with grace and pose.

“Relax, Mr. Shirogane,” Lance hummed as he adjusted his jacket back into place. The man stiffened at Lance’s use of his name. “I’m not going to do anything. My mother and sister would have my head if I did after your generous offer.”

“Yes, offering you double to not kill me is a generous offer.” The man, Shirogane, huffed in a growl.

“More generous that Sendack.” Lance countered easily with a shrug. Because that his all his family will really care about. Who paid them more to have Lance do something...or not do something. “He refused my extra fees when his job was not a simple as first presented.” Lance continued as he made his way towards Shirogane. “I didn’t like that.”

Shirogane hummed dryly as he watched Lance.

His gaze his careful and calculated.

Lance doesn’t blame him, he was after a known assassin in most dark circles. Not to mention the man that just tried to kill him a minute ago. He was more than ready to strike Lance down if he needed to.

But it was also eating Lance alive.

Swimming over Lance to take him all in. Almost undressed him with his gaze. Eyes easily trapped by the way Lance dipped his hips just a little. A test to see just how interested the man was in him. Lance knew he was alluring, but he wasn’t naive enough to think everyone by default found him attractive in the same way he might find them attractive.

And Lance can’t say he was returning the favor of devouring Shirogane in the same way. If not more shamelessly.

“Of course, it doesn’t insure Sendack won’t try again.” Lance comment as he stopped just in inch or two from Shirogane’s toes.

He reached up to pick off some dust that had collected on the shoulder of Shirogane’s shirt. Dropping it to the floor beside them, as he felt Shirogane’s gaze sharpen on him. Lance hummed absently as his hands took to adjusting Shirogane’s shirt, with delicate, feathery touches of his fingers. Before he turned his eyes up to meet the older man’s.

“I doubt he’ll want to use me again when he finds out.” Lance stated, and he wouldn’t be hurt like that. It would take little to squish rumors that Lance couldn’t do his job. “But, I also get the feeling his is more brawn than brains, and desperate enough. So I wouldn’t be ultimately surprised if he tried to double your offer to get me to kill you again.”

“Fair point.” Shirogane said flatly.

His face blank and controlled as he looked down at Lance.

“Which leaves you two options.” Lance hummed, delicately tapping a button on Shirogane’s dark shirt. “One, is you keep doubling Sendack’s offers. Until one or both of you run yourselves dry of money. Or my family grows frustrated of the back and forth with little money gained, and have me off both of you.” Lance said with a slight frown.

Because for some reason he doesn’t really want to off this Shirogane guy.

Something about him speaks out to Lance in a way different from anyone else ever before. And it’s not just because Shirogane feels like he would be a fun person for Lance to play with. Or because Lance really doesn’t like the Sendack guy, and if he can undermine him for double the pay, well Lance was all on board. Lance couldn’t really describe was it was, just that it was there.

“Or?” Shirogane asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Or, you make yourself valuable to my family.” Lance stated silkily, as he ran hand over Shirogane’s chest. Feeling the man’s heart beating under his fingertips. “I am sure, your little organization has something my family could use, and vise versa." Lance added easily as he leaned in bit into Shirogane’s space. Snaking his other hand up his torso as well. “You present an offer double Sendack’s original, and new strong source of revenue and partnership. Well, then suddenly you have favor on yours side over all else."

Shirogane blinked at Lance, more than curious.

Lance ran a hand heavily down Shirogane’s chest. “It would be like insurance.” He stated airily. “My family has sway with many other organizations. They’ll listen to my family more than any money Sendack might throw at them.” Lance hummed as he glanced down at Shirogane’s chest before flicking back up to meet his gaze. “Not to mention that makes you look good to your boss as well.”

“You’re surprisingly good at this.” Shirogane commented lowly.

He suddenly grabbed one of Lance’s wrist before his hand could travel down to his pants. The hold tight and firm, but not actually painful in anyway.

“I’ve played a hand in enough internal politics to know how to play.” Lance returned offhandedly. “Especially against people I don’t like.”

Shirogane smiled down at Lance.

Lance raised an eyebrow at the taller man. “What’s got you smiling?”

“You’re helping me in this.” Shirogane observed lowly, his dark stormy gaze fixed on Lance fiercely. “Which means you must like me.”

“I am...interested in you.” Lance admitted smoothly.

Shirogane hummed down at Lance.

Then he let got of his wrist with something of a smirk. And goddamn the heavens must really be testing him in someway.

“It sounds like I really only have one choice then,” Shirogane said.

He took a slight step back. Moving out from under Lances hand, much to Lance’s disappointment. Making his way over to cabinet cross the kitchen near the sink.

Lance watched him as he silently pulled out to glasses from the shelf, and grabbing a half empty bottle from the counter. Easily pulling it open and pouring a generous amount of a dark liquid into each cups. Then holding one out for Lance to take from him.

“Well, there is a third option.” Lance stated as he walked over to join Shirogane. Taking the cup in a way that their fingers brushed against each other. “But I’m not foolish enough to think it will happen in one night.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” Shirogane asked from behind his glass curiously.

Lance knocked back half the drink with something of ease.

It was a power move Marco and Luís had taught him years ago. When he wasn’t really allowed to drink heavy liquors, but they were his older brothers. They wanted him to be able to down anything put in front of him with ease. As according to them, sipping was a way of stalling during meetings, or a weak throat.

Of course, whatever Shirogane poured, was far stronger than anything Lance and his brothers would practice with. Far different from Rum, tequilas, and cognacs they would drink. So it didn’t go down as smoothly, but he still got it down with grace and pose.

Lance lets out a hot breath before before moving into Shirogane’s space.

If he wasn’t going to kill Shirogane anymore, there was no reason for Lance not to have all kinds of fun with him.

A hand sprand up against his chest again. As Lance leaned forward on the tips of his toes. Gribbed the collar of the man’s shirt, giving it a sharp little pull. Breathing heatedly against Shirogane’s ear for good measure, before...

“You become something valuable to me.”

And somehow, that was exactly what happened that night anyway.

----

AN: Ta-da. So, this is how Shiro and Lance meet in this AU.

And yes, both of them like literally feel in love over night (I am a cliche like that), but didn’t exactly “get together” until months later when Lance moved to New York to be with Shiro.

I do plan do to another prologue fic of how they got there kids, but I’m still figuring out how I want it to happen. So not sure when that will happen.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed.

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nikanndros · 6 years

Text

The Post-Canon Time Travel AU

[Prologue] [Act I: Part 1, Part 2]

Act I, Part 3.

The common people down in the streets of Arles are nice to him. They offer him samples and tell him things about their families and jobs as if he’s enquired about it in the past. One woman asks him about a project he’s apparently working on and he has to make quick excuses. It seems his role as the second son is a charitable one. The people love him. It’s odd but not unwelcome.

By the time the sun is at its highest peak, Laurent has discovered that he owns and funds: an orphanage, a school for poor children, and a charity for the widow’s of soldiers. Apparently, he is quite the philanthropist. The more people that come to personally thank him for his endeavours, the more uneasy Laurent gets.

If he were a good brother and the prince that he had intended to be, then none of these people would be recognising or thanking him. All of these charities would be done in Auguste’s name and the people would be praising their king while Laurent hid in the background.

He tries to convince himself that there’s an explanation for this - he isn’t a traitor to his brother’s rule - but Laurent loses all hope when one of the men he meets leads him to the front of the school, where disadvantaged children are being given a chance at education and also indoctrinated into the belief that Laurent is helping them more than their king is.

The school is named after his uncle.

When Laurent gets back to his rooms, he locks himself inside and spends a good twenty minutes with his head hanging between his knees as he forces himself to breathe. Once that is under control, he opens the door for long enough to order one of his guards - he doesn’t know their name and he obviously can’t just ask for it - to send for Aimeric. While he waits, he tears through every chest that he can find on his desk and under his bed and in his closet, until he finds the one filled with documents about his properties.

He has inherited every single one of his uncle’s former properties. At least this proves that the monster is dead. Laurent tries desperately not to think the worst. Perhaps… maybe with Auguste by his side, Laurent was never made aware of his uncle’s foul proclivities and so found some amount of grief in his death.

He keeps flicking through the documents. It looks like he founded the school when he was seventeen. That would be too old for him to be in his uncle’s favour. He remembers that he was no longer a fool to his uncle’s true character when he was seventeen. He’s not sure what to make of any of this.

There’s a knock on the door, and then Aimeric is letting himself in. “You wanted…” Aimeric begins, then falters when he sees Laurent, sitting on the floor and surrounded by a mess of papers, “to…see me?”

“Yes,” Laurent says, standing up. “You’ve been trying to get my attention. You have it. Now talk.”

Aimeric, surprisingly, doesn’t flinch at the steely tone.

“I just don’t understand,” he says, and with the way he launches into the speech, he’s clearly been pondering on this for some time. “You said Henri was important. You said we needed Toutaine on our side for any chance of succeeding. It took me weeks to convince him to consider you and then you just- just ruined it all!”

He isn’t making sense. Or he is, if his words are put into that inconceivable context. “What place is it of yours to question my actions?”

“I’m your future advisor,” Aimeric says, “It’s my role to question when you start acting mad! What do you want me to do? I might be able to mend things with Henri. I’ll tell him that he needs to be more discreet about our plans.”

“What plans?” Laurent says. He won’t consider it.

“Our plans,” Aimeric says.

“What plans?” He insists.

Aimeric looks around. The room is clearly empty. “You want me to say it?”

“Yes,” Laurent says. “Tell me what our goal is.”

“To overthrow Auguste,” Aimeric says. “To put you on the throne.”

Laurent stays calm for long enough to have Aimeric write him a list of every dissenter they’ve spoken to.

“Is this a test?” Aimeric says.

“Yes.”

“You said…” Aimeric hesitates, “not to write anything down. That’s how you get caught.”

“I’m testing your memory,” Laurent replies. “I’ll burn it afterwards. Trust me.”

Aimeric, apparently does.

Once Laurent has the paper, he sends his co conspirator away and then forces himself to breathe deep for a count of ten. He knows his weakness is when he lets his emotions overwhelm him - Damen has ensured that he’s aware of that fact - and he knows he needs to resist acting impulsively. Still. Sometimes one just needs to destroy things.

Laurent pulls the gaudy, elaborate pillows off his bed and - fuck it - throws them out the window. Let someone underneath have them, he can’t look at them anymore. He tears open his wardrobe and gets every red fucking jacket and tears them apart with a knife. Next he turns to the dresser and finds all the jewellery he can. He can’t destroy that, but he can get rid of it. He drops it all into a pile on his bed and wraps it up with a sheet and then dumps it all in a chest. He’ll have it dropped in a river or left in the poorest district there is.

He wants to kill every man who would be cowardly enough to side with him over his brother. He wants to find this old version of himself and destroy them. He wants to burst into Auguste’s chambers and demand to know why it’s like this. Why they don’t love each other anymore. He wants to scream.

The last one, he can do and so he does. He yells, as loudly as he can and almost gets through his entire lungs capacity of air when the door cracks open the his guard peeks their head in. Laurent stops.

“…your highness?” the guard says, awkwardly pretending to ignore the state of Laurent’s chambers.

“You,” Laurent says. “What’s your name?”

“Alexandre?” he replies. He makes it sound like he’s unsure of that himself.

The guard Alexandre. He’s on Aimeric’s list.

“Leave Arles,” Laurent says. “And don’t come back.”

“Your highness?”

“If you don’t,” he says, “then I will kill you and I will hang your head on the gates like the traitor you are.”

Alexandre’s face goes white. “This,” he says, “was all a set-up?”

“Yes,” Laurent takes that and clings to it. From now on, that’s the truth he will choose. “Yes. I have been weeding out traitors to my brother, the True King, and now the time for punishment will come. Feel free to spread the word. Let them all know that their days are numbered.”

Alexandre leaves and takes all of Laurent’s irrational anger with him. Finally, Laurent sits down - in the eye of the storm - and lets himself reach a level of calmness.

He can fix this. He has not lived through the years of hell that he did to be given this chance to have Auguste and not see it through. He wishes viscerally that Damen were here, just to hold him and quiet the raging thoughts, but he’s not. And Laurent doesn’t even know if it’s his Damen in this world. He sighs.

He can do it alone, then. Just like old times.

First he finds a servant. He doesn’t remember the boy’s name, but he can vaguely recall seeing him in the other-Arles and that he was always quiet and gentle. “There’s a chest in my chambers,” Laurent says. “It’s wooden and it has red stones on it.”

The boy nods.

“Take it,” Laurent says. “Everything in it is yours now. But it has to be out of my sight before I return.”

Next he sends a message out that every single one of his guards is to be turned off. They can find work elsewhere. Then, Laurent heads back into the town. He needs new sheets, and more jackets, and some space.

He’s almost through the entire main street when he hears a small voice shouting down an alley. The familiarity of the voice washes over Laurent in a way that makes him feel cold. He follows the noise.

“Fuck off,” the boy is saying, to an older looking man. “I didn’t steal shit.”

Nicaise is exactly as beautiful as he was in the palace, but also a lot dirtier. His clothing is threadbare, torn at the knees, and his curls are a mess. Laurent has always known that Nicaise had come from poverty in the way he used to hoard food in his room and talk brashly. His choice had been no choice at all.

“No, you just distracted me while your little friend robbed me.” The man is gripping Nicaise’s arm tightly, stopping him from escaping.

“Prove it!” Nicaise says. “Or let me go, old man.”

“Is everything alright?” Laurent says, calmly.

The man immediately recognises him and drops Nicaise. “My apologies for bothering you, your highness,” he says. “The child stole from me and I was just making sure justice was had.”

“I did not!” Nicaise says, crossing his arms.

Laurent ignores him, he can’t quite bring himself to look Nicaise in the eyes yet, and hands the man some coin. “For your missing stock,” he says. “I’ll make sure the boy is dealt with.”

The man takes the coin - he’s dressed like a baker, it’s probably a lot more than the stolen goods are worth - and leaves, thanking Laurent the whole way.

Laurent looks down at Nicaise. He’s a little older than he was the last time Laurent saw him in Arles, but no taller. Malnutrition does that.

“This isn’t fair,” Nicaise says, pouting. “He didn’t even have any proof. You shouldn’t get to punish me.”

“I didn’t say I’d punish you,” Laurent says. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Nicaise says. “I’m starving. And now that old man’s going to tell everyone to watch out for me.”

“Ah,” Laurent says, thoughtfully. He can hardly take Nicaise back to the palace with him, people will talk and that’s the last thing he needs. Instead, he holds out his coin purse and drops it into Nicaise hand’s. The bag is heavy, definitely more than a street urchin has ever held.

Nicaise’s eyes are huge as he looks down at it and then back up at Laurent. “What…” he says, nervously. “What do you want for it?”

“Nothing,” Laurent says. “Do you know who I am?”

Nicaise nods.

“Good. Come back here tomorrow,” he says, “Same time. I’ll try and find you a job and somewhere to live between now and then.”

“Okay,” Nicaise says, warily.

“Stay safe,” Laurent says. He has to leave. He can’t keep looking at those bright eyes when all they make him think of is a sapphire earring and a bloodied bag.

The next day Laurent skips breakfast with Auguste and rides out early for Varenne. Laurent has no knowledge of this world, but enough of the old one to know what people are most likely Auguste’s men.

“Your Highness,” Lord Berenger says, when Laurent shows up at his manor. His voice is polite but his body language is clearly hostile. “You didn’t send word of your visit.”

“I didn’t want to give you time to find an excuse,” Laurent says. “Can we talk?”

“By all means.”

They go to a sitting room, plainly decorated - he hasn’t changed, and a servant brings them tea.

“How are the horses?” Laurent says.

“Exceptional,” Berenger replies, “as always.” He doesn’t even perk up at the mention of his favoured animals. Their relationship truly must be strained in this world.

Alright then. Might as well cut to it. “You have a pet, don’t you?” Hopefully.

“Last time you saw him,” Berenger says, and yes, that’s definitely vitriol in his voice, “you said he barely counted as a pet anymore. You’ve changed your mind?”

“I’d like to speak with him.”

They sit in a tense silent for a very long moment before Berenger nods slightly at his servant and the man disappears. “Well,” he says. “I can hardly refuse royalty.”

Laurent’s tea is cold by the time the pet makes his appearance. It’s Ancel, just as Laurent had hoped, but he’s - different. His face is still the same, all porcelain beauty and kohl rimmed eyes. His hair, which used to run down to his waist, is now shorter. The left side is cropped entirely - shorn almost to his skull in red fluff. The right side hangs to brush his shoulders. The reason for the odd haircut is immediately apparent. The entire left side of Ancel’s shoulder - from the crook of his neck to his elbow - is covered in a thick burn scar. Laurent is suddenly very grateful that he was not there to witness - or remember witnessing - the boy go up in flames. His firedance had always been risky, and Laurent knows Ancel must have taken the injury as a personal failing.

Ancel barely gives Laurent a second glance before he’s slinking across the room to drape himself in his lover’s lap. He sits so that the burnt side is the side on display. Laurent can respect that.

“Ancel,” Laurent says.

“I am,” he replies. “If you’re hoping for a performance, I’m afraid I’ve retired my firesticks. And” - he makes a presentation of looking around the room - “it looks like you don’t have a guard to throw wine on me, so…”

Laurent swears.

Berenger makes an odd expression at that, and Laurent realises he’d sworn in Akielon. Some habits are hard to break, apparently.

“Don’t pretend,” Ancel says, leaning forward angrily. “I know you had a hand in that even if you won’t admit it.”

Laurent passionately hopes that isn’t true. “All my guards have been turned off,” Laurent says. “If it makes you feel better, tell me the name of the one that caused your – accident – and I’ll send you his head.”

“Fuck you,” Ancel says.

Berenger puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls the pet back against his chest. He gives Ancel a look.

“Your highness,” Ancel adds belatedly, in response.

“Ancel has much to do today,” Berenger says. “Did you want to see him for a reason?”

“Yes,” Laurent says. “I understand that you may view me as something of a traitor to my brother’s crown. I have come to reveal the ruse.”

“The ruse?” Berenger clarifies.

“Yes,” Laurent replies. He knows how to lie convincingly. It’s time to make a new truth for his backstory. “My brother’s court is in trouble. It has been for some time. I had to present myself as an enemy to him in order to weed out all the potential dissenters.”

They both look sceptical. “You’ve been outspoken against your brother’s decisions since you were fourteen and he murdered your uncle.”

Laurent very carefully keeps his expression neutral. He knows he takes a second too long to answer, but he forges ahead anyway. “Yes,” he says. “My uncle was the first traitor. He was plotting to kill both Auguste and myself in order to seize the throne.”

“And so you took over his plot?”

“I needed to find out who he was working with and bring them down. I’m willing to do anything to keep my brother safe.”

“And Auguste knows of all this?”

“No,” Laurent says. “Auguste despises deception.”

“So his dislike of you is real then?” Ancel cuts in, intending to hurt.

“Like I said: I’m willing to do anything for Auguste. Whether he appreciates it or not.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Berenger asks.

“I need Ancel’s help.”

Ancel regards him tensely, before he seems to let go of the hostility and his shoulders drop. “Did you really get rid of all your guards?”

“Yes,” Laurent replies. “I am sorry that I couldn’t control them as well as I should have.”

The pet nods. “What do you need me to do?” he asks quietly, and then scoffs. “I doubt I could seduce anybody like this.”

Berenger frowns.

“I honestly believe you could,” Laurent replies. “But that’s not what I need.” He reaches into his riding jacket and pulls out folded paper. “I need your gossip. Here is a list of every man who would betray our King. I just want to give them a few reasons to never want to risk it.”

“You want blackmail,” Ancel says. He looks suddenly delighted.

“Darling, you don’t have to-” Berenger begins, but Ancel puts a hand on his mouth to cut him off.

“No,” Ancel says. “But I want to.”

#captive prince #writing #the time travel au #have a 3k update #bc i might not be able to update tomorrow due to working 12 hrs rip #anyway after this most of the angst is over #for laurent at least

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auncyen · 6 years

Text

AND SUDDENLY, I WROTE A BUNCH MORE, AND THIS PART ENDED IN A SCENE I NEVER EXPECTED, AND DEAR GOD THEY DIDN'T EVEN GET OFF CALDISLA This is part 2 of the "Ringabel has hanahaki" request, I'm going to reiterate that I expect future parts to be faster, but given how this part is actually maybe less than half of what I first expected part 2 to be, I am not fully confident in that assessment Part 1 is here.

I always knew there was going to be a scene for Ringabel telling Edea his flowers were for her and Edea going first, no, second, you can get those out y'know. I just didn't expect it to end up there, but there it is!

#Ringabel #Edea Lee #bravely default #one-sided rindea #will it ever be requited? ringabel sure hopes so #bravely default fic #hanahaki

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itsallwineglasses · 7 years

Text

Insight

Written for Reaper76 Week Day 2 - “In His Shoes” - Role/Body Swapping, in which a bodyswap opens the door of a nefarious opportunity, Gabriel has to make a choice between living with his past and torching his future in the name of it, and Jack doesn’t have a good time at all.

content warning: body horror

update: now on ao3

Gabriel’s had years to master his new powers. He’s had time to learn how to stay solid and only wraith when he wants to, how to not accidentally devour anyone he comes into contact with.

Jack hasn’t.

“Reaper looks over to see –

Himself.

Himself in a state he hasn’t been reduced to since he got a handle on his new state of existence. A thick column of black smoke writhing and twisting in on itself, the vague suggestions of solid shapes at the dark heart of it ripping apart within seconds of coming together. It looks like it should be as loud as it is violent; accompanied by metallic shrieks like rending sheet metal, or the wet screams of a prey animal set upon by wolves. But it doesn’t make any sound at all. It’s shrouded in the kind of silence found in dead, empty spaces.

Reaper’s seen this before – lived it – but never from the outside.”

If a lifetime of waking up after being knocked unconscious has taught Reaper anything, it’s that pain is always what comes back first. This time is no different; it fades in, a heat and throbbing intermingled across his back that means burns. There’s a dull edged ache in his left knee that feels like it’s going to stick around for a while.

Compared to the last time he woke up after an explosion though, he’s practically right as rain.

Except. He can’t feel his body, not in the way he usually can. The constant background awareness of every individual nanite communicating its location, coordinating its position in relation to all the other nanites he’s composed of, is silent. It’s gone so quiet inside his head.

Fear cuts coldly through him and he tries to move, but nothing’s responding right. He tries to lift his arms. Bend his legs. Nothing happens. For a moment he’s convinced that he’s pinned down by rubble at Zurich – no way out no help coming he’s going to die here they’ve left him to die – and his mind whites out in gibbering terror.

Stop. Stop, calm down, breathe, panic’s not going to help right now.

He’s not at Zurich. Zurich is nearly a decade behind him, and rubble can’t pin down smoke. Whatever’s wrong with him must be because of that device that Talon sent him in here to retrieve, the experimental tech in the secure storage of an old Overwatch facility that’s been stripped down to automated functions since the Petras Act.

It’s not impossible that Talon knew the thing would blow up in his face and he’s been set up. Considering how fast the infiltration went belly up, it’s even likely. Either that or suddenly they’ve turned into a bunch of amateurs who’ve forgotten how to do proper surveillance on a target before sending someone in. The new and not at all improved Overwatch having moved back in is a pretty good indicator that it should have been more than a one man job, unless the goal was to get that man killed from the get go.

Not definitive proof, but it’s better to prepare for the worst than be surprised by it.

The rush of anger surprises him, if only because Reaper hadn’t been that personally invested in his contract with Talon, but it does wonders to unwind the suffocating panic he’s gripped in. With a clearer head he can tell that his body is coming back online by degrees. Twitches spasm in his limbs, his hearing’s returning with a swell of ringing in his ears. He still can’t see.

Pressure closes around his arm at the same time that something hard presses against his face, smothering. He flinches away from it but it follows him – must be his mask, he thinks dimly, though something about the shape of it doesn’t sit right – clicking into place and the blackness of Reaper’s vision washes red like a screen flickering to life.

Ana’s kneeling in front of him, only inches away, and her single eye’s wide with fear as she grips his forearm.

He jerks backwards in a flail of surprise and his back collides with something solid that elevates the stinging into agony. The red that tinges everything almost distracts him from her wince in response.

“Oh, thank god,” Ana breathes. “I thought it killed you.”

Her voice wavers like the concern in it is real. Like the prospect of his death frightens her. Disorientation mixes with the bitter fondness that seeing her brings; for all that Ana seems to mourn Gabriel Reyes she hadn’t been pulling her punches with Reaper earlier any more than Soldier 76 had.

Reaper can see now that he’s slumped against the base of a metal strut, the freestanding ceiling support close to a wall lined with small alcoves. There’s a used biotic emitter on the ground by his feet. All the alcoves are sealed off by individual hard light barriers, the last line of defence for the malfunctional prototypes this facility was built to secure. Well, all of them except the one Reaper had broken into which is now a charred hole in the wall.

He’s still in the subterranean level then. If they haven’t had time to try and move or restrain him then he can’t have passed out for that long. With any luck the backup Ana and 76 have undoubtedly called for hasn’t arrived yet.

Reaper tries to speak and nearly chokes on a cough. His throat feels… rough, like there’s something wrapped around his vocal cords. He tries again and it comes out as a growl, but all wrong, not his usual cadence. “… W-what…”

Ana hauls him to his feet.

“We need to move. Whatever that thing was that Gabriel was after did something to him, he’s…” She trails off and gestures helplessly at something further into the large room.

Right here, Reaper thinks as his eyes follow the motion. He can feel that something’s wrong right down in his bones. Nothing Ana’s said quite makes sense and the way everything is tinged shades of red like he’s wearing shitty night vision goggles is pissing him off and he looks over to see –

Himself.

Reaper’s seen this before – lived it – but never from the outside. The sheer wrongness of what he’s seeing has his head spinning as he looks down at himself. At the body that isn’t his. Looking down gives him a strange sort of unmoored vertigo, like he’d felt whenever he’d looked in the mirror after shaving his hair off for the first time and had the jarring reminder that oh, the image of himself in his head didn’t match what he actually looked like. But now it’s so much worse.

This isn’t his body. It isn’t him.

He’s so thrown that it takes him a moment to recognise the jacket this body is wearing and put together what’s happened.

It must have been something to do with the prototype he’d been trying to steal, the explosion it set off. It explains a lot, at least. This literally isn’t his body. And if he’s here, then Morrison is…

Savage satisfaction burns in Reaper’s chest like bile. Morrison is feeling exactly what he did to Reaper.

The nanite swarm is laboriously winding over the ground towards them. Ana’s face twists into a pitying grimace as she brings her rifle up and takes aim at it.

“Stay back, Gabriel!” Her shout is choked. He can’t tell if it’s by disgust or grief.

“That won’t do anything.” Reaper says, ever practical in a crisis. “You can’t dart nanites.”

Ana lowers her gun and backs away from the swarm instead, pulling Reaper with her.

An arm made of blackened flesh manifest from the swarm, ending abruptly in thick tendrils of smoke halfway up the bicep. Its hand scrabbles at the ground, like it’s trying to pull itself towards them.

Reaper doesn’t remember a lot of the first few weeks after he became what he is. It’s mostly melted together into a vivid swirl of agony and desperation. He remembers enough, though, to read the terror in the cloud’s churning movements for what it is.

The arm dissolves so suddenly it’s like it was torn apart.

“We should do something to help him. I think he’s in pain.” Ana says.

He is. People aren’t meant to be aware of themselves at a cellular level. Morrison probably thinks he’s dying.

“Like what?” Reaper snorts. “Anyway, he brought this on himself.”

Wrinkles cut through the lines of her tattoo as she throws him a confused look.

Ana’s tone is laced with implication, like she’s referring to something. “So now we just leave him here like this? You’re really okay with that, Jack?”

Jack.

Ana called him Jack. She doesn’t know. Of course she doesn’t. There’s no way for her to tell unless one of them tells her, and Morrison’s certainly in no state to.

He can’t believe he didn’t see the opportunity he’s been handed until now.

Morrison has already integrated himself with the new Overwatch. They trust him. So many old agents have answered the Recall, and like this Reaper can waltz right in among them and they’ll welcome him with open arms. It’s a golden opportunity. He can get his hands on agent lists, the locations of where this new Overwatch has set up bases. He could finally seize the revenge he’s been hounding for years by the throat.

Reaper knows Morrison inside out, it wouldn’t even be difficult to pretend to be him. It’ll be over before they even realise he isn’t what he seems.

He should leave Morrison here. Let him struggle like Reaper had when he was nothing more than a swarm of nanomachines and the vague idea of a man abandoned to suffer alone in the smoking ruin of everything he had devoted his life to. It’s fucking poetic justice, an eye for an eye.

He starts limping for the exit, lugging the pulse rifle one handed, slowed down by the pain in his left knee giving him shit with every step and the scorching in his back. Ana hesitates, tries to call him back before trailing after him, keeping her eye trained on the thing she thinks is Reaper. Resentment blooms in Reaper; she always has chosen Morrison over him.

The swarm – he knows it’s Morrison but it doesn’t feel right, looking at that mess and thinking his name – keeps slowly following them, zig zagging low to the ground. More and more coiling tendrils of smoke break away from the mass to drift in different directions. Morrison’s ability to hold himself in one piece is deteriorating as he loses focus. Or hope.

The door’s jammed, probably because the place is old as shit and no one’s been around to keep up on maintenance. Reaper sets his shoulder to it and slams it with enough force that the hinges shriek and give way.

It also sets off a chain reaction of crackling agony down his back like electricity sparking along a wire. He grabs the edge of the doorframe to try and hold himself up.

Ana’s rifle clatters to the ground as she drops it to catch him, and Reaper would give her an earful about being so careless in what is technically still a combat situation if he wasn’t gritting his teeth to hold back a shout.

“Careful, you’ve aggravated the burns.” She pulls his arm across her own shoulders and he leans on her because the only other option is falling on his face.

Fuck – fucking shit he can barely breathe through the pain. Jack must have taken the brunt of the device’s blast across his back –

A shout, the name of a dead man that Reaper still responds to out of instinct. It’s the decades old association of that tone with Jack’s grip on his shoulder, yanking him back out the line of omnic fire that has him acting on the hardwired ‘danger!’ response (stop, pull back, assess) faster than he can think, even inches away from the device he needs to retrieve.

Morrison, shouldering him aside, pushing in between him and the alcove and pulling them chest to chest to bodily shield him right as the prototype flares with harsh light like a star going supernova. Reaper has sunk his claws into Jack’s shoulders instinctively to pull him along as he starts to Shadow Step, already halfway to disintegrating as the white-hot heat engulfs them.

– and if how much it still hurts even with the enhanced healing is any indication then he’d probably saved Reaper’s life. There’s only so much even nanites can do at the epicentre of a blast radius.

He and Soldier 76 hadn’t even been on the same side of the fight. The sentimental fool.

If Reaper leaves now, leaves him like this, it will take weeks of agony before Jack will be able to figure out how to pull his body together. Reaper knows from lived experience.

Ana’s planted like a rock at his side, won’t cross the threshold even when he tries too and his arm across her shoulders brings him up short. He tries to wraith through her fingers out of habit and he stands there stupidly for a second before his brain catches up.

“I won’t abandon Gabriel, and you shouldn’t either. You said you wanted to put things right, Jack. Start now.” She says.

Put things right? What, with Reaper? Bullshit. For someone who’s so eager to snatch credit, Morrison’s got a massive blind spot for his own culpability. Always has. The only thing that Morrison would think needs ‘put right’ between them would be him putting Reaper down in some fumbling attempt to avenge the old corpse of Overwatch.

The burns on his back throb.

Because nothing says ‘I think you’re irredeemable and I’m planning to put an end to you’ like jumping between Reaper and an explosion. Right.

Ana is still steadfast, watching the nanite cloud nervously. She thinks that’s him, and she’s refusing to abandon him even as that thing.

It makes a complicated feeling pass through Reaper. Something warm but sharp edged. It tips the scales, makes him want to match her loyalty.

Slowly, he takes his weight off her and passes her the pulse rifle. She’s clearly confused, but she takes it. That the pulse rifle’s bulkier than what she’s used to shows in the awkwardness of her grip, but it’ll be a lot more effective against Jack as he is than her darts would. Wouldn’t pass straight through him, for a start.

Questioningly, Ana says, “we should contact the others. Angela will –”

“Don’t.” He snaps, this mask’s modulator filtering out the revulsion in his voice at the thought of Mercy being anywhere near him. “I know what to do.”

“How? What are you going to do?”

“Help him.” Or something like it. Revive a habit he fell out of practice with; Jack’s bitten off more than he can chew again, and Reaper’s going to pick up the pieces. It’s an old pattern.

Ana looks skeptical, but nods. She’s trusting him and it makes Reaper feel like a thief, because it isn’t actually him she’s trusting.

“Can I do anything?” Again, it sounds like genuine concern, for Reaper. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Just keep clear. And shoot him if it looks like he’s going to try and devour me. Won’t stop him, but it’ll probably slow him down.”

Ana nods again with a murmured be careful.

Possibly, after this, Reaper’s going to regret giving her pointers on his weaknesses. He’ll deal with that when he gets to it.

Reaper keeps his distance from Jack. Confused doesn’t mean not dangerous, and the last thing he needs is for those nanites to swarm his body and strip out all of the useful resources to leave him a desiccated husk. With any luck, Jack will be just as disconcerted looking at his own body walking around separately to him as Reaper is and that might keep him safe.

He circles the contained tempest slowly, moving away from Ana to get Jack to focus just on him, keeping his movements as smooth as he can with each step jarring his injured knee. No part of Jack is solid now, which isn’t a good sign. Reaper holds his palms out, the universal ‘look at how very unarmed I am right now’ gesture.

Puffs of mist unfurl from Jack towards him only to retreat back when they spread thin, a push and pull like the tide.

Reaper tries to pitch his tone soothingly, but Jack’s voice still comes out like he’s been gargling rocks. “Look, I know this sounds like bullshit, but you’re okay. What’s happening right now? It’s normal.”

He recognises the warning signs for Jack’s uncoordinated pounce right before it happens.

He tries to dodge back only to have his left leg give and knock him down onto one knee – does nothing about this body fucking work right – and mist coils around his outstretched arm to sink through the jacket and into his skin. A prickling burn sears up the limb and it goes numb within seconds.

There’s the smooth click of a firing pulse rifle and the cloud releases him and flinches back.

Another shot scorches the ground between them in a blue flash and Reaper’s never been so grateful to have Ana at his back.

“Are you alright?” She calls.

Reaper clenches and unclenches his hand. Sensation is kind of fucked, but it doesn’t seem damaged. “I’ll be fine!” He calls back to her, before turning to Jack, “I’m trying to help you, you asshole, the least you could do is not kill me for it.”

He’s banking on Jack being confused rather than deliberately trying to kill him, but he’s not certain. It’s hard to be sure that he’s reading Jack right, or if Jack can even understand what he’s saying. It’s possible that Jack’s not even conscious and the nanites are acting on their most basic programming; gathering whatever resources are in reach to repair the body they sustain. If that’s the case then Reaper’s already passed over his chance to get out of this alive. Part of him can’t believe he’s taking this risk. Will Jack ever not be the death of him.

“I use this form to feed, okay? So I need you to keep your distance while you’re like this.”

The smoke’s churning less thickly, now. Does that mean that Jack’s calming down? That he understands? Hopefully. Reaper hasn’t had a lot of opportunities to observe how he expresses himself in wraith form, until now. If Widowmaker was here she’d probably be able to tell him more.

Really, what they need is to be able to talk to Jack. To have him talk back, rather. Be able to tell them exactly what’s going on with him so Reaper can work out if he’s just disoriented from the switch or if he’s in as much pain as he seems to be. It’s possible the explosion has messed up Reaper’s body even more than normal. So, he needs to get Jack out of wraith form. Easy enough, right? He knows how that works.

Reaper gets back to his feet, gingerly keeping his weight on his right side. He curls his numb arm around his chest and the way Jack coils in tightly on himself seems almost ashamed.

Solidness comes naturally to Reaper’s body. It remembers the shape it’s supposed to be and settles into it automatically.

Like breathing; your lungs manage it perfectly fine on their own without any conscious input, and it’s only when you think about it that they lose the rhythm.

There’s no way Jack’s not thinking about it now, but just telling him not to would be useless. Nothing makes it more difficult not to focus on something than being told not to think about it.

So, Jack needs a distraction. Reaper’s usual tactic of intricately planning his revenge against everyone who had a hand in twisting him into what he’s become probably won’t be helpful here.

If their positions were reversed – reversed again – Jack would know what to say. He’s always had a knack for picking out the right words, of knowing how to say things in a way that makes you really believe it. It’s something that Gabriel used to admire, and then despised. That Jack could make empty platitudes sound so meaningful when Gabriel had found trying to find the right way to say even the most important things about as easy as shooting in the dark.

He knows Jack, though. He just needs to think of something to take Jack’s mind off what’s going on enough for instinct to take over.

“You’re going to be okay.” He says again. He racks his brain trying to think of what else he can say that’ll ground Jack. A memory, maybe. Something that matters. Jack’s always been sentimental. “It seems bad, but you’re going to be fine, just like – remember that time in the Crisis when I got cut off and cornered by a Bastion and you went after it by yourself and got shot to shit like an idiot? I was sure then that you were going to die.”

Reaper goes to rub a hand over his face without thinking and jostles the visor. He redirects and runs it through his hair, Jack’s hair; brittle and too thin. His chest aches, and it’s not from the burns. He hasn’t thought about this in a long time.

He doesn’t want to be digging it up now, but he can see something forming at the centre of the cloud. It’s working.

“You were lying there bleeding out and I was so sure that was it, time’s up. And I thought fuck it, if this is the last moment I get to have with you then I’m not losing you without – without at least once –”

Reaper can’t say it.

He’d watched the fabric of his hoodie soak darker with blood, felt Jack shake against him, felt Jack’s hands get slowly colder against his as they’d held the jacket down against his gut and applied pressure together. All Gabriel had been able to think about was how they’d been dancing around each other for months, years. Afraid of rejection and awkwardness and dumb shit and what ifs. And Gabriel had thought; if this is the end, then I’m not losing him without kissing him at least once.

Their first kiss had been a goodbye, bitter with regret. Jack had tasted like blood, and he’d left a smudged handprint of it on Gabriel’s face where he’d cupped his jaw.

Reaper’s eyes are stinging, he can tell that they’re wet, and it doesn’t interfere with his vision at all. It must be the visor.

The nanites twist and pull together and for a moment Reaper sees the slope of the shoulders, the cut of the coat, and he thinks they’re going to form into Jack as he was years and years ago. But then they solidify and Reaper’s standing in front of himself. No mask, though. Just what’s left of Reaper’s face.

Jack shudders the gasp of a man who hasn’t drawn a breath in far too long.

“G-Gabe.” Jack says.

Reaper’s voice shakes, “I’m not –”

Jack fists a hand in the jacket Reaper’s wearing, the claws digging bruises into his chest as Jack holds himself up. “Gabriel. I’m so sorry. I didn’t– didn’t realise– fuck.”

Jack crumples, and Reaper lets himself go down with him to control Jack’s descent to the ground. It’s still a graceless near fall, and he ends up somewhere between sitting and kneeling with Jack awkwardly half draped across his lap. Jack is hunched in on himself, his spine a curved line of agony as whimpers are torn from him. Reaper pulls him in close, chest to chest with his arms around Jack’s shoulders, and does his best to hold him together.

Reaper wants, in this moment, to feel viciously glad that this is happening to Jack. He wants to feel like gloating. Wishes this felt like retribution.

He just feels sick.

“You can beg me for my forgiveness later. Let’s just focus on keeping you in one piece for now.”

“It hurts so much. When does it stop?”

Reaper laughs hollowly, because he’s asked himself the same thing. “It doesn’t. You just figure out how to cope.”

Jack drops his head onto the curve of Reaper’s shoulder and makes a broken sound. Reaper’s kind of glad that he can’t see his own face anymore; the needle teeth gleaming through gaps in shredded cheeks.

Ana circles around into his field of vision, still at that careful distance, her grip tight on the pulse rifle. Her expression is shuttered as she looks them both over consideringly. He can see her putting the pieces together, and it’s a sign of how much their lives resemble a b-grade science fiction movie on the regular that it doesn’t even seem to faze her. When she locks eyes with Reaper and speaks, it’s not a question.

“Gabriel.”

Not quite. “Reaper.”

Ana’s mouth twists. She almost looks betrayed.

“What did you do to Jack?” She says.

Reaper bristles at the accusation. “I didn’t do anything, I didn’t even know this could happen. He was the one who jumped in front of the unstable prototype.”

“But you – your body’s not normally like this,” she gestures at Jack, how he’s slumped against Reaper with little puffs of black mist wafting off him, “what did you do.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he repeats. The surprise of it coming out in Jack’s voice every time he speaks isn’t fading. “He just needs to adjust.”

It’s clear that Ana doesn’t believe him. She looks like she wants to turn her gun on him, but won’t with Jack in the way.

Jack’s in no condition to stand either way, but it gives Reaper a little extra incentive to keep him where he is, the stabbing pain in his back be damned.

Reaper’s still raw from memories best left forgotten, and the grating frustration of Ana’s distrust sparks up his anger. She’d trusted him so easily when she’d thought he was Jack.

“How about instead of bickering about me like I’m not here, you two argue about something useful. Like how to reverse this.” Jack says as he raises his head and sits up a bit. He sounds better already, like he wasn’t just emotionally and literally falling apart. Then again Jack’s always put a lot of stock in appearing to be okay, even when he’s anything but.

Reaper can’t help looking away from his face.

He looks over at the open alcove that housed the prototype. It’s mostly just scorch marks now, with blackened shrapnel lodged in the walls as all that’s left of the device.

“Looks like it was a one use only thing.” He says.

Jack and Ana both take in the wreckage.

Jack grimaces, and he probably doesn’t mean for it to be a menacing bearing of teeth, but that’s how it turns out. “Everything here is registered, there must be blueprints and records. Maybe Winston can rebuild it.”

“Angela is an expert in nanotechnology, she’d be able to work out how this happened.” Ana says. It’s directed at Reaper, all challenge.

“You bring in Mercy and I’m gone.” Reaper retorts.

“You can’t just take Jack’s body.”

“You going to try and stop me?”

“Enough!” Jack snaps. The inhuman rasp of the voice he’s using inlays it with threat.

Jack struggles to get his knees under him, wobbly like a newborn foal. Honestly, Reaper’s impressed with how well he’s coping. There’s no more smoke drifting off Jack at all so he seems to have settled entirely into solidity.

He helps Jack up. Ana makes an aborted movement, like she wants to lend a hand but she’s still afraid to come close. Jack leans heavily on Reaper once they’re standing.

“Angela isn’t our only option, she doesn’t have to get involved if we don’t want her to. We will need to head back to Gibraltar, though. Come with us.” Jack appeals to Reaper.

“You’re giving me a choice?”

“Can’t do much to fix this if you don’t stick around. I figure the easiest way to get that to happen is if you want to.” Jack says. Reaper never noticed how off putting the grate of his voice is until it didn’t belong to him. “Don’t you want your body back?”

Reaper looks at Jack. At the grey tinged flesh. The slow crawl of skin melting away into shadows to shift across the landscape of his face and resolidify elsewhere. The deep black of his eyes punctuated by the burning red of his irises. Four of them; two where you’d expect, and two smaller ones clustered together just back from the right eye.

No. Not particularly.

But Talon’s going to figure out he’s still kicking eventually. He’s not sure why they’ve suddenly got it out for him, but it’s good odds that they’ll come after him again. Well, after Jack at this point. Overwatch can shelter them both until he sorts this out.

“Sure, let’s go to Gibraltar.” Reaper says.

He feels Jack sigh a deep breath from where he leans against him. “Ana, can you organise transport?”

“Of course.”

She pulls out a communicator and starts trying to get in contact with Tracer, to arrange for them to be collected by jet.

While she’s busy, Jack makes a hesitant attempt to stand on his own. Reaper catches Jack before he topples and he’s lucky that his left knee buckles but doesn’t give with the effort. He ends up leaning on Jack just as much as Jack is leaning on him. He can feel him straining to bear Reaper up, but he doesn’t complain.

They’re both struggling, both unguarded, and it’s making them slip back into old habits. Covering each other’s weak points as best they can.

#r76 #reaper76week #reaper76 #body horror #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #overwatch #my writing #that feel when you write something so self indulgent that youre concerned that nobody but you will like it #no regret though i just love bodyswaps a lot #make shitty pots is a good mantra

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