#Minor canon divergence

[autumnslance]

Year of the OTP - April 2023 - Canon Divergence/AU

(("I’m not great at writing AUs" I say in the March post, not realizing I'd picked up my clown makeup that day. I meant to write something else out of the possible prompts; this happened instead. More notes at the end. Year of the OTP prompt list here. This is 3550 words of an alternate Shadowbringers timeline.))

Crack

His gunshot struck true, the familiar dissipating with an ear-splitting screech and burst of aether.

“Bastard!” Ran’jit shouted. Still moving too fast, going from stumbling to rushing in, fists connecting with a suddenly fragile-seeming sternum and ribcage.

Air knocked out, he flew backwards.

“Zaine!” Thancred’s voice sounded far away.

Crack

The gunblade’s last shot filled the air, bursting with the girl’s aether.

There was a gurgled cry, and then a slumping sound. Ran’jit said something Zaine couldn’t make out as he made himself partly sit up—just in time to watch the general finish falling to the ground, dead.

The point of Thancred’s gunblade dug into the dirt as he fell to a knee, panting. He was bruised and bleeding, having taken the brunt of Ran’jit’s rage while Zaine dashed around with his revolver and automatons, trying to get in shots past nearly impenetrable defenses. It had been hells, but together, they’d done it.

Thancred tried to stand, then fell, splayed out on his back in a puff of dust.

“Thancred!” Zaine rasped. He tried to get up, but oh, that hurt; he definitely had some cracked—maybe broken—ribs, his cuirass the only thing holding him together, and none too well. He crawled to his companion.

Whatever rogue’s trick Thancred had been pulling to vanish so completely from Ran’jit’s preternatural senses—even Zaine, familiar with Thancred’s aether and abilities and with a few tricks of his own, hadn’t been able to sense him—had taken its toll, perhaps even more than Ran’jit’s martial arts and magicks had.

Zaine knew what a dying man looked like, and Thancred was standing on Thal’s threshold.

“No no no you don’t,” Zaine rasped as he finally reached him. Thancred’s injuries were extensive, but it was definitely the aetheric drain—in a man who couldn’t properly manipulate aether—taking its toll.

And yet Thancred, with an arm over his eyes to shield them from the unrelenting Light above, smiled, the whisper of a word finishing with a last breath as Zaine reached him.

“C’mon, Thancred, stay with me,” Zaine begged, searching through his comrade’s many pockets and pouches. “Godsdammit, where are your potions?”

He knew some had been used in the battle, but wasn’t certain when Thancred had last restocked; surely before they had returned to the desert. Zaine finally found the remnants of two vials smashed from one of Ran’jit’s crushing attacks, and swore in Thavnairian.

“If I find whoever taught you that aetheric cutoff trick, I’m wringing their neck,” he muttered. He barely had enough energy for himself, but something had to be done.

“The girl needs you,” Zaine said, certain of her choice. “Aeryn needs you. You gotta stay with us, brother.”

He wasn’t nearly the mage his sister was, but he had no options. Drawing on what little he had left, he cast his own rudimentary healing spell.

Were those familiar voices calling their names, or his own wishful thinking?

Zaine blacked out as Thancred coughed in a breath.

—

The night sky over Amh Araeng was clear and cold. Looking out over the shadowed landscape from the balcony of the old inn, Zaine could almost imagine himself back in Thanalan, if not for the great glittering wall of translucent crystal along the southern horizon.

“Farewell, sweetheart,” he whispered, tears prickling at his eyes even as he smiled.

He had given up his last chance to see her, but couldn’t regret that decision.

Not when he had looked up to see his sister’s relieved, tear-streaked face. It was the damn rogue she had embraced first, her eyes bright with joy.

Zaine didn’t regret it when they’d caught sight of the girl and her changes, inside and out. Couldn’t regret, seeing the look on her face when Thancred gave her a new name.

Perhaps, Zaine thought, he had let Minfilia go long ago without quite realizing it, his and Thancred’s contentious relationship one of habit and a lack of honest discussion, even as they stood side by side to keep their Scion family safe.

“Gil for your thoughts?” the man in question asked from right beside him, having silently joined Zaine, knowing he hated it when Thancred did that.

Zaine managed not to jump, only shrugged and smiled. “Thinking we had a helluva day and I’m going to be sore for a moon, even with our friends’ expert healing.”

“They’re certainly better at it than you are,” Thancred agreed.

“It was enough to keep you alive.”

“It was, and I am grateful. Though I wish it had not come with risk to yourself.”

“I’d do it all again—including the lecture from Y’shtola—in a heartbeat,” Zaine replied. Their sorceress had not been amused by the levels of aetheric drain both of them had committed.

“Brave man,” Thancred deadpanned. “Though I feel the same. Thank you, for having my back. Even if I haven’t always been as gracious about it as I could have been.”

“Thank you for always having mine. Even if I haven’t always been good about it, either.” Zaine looked at the Floodwall again. “It’s funny how much we’ve been pricks to each other, when it’s the last thing she’d have wanted.”

“Well, you are quite stubborn,” Thancred said, smiling.

“Says the most aurochs-headed man I know,” Zaine answered with his own grin.

“I suppose that’s better than what you usually call me; what was it? Hamsa-headed?”

“That too, but we’ll ignore that for now.”

They laughed, then winced, as not all of their injuries could be magically healed and the foray into the depths of the well hadn’t helped. They were both similarly attired in simple spare undershirts and trousers, the Scions having retired to Twine before returning to the Crystarium on the morrow—and their gear was in desperate need of cleaning and repair, only some of which could be done in the mining town.

“Talked to Ryne yet?” Zaine asked, trying to sound conversational. Her new name took no getting used to, fitting perfectly.

“Just finished; there was much to say. And now we both needed a bit of…Well.” Thancred shrugged.

“I can see that. But you and her’ll be all right.”

“I hope so.”

“Thancred, it’s been obvious you love that girl, even though you were a bloody idiot about how to show it for too long. And she adores you, even though she was too scared to say it—due to you being a hamsa-head.”

“Ah, there it is,” Thancred drawled. Yet they both remained relaxed, the interchange containing none of the tension and heat that even a day ago Zaine would have expected out of one or both of them.

They had left it in the sands with Ran’jit’s corpse, where it belonged.

“But,” Zaine continued. “So long as you remember how to use that silver tongue of yours to actually talk like a person to her, it’ll work out.”

“I do think we’re on our way.”

“There is one thing you ought to do tonight yet, though.”

Thancred raised a brow. “Oh?”

Zaine let out a breath, and then gestured to a nearby window, interior view blocked by thin curtains. “Go talk to Aeryn.”

The shift was subtle, but Thancred’s demeanor went blank in an attempt to disguise his feelings.

“I know you two were sneaking about like a couple of adolescents back in the Source,” Zaine said, holding up a hand to forestall Thancred’s protest. “And there’s been at least one rendezvous here in the First, unless I miss my guess about what you two got up to in Rak’tika.” Now Thancred looked away, not embarrassed, but not willing to look Zaine in the eye, either. “And there’s still much to do and a lot going on…”

The way Aeryn had gasped and clutched her chest after taking in this last Lightwarden’s aether was concerning. His mind went back to Y’shtola’s privately mentioned concerns, and Urianger’s recalcitrance.

“…But if this adventure has taught us anything, it's that we shouldn't keep putting off what needs to be said. And any fool can see how you two feel about one another. Waiting on it won’t make it easier—and the opportunity may slip by at all.”

“Speaking from experience?” Thancred’s gaze remained on Aeryn’s window.

“A little,” Zaine said. “When I found out five whole years had passed, and with everything happening…Minfilia and I decided to take it slowly, especially since it seemed we’d barely begun before Carteneau. We wanted to figure out where we stood after she’d lived so much more time, while I hadn’t. We were really only just sorting ourselves out again when…well, when the Banquet happened.” He shrugged. “And now here we are, where you’ve lived five whole years while no time’s passed for Aeryn, after you’d both barely got your heads out of your arses to begin with, and Twelve only know what tomorrow’ll bring.”

“Right.” Thancred took a breath and straightened “And you’re not going to be bothered if aught does happen between…us?” He forced the last word.

“‘Course I’ll be bothered; that’s my baby sister. And if you hurt her, once she’s through with you, I’ll beat down whatever’s left.”

Thancred laughed only a tinge nervously (and with another wince), his practiced suave demeanor holding a tide of doubts and concerns at bay. “I seem to recall a similar sentiment spoken between us before, if in reverse.”

“I never claimed to be original. You said it prettier though, sounded way more threatening.”

“Thank you, I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“In all honesty though…I just want her to be happy. You too; you both deserve it. Don’t you dare,” Zaine said, when Thancred immediately tried to argue. “You two are disgustingly cute together, especially when you think no one’s noticing, but it’s good for you. So go talk to her, cuz after all the shite you’ve pulled, it’s needed.”

“Very well,” Thancred said. “Assuming all is well between you and I; ‘twas my reason for coming out here, after all.”

“‘Less there’s something I don’t know about, I think we are good. Finally.”

Thancred smiled slightly, clapping a hand on Zaine’s arm as he stepped away. He paused and took a breath before heading inside. A few moments later, a shadow crossed Aeryn’s window as she moved to answer her door.

“I need a drink,” Zaine said, waiting until two shadows crossed the window again to go inside himself.

—

A bath almost had Aeryn feeling clean, and now she sat cross-legged on the narrow bed in the tiny room. There was no point sitting at the small square of a table to write; it and the chair were the only spaces available for her pack and other gear. So she had out her little lap board for sketching and writing in her journal.

More messy sketches tonight; words were proving difficult, though she had a few random, broken phrases thrown in. Notes to herself for when she was in a better mindset to properly record the long day’s events.

They ought to finally sit up for Minfilia, in the tradition of their people for a lost loved one. Not tonight; she was not going to be able to stay awake all night, nor was this room good for doing so. She needed space, and things to do, and to convince Zaine to begin with…

She had a feeling of someone nearby; nothing concrete, no sound, yet something caught the edge of her empathic senses. After a long wait, she just about gave it up as imagined when there was a tentative knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s me,” Thancred’s voice was soft and further muffled by the old wood. “Might I come in?”

Aeryn set aside her journal as she unfolded and stood. It was a few short steps to unlock and open the door. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, fine, I just wished to…talk.”

Her brow raised. “He really did beat the sense into you, didn’t he?” She stepped aside to admit him.

“Very funny,” Thancred replied dryly as he looked around. “One would think the Warrior of Darkness warranted a larger room.”

She wrinkled her nose at the title. “If I was sharing with Alisaie or Y’shtola, perhaps. But Alisaie’s rooming with Ryne, and Y’shtola and I decided ‘twould be best to have our own spaces, small as they are. I’m surprised this inn has so many rooms.”

“Likely from far more prosperous times; this building’s pre-Flood,” Thancred answered, sitting on the edge of the bed for lack of anywhere else. “But I didn’t come to speak of our accommodations.”

“You and Ryne have spoken?” Aeryn sat next to him.

He chuckled. “Aye, and we’ve come to an understanding, I believe, though she required some space to think on all that was said.”

Aeryn nodded. “Quite the day for all involved.”

They sat in silence for a breath, then both tried to speak at once, staring at each other for a blink before sheepishly chuckling. She knew her usual easy blush already crept across her cheeks.

“You first,” Thancred said.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be there with us,” she said. “I wish we’d made certain of Ran’jit’s fate in the Ronkan ruins so that you could be.”

Thancred shook his head. “We had no way of knowing he had his own tricks to survive that fall. And perhaps…it worked better that I was not present. I never wanted to influence Ryne’s decision—though I hadn’t realized that no matter what I did, that’s exactly what I was doing.”

“But I know how much you wanted to see Minfilia again. I made sure she knew…though it seemed she did already.”

“I said my piece, lying there in the sands. And I am at peace with that. So please; think no more about it. I did what I had to, to ensure Ryne’s success. I have no regrets on that matter.” He frowned a little, as if wishing to continue but unsure how.

“Just one more thing then: Thank you. For letting Zaine stay.”

Thancred raised a brow. “He didn’t give much choice. I wish he could have gone with you, wish he had not taken such injuries. Yet I cannot regret that he stayed either.”

“I was scared for you both; I was afraid of what would happen if either of you tried Ran’jit alone. I…” she paused in thought. “I’m happy you’re here,” she finally said, quickly, not quite looking at him but smiling as she carefully covered his hand with her own.

He turned his palm up to grasp her hand, idly running his thumb along a thin scar. “I’m quite happy to be here as well,” he said quietly. “Alive…and in this room.”

Her blush was in her ears. “You um, wanted to say something a bit ago?”

He took a moment, holding her hand. “If I were to have…further regrets this day, Ryne is not the only one to whom I owed a conversation. I know we’ve…tried, and it did not go well.” She nodded and managed to not cringe at the memory of their argument in his Crystarium apartment. “But I cannot go longer without…speaking my mind.”

“Zaine put you up to this?” she tried to joke.

“More ‘strongly encouraged.’ A relief, really, given our own contentious history.”

“Are you two all right? Given…everything.”

“I believe so; I went to clear the air with him, and found it already so, strangely enough.”

Aeryn thought about how to ask her next question. “And…are we all right?” She wanted to wince.

“Well, that rather depends, doesn’t it?” He turned to face her, still holding her hand. “I’m no longer angry about that argument, and wish to apologize for not being more forthcoming about…a good number of things.”

“I ought to be the one apologizing, what I said was horrid.”

Thancred huffed out a laugh. “Not entirely unwarranted, and I know why. Nor was I terribly reassuring. I must say I do prefer the…discussion we had in Rak’tika.”

Her blush’s heat crawled all the way down her neck. “I appreciated the um. Reassurance there,” she said.

He lifted her hand, brushing his lips over her fingers. “It made me realize how very much I’d missed you. I thought I already knew, after years spent dreaming of your memory, as well dreams of seeing you again.” Her breath caught, unable to look away from those warm golden-brown eyes as they watched her. “You know,” he continued. “I wrote you letters.”

“What?”

“Just after the turn of the year, when Norvrandt would see the equivalent to your nameday. I knew time was not passing for you, yet there were so many things I did not risk forgetting. It gave me an excuse to put down a good many thoughts. Some feelings.” His free hand played with a lock of her long, loose black hair.

Aeryn’s heart was pounding. “What sort of feelings?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Ones I hesitated to name, but after today, and whatever’s happening with you and the Lightwardens…Well I should like to think I have learned my lessons.”

“Didn’t you once claim you were a terrible student?” she teased.

“Only when I did not care for the subject.” His hand cupped her cheek now. “But you I could study forever, in an attempt to learn every detail.”

“…Oh,” was all she could answer, her mouth suddenly dry. She ought to be able to say more than that, but her head was spinning and her pulse was rapid.

Thancred cleared his throat. “I…love you, Aeryn,” he said. “I am in love with you. I don’t expect aught in return,” he added quickly. “But I’m here, and I’m yours, if…if you want.”

In Aeryn’s mind, a puzzle piece clicked into place as a sensation she had been unable to define clarified. A feeling she had held close inside, sensing the same within him but afraid they had been simply reflecting one another—it was not a reflection, but a connection, and it had a name.

She leaned forward, pulling him to her for a kiss. He took a moment to relax, due to the surprise, but quickly recovered, arms around her, sighing into a closer embrace.

Aeryn reluctantly broke away, resting her cheek against his. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I think for a while, I just didn’t realize it. Now that I have, all that I want is you here.”

Thancred let out a deep breath against her neck, a last level of tension melting as he held her. “Well, certainly less awkward that way,” he tried to joke, but emotion thickened his voice.

Aeryn couldn’t help a brief giggle. “Can you stay tonight?”

“If that is your wish. Though I’m afraid I’m not fully recovered.”

“That’s all right; just you being here is enough,” she replied as they shifted, until lying side by side on the narrow bed, holding one another close in assurance and comfort after the day’s events.

She recalled the first time they had simply held one another like this, talking until they had fallen asleep, in an officer’s bunk the night before the assault on Ala Mhigo. Thinking back, her brother had made some oblique comments the next day.

Aeryn grinned. “Although, if you don’t mind, I’ll still want to borrow your shirt briefly in the morning.”

—

Morning dawned clear over Amh Araeng, all pinks and golds before becoming blues. It was still cool, and most folks were yet in bed, the novelty of the night sky keeping many awake longer than usual the evening before.

And so Zaine found himself in the inn’s kitchen—with permission from the sleepy Ronso grandmother usually reigning over that space—to start the coffee and a simple breakfast for his comrades. They would have to set out to return to the Crystarium before long.

A familiar step caught his ear, and he braced himself. A moment later he had acquired an Aeryn backpack, her arms over his chest, legs hanging behind his, her toes not quite reaching the floor.

“I’m trying to cook y’know.”

“I just wanted to thank you,” Aeryn replied, way too close to his ear.

“For breakfast?” Zaine asked dryly.

“For last night.”

“Dunno what you mean, and don’t want to.”

Her arms tightened briefly in a hug, and she brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Well thanks anyroad.” She let go, landing lightly and turning to the coffee pot.

Zaine glanced her way, then looked again. She was preparing two mugs which was questionable enough, but what had truly caught his attention was the familiar shirt that certainly did not belong to her, hanging on her slim frame in a way it did not when he’d seen it worn by its broader-built owner the night before.

“Ugh,” Zaine grunted as Aeryn gave him a bright, sweet smile, before carrying both mugs back upstairs. Given how sore and achy he still felt this morning, could they truly have—

“No,” he said to himself. “Not thinking about that.”

Back to focusing on breakfast and what would come next once they returned to the Crystarium. There might even be a few changes, he thought with a glance at the stairs, before they considered the last Lightwarden.

And while he might take a brother’s prerogative to grouse about a certain change, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

((My usual canon divergence of "Ran'jit shoulda died at the trolley by Thancred's hand" is present; in mainline, Ran'jit's tactics are for 1 opponent, and Aeryn had helped Ryne with some magic that was incorporated into that special practice Cartridge. Here Ran'jit knows how to fight against two, but Zaine's presence both disrupts and makes up for the lack of Aeryn's aid in the cartridge.

That Zaine's here at all is a major divergence from my usual Aeryn WoL canon; mainline, Zaine doesn't come out the other side of Louisoix's spell, diverted by Hydaelyn and making a choice to aid the injured divinity directly. She chooses to send him back here instead of accepting his offer. With Zaine present, Aeryn gets to share the burdens and responsibility of being a WoL, so in some ways is lighter in mood and has more fun, though her imposter syndrome's worse, as she initially sees herself as second to Zaine for too long; it's only in ShB and EW that it becomes more apparent to her whose story this is (Zaine figured it out awhile ago).

The other major change to my usual story, is with Zaine to talk to, Aeryn also doesn't have her same regrets about Haurchefant, and here, the "I love you"s exchanged with Thancred comes earlier than in the main story (where it happens before facing Emet-Selch in Amaurot, though Thancred also says it in a letter after Mt Gulg). Zaine is a mediator and counselor at heart, and keeps the Scions grounded a lot of times in this AU.

Aeryn and Zaine just getting to be siblings has been described as "bittersweet" given his loss in the main wolverse. They're their own kind of bond, in more ways than one.

I have a whole outline of "Zaine Lives" up to 6.1. This is ridiculous. I have enough to write for my main WoLverse. Darn blorbos.))

[goober-37]

I’m trying to make comics again, so stay tuned for a potential mini series on my stitchpunk OC, 10 👀

[blanze]

It feels good to be back.

(A more risque version under the cut)

[archer-kacey]

Problems with erasing Bendy Book canon:

With the FNAF books, we were told they were canon-divergent fairly early on. For Bendy, this was never specified, leading many to believe this was all just straight-up canon information that they were running with for theorycrafting. For a long time.

Why the hell would you de-canonize the ENTIRE origin story of Boris? He's a central character to Bendy and the Ink Machine.

You're going to throw out THE ENTIRE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF YOUR MAIN VILLAIN? THAT'S.......NOT A GOOD IDEA!

(And before it's pointed out, no, we don't "need" Illusion of Living for "gay evidence." The point here is y'all released an autobiography for one of your two main characters and you're saying it's not canon. That's ludicrous.)

Things that were explained/brought up in the novels that apparently "aren't canon anymore": how Sammy got infected, Thomas's conflicting feelings about the machine he created, the origin of Boris the wolf, several instances of Joey's gaslighting and manipulative behavior and his slow descent into madness after Henry's departure, a look into Gent technology and the Gent experiments that took place after they switched over to "research", Abby Lambert (who SHOULD be in the mainline games all things considered), Joey Drew's ENTIRE AUTOBIOGRAPHY including his PHILOSOPHIES AND REAL ASS LIFE, ANDDD the themes of classism, racism, and sexism that were VERY present at that time in history. Among other things.

You're taking out several new characters for no reason. I'm not saying they all need to return, but it makes zero sense to introduce a bunch of new guys and then immediately abandon them...only to introduce a bunch of OTHER new guys.

I've seen a few comments in response to Mike that go along the lines of "oh thank goodness now I don't need to read the books to understand the lore!" No disrespect, but I think that's a fundamental misunderstanding of what the books do. They enhance your understanding of all the background plot. You don't need to read the books to understand the games. But that shouldn't mean erasing the existing information's canonicity because not everyone wants to read it.

Bendy isn't FNAF. Bendy has a much more streamlined plot. Not everything fits perfectly of course, but to take out such a large chunk of what we THOUGHT was the plot (or plot-adjacent) is headscratching to me. You claim to care about the plot, characters and worldbuilding and then you decide that some of the BEST written interpretations of these characters and their world just aren't "legitimate" now? .......All of a sudden?

I want to punch something

[profoundbondfanfic]

A Fabulous Evening’s Apocalypse

A Fabulous Evening’s Apocalypse by MrBotanyB @mrbotanyb Rating: Teen and up Word Count: 62k

Look at it this way: Their trip to the far end of space and time to chase a (very) long shot at freeing Dean from the Mark of Cain could have ended a lot worse than it did. It wasn't even the worst idea they'd ever had. The so-called Restaurant At the End of the Universe loops endlessly in time through the final hours of Creation while guests dance, eat, and drink until the very last of last calls. A consequence of it being a time loop is that anybody who visits can meet everybody else who was ever there. Even a centuries-dead witch who likes the challenge of lifting unbreakable curses. It didn't work out like they'd hoped, but they didn't die. And Cas did get stranded there for a bit but they got him back. Eventually. So it was fine. That was then. And now, Sam and Dean are out of ideas for getting Cas out of the Empty. Dean has been thinking a lot about realizing important truths too late, and missed chances, and (very) long shots. And he wonders if the key to rescuing the Cas he lost might just be enlisting the help of the Cas he left behind nearly ten years ago. If it doesn't work, at least he'll get to see Cas one more time.

I'll admit I am the number one target audience of this fic. I am a massive Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy fan. That being said, you don't have to love that series to enjoy this story.

Expect Dean and Cas in increasingly ridiculous surroundings, fun aliens, working conditions that would make OSHA weep, and some timey wimey ridiculousness that is really quite clever and fun. Also pining. So much delicious pining.

The OCs are a treat as is the setting at The Restaurant at the End of the Universe aka Milliways. If you ARE a fan of HHGTTG, you will also have fun spotting the references.

And, of course, like any good fix-it, we get a happy ending for Dean and Cas.

[thesnailtail]

;; proper clover and ice references!!! finally... it's only been five months..

[the-24-7-lawlu-library]

Hello! I have a request

I recently forgot to bookmark this specific story and I erased my history before I even noticed. :(

I was wondering if you might know what the name is:

Law used the immortality surgery on Luffy during battle knowing he would die, but ended up surviving because I believe he had luffy's heart in his chest while Luffy had Law's in his own. If it helps Luffy was in gear 5 during battle.

Hey there, we got you!

Hearts Spring Eternal by riverofnara (E) Law swore he'd never perform the Perennial Youth Surgery. But in a desperate moment during Luffy’s final battle against Blackbeard, the opportunity comes and Law doesn't hesitate to take it…only to wake up alive afterwards. He deems it a failure, though in the end it doesn’t matter - Luffy still defeats Blackbeard and becomes the King of Pirates. But Law’s fateful decision that day leads to consequences he never could have imagined. And as he faces the rest of his life, he realizes he can’t escape what he’s done…nor the man he did it for.

-Mod Raiya

[lockwood-fic-recs]

No One Cares About the Nightwatch

by Nomolosk on ao3

Rating: T | Category: F/M | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy

Lucy Carlyle is a Listener, a failed agent, a runaway, and now works the nightwatch in London. One might think her life a failure from start to last- but Lucy has goals. She will get a grade four certificate, and reapply to all the best agencies, and her life will get immeasurably better.

However, firsthand experience of the treatment most people give the nightwatch, and a chance encounter with Lockwood and Co. have her reevaluating those goals... maybe she can do some good before she moves on...

[kimium]

Chapters: 4/7 Summary:

God AU. Multiple/Switching POVs.

"Every thing has to have an origin story. Even gods."

An AU where all the housewardens are gods and require an origin story. (In where the answer to "How to Become A God" is "Get Possessed".)

~

Kalim's Story.

"Kalim smiled warmly. The duty thrust upon him at an early age was fulfilling but it left him without people to call true friends. Jamil, who was the son of one of their high ranked workers had grown up alongside Kalim due to being the same age. Their friendship had made the lonely days and nights not allowed to always play with the other kids a little less painful.

“Jamil!” Kalim greeted brightly.

“Your parents were looking for you,” Jamil said with a narrowing of eyes. “It’s time for your lessons.”

“Oh…” Kalim glanced around the room and found a clock hanging on the wall. The hands indicated he was twenty minutes late. “Oops. I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

Kalim may be a bit lonely growing up but at least he has Jamil, his best friend at his side.

~

Hello everyone!!! Here is my chapter for Kalim! This one was one of the harder ones to plan but I’m so happy where I landed! It’s also the longest chapter so far... oops. Anyways, I hope you like it! Let me know!!!

[7potato7]

So, Xie Lian descends from Heaven without stopping to let Ling Wen get even a single word in. He goes back to doing what he normally does, completely unaware that he just turned literally all of Heaven upside down. He spends several years this way (maybe even decades?? he has an excellent track record hiding from people) but Feng Xin and/or Mu Qing eventually find him and go wtf dude. So, since he's technically a fugitive now (Heaven saw him ascending, destroying everything, then rapidly descending similarly to a terrorist (except terrorism as a term doesn’t exist yet, so the xianxia equivalent ig) attack, oops. Speculation is that he works for Hua Cheng!!! which makes the man himself feel a certain type of way ofc) he flees down the Silk Road and ends up in Rome. He DID spend the time he was still in China (or the territories that would become China, since I'm estimating this at around 0 CE for my own sanity) trying to defeat random ghosts to repay his debt, but quickly realized it was futile.

ofc Feng Xin and Mu Qing now realize that this wasn't a terrorist attack! They already knew that, but Xie Lian's reaction is only proof! They go to Jun Wu, who decides that "Xianle" should be reinstated to his rightful position in Heaven. Yay! Except now they can't find Xie Lian Anywhere. Cue manhunt.

Meanwhile Xie Lian has been enlisted to the Roman army. Which, hey, he'd rather not do that. So he manages to finagle himself into a position on a small northern island which shouldn't see too much conflict. However, this is very much not the case! The Britons relied on the Roman army to defend themselves from the Saxons! So, Xie Lian just deserted and quietly retreated to gather scraps in some forgotten corner of the island. He gets caught in a storm and winds up in Ireland. He's still there when the Romans leave the island in 410 and when St. Patrick comes in 433. Turns out St. Patrick isn't actually an ascended official! How disappointing. For unrelated reasons, Xie Lian returns to Briton, now thoroughly "invaded" (read: culturally integrated) by the Angles and Saxons. He putters around the island for a while longer before heading back to the mainland (read: was exiled to the mainland. For witchcraft. In a boat with rocks in the bottom (very pseudo-historical, as far as I know the 5th century Britons were most definitely not executing people for witchcraft. Witchcraft was a fun hobby they did on the side, not a crime. However, I’d like to see you see someone stand up after being shot in the eye and not throw him in the sea. Yeah, that’s what I thought)).

He hitches up with the Merovingians, who deeply appreciate his rockin' haircut. Clovis (famously brutal and murderous, but then again who isn't), however, Did Not appreciate his ability to walk off a stabbing. Clovis stabs Xie Lian a couple extra times to be sure, then cuts his head off and sets him on fire. It takes Xie Lian about a decade to come back from that, so now it’s 511 and Clovis is dead. Xie Lian decides that he should try some other place on for size.

He ends up in a catholic monastery in Spain. This is where he learns to read Latin, which will later help him learn to read Spanish, French, German, English, you name it. Obviously, he can't pay the entrance fee, so he's a lay brother doing grunt work. He's fine with this. Although he has gathered some knowledge of the local religion, it's not something he can afford to be questioned on (thankfully, literally no peasant ever was educated in the scriptures so he was fine). The atmosphere vaguely reminds him of Mt. Taicang (in literally the vaguest possible sense), and he wonders if this is what Mu Qing had to deal with.

Then the abbot notices he hasn't aged and decides that he's an angel sent by God. Xie Lian decides it's about time for a change of scenery. They've probably forgotten about him in Briton, right?

Unfortunately, he's not that lucky. The abbot isn't willing to let him go that easily, and he and his successors chase him around Spain until 711, at which point they have other problems. Xie Lian reaches Briton and joins another monastery because that was nice. Poverty, chastity, obedience, thy name is Xie Lian!

Fortunately, this monastery is more willing to "overlook" his lack of aging. Unfortunately, this monastery is Lindisfarne, and is destroyed by Vikings in 793. Noticing that Xie Lian doesn't die when killed, the Vikings decide that he's the mortal incarnation of Thor, obviously. They take him with them, fit him out with armor and weapons, and bring him back when they sack Westphalia. He doesn't like killing anyone, but that's fine with them! They're just glad to have the mortal incarnation of... probably not Thor with them! While Xie Lian is still upset that they killed all those monks, he's gotta admit this is the best people have treated him since... his first ascension... ah, shit, he's gotta get out of here. He’s been having too much fun, this was supposed to be penance, mental spiral, etc etc. Maybe just in a bit, though.

They keep asking him to stay just a bit longer, kill just one more sea monster, please, your holiness, until suddenly it's 911 and Rollo is sacking what will become Normandy. When the French king gives it to them as a "please stop, thanks," Xie Lian goes there with Rollo. Then he leaves. The newly dubbed Normans are sad, of course, but they can't keep holding their god back! In reality, Xie Lian is worried that his bad luck is going to catch up to him.

For a while, he falls back into his scrap collecting ways -except, it isn't as easy in medieval Europe. They live in small, insular communities that don't much like strangers. So he eventually decides to just... hide in the woods.

At this point, Feng Xin and Mu Qing have obviously realized that Xie Lian isn't in China anymore (if you're wondering how it took that long, it's because they got distracted by the Warring States Period and the trail went cold). So they follow legends of a strange looking man who didn't die when stabbed to Spain. However, Xie Lian isn't in Spain. He's in the part of the world that will eventually become Germany, trying to avoid being pressed into a Crusade. Yes, it is already 1096. Keep up.

He does end up going on the Crusade as a cook. That lasts a day before they decide to throw him on the frontlines to "soften up the Moors." Xie Lian fakes his death. I could choose a specific battle, but I don't particularly care to. It was probably Antioch. Fine, it was Antioch.

He spends some time in the Byzantine Empire, which is rapidly crumbling. He flees after the Sack of Constantinople in 1204, thankfully with only minimal injuries this time. But on his way out, he briefly sees Feng Xin and Mu Qing in the chaos, fighting on the side of the Byzantine Empire. They also see him, but he leaves before they can do anything about it.

So Xie Lian fucks off to a random island in the Mediterranean. This ends up being the Island of Rhodes. He stays there doing his little scrap collecting do da until 1306, when the Hospitallers move in. Shortly after that, they themselves are booted off to Malta in another invasion. Xie Lian goes with them, bc what the hell, these guys kinda suck, they deserve the bad luck.

Xie Lian is still in Malta when the Black Plague hits in 1349. It... brings some old wounds back up to the surface. Best to just forget about it. He sticks around, anyways.

The Inquisition begins in 1478. The Hospitallers start to give him funny looks. However, he is widely viewed as a living saint, so they don’t really do anything. Xie Lian fakes his death, then barricades himself into a cave and meditates for around fifty years before coming back out. No one recognizes him. He does this a couple more times, with varying lengths of meditation. He should probably just move on, but it’s awfully difficult to get on and off Malta. Also, it’s kind of nice there.

In 1565, Xie Lian almost single-handedly holds off the siege of Malta with the aid of the inhabitants while the Hospitallers cower in their monastery. Really, these monk guys have gone downhill over the centuries. Of course, the Hospitallers and Ottomans rewrite the narrative, but who would expect any less? The truth is just embarrassing for everyone involved.

In a rare stroke of luck, Xie Lian leaves the island after the siege. Just a few short years later, in 1573, the Inquisition moves in.

It is now 1615. Xie Lian is very tired. He returns to the mainland after the siege, and now everyone is fighting over something called "indulgences." He wants to go home. He does go home! Jun Wu finds him immediately, oops. He'd been watching Mt. Taicang (insane behavior, it's been 2,000 years bro) and obviously noticed when Xie Lian went to pay respects to his parents. Xie Lian narrowly escapes and runs as far as he possibly can. Your pick whether it’s just because of the stalker-ish behavior or a Bai Wuxiang reveal. Either way, he runs all the way to the New World.

Of course, he doesn’t have the money to just... book a ship there. He signs on as an indentured servant. What are a few years off his life anyways? Unfortunately, before that can happen, he gets mugged and accidentally murders the guy. Instead of being an indentured servant in exchange for land, he is instead working off his debt to the guy's family. Which is fine, of course.

It's not, in fact, fine. After his service is done, he once more fucks off to the woods. At this point, however, most Native Americans know to be wary of foreigners, so he keeps to himself. If he gets shot by mistake a few times, it's fine, he shakes it off. At least they aren't guns. In most cases. He'll take what he can get.

He finds a cave. He meditates in the cave. He doesn't come out until 1850. It's almost being in the coffin again, except he can leave anytime. He just. Doesn't.

The shackle around his neck cracks slightly under the force of spiritual power he’s cultivated. He doesn’t notice.

The world of 1850 is very different than the world of 1650. Manifest Destiny is real and thriving. Suddenly the relatively friendly local tribes have been replaced by a bunch of other, less friendly people. The mountain used to be called Maskwa Wac, but now it’s Bear Mountain and Xie Lian is in Connecticut, apparently??? Mostly people call him strange names when he tries to ask questions, so he avoids them.

He isn’t used to people anymore. They aren’t exactly willing to get used to him, either. Centuries of dirt don’t wash out with a single bath. After two centuries in a cave, he has to relearn how to talk, write, and generally interact with the world. Culture has changed, language has changed, the entire world has changed. Xie Lian is exactly the same.

In 1863, Xie Lian finally manages to get a job. It’s gotten significantly harder to live without a job, so that’s good (maybe he should invest in this newfangled “identification” thing). Building the trans-continental railroad is a great gig for someone like Xie Lian. He’s strong and more than willing to work. The pay isn’t bad.

Unfortunately, some boulders fall on him after a misplaced TNT blast and his coworkers leave him for dead. But hey, hadn’t he heard of something called a “Gold Rush” talked about nostalgically in bars? He’s pretty sure it’s over now, but it’s worth a shot. He’s already partway there.

He only gets mauled by like three bears on the way over. It was good that he’d seen a few before at that point, or else he’d probably think they were yao. He also got shot several more times, whether by Native Americans or settlers.

The people out West hadn’t gotten a forty-niner in decades, but they’re willing to give him odd jobs mopping at bars and fixing fences and such. It’s almost nostalgic. They hear news about the South seceding and the war that follows, but it isn’t something that really affects them all the way out here. Xie Lian is glad to avoid it.

After only a couple years, he decides to go back to the East Coast. He doesn’t want to bring bad luck on these people’s heads, after all. He accidentally zig-zags down into Mexico and into South America, then overcompensates back up into Canada before finally making it to New York City.

It’s 1910. Almost the moment he steps foot in the city, he gets hit by a car. Somewhat delirious, he mistakes the car for a demon(?) and tries to kill it.

Insane asylums are not fun.

The important part is that he eventually gets out (or that’s what he tells himself). He doesn’t have the motivation to bother with a job anymore, so he bums it on the streets collecting scraps like he used to. Problem is, there’s a lot more homeless people in the post-Industrial world than the pre-Industrial one. Lots of competition for food and shelter. Usually, if it comes to a fight, Xie Lian just lets the other guy have whatever it is. It’s not like it’s life or death for Xie Lian, after all.

He gets picked up by the police, who aren’t so bad yet. Corrupt, yes, but this isn’t the Gilded Age anymore. They drop him off with a referral to work in a car factory (Xie Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry) and only a few bruises.

Machinery, ah... it tends to... break around him. He doesn’t last long at his new job. Neither does his job last long with him as an employee. The factory burns down. The owner has Xie Lian dropped in a river with rocks tied to his ankles. What goes around comes around, really.

In 1917, Xie Lian is drafted into WWI. So, of course, he ends up in the trenches. He’s just glad that he’s basically immune to every disease known to man. Most of his comrades aren’t so lucky.

This isn’t the type of war Xie Lian remembers fighting in -though his memories are a bit blurry at this point. They fight for inches of ground in exchange for hundreds of lives in muddy, dismal conditions. The mud kills almost more than the bombs do.

The despair is the same. That much never changes.

Xie Lian leaves. He had to. No amount of martial prowess could help stop this war. Perhaps strategy would, but even if they let some random soldier into the war room, Xie Lian wouldn’t know how to strategize with modern guns, let alone tear gas.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing are still looking for Xie Lian, of course. But the trail went cold years ago.

Hua Cheng is holding on to his existence by his fingernails these days. He’s expanded his influence globally, but he still can’t find His Highness anywhere. Ghosts everywhere tread on eggshells. In one night, he replaces every single carving and painting of Jesus in Europe with one of Xie Lian. The papacy is in an uproar, taking it as a sign from God Himself. The only person who doesn’t find it funny is Xie Lian, who is very confused. Also white supremacists. They don’t like it very much either (that just makes it funnier). It turns out that Xie Lian has been canonized as a saint a few separate times over the centuries. “His bones”/relics are in six separate churches. People start freaking out. A large portion of the Catholic church believes that Xie Lian is either Jesus (and that the rapture had already happened centuries ago) or the Antichrist. This causes a massive schism in Protestant and Catholic churches alike. Islam becomes the main Abrahamic religion. Xie Lian does his level best to ignore the people bowing to him in the streets and shaves his hair off with a bowie knife.

On another note, Jun Wu gave up on finding Xie Lian centuries ago. Turns out Xianle was just a spot of mud on his Heavenly canvas after all.

This is good. It means when Xie Lian sprints his way back across the world, Jun Wu isn’t watching Mt. Taicang anymore. Xie Lian, still a martial god, makes it there in a week at top speed. However, Mt. Taicang isn’t the same as it used to be. There’s a fence around the base, and big fancy houses everywhere. When Xie Lian touches the fence, it shocks him as if he’s been struck by lightning and he blacks out for a second. His first thought is that it’s some type of array (that some other cultivation sect has set up there, an optimistic voice whispers deep in his heart), but it’s just an electric fence of course. He climbs over.

His parents’ well is full of cement.

Xie Lian returns to the trenches. He was only gone for three weeks. His excuse is that there was a messed-up transfer. No one believes him, so he gets court martialed for desertion. It doesn’t go through. If he’d deserted, why would he ever go back to the trenches?

Eventually, he goes back to America. It was the furthest he could possibly get from his problems, after all.

It’s nice to be able to write “homeless veteran” on his signs. The police bother him less. Well, slightly less. People keep saying the economy is bad, but it’s always been bad for Xie Lian. He barely notices the differences anymore. He barely notices anything.

Then another war starts. Eventually, in 1942, Xie Lian is picked up and thrown into an internment camp. He isn’t Japanese, but he can’t exactly say he’s from Xianle, a long dead country no one has ever heard of. This is actually a massive turn in luck, because he meets Banyue and Pei Xiu in the camp. They’ve also been mistaken for Japanese, because that’s what a... misinformed forger put on their green cards when they got off Angel Island.

They all got out in 1946. Pei Xiu manages to get a low-paying job, but Banyue struggles to find work for her skillset (snakes) and Xie Lian still doesn’t have any identification. Pei Xiu quickly loses his job, and they all end up homeless again.

They’re at Stonewall when the riots start in 1969. The first brick was thrown by Marsha P. Johnson, the second by Sylvia Rivera, and the third by Shi Qingxuan, who now goes by Shi Xuan. They’ve had a bit of a rough time of it over the centuries since his brother was killed and they were knocked from Heaven, even losing an arm and leg, but they were kept immortal by her Ghost King. They don’t ever talk to each other, but Shi Xuan knows he’s watching. How else is she still alive? (If she keeps his camps close to waterfronts... well, that’s just their preference. Nothing to do with the head she can sometimes spy poking over the waves).

Shi Xuan recognizes Pei Xiu, but he recognizes nothing of the once-glorious Wind Master in them. She hits it off with Xie Lian and joins their group.

Technology is changing. Everything in the world is closer than it used to be. Privacy is quickly becoming a non-concept, especially for homeless people. There are cameras everywhere. Xie Lian, Banyue, Pei Xiu, and Shi Xuan don’t have access to this sort of technology.

Jun Wu, Feng Xin, Mu Qing, and Hua Cheng do. In 2003, a video of a homeless man telling a police officer off goes viral on LiveJournal and MySpace. On a completely unrelated note, several immortals show up in various American cities. Jun Wu is contemplating moving the Heavenly Court. Scientists are calling the sudden outburst of silver butterflies an invasive species.

It’s 2005, and Xie Lian hops onto the subway. It has been 2,803 years since he was banished. In an empty subway car, he meets a Ghost King in red.

[ranchracoon]

Ch. 2 The Dream

Everything is white. The wind howls wildly and becomes deafening to the point she must cover her ears. The only break in the colorless sea is a blurry black dot. She takes a step forward but sinks into the ground to her mid-calf. Each forward step she takes, she sinks, having to sacrifice her hearing to push out with her arms. She trudges closer until she is nearly on top of it. She brushes away the slurry of flakes around it and picks it up. It's metallic, a pin of sorts. She examines it for only a moment before a bird swoop down to take the pin.

Carmen startles awake on the warm, volcanic rock, jabbing her elbow into a nearby stalagmite. She hisses and cups her elbow into her opposite hand and rubs viciously to try and soothe the pain. After the pins and needles disappear, she wipes her hands over her face and groans lowly. Her whole-body aches from sleeping on the rock, and she's drenched in a layer of sweat and morning mist. She jerks herself to her feet, frantically searching for some indication of the time; a futile endeavor once she realizes there's no clocks. She sprints outside to see the sun already above the horizon. After a quick curse, she drops and becomes one with her wolf form. The freshly brewed dream poured from her mind into the abyss of forgetting.

She sprints down the mountainside toward the center of the island, her heart and breath racing with her feet. Once she is within eyeshot of the central hut, she decreases her speed to a speed-walk while simultaneously shifting back into a human. Carmen sneaks in through the crowd to get her breakfast; easier said than done when everyone else keeps eyeing her with a smirk. She nabs a plate before her mother can see her, and retreats to the safety of her closest friends.

"Well, looks like someone had a late night." Teases Neyla.

Carmen raises an eyebrow in confusion, when Neyla points downward Carmen follows her finger. The realization strikes; she is still in her clothes from last night, and she sweaty. She rolls her eyes and scoffs before bowing her head to hide her face. She swallows the food with minimal chewing, only just realizing how hungry she is as she shoves another mouthful.

"Please tell me you weren't with Tess. You know she's nothing but trouble and you promised!" Begs Diana.

"I wasn't with Tess." Carmen mumbles.

"So then, who were you with?"

"No one."

"Ah. Classic 'sleep it off in a bush.' Been there. Would explain the clothes, but not your late arrival or flustered skin." States Alo.

"I wasn't sleeping in a bush either!" Snaps Carmen.

"Okay there's no need to get snappy." Neyla raises her hands in defense.

"I'm sorry. I'm just tired, I didn't sleep well last night."

"Well, if you weren't in a bush, nor at Tessa's, and didn't sleep well. Where were you? What were you doing?" Asks Diana.

Carmen looks up at them, she chews the inside of her lip before stealing a glance over her shoulder. She sees Ben and Clara sitting and talking with some tías (aunts). She swallows thickly then turns back to her group, all of them looking at her expectantly. After a moment of debating she sighs defeated, they'll find out one way or another.

"I-I went up the mountain." She mumbled.

The three of them scramble closer, screaming out "what?!" In perfect unison. Others glare their way but return to their meals when Carmen shushed them and motioned with her hands for them to sit back.

"What did you see?!"

"Nothing. Just like last time." Carmen said bitterly.

All of their shoulders collapse in disappointment. They look toward the table before Diana reaches out to take Carmen's hand. She retracts from the touch and hugs herself tightly. They say nothing but she can feel their sympathetic stares burning into her, the same stares she gets from everyone else.

"However..." She starts.

They lean over once again, the table squeaking lightly from their collective weight.

"I did have this strange dream but whenever I try to remember it's all fuzzy." She states.

Neyla gasps loudly and slaps her hands on the table. The others startle as Carmen stares at her before her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

"No. I know what you're thinking -"

"We need to see abuela!" She exclaims, cutting Carmen off.

Before Carmen can scurry off Neyla grabs her by the arm forcefully and drags her off. They make a pit stop at Carmen's home so she can change and look presentable. Abuela is very particular when it comes to how one represents themselves, and Carmen is the exact opposite of that expectation. She has to wear long sleeves and pants to cover her full-length tattoos, and hide her newest addition. She takes some soft nipple pads to put over her nipple piercings then wears a padded bra instead of a sports bra.

After she changes, she takes some concealer to hide the smaller tattoos behind her ears. Her neck tattoo and hands take the longest to cover, she has to make sure the makeup is blended well and unnoticeable. She does a once over to ensure everything is covered and that her piercings aren't visible. The final part is she removes the piercings from around her ears, leaving the studs on the bottom in. Then she begrudgingly wears closed toed shoes. She feels claustrophobic as she picks at her clothes to loosen then from her skin. It does very little to appease her.

Carmen only attempted to escape once but Neyla beat her to the punch by waiting for her outside her bedroom window. They walk together toward the southern side of the island where their elders like to gather to share stories, play games, and watch the littles. Carmen grumbles under her breath, it's not that she doesn't like her abuela but she knows exactly how to get under Carmen's skin. Unfortunately Neyla is correct, if anyone can help her with her dream it's their abuela. The front of the community center is completely open with tables and chairs out on the patio. Little kids run around in the grass, some of them are in their pup forms unable to transition on their own.

Carmen waves to the attendant who smiles back and points toward the hallway leading toward the central gardening area. The garden is where rare and endangered plants are kept in prestine condition. For some, this island holds the last of their species. In the center is abuela, she's hunched over a smaller bed of germinating seeds. Carefully replanting them using surgical like tools to avoid crushing the delicate pods. She looks up and smiles widely, after setting her tools aside she stands and hugs Neyla.

"hola mis amores. ¿Qué te trae por aquí?" (Hello my loves. What brings you here?)

"Hola abuela, en realidad vinimos a verte-" (hi grandma, we actually came to see you-) Neyla starts.

"¿Carmen finalmente encontró a su pareja? No pensé que esto sucedería mientras aún estaba viva." (has Carmen finally found her mate? I didn't think it would happen while I was still alive.)

Carmen groans and rolls her eyes while crossing her arms. Neyla hits her on the arm to knock it off but it's too late. Their abuela scoffs and takes off her hat. She waddles over to the gardening shed to put her tools away for the day, while they follow her.

"Ah clásico. Sabes que esa actitud es la razón por la que aún no has encontrado pareja y esos tatuajes. No creas que no sé nada de ellos. Las chicas hablan, ¿sabes? Nunca conseguirás que un hombre luzca así."(ah classic. You know that attitude is why you haven't found a mate yet, and those tattoos. Don't think I don't know about them. The girls talk you know. You'll never get a man looking like that.)

Carmen trembles, she wants to leave so badly but Neyla puts a reassuring hand on her arm. Their abuela does this every time, has done it since Carmen failed the first time. At first she could be the bigger person and ignore it, but it's really starting to get under her skin. All the passive aggressive comments about her weight, her attitude, her body. She huffs and sucks in a sharp breath to calm herself.

"Por eso vinimos a verte abuela. ¡Carmen lo intentó de nuevo y vio algo en la piscina! Sin embargo, necesita un poco de ayuda porque no podía distinguir qué era." (That's why we came to see you grandma. Carmen tried again and saw something in the pool! She needs a little help though because, she couldn't quite make out what it was. )

Neyla splurged on the details a little but it was enough for their abuela to gasp loudly. She hobbles excitedly from the garden to her room where she digs through an ancient looking chest. She takes out a book, some candles, and a string of wooden beads. She motions for them to follow her, and she leads them from the community center to their burial site to the far west.

Their burial site is not a mound full of headstones, rather an exquisite plant and flower garden beside the mountain. Every person is buried with their choice of flower, and the path is marked on each side with moonflowers to guide the souls onward. In the base of the mountain, there's a man-made cavern where an ofrenda wraps around the inside so those who no longer have family will always be remembered. Two elderly women are inside keeping the candles lit and praying to the goddess. They leave upon the arrival of the trio, carving a path through the Cempasúchils that blanket the floor.

Neyla waits outside as their abuela orders Carmen to lay in the center. She lights her candles, mumbles a prayer to their ancestors and goddess for guidance. Then she opens her book and chants another prayer before ordering Carmen to close her eyes.

Everything is white again, but she makes out the horizon in the distance. The sky darkens to night but she can still see clearly. The wind howls wildly once more, surrounding her in a flurry of white specks. It's snow. She hugs herself, now feeling the biting cold sink into her bones. She takes a step forward but sinks into the ground to her mid-calf. Each forward step she takes she sinks, but she keeps moving toward the black dot. She trudges closer until she can reach out and pick it up, this time clutching it close but there's no bird.

She examines it closer, it's diamond shape, with a full bloomed flower in the center with two rapiers crossing behind it. She brushes her thumb over the design, committing the feeling to memory. A laugh catches her off guard, she looks up and sees...a woman? She's more bird than woman. The entire body is wrapped in feathers, and she's wearing some sort of golden, bird- like mask. The woman laughs loudly and dissolves into a murder of crows all gunning for Carmen.

Carmen startles again, this time sitting up violently as all the candles surrounding her blow out. Her abuela clutches her chest in fright, falling backward onto her butt. Neyla runs in to help as Carmen breaths heavily. She has to draw that symbol before she forgets. Although, she can't draw to save her life but she knows someone who can.

Carmen shifts and takes off without a word to Neyla or abuela. She's ten times faster in her wolf form, running full speed and barely avoiding those walking around. She comes to a screeching halt and shifts back when she gets to her destination. The tattooist. The parlor is a gazebo made from the trunks of palm trees with the branches and leaves woven to make the canopy. There's a large, extremely built man, covered in more tattoos than her. He's bald with every visible inch of his skin covered in ink or piercings. He looks up from his drawing and smiles widely.

"Carmen!!!" He bellows.

He hugs her tightly and lifts her off the ground with a spin. He sets her down on the ground and holds his hands on his hips.

"What can I do for you Chica? Judging from the getup and make up, you just visited the abuelas and abuelos."

"Yeah. I'll tell you all about it but I need your help." She pants. 

Carmen and the man sit underneath the canopy where he flips his pad to a fresh paper and listens to her tale. She tells him about her dream, forgoes the part about going up the mountain, and that she, unfortunately, had to seek help from her abuela but now needs help drawing something from her dream. He listens intently as she describes the pin in as much detail as she has the words for, only making minor changes when he shows her a finished product. Then she describes the bird mask the woman was wearing; it was gold with a long beak that goes past her neck with the entirety covering her face with golden strings attached from the beak to the mask. He finishes the drawing for both pieces and hands her the paper with the final products. They're perfect. 

"Gracias Aleki! This is perfect." She praises.

"Not a problem. Anything for you Carmen. What do you plan on doing with them?" He asks.

There was only one thing she could do: she had to find out what this symbol stood for. After a brief conversation with Aleki, she makes her way to the library where she settles down behind one of the few computers the island has. The internet takes ages, hence why she wrote letters to Ben instead of emails, because the letters would get there faster. While she waits for the computer to turn on, and load, she begins her search with books. She starts with family crests but there's not much outside of the island's history of notable families. By the time the system loads, she continues her search into crests having a feeling that's the right track.

Nothing. 

She huffs in defeat but then sits up and hits her forehead as a stupid idea comes to her: image searching. She scans the drawing and uploads it into an image finder for anything similar in design. Then she sees the exact replica after countless minutes of scrolling. She clicks the image and follows a trail of links until she comes upon a review website that she reads aloud. 

"Dimitrescu wines, the finest wine made in the heart of Europe. For hundreds of years the Dimitrescu family has cultivated award winning wine for all tastes. Their most popular line having rich notes of - "

Carmen stops reading and switches her search into this Dimitrescu family but only finds how to purchase the wine and more reviews. She sits back in her seat and sighs. She's happy that she at least has a name and a starting point, but also defeated that Dimitrescu might not be real with how limited information there is. One thing she does know, is she has to go to Europe which makes her groan in despair. She hates the cold. 

Continue Reading

[munacy]

uncertainty

Cross-posted to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44490136

Remus pours out two fingers of whiskey. He holds the glass out to Sirius for his inspection, to which Sirius raises one disapproving brow. Remus smiles wryly, adds a third finger, and then Sirius takes the glass without complaint.

“He’s certainly growing up, our little Prongslet. Blimey, a girlfriend?” murmurs Sirius wonderingly, resuming their discussion of Harry’s rumored outing with a one Cho Chang. 

“Yes, quite. Although, from what I’ve heard, it appears that the poor girl left in tears.” Remus fails to fight a twitch of the lips. “I mean, that’s James, in one.” 

They both chortle indecently, clink their glasses in memory of the deceased, and throw back a healthy measure of spirit. Sirius becomes fascinated by a droplet of whiskey resting on Remus’ bottom lip. He’s just become very familiar with the flavor of the bottle they’re sharing, but thinks his greatest desire in the whole wide world is to know what that specific droplet tastes like.

“Ah, Padfoot,” Remus sighs wistfully, “to be young and in love again.”

“You miss being young?” he asks.

He knows the answer to that, but he wants Remus to ask him.

And he doesn’t disappoint, looking back at Sirius incredulously. “Don’t you?”

“Some parts. I miss when my knees didn’t creak getting out of bed. I miss having a cool taste in music; now, I don’t understand half of it. I miss turning heads when I walk into a room.”

“You still turn heads, you vain, daft thing,” Remus mutters bashfully, faintly pink and looking down into his whiskey.

Sirius holds back a snort, knowing that no one—present company possibly, hopefully excluded—thought him an exceptional beauty these days. “And I miss the days when I really thought everything would go whatever way I wanted it to, because, by God, I was Sirius Black.”

Remus smiles indulgently at him. “But?”

Sirius steels himself. He’s been waiting a long time for this. He’s been waiting for Remus to be ready to hear it, but mostly, he’s been waiting for himself to be ready to say it.

“But I don’t miss being young,” he starts haltingly. “I don’t miss the uncertainty.”

“Uncertainty?” Remus’ wide ochre eyes are fixed on him. Remus’ sole attention on him, even at 15 years old, has always made him feel as though he’s done a dead drop on his broom. Some things never change.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Uncertainty. When I was young, I didn’t know who I was…Didn’t want to even try to figure it out. And in those rare instances when I was introspective enough to catch a true glimpse of myself…I was frightened by what I saw. I was frightened of what…of what others would think of me, if they knew what I really was.”

Remus stiffens almost imperceptibly, but his face is otherwise placid.

Sirius sighs heavily. “I turned away from it, denied my true self. And I think no one suffered more for it than I, and…and perhaps you. I was the worst sort of coward. I was brave in all things, except for the things that mattered.”

Remus’ eyes have unfocused slightly.

“Remus, I wouldn’t trade knowing and accepting who I am, not for all of the youth in the world,” he finishes quietly.

His expression does something complicated. He looks almost angry, confused, and his long, thin fingers reach up to cover his mouth.

Don’t hide yourself from me, please, Sirius begs mentally, knowing how insane that would sound if he said it aloud.

I’ve spent entirely too much time not looking at every single part of you.

As if hearing his thoughts, he removes his hand from his face, steadies himself on the coffee table as he leans forward. His eyes are a bright, hard and intense amber. Remus’ words come out in a quick, reluctant whisper, as if he cannot stop himself from speaking: “And who are you, Sirius?”

He’s thought of a hundred ways to come out to Remus, imaginary conversations with James in the chill of his cell, during which his memory of his brother mostly just took the piss and called him an emotional ponce. It was a fairly accurate caricature of the real life James F. Potter.

In the end, he doesn’t think at all: “I am a man who is violently in love with you.” He pauses, a little surprised. “I always have been. I always will be.”

Remus wastes no time in standing up and striding out of the room.

It wasn’t exactly the reaction Sirius had expected, but he had also known better than to expect a happy ending for himself.

Remus bursts back into the room like an angry gale: “God dammit, Padfoot!”

He storms out the door on the opposite wall. This time, he’s gone for a little bit longer, but when he appears again, just about kicking down a third door, he looks just as furious as before.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

He’s left the room again, without even the courtesy of allowing Sirius to make the obligatory, if tired, joke for old time’s sake.

By the time Remus comes back, Sirius is halfway through a second glass of whiskey and has worked up a decent sulk. He sits up straight in the leather armchair, trying to shake away his increasing tipsiness. Remus is standing at the threshold, panting a little, a feral, wild look about him that Sirius has never quite seen before. 

Sirius begins, “Moony, I—“

And Remus crosses the room in three long paces, looking for all the world like he’s going to punch him, but no, he kisses Sirius on the forehead with hard, bruising pressure, tightly fisting the back of his hair in one hand and clutching the side of his throat in the other.

And Sirius wasn’t expecting that either.

Remus crawls desperately into his lap, hands patting him erratically as if to make sure all of Sirius’ body parts are there.

“I’d thought I’d got rid of you,” he moans exasperatedly. Sirius feels the vibration of Remus’ muffled sob, buried in his neck.

“I don’t think you can,” he replies weakly, sheepishly. “I’m like a particularly tenacious tick.”

When Remus finally kisses him on the mouth, like he’s been wanting desperately for decades—and it’s not until hours later, after they’ve talked for hours—the most unexpected thing is that it is gentle. It is so heartbreakingly soft, so sweet and slow, just like the way Remus smiles or speaks. He realizes in a detached way that he’s crying a bit. He’s never been handled delicately before. He didn’t know love could be gentle. “Why are you crying, you silly boy?” Remus is smiling down at him now, fondly, like Sirius is daft and precious, and so, so breakable. He removes Sirius’ belt and lowers his trousers and underwear with deft hands, holding Sirius in his hand with that intense attention that makes him feel as though he’s dead dropping on his broom. “Don’t you know there’s nothing to be sad about?”

———————————————————————————————————

“Why are you crying, old boy?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Remus sniffles sheepishly. “Being silly.”

Sirius watches Remus watch the happy couple walk back up the aisle together, tears pooling in the gentle crow’s feet by his eyes.

“No, go on, tell me,” he nudges.

“Alright, alright, it’s just…from the back, you know, they could be Lily and James.”

“Yeah…” sighs Sirius wistfully. “Harry, though, much better with women than James ever was.”

“Oh, indubitably,” Remus agrees immediately.

“Little Prongslet grew up. I wish, oh, I wish they could have seen it. Just-just the finest lad you e-ever—“

“Shh, Pads, s’alright,” Remus soothes. He squeezes his hand and it steadies him.

“Christ, things have changed so much between then and now. We grew up too, Remus, you realize?” He wipes away an errant tear impatiently. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

“Imagine that.”

@wolfstarmicrofic

[bloody-bee-tea]

Be gentle with me

Suguru watches the training field with narrowed eyes. Nobara and Megumi are up against Itadori, their goal this time to touch him but, he’s expertly avoiding them. He really is fast, Suguru muses, mentally noting down tips he can tell them all later, once they are done.

His concentration is broken when Suguru skips into view, hands in his pockets and a grin plastered on his face.

Exhausted then, Suguru thinks after just one glance and easily allows Satoru to drape himself over his side as he sits down.

“I didn’t know you’re back yet,” Suguru muses, moving a little bit to give Satoru more space to lean more comfortably against him.

“I just returned,” Satoru gives back and Suguru refuses to address the warmth that rises in him.

Satoru should be reporting to Yaga and the Elders then, but instead he came here, first.

“You should shower, give your report. That way you can sleep sooner,” Suguru advises him and chuckles when Satoru slings his arms around his middle, clinging to him.

That’s more like the Satoru he knows and the worry slides off him.

“But Suguru, I wanted to see you first,” Satoru whines out, hiding his face in Suguru’s shoulder and Suguru idly pats his head.

“And you did that now. Go take a nap, Satoru, you’re wiped.”

“I’m not,” Satoru argues back, stubborn and mulish like a child and Suguru sighs fondly.

Satoru might be able to convince everyone else that he’s invincible, that he doesn’t get scared or tired or worn out, but that doesn’t work with Suguru. Suguru knows him better than that and he’s honestly a little offended that Satoru thinks he can fool him, too.

“Yes, you are, Satoru, no need to pretend, not with me. I know you’re exhausted. I won’t tell anyone, though, if you go to sleep right after handing your report in.”

“How the hell do you always know,” Satoru breathes out, leaning more heavily against Suguru, finally dropping the pretence.

“It’s in your smile,” Suguru absentmindedly says, his eyes fixed on their students again.  “It’s not quite the same when you’re exhausted. The corners of your mouth—it’s just not the same,” Suguru tries to explain but he doesn’t actually have words for it. He’s not even sure there is a physical sign of Satoru’s exhaustion, it’s just—he knows.

He always knows.

Suguru only brings his attention back to Satoru when he feels him go stiff against him but when he turns searching eyes to him, Satoru relaxes again.

“I see,” is all Satoru says to that, rubbing his head against Suguru’s shoulder like an overgrown affectionate cat and Suguru is just leaning into it when a yelp reaches them.

It’s more startled than actually pained, but Suguru’s head flies around nonetheless and he’s caught off guard when he sees blood spill down Itadori’s hand.

“What happened?” he calls out, carefully getting up so he doesn’t jostle Satoru too badly, but then he makes his way across the training field quickly.

“I’m so sorry,” Nobara says in response, not actually explaining anything and for all that she’s usually so tough, she’s really pale right now.

Suguru guesses that happens when you hurt one of your friends and so he gives her a reassuring smile.

“I messed up,” Itadori says, scratching the back of his head with his uninjured hand, watching how his blood is still dripping to the ground. “I wasn’t fast enough. My bad.”

“Your bad,” Nobara hisses out, the worry clearly getting to her, the grip on her hammer tight and Suguru eases it out of her grasp carefully.

“Anyone else hurt?” he wants to know and both Nobara and Megumi shake their head.

“Can I go now? It’s not as if that’s going to do anything to this blockhead anyway,” Megumi says, apparently disinterested in the entire thing but when a flash of hurt crosses Itadori’s face, he sighs out and stays right where he is.

Itadori grins brightly at him.

“Let me see,” Suguru says, reaching out to inspect Itadori’s hand, and he’s distantly aware that Satoru has joined them on the field.

It’s a testament to his exhaustion that he doesn’t immediately bicker with the students and Suguru vows to drag him to bed himself, if he isn’t gone by the time Itadori’s injury is dealt with.

“It’s not bad, not bad at all, certainly not bad enough to see an actual doctor, right? Right?” Itadori babbles out and the fact that he’s so damn scared of Shoko but has usually no qualms about mouthing off to Satoru makes Suguru chuckle.

“It doesn’t look too bad at all,” he decides and tugs on Itadori’s arm to get him to the side-lines. “I have a small first aid kit right over there, we can fix you back up, no problem.”

And it’s true. It’s a cut, sure, but it’s not as deep as the blood dripping down would suggest and Suguru doesn’t feel bad about not sending him to Shoko with this. It’s hardly worth her attention.

“You two are free to go, if you want,” Suguru tells Nobara and Megumi, who both stay right where they are and so Suguru drags his eyes over to Satoru.

“And you should go. Report and then do what I told you,” he says, more sternly and it makes Nobara snicker.

Satoru doesn’t even rise to that, though, and Suguru wonders if he fell asleep standing up. It wouldn’t be the first time, though of course Satoru likes to pretend things like that never happen.

“Itadori, sit, and give me that hand,” Suguru instructs when Satoru doesn’t answer him and Itadori at least does what he’s told.

He might just be Suguru’s favourite at the moment.

Suguru carefully cleans the wound of the blood that already spilled out and then carefully applies a bandage to it. It’s not even big enough to warrant it, a band-aid would probably have done the trick as well, but he can feel all eyes on him and so he might just be going a little bit overboard.

“There, all done,” he says after a few moments and Itadori grins at him.

“Thanks, Geto-senpai.” He turns towards Nobara and Megumi. “You wanna go again?” he then asks, because of course he does and he barely even flinches when Megumi flicks his head.

“We’re going for lunch,” he decides instead and Itadori is never one to turn down food, so he follows readily along with his friends.

It’s cute to see Nobara and Megumi worry that much over such a small injury, Suguru thinks, and then he remembers that Satoru is still right there.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, because maybe this is more than exhaustion, and he frowns when Satoru flinches, his eyes, which were fixed on Suguru’s hands snapping back to his face.

“Fine,” he says and then marches off without another word.

Suguru hopes it’s to report the mission and then sleeping off the exhaustion he can see clinging to his shoulders, but he knows Satoru better than that.

He’ll just have to make sure to check on him in an hour or so and then—if necessary—drag him to bed himself.

~*~*~

Suguru throws Satoru over his shoulder almost gleefully, very satisfied to hear the breath leave him in a rush when he connects with the ground and when he’s straightening up, he grins down at Satoru.

He told him a million times to work on his footwork but Satoru never does and so Suguru gets to lay him out flat every time.

Since Satoru refuses to learn, this does bring Suguru a great deal of satisfaction, but the grin slides right off his face when he spots red on Satoru’s cheek.

“Satoru, you’re hurt!” he rushes out, bending down to inspect the shallow cut high on Satoru’s cheek. “What happened?”

“You happened,” Satoru grumbles, though he does allow Suguru to turn his face so he can see it better.

“What about your Infinity?” Suguru asks, because in his mind Satoru is invincible, untouchable for anything that could bring him harm.

“I turn that off when we spar, you know that,” Satoru grumbles out and Suguru frowns.

He hadn’t known that. Suguru always assumed that Satoru keeps it on, because Suguru is an exception to the technique anyway, but clearly he was wrong about that.

“Come here, let me clean it,” Suguru urges him, dragging him off the ground and leading him to the side. “Sit, Satoru, let me get the first aid kit.”

“So it’s not bad enough to trouble Shoko?” Satoru asks and pokes at his cheek, right until Suguru catches his hand in his and drags it away. “Will it scar? Will I be ugly now?” Satoru goes on, batting his eyes at Suguru who snorts out a laugh.

“You’re ugly anyway,” he gives back and flicks Satoru’s forehead. “Personality matters, you know,” he goes on, his voice coloured with amusement, but Satoru falls silent.

“Mh,” is all he says to that and Suguru is surprised to find him evading his eyes when he looks back at him.

“Satoru,” he starts, as he sits down next to him and he sighs when Satoru stubbornly refuses to look at him. “You know you’re too beautiful for your own good,” Suguru finally admits and wills his cheeks to stay the colour they are.

He really doesn’t need to be blushing right now.

“And this will not scar, it’s way too shallow for that, so don’t worry.”

Satoru doesn’t answer him, but Suguru is momentarily stunned when he sees a blush creep up on Satoru’s cheeks, even as he turns his gaze back to him.

“Better,” he decides and then turns his head so that Suguru can clean the cut.

“You want a grown-up band-aid or one for the kids?” Suguru asks once he’s done with that, though he damn well knows the answer.

He thought the Digimon band-aids he bought a while back on a whim would go to waste what with Satoru’s Infinity, but he guesses they are going to finally see some use.

“Kids, please,” Satoru decides, just like Suguru knew he would and he’s quick to put it over the wound.

“There you go,” Suguru softly says and fights the urge to press a kiss to his cheek as well, for better healing.

Satoru surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Thank you,” Satoru gleefully says and then grins at Suguru. “So, another round, then?”

“So I can lay you on your back again? I don’t think so. Besides, I’m hungry. How about we go out for a change? The kids are all gone anyway.”

His suggestion makes Satoru’s eyes sparkle and soon enough he’s dragging Suguru off campus as if it was his idea in the first place.

And Suguru is more than willing to indulge him, Digimon band-aid and all.

~*~*~

They just returned from a mission, exhausted and kind of grimy and Suguru is looking forward to a shower more than anything at the moment.

Except that Satoru doesn’t seem to think the same, because instead of going to his own room, he follows Suguru to his.

“Everything okay?” Suguru asks with a frown, because even for Satoru that’s unusual behaviour but Satoru only hums in response, which makes this entire thing even stranger.

Suguru decides to wait until they are in his room to press some more, because for all that Satoru is loud and outgoing, he is an insanely private person and chances are better once Suguru has him behind closed doors.

And he doesn’t even have to prod and press because once he slides the door shut behind him, Satoru turns towards him, holding his arms out.

Suguru’s stomach drops out when he sees that one of his sleeves is wet with blood.

“I’m hurt,” Satoru easily says, as if it doesn’t mean anything, as if he isn’t dripping blood all over Suguru’s floor and Suguru’s eyes fly back to his face.

“Yeah, no shit,” he hisses, worry making him more snappish than he normally would be. “What happened? Gods, Satoru, sit down, do we need Shoko? How bad is it, let me see.”

He’s rambling, he knows that, but Satoru is hurt, Satoru is bleeding and ever since that thing with Toji happened, Suguru can barely stand to see that.

The image of finding Satoru in a pool of his own blood, carved up almost all the way, still haunts his nights, sometimes.

“It’s not that bad,” Satoru says, his voice wobbling a bit in uncertainty and Suguru drops to a knee in front of him.

“Let me see that,” he demands, carefully peeling Satoru’s sleeve away from his skin.

The cut is deep, maybe deep enough even to need stitches and Suguru looks back at Satoru when a realisation hits him.

“You have reverse cursed technique. Why didn’t you heal it? Why did you get injured in the first place, what happened to your Infinity?”

Satoru’s eyes guiltily shift to the side and Suguru sits back on his haunches. He knows that look; it means that Satoru is up to something—has been up to something—and Suguru doesn’t like it, not one bit, because it means Satoru got hurt.

“Satoru.”

He doesn’t say anything else, because Satoru knows him just as well as Suguru knows him, and so Satoru knows that this tone of voice means that Suguru is no longer joking around.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru whispers out, dragging his sleeve back down and hiding the injury from sight.

He still doesn’t heal it.

“Are you hurt anywhere else? Is something interfering with your technique, with your energy?” Suguru asks, trying to keep calm, though it’s hard when Satoru’s sleeve is still wet with his blood.

“No.”

Suguru closes his eyes in relief. At least there’s that, he thinks.

“Then what is it. How did you get hurt?”

“I let it happen,” Satoru admits, still keeping his head turned away and Suguru reaches up to push the blindfold off his face.

“Look at me and tell me why,” he says, keeping the blindfold in his hands to keep them occupied.

A part of him marvels at the fact that Satoru allows him these things so easily, but he has to remember that he’s angry with him right now.

Worried out of his mind, more like, but Satoru only needs to know that he’s angry.

“I—it’s stupid,” Satoru finally says and Suguru snorts because if Satoru allowed himself to get hurt then that’s a given.

“You don’t say,” he gives back and softens when Satoru pouts at him. “Satoru, you’re bleeding all over my room. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“How about I just go see Shoko and we forget all about this?” Satoru gives back but he doesn’t actually move because Suguru’s gaze pins him to the bed.

“How about you heal that cut up with your own technique and explain yourself to me?” he shoots back. His words come off harsh, his voice tinged by the worry he tries so hard to hide but when Satoru presses his lips together, Suguru reaches out for his hands.

“Please, Satoru. What’s going on?”

“You were so gentle with Yuji,” Satoru says and it’s so out of left field that Suguru blinks at him.

“Huh?”

“When Nobara cut him during training, you were so gentle when you patched him up.”

“Okay,” Suguru slowly says, making it sound more like a question than a statement and Satoru lets out a harsh breath.

“I wanted that, too,” he admits and his voice is barely audible in the room. “I was always untouchable and the one time someone did manage to get to me, he forced me to learn how to heal myself. No one ever—” Satoru cuts himself off there but Suguru can guess where this is going.

No one ever took care of Satoru like that.

“Okay,” Suguru softly says, squeezing Satoru’s hands. “This requires stitches though, which I am not equipped to give you. Can you heal it up enough that a bandage will do?”

He knows that he shouldn’t go along with this, probably, but it’s Satoru. And for once in his life he’s asking to be taken care of, and who is Suguru to deny him that.

Satoru stares at him, clearly surprised that Suguru isn’t yelling at him, but that will probably come later. For now, Suguru is going to bandage him up and treat him just as gently as he deserves.

“Satoru?”

“Yeah, sure,” Satoru blurts out and Suguru gives him a small smile.

“Stay here, I’ll get the kit from the bathroom and then we’ll take care of it.”

He gives Satoru’s hands one last squeeze before he gets up and rushes to get the first-aid kit. Satoru has manged to wrangle himself out of his jacket in the meantime, so when Suguru gets back he can get to work immediately.

Satoru healed the cut up well, but not so well that they can leave it like that and Suguru is gentle as he cleans it out, wiping the blood away, before inspecting it again.

“It looks clean. I’m going to wrap it now, alright?”

“Sure,” Satoru says, his voice coming out strangled and Suguru tries to hide his smile.

He gets a bandage out and wraps it around Satoru’s arm evenly, making sure it’s just tight enough to stay on for however long Satoru wants it to stay and when he’s done he makes a split second decision.

Satoru sucks in a surprised breath when Suguru leans forward to press a kiss to the bandage as well.

“Don’t do this again,” he then whispers as he pulls back and immediately, Satoru’s expression stutters shut into one of the many masks Satoru carries around with him for other people.

“Of course,” he says, his voice only trembling the slightest bit and Suguru sighs.

“Satoru, I’m asking that of you because I hate seeing you hurt,” he admits as he reaches out to tangle his fingers together with Satoru. “I’m going to be as gentle and caring and soft with you as you want, but please do not ever get hurt like that again.”

“You—what?” Satoru gets out, his face bright red and now Suguru wonders if that cut on his cheek a few weeks back was part of this as well.

Probably, knowing Satoru.

“Satoru, I—don’t you know I’m going to give you everything you want? You just have to ask for it,” Suguru whispers out, because really, this is the crux of the matter.

Suguru is always afraid of going too far, pushing too much, giving everything of himself when it’s not wanted but if Satoru were to ask for it—

“Please,” Satoru breathes out and Suguru has half a mind to tease him, to drag this out more, to make him use his words, but they have both danced around this thing for too long now.

So he leans up, smiling slightly when Satoru meets him halfway and then he doesn’t think for a while because kissing Satoru apparently wipes every thought from his head.

“No more injuries,” Suguru whispers when they finally part and he was prepared for Satoru to slide off the bed and spill into his lap, so he sits back and simply hugs him close.

“No more injuries as long as you take gentle care of me,” Satoru gives back and Suguru laughs fondly at him, burying his face in Satoru’s hair.

“Don’t I always take good care of you?” he wants to know, because really, Satoru should have seen that much sooner, but it doesn’t really matter now, he guesses as he scratches at Satoru’s scalp when he nods.

He’ll still take extra good care of Satoru now, be more gentle with him if that’s even possible, and love him harder than he did all these years so far.

That, at least, will be very easy for Suguru,.

[thepriceofsurvival]

[jeejascoffee]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Astarion/Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Astarion & Wyll (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Loss of Eyesight, Blindness, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Drinking to Cope, very light romance, Wyll-centric, Non-Consensual Body Modification, as per canon, Hurt/Comfort Summary:

The changes Wyll experienced during his devil transformation are less than ideal. He can live with the horns, but the lack of clear vision…

Being burned by hellfire left him with poor eyesight in his solitary eye. Whether that was supposed to happen or not, here he is.

Astarion notices. Of course, he can’t keep his opinions to himself.

(Written for Wyll Week)

[lockwood-fic-recs]

the sum of our shadows

by RainShadow07 on ao3

Rating: M | Category: F/M, M/M, Multi | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy/George

Adelaide cocked her head. “Julius, my love,” she said. “A moment. Think how much the pair might fetch at our next auction.”

Winkman’s eyes narrowed, considering. “An intriguing thought, my dear. One time special offer, boy,” Winkman said, grinning manically at Lockwood. “Hand over the bone glass, and we won’t kill you.”

Lockwood bit his lip, reaching for Lucy’s hand, and did one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life.

He lowered his rapier.