#The vague asks leave me with choice overload

[canterbury-bell]

can you draw ragatha petting jax and him purring since rabbits can purr by rubbing their teeth together:)

How did you request my exact weakness like that

[idiotwhowritesgenshin]

Diluc and Kaeya with a zombie sibling like Jean and Barbara but for extra angst...

The sibling died when Diluc and Kaeya fought because they threw themselves into the crossfire, trying to stop their brothers from hurting each other.

I did consider this but ultimately a scenario like this is angst overload lol and that restricts my writing a fair bit so I’ll do the one I initially planned

I will explain some differences though with this scenario to this one if you want anon and thanks for being my first ask in this blog :>>>

(Also Im gonna try to get some balls and tag diluc but if the person sees this Im gonna die)

I’m so indecisive on whether to use “Y/N’ or “you” when I cant just say “they” for the reader, can I get some advice on that?

Once again scream at me in my inbox and or replies if I accidentally gave a gender this shit is supposed to be GENDER NEUTRAL IF I MESSED UP TELL ME😭😭

These are also longer than Jean and Barbara’s just because I have better grasps of the brothers’ lore over the two sisters

TW Death, Diluc and Kaeya are traumatized but no condition is specified cause I am not a mental health expert (obviously, if there was other things I needed to tag tell me)

Diluc and Kaeya with a zombie younger sibling

How the sibling died is that they were with Diluc and their father when they were attacked by Ursa the Drake. While Diluc fought off the dragon as Crepus ran to get his delusion, the sibling was killed when Diluc got preoccupied and the Four winds took pity on Diluc when they saw his breakdown at losing his younger sibling and father on the night of his birthday. They were revived before Kaeya chose to reveal his secret and Diluc claimed custody of their sibling, as their biological brother and promptly disowned Kaeya. Reader is roughly 10-12 when they died.

Diluc

- The Knights of Favonius are even worse in his eyes. His entire family died that night and they couldn’t even own up to it, they couldn’t own up to the death of his father and the death of Y/N, a CHILD

- Diluc is a fiercely protective older brother who tends to be overbearing in terms of his sibling’s safety. He really can’t help it, the sight of their corpse and feeling them grow cold in his arms traumatized him immensely and the thought of something like that ever happening again

- His protectiveness is luckily able to be calmed by the servants at his home who always do their best to help him stay grounded to reality and not lose sight of who he is in his overwhelming need to protect the only family he has left

- Perhaps it is a blessing that Y/N lost their memories as if they had remembered who Diluc was before, they surely would have been heartbroken to see their once cheerful brother who was the proud cavalry captain of the knights of Favonius become the dark and brooding, wine tycoon who did dark knight hero work at the side

- Diluc wants to still have a presence in his sibling’s life both because they are part of the reason he works so hard to protect Mondstadt, so that no one may suffer the same fate as they did again, and he’ll never admit it but truly does miss when he could hang out and play with his siblings in bliss

- He doesn’t want Kaeya going near them, when he had confessed to being a spy, in his overwhelming grief and anger, he had accused Kaeya of trying to take his entire family from him and even asked if he was upset that you managed to live

- He ordered his butler to make sure that whenever his sibling went out they have someone with them along with their notebook as he similarly to Jean, is anxious on the thought his sibling could just forget him

- When he's not busy and can properly spend time with his sibling, he mostly allows them to take the wheel as he's honestly just not sure what they want to do with how they've forgotten the past and are still rediscovering their interests so he'll mostly watch them waddle around with different activities and entertain them

Kaeya

- Diluc barred him from meeting their sibling ever again but when did the orders of others ever stop him

- Kaeya is honestly a mystery to his former adoptive sibling, he’s a man who feels familiar yet his appearances in their life are sporadic and Diluc only ever tells them to avoid Kaeya but Kaeya finds his ways to worm his way into Y/N’s life

- His sibling is often left either giggly and excited or just confused after spending time with him due to his tendency to play mind games, something that just leaves them unsure of what happened but luckily never causes them long-term distress due to their short term memory

- Whenever Kaeya is asked about his feelings on his sibling becoming a zombie, he never gives a proper answer either leaving some comment on it, too vague to get any idea on his feelings or dodge the question altogether

- Y/N coming back to life gave him a naive hope, a hope that maybe the world would be on his side and that he could finally stop lying, that he could finally pick who to side with between Khaenri’ah and Mondstadt but that didn’t happen, and he would never let himself be so vulnerable again

- He doesn’t blame them for his current situation with Diluc, even if their death did inspire him to try and open up, it was ultimately his choice and it undeniably hurts to be denied access to someone he truly sees as a younger sibling by the man he still sees as his older brother, he’ll take it with a smile, like he always has

- The notebook issue does worry him but luckily he has his ways to worm his way in so that they can remember him, no matter what Diluc does, Kaeya has his ways

- He likes to have them spend time with Klee, you became much quieter after you were revived due to becoming a zombie so he finds it adorable to watch the cheerful Spark Knight play with their sibling who for the most part is confused but also enjoys playing with her, he always makes sure to stop Klee from doing anything that could be harmful to them though, Diluc would kill him

[michaelgambons]

Baseline Romantic

Chapter 7

Warnings: poor mental health, hospitals, cuteness overloads

Y/N woke up late on the Sunday morning, and spent a couple of minutes scrolling through twitter before groaning slightly and getting up.

Voices were coming from the kitchen, she could recognise Ben’s, but the other voice was unfamiliar.

Y/N detoured away from the kitchen to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. She didn’t know who was in the kitchen, but she sure as hell didn’t want to meet them looking quite as messy as she did right now.

Entering the kitchen a few minutes later, face washed and hair tied back, Y/N saw Ben with his back to her, busy with the toaster, in his joggers. At the table was a young, tall, blonde haired girl, who was wearing one of Ben’s sweaters.

‘Hi!’ Y/N said brightly as she came in.

Ben swung round, and smiled at her brightly, looking almost relieved to see her.

‘Hey, Y/N. This is Bella’ he said, gesturing at the blonde girl sat at the table.

‘Nice to meet you Bella! Is there any chance of some toast Ben? I won’t intrude for too long, I’m meeting Charlie at 2’

As Ben turned round to the toaster, you sat down at the table.

‘I’m sure I recognise you from somewhere’ Bella said. Thinking she was referring to Ben, you didn’t glance up from your phone.

‘Y/N, isn’t it? Yeah I’m sure I recognise you from somewhere’

‘Me? Sorry, I’m so used to people asking Ben that. Um, maybe, I’m on the news quite a bit - I’m a political commentator’

‘That’s it! We always have News24 on in the background at work- I must have spotted you then!’

You smile vaguely at her, with limited desire to prolong the discussion. ‘Where do you work Bella?’

‘I do PR. That’s actually how we met last night’ she giggled slightly and turned to Ben, who smiles vaguely at her, before quickly turning away. ‘I did the PR for the event we were both at’

‘Oh nice’ Y/N said vaguely.

‘I’m just going to hop into the shower, will you be ok Bella? Help yourself to any food while I’m gone’ Ben said, already out the door.

Bella smiled at him as he leaves, resembling a hungry chiwawa.

‘So, I can imagine Ben brings loads of girls back here’ Bella said turning back to Y/N. Feeling slightly annoyed to be being talked to again (did this girl not understand mornings?) Y/N said ‘only about as many as I bring back myself’. She winked at Bella, who looked taken aback.

You mock checking the time. ‘Oh shit, I need to dash. Really lovely to meet you Bella’

‘Yeah, you too! Hopefully I’ll see you again’ Bella called after you.

You smiled to yourself as you went back to your bedroom. You knew the likelihood of that was next to nothing.

—————-

After making sure that Bella had left, you drifted into the living room and sunk into a sofa. Ben sulked in after you, towel slung around his waist and droplets of water falling down his chest.

After lockdown had ended, it had been agreed that Ben would move in permanently with you and Catherine. You were more than happy with that. You loved having Ben around, loved the domestic fluffiness of it all. Only, with Ben moving in had also come the trickle of women who fell out of his bedroom.

‘A blonde named Bella who works in PR. Really Ben? You’re becoming some sort of seedy playboy- are you sure you’re not batman by night?’

Ben laughed, but looked slightly embarrassed.

‘I hope we didn’t keep you awake last night. Bella was really loud’ he says.

You snort. ‘No don’t worry, I was out like a light; fucking shattered. My new pills are knocking me out like clockwork. Anyway, just loud makes a welcome change to that squeaky one a few weeks back’

Ben laughs. ‘Christ, what was her name?’

You shrug at him. ‘If you can’t remember I’m certainly not going to. She could definitely remember yours though’. She imitated Ben’s squeaky one night stand ‘ooooh Ben, yeah just there- eeeek!’

Ben chucked a cushion at her. ‘Shut up, you’re triggering too many memories’ he laughs.

‘All I’m saying is I think you need a better vetting process’ Y/N said as she left the room, pausing to ruffle Ben’s hair as she left.

Y/N sat back on her bed. Absentmindedly her hand crept towards her panties, and slid beneath her waistband. It wasn’t a coincidence that the first thing that came to mind was Ben’s glistening post shower abs. She imagined that instead of going back to her room, she had instead gone over to him, and stared him straight in the eye as she pulled his towel away from him. Sinking down on her knees she had engulfed his dick with her mouth, and looking up, had seen him staring down at her, eyelids fluttering. She was still picturing his face as she came, quickly, brutally, writhing in her bed, his name on her lips.

This wasn’t the first time she’d got off to Ben whilst they’d lived together. In many ways it was quite useful having such a cache of material wondering around the house she could select from. She’d got quite good at telling herself she was just physically attracted to Ben. She loved Ben as a friend and a small part of her wanted to spend the night with him again. That wasn’t so unusual. Friends slept together all the time. Maybe if she could sleep with him again she could stop thinking about him. You laughed at yourself the first time it occurred to you. It was ridiculous and stupid and so unlikely to help. And it wasn’t as if she would ever act on it. He clearly wasn’t interested.

—————

That evening, it was just you and Ben in the house, Catherine was away staying at a yoga retreat in the Peak District. You’d been feeling increasingly unwell as the night progressed, and at 9:30 had muttered your excuses and headed to bed. As you were stood brushing your teeth, you suddenly felt incredibly light headed and before you had had the chance to sit down or steady yourself, you had fallen to the floor.

You came to a minute or so later, Ben peering over you looking concerned. As you opened your eyes his face flooded with relief. As you raised your head off the ground you realised he had placed you in the recovery position.

‘What happened?’ You asked, groggily, putting your face in your hands.

‘I’m not too sure. I just heard this crash from the bathroom, and shouted to see if you were ok. When you didn’t reply I came to check on you, and found you on the floor. You can’t have been out for very long- have you hurt yourself at all?’ He asked.

‘I don’t think so. I feel awful though, like I’m going to faint again’

‘Ok, I’m going to help you get into the living room,’ Ben said.

He gently lifted you to your feet, and as you steadied yourself, wiped a strand of hair out of your eyes. He cupped your face with his hands and your eyes met, yours glassy from your faint and his wide, full of concern.

Established on the sofa, you felt much better. Ben insisted however, on calling 101, much to your derision.

‘I’m calling them whether you like it or not, Y/N. Whether you speak to them or not is your choice, but I want to make sure you’re ok’

————

‘This is all such an overreaction’ you complained as Ben bundled you in his sweatshirt and helped you on with your jacket. ‘I fainted! It happens to people all the time. I don’t need to go to the hospital’

‘You heard what the woman said. She was worried it was a reaction to your medication. Come on, our Uber is here’ Ben said, offering you his hand to lead you out the door.

You held onto his hand the entire short journey to the hospital. You couldn’t quite place why, but it was comforting, warm, and he didn’t seem to resist. Once inside, checked in and sat on cold, hard backed plastic chairs, Ben had made sure you were settled before heading off to find a vending machine. He returned a few minutes later with a Diet Coke for himself and a bottle of water for you.

‘I thought caffeine was probably a bad idea until you’ve seen the doctor’ he said, registering your displeasure as you looked at the water bottle he had handed you.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and must have dozed off because the next thing you knew he was nudging you awake.

‘Come on, Y/N, they’ve just called us’ he whispered gently, helping you to your feet.

In the consultants office, you both sat down, and you handed your coat to Ben.

‘Y/N Y/L/N, right? And this must be your partner-‘

‘Flatmate’ both you and Ben said in unison

‘Sorry, flatmate. What’s been the matter today Y/N?’

You briefly explained the evenings events, looking to Ben occasionally for him to fill in any blanks you couldn’t remember.

‘The 101 lady thought it might be a reaction to some of the medication I’m on. I’ve just upped my dose of Zoloft, and she wondered if that could be it’

‘Do you mind me asking what you’re on that for?’ The doctor asked.

‘You name it, I’ve got it!’ You said brightly. ‘I’m on the Zoloft for my PTSD and depression, and until recently I was on beta blockers for my anxiety, but they were interacting with my asthma medication too much so my doctor took me off them and upped my Zoloft dose’

‘So you’re now on 150 a day?’ The doctor said, flicking through his notes.

You nodded.

‘I reckon that’s what it is, if I’m honest’ he said, turning to you. ‘That’s a big dose, and while it’s clearly what you need, it’s likely to have a few side effects with it. Fainting, or feeling light headed is quite common. If it doesn’t subside in a couple of days, I’d go back to your doctor, but for the meantime I wouldn’t worry too much about it.

You and Ben were silent in the Uber home. You were exhausted from the nights events, and still not feeling very well. Ben was staring out of the window, seemingly lost in thought.

‘Are you ok?’ You finally asked, as you took your coat off, glad to be home at last. ‘You’ve been quiet for the past 5 minutes which is completely out of character’.

‘Yeah I’m fine. Just glad you’re ok, it was quite a shock coming in and finding you like that... I didn’t realise just how bad your mental health was either. I know we’ve talked about it in the past, but you’ve always been quite blasé about it’

‘Yeah. I guess I don’t feel like there’s much to talk about. I just try and get on with it. No point burdening your friends with it unless you need to’ you said.

‘It wouldn’t be a burden though, not at all. I don’t want you to feel you can’t talk to me about things. I mean, I tell you all sorts of random shit, it’s definitely my turn to listen to you’

You yawn widely.

‘You must be fucking knackered’ Ben said. ‘Get into bed and I’ll bring you some tea’.

As you headed to bed he shouted after you ‘Do you want a hot water bottle too? It’s really cold tonight!’

You smiled slightly to yourself at his fussiness before you responded.

[diddlesanddoodles]

DEAD WALLS RISE - FARRIS

Special thanks to the forever amazing @thundering-susurrus​ for editing. 

“You should smile more.”

Farris turned his head to eye the thin figure sitting under the window. Without use of his eyes, Kent could no longer see the sunlight spilling down onto him, but the human still enjoyed the warmth of the sun’s rays nevertheless.

“What are ye on about?” Farris asked. “I smile plenty.”

Kent didn’t turn to face his Vhasshalan guardian. “I can hear it in your voice when you frown.”

“The fuck ye can.”

“See?” said the man with a knowing grin. “You did it just now.”

Farris stepped away from the pan of toasting spices to glare at his ward. “Aye, because I have a smarmy lil’ wanker tellin’ me I frown too much.”

“I believe what I said was – ”

“BAH! I know what ye said. When I have a reason to smile more, I will.”

“Seems like you have good reasons to smile now,” Kent said, turning his face to Farris at last. There was no real point in facing the giant when they spoke other than an old inclination from when he still had use of his eyes. “No one’s caught fire in a while. That should be a good enough reason to me.”

Though he clearly saw that Kent was trying to goad him into a lighter mood, Farris did not possess enough spirit at that moment to feel anything other than the same weighted guilt that always followed him day in and day out. “Gonna take a lot more than that, lad.”

Kent’s mild smile faded away. “Isn’t just… being alive enough?”

“Not everyone’s as chipper about that as ye.”

A silence fell between them. To Farris, it felt heavy and dreadful, and he had half a mind to demand the human to simply drop the topic and allow him to go on with his day. Work was numbing and was the only thing he had found that came close to alleviating the pain. The pain brought on from the memories and the knowledge of what he had done. He had his reasons, of course. He had made his choice: the lives of his boys over the scores of captured humans. He was responsible for the workers under him and the humans had been enemy combatants. But that justification only held water for so long. 

“You’ll forgive yourself one day, Farris.”

Kent’s words felt like ice in his chest. He brushed a hand across his nose as he bent to grab the pan from the fire. Tipping the now-toasted spices into a bowl, he set it aside before grabbing the next batch and tossing the raw spices into the still hot pan. Giving it a firm shake, his eyes drifted to the flames and he watched them dance for several long moments. He sat the pan down. 

“No,” he finally replied in a soft voice. “Ain’t no forgivin’ what I’ve done.”

“You’re too good a man to let his legacy ruin you.”

“Good men don’t murder in…” He stopped himself and sighed. “Ye wouldn’t understand, Kent. And I don’t expect ye to.”

“I think I do a little. Was on the other end of that mess, don’t you forget.”

“How could I?” Farris asked as he glanced over his shoulder. “Ye remind me all the time. Even though I was there.”

“And your bedside manner is as terrible as ever.”

He had to laugh at that. Walking around the table, he went to the counter where Kent was sitting and poked the man’s side. “Was there a point to this or do ye just like hearing yerself blabber on and on?”

“Hm… maybe a little of both?” Kent replied grinning. “No, I did have a point.”

“Then make it so I can get on with my work.”

“You’re a good man, Farris,” Kent said seriously. He reached out and patted Farris’s hand. “Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”

Farris eyed him, suppressing the urge to be angry or brush away the man’s touch. Kent always confounded him. He had every right and opportunity to be a bitter wreck of a man after everything he had been through and yet, despite it all, Kent was endlessly cheery and kind. Sometimes frustratingly so. For several moments, Farris stared at the small scarred hand resting on his own. He grunted and pulled his hand away. “What’s got ye all sentimental this mornin’?”

“Hm? Oh, I dunno. Been thinkin’ about my place in the universe. Meaning of life. The usual,” Kent paused as a devious smirk crossed his face. “And of course see how long I can distract you until you catch on that your spices are burning.”

“Wha…? Ah! Ye lil’ fucker!”

Kent’s laughter filled his ears as he rushed back to the hearth to try and salvage his work. In the following years, Farris would regret not appreciating that sound more. It would be the last time he would hear Kent laugh.

The next night, he came down with a hellish fever.

And by morning, Kent was dead.

………………………………………………………………………..

The wedding feast preparations had been a symphony of chaos: carefully planned, but executed more with stubborn will than any finesse or strategy. He had assumed the weeks of prep they had done would carry them further than they ultimately had, and by the second to last course on the last day they were scrambling to keep up. Luckily for Farris, most of the guests were happy enough to indulge in the free flowing wine and liquor between the courses. They would be too inebriated to be able to find their own feet, let alone be able to tell that the next course was late.

And then, of course, that was when Yale brought him the thief.

A human child. She was a small and pitiful creature. Dirty, skinny, and terrified, but a thief nonetheless. He was far too busy to spare her any consideration of leniency. It was her poor luck that she chose to steal from him on the single busiest day in more than a decade. She would just have to wait, he decided. Secured in one of the wooden cages left over from the delivered livestock, he placed her on the counter inside the pantry, gave her a firm warning to be quiet, and left her there. She didn’t scream at him or try to escape. In fact, the little thief barely even made a sound other than muffled weeping. If it had been any other day, he may have felt pity for her. Instead, he was annoyed to have something else dumped onto his already overloaded plate.

Several hours later, when he had a moment to even consider her again, he found that she had wedged herself in the corner and fallen asleep. He opened the cage and slipped a ramekin of water inside before closing it back up again. The human child did not stir.

Even balled up as she was, he could tell she was very young. Too young to be wandering around on her own. A suspicion began to form in his mind that she was not just some young hooligan from the Hill Tribes making trouble. He’d had plenty of those come through over the years and after threatening to toss them into a pie, each of the little troublemakers would be quick with their excuses and defenses. So, after a good scare and a lecture, they’d be sent back to Gregis for another lecture and whatever punishment the Hill Tribe leader saw fit. The war might be over, but danger still remained, even within the castle.

However, Farris could not recall ever having come across a thief so young. Her clothes were made of a rough homespun hemp and, best he could tell, seemed too small for her. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Autumn had been mild but still chilly enough to warrant shoes. Where in the Seven Hells did this girl come from? And where were her parents?

He decided to leave the questions for later and went to help with the last big push to get the dessert course out the door and cleanup underway. There was a large tankard of dark ale waiting for him at the end of the day and he did not intend to be late. He felt as though he had earned a drink.

…………………

“So what’re ye gonna do with the Dumplin’?”

Farris had sat down to supper that night, more aware of his age than he ever had been. The arthritis in his left wrist was acting up, his joints creaked, and his back hurt. But still, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment for the work they had done. He opened his eyes, glancing towards the source of the question, and shrugged. “Notified Donal. He’ll inform the King tomorrow and then it’ll be his discretion as to what’s to be done with her.”

That seemed to surprise Saen and the rest of his staff. Yale sat up a little straighter. “Why’d ye do that? Ain’t ye just gonna send her back to Gregis? Like the others?”

Farris chuckled. “That lil’ mite ain’t from the Hill Tribes, lad. She’s feral.”

“How can ye tell? She say somethin’?” Yale asked.

“Nah. Just a hunch,” He took a long swig of ale and, as he sat it back down, sent a vague gesture towards the pantry door. “Fer one thing, Gregis wouldn’t let a child run around in that state.”

“She was pretty mangy lookin’,” Yale conceded with a chortle. “Looked like the thin’ needed a good scrubbin’.”

“Thinkin’ a keepin’ her are ye?” Saen asked, elbowing Yale in the ribs.

Yale grinned. “Crossed my mind.”

“Well,” Farris said. “first she’s gotta face the King’s justice.”

“Still. If she ain’t from Gregis’s lot,” Yale said, “where the hell she come from?”

“Who knows,” he replied. “Where do any of ‘em come from anymore?”

Beside him, Bart laughed. “Half the time it seems like they just pop out of the ground like cabbages.”

Grinning, Farris took another long pull from his ale before getting to his feet and reaching for one of the communal bread loaves. He tore off a small but still sizable piece and turned from the table.

“Well, suppose I should go feed her somethin’,” Farris said. “That one’s the skinniest dumplin’ I’ve ever seen.”

Light laughter followed him as he opened the door to the spice pantry. The hearth light fell in an illuminating column into the room and onto the cage where he could see a swathe of red. Farris froze.

The girl was awake and on her belly, clutching the rim of the water cup he had left her. Her skin was red with a distinctive rash and she was pulling in short gasping breaths all the while, laying in a small pool of her own sick.

Farris felt his stomach drop. The red reap.

He recalled the night Kent fell with the fever and how the rash soon followed. His breathing had become raspy and labored and it was not very long at all before he breathed his last breath. But Kent had been an adult, a grown man. The Dumplin’ was just a small child.

“Seven fuckin’ Hells,” he cursed. It was Kent all over again and, though he would never admit it aloud or even to himself, Farris was scared. He turned to call back over his shoulder. “Yale, get me warm water, not hot, and a few towels.”

His assistant looked up at him from his place at the table with round cheeks, unable to answer him with his mouth so full. Beside him Saen was grinning at him cheekily. “Oh aye? Be needin’ some relaxation after all that exhaustin’ spice grindin’, eh, Farris?”

He glared at the cook. “Shut yer gob Saen before I bash it in. It ain’t fer me,” he said and turned his gaze back to the sick little girl. “The human’s got the red reap.”

All of the merriment and cheer died in an instant as all eyes of his staff turned to him. Yale especially looked upset as he mechanically chewed and swallowed. “She didn’t look ill earlier.”

“They call it the reap fer a reason, boy. There’s no warnin’. It just comes. Now get off yer arse and get me what I asked fer.”

Yale was on his feet in an instant, rushing to the shelf to grab a bowl. “...right away, boss.”

He stood beside her cage, feeling the weight of his shame and harshly cursing himself for his cruelty. It was very probable that these would be her last moments and he had her put into a cage. As a joke. But no one was laughing. He opened the cage and removed the cup of water. There was sick all over it and down the side, but he did not pay it any mind. When he reached back inside for the girl, she shied away with a pained mewl. She was shaking and weeping.

He had done this to her.

“Hush now,” he murmured softly to her, resting the tips of his fingers lightly across her back. She tried to squirm away from him. “I know it hurts, lil’un. I know yer scared. Just keep breathin’...”

Yale was there with the water and towels. “Where do you want this, Farris?”

“Upstairs,” he said, considering the girl and how best to pick her up without doing her more harm. “And I’ll need the salve from the drawer there. And a Cayne leaf. Small one.”

In the end, he simply scooped her into his cupped hands. She was so small and light, but shockingly warm. The fever had well set in and he knew she may not have much longer.

Yale followed him up to his private quarters and once inside, Farris directed him to set the bowl of water on the table. His first attempts to remove her vomit-covered clothes resulted in her struggling against him and he snarled at her in frustration. “Stop that, girl. Yer covered in sick.”

He decided it best to get it all over with as quick as possible and simply yanked them off her. She showed signs of malnutrition and was so thin that he knew she wouldn’t have the strength to fight off the fever. The realization seemed to hit Yale at the same time. Once she was clean, he wrapped her in one of the towels and tucked her into the crook of his arm. He applied the salve to her eyelids, where it would help cool the raging heat of the rash. Then he slipped the Cayne leaf into her mouth, which she immediately spat out.

He didn’t blame her. Cayne leaves were rancid and vile tasting things. But it was also one of the best pain remedies known.

“Ye can go Yale,” he said. “I’ve got ‘er.”

His assistant looked at him with wide and fearful eyes. “Ye sure?”

Farris nodded. “If she makes it through the fever, she’ll live,” he said and sighed deeply. “We’ll know by morning.”

He reached out and grabbed Yale by the shoulder with his free hand. “Regardless, I need you awake and alert tomorrow. There’s too much that still needs to be done. If she lives, she’ll be seeing the King. If not, well, the reap will have made the judgment fer ‘im.”

“All right,” he said with a lingering concern in his eyes. Yale touched a finger to the girl’s head, petting her softly. “Good luck, lil’un.”

After Yale had left, Farris went to his bed and sat down. He was not sure how long he sat there, watching the human sleep. The red rash had spread along her neck and face, but she did not stir from her sleep. Her breathing remained raged and labored.

In the quiet of the night, when he knew no one was around to hear him, Farris spoke to the girl.

“Yer just a lil’ thing,” he said quietly as he ran a finger across the top of her head. “Probably all alone in the world, eh? Either that or yer folks are right shit. Don’t look like the world’s been very kind to ye, lass. Even now, it’s still tryin’ its best t’beat ye down. But yer a strong one, ain’t ye? Not gonna let a fever take ye. Nah. Too green fer it all to end so soon. Yer gonna be alright there, Dumplin’. I’ll make sure of it. One way or another. Yer gonna be just fine. Yer gonna wake up…”

His hands were shaking.

“Please. Please, wake up.”

…………………..

He woke at the same time he had for the last twenty-some-odd years. It was still plenty dark, but the lamp on the wall was still lit, a minuscule amount of oil still feeding the small flame. He knew it would last until the first rays of the sun reached the castle roof and then would need to be refilled. At first, his mind automatically went to sorting out the day’s tasks, but everything stopped with a sickening jolt when he remembered the child. His arm remained curled around the bundle and he wondered, if he were to look down, would there be another face to add to the collection of the dead within his mind and nightmares? With a fortifying breath, his heart pounding, Farris dipped his head down to look at the little girl. The harsh red rash that had covered her face was gone. She had not gone stiff, and he realized with a start that she was still warm. 

She was still breathing.

She was alive.

“...ye… yer alive,” he breathed in shock, resting his free hand on the bundle. “Seven fuckin’ Hells… ye… I can’t...”

For a long moment, he sat there and watched her sleep, all the while riding the waves of varying emotions. In the end, he thought of Kent. Farris easily recalled what a pitiful and broken creature he had been when he had first laid eyes upon him. He remembered how he had made a place in his kitchen, his home, for him. He could do the same for the girl.

“...I could do that fer ye,” he said to no one in particular as he rose from the bed, careful not to wake his charge. With a warm smile on his face, he rocked her gently. “My lil’ Dumplin’.”

…………………..

It took Rheil less than an hour to return to the kitchens after delivering the girl to the King. Clutched in his gloved hand, he held Farris’s note. He stepped down into the kitchen and everyone eyed him eagerly as they slowed in their work to watch and listen. 

“So?” Farris asked Rheil as he wiped his hands on a tea towel and leaned against the counter. “She give his Majesty her story then?”

“Aye,” replied the captain as he crossed the room and held out the note to Farris. He took it, but did not open it. Rheil crossed his arms and leaned up against the long table and regarded the kitchen master with neutral expression. “Orphaned.”

He nodded. “Figured that much.”

“And ye were right,” Rheil replied. “She ain’t one of Gregis’s. She ain’t even a refugee.”

Farris squinted in bemusement. “No?”

“No. She’s from the Southlands. The port,” Rheil replied. “Guess there was some big ol’ fire than killed her last living relative. She was trying to steal some food from the caravan when it was being loaded and she got stuck.”

“That’s a three day trek nonstop,” Saen butted in, eye wide in horror. “Ye mean she was stuck in that basket for three days?”

Rheil nodded. “She was. Probably too scared to ask for help. Who knows what the Beastmen would ‘a done if they caught her and once she passed the Gate… well. In fer a penny.”

Farris huffed. “No wonder half my persimmon order was gone. She probably ate three golds worth all on her own.”

Rheil made a face. “Seems awfully steep just for some fruit.”

Farris waved the comment away. “That ain’t nothin’. Them red mud boars were twelve gold a piece and one arrived dead. Weddings on the whole are expensive affairs. A royal wedding is extravagant and extravagantly expensive. But I ain’t one to tell the King how to spend his money. That’s Thame’s job.”

“Also, the lass thought Nethrin was still King,” Rheil added and Farris frowned.

“She what?”

The captain nodded, a smirk creeping along the edges of his mouth. “Aye. Thought she was gonna faint on me fer a second. Told her he was long dead, but I ain’t sure how much she believed me.”

Farris ran a hand down his face. “Where she now?”

“Lolly’s got her.”

“Well, we won’t be seein’ her fer a few hours then,” Bart laughed as he came down the steps from the courtyard. “Them ladies will be fawning over the Dumplin’ till suppertime. Mark my words.”

“True enough and just as well,” Farris conceded. “That’ll give her time enough to acclimate a bit and we can get on with our work.”

Bart gave him a questioning look. Silently, Farris handed the note to him. Bart’s eyes scanned the words before glancing back to Farris with the same questioning eye. In reply, Farris just nodded and Bart shrugged noncommittally.

“Well alright then,” he said and went back to work.

Farris opened the note again to scan the words, feeling an rising sensation in his chest, and Kent’s words came abruptly to the forefront of his mind.

“You’re a good man, Farris. Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”

The note read:

If it comes to pass that the girl does not have any place to go, I ask his Majesty to consider that I might be granted guardianship over her. - F

And written just under his note in a much finer hand and with higher quality ink than his own, was the short answer:

Your request is granted. Take care of her, Farris. - W

Farris smiled. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

BONUS ART:

[ashtray-girl]

i wanna talk more about this post (which i’ve mentioned multiple times in my other Marrissey analyses):

op’s blog has been deactivated, so i can’t ask them for more info on this story and obviously i can’t prove whether any of it is true or not, but i do have some thoughts of my own on the subject.

first of all: do i believe this actually happened?

well... yes.

why?

a few reasons.

first of all, some of the lyrics on Viva Hate. specifically, Angel Angel Down We Go Together and Late Night Maudlin Street (as i’ve said elsewhere, i don’t think it’s a coincidence they’re right next to each other on the tracklist). you can find more info on that here and here.

secondly, some of the statements Johnny gave in interviews when he was in Electronic, such as:

as i’ve said in my original post on the topic (which you can check out here), that expression - ‘will make your hair curl’ - sounds very weird to me in this context... almost like the truth surrounding the split is actually much more dark than we’d think, and what could be more dark than the lead singer attempting to kill himself to prevent his best friend (and possibly unrequited lover) from leaving him and the band they founded together? also, considering how delicate of a circumstance this would be, it’s no surprise the band and the people around them would try their best to keep it quiet and refuse to talk about it with the press (who’d already sabotaged them by announcing Johnny was leaving The Smiths when he was just thinking about taking some time off, therefore forcing his hand and causing this whole mess in the first place).

i have to admit i haven’t read all of the press about the break-up at the time, but i’m pretty sure the story about Morrissey’s attempted suicide never reached any journo’s hear, otherwise they wouldn’t have hesitated to plaster it all over the place, especially considering how popular he was at the time. even if there was no proof of it actually happening, what difference would that have made? after all, they’d already reported on Johnny supposedly leaving the band just because of some hearsay...

now, let’s break down this last quote sentence by sentence:

“I used to take Smiths split comments personally” well yeah you would, wouldn’t you? especially if your best friend had almost died because he didn’t want you to leave and then the general public also blamed you for breaking up their favourite band to be a session musician for people like Bryan Ferry.

“... because there’s two sides to every story.” yeah, the one you told the press and the public (vague, semi-diplomatic stuff about work overload and creative differences) and the real one, the one that apparently ‘will make your hair curl’.

“For the last few years I’ve been really happy to read things that have been completely untrue” well, NO SHIT. again, it would be hard enough to llive with the fact that your best friend had almost taken his own life because of your decision to end your professional relationship with him, but imagine if you also had to live with the constant anxiety of the press finding out about it?

“... because I like to keep my private life very private.” this is basically like saying: ‘yeah, there definitely is more to it than what we told you, but it’s none of your business.’

again. “The people involved [...] were very protective of what went on.” more emphasis on privacy and secrecy, which at this point makes you wonder... what DID go on? because whatever it was, it sounds as if it was far more serious than quarrelling about not wanting to play Cilla Black’s covers and taking some time off to go on holiday.

“The real story will be told when the entire thing is finished”. the fact that he said ‘the REAL story’ implies that what they’ve been telling the press so far has not been entirely accurate. have they been lying by omission? again, if the story about Moz’s attempted suicide was true, they’d have every reason to do so.

also, apparently it wasn’t just Johnny who liked being cryptic about The Smiths splitting, because Bernard did it as well:

... “a bit traumatised”, huh? and why would he be? and what would that ‘other member’ have to do to unsettle him that much? if i didn’t know he was talking about a band, i’d think he was talking about a couple. but then again, IF op’s story was accurate and if Morrissey DID try to take his own life, Bernard’s choice of words would make perfect sense.

in conclusion these are obviously just my thoughts and opinions, i have no concrete evidence whatsoever, i’ll probably never have it and maybe that’s for the best.

however, i do think this is one of those stories where paying attention at what wasn’t being said is more effective to notice more details and to get a clearer idea on what the situation might have been.

[evindimeta]

Are You Experiencing Some of the Common Symptoms of Ascension?

(Long Post)

Some of you may find this helpful, please only take what helps and do not worry or fret if something in this list does not resonate with you. You can take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. That is okay.

Those who need to hear this will be drawn to it, for that is the way of our great Universe.

~ Blessings to All ~

I was just looking at quite a few pages of COVID long haulers support groups...where a COVID-positive was indicated and they have not fully recovered their well being. 85% of the descriptions of their symptoms (which are found as negative health concerns) are labelled as COVID...some are being told it’s Lyme, fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue among other unknown causes. As I reviewed the endless lists and common symptoms I found that they are very similar to ascension symptoms.

However most do not realize that they are going through a physical change in their DNA structure. Those who are aware and have gone through the many waves of change understand and roll with the fatigue and other symptoms in gratitude and not fear, trusting and seeing the positive change in who they are as this occurs. It is a leaving or shedding what has been known... to reveal the true self within.

I felt it would be supportive for you, and for your friends and loved ones to review to find a “positive outlook” on a changing body and world. May this fill you with hope, for all are emerging through this great transformation.

PLEASE NOTE: This article is based on work presented by Samuel Greenberg's original list and is not authored by Dr. Nickerson. Before you read this, realize that you are okay and that what you are experiencing is "The SHIFT". This is a normal process when the universal vibrational energy forces you to rise above your normal 3D level of existence here on Earth.  It’s all okay.  When in doubt, please see your doctor to confirm to alleviate fear.

Ascension Symptoms:

1. Feeling as though you are in a pressure cooker or in intense energy; feeling stress. Remember, you are adjusting to a higher vibration and you will eventually adjust. Old patterns, behaviors and beliefs are also being pushed to the surface. There is a lot going on inside of you.

2. A feeling of disorientation; not knowing where you are; a loss of a sense of place. You are not in 3D anymore, as you have moved or in the process of moving into the higher realms.

3. Unusual aches and pains throughout different parts of your body. You are purifying and releasing blocked energy vibrating at 3D, while you are vibrating in a higher dimension.

4. Waking at night between 2 and 4 a.m. Much is going on in your dream state. You can’t be there for long lengths of time and need a break. This is also the ‘cleansing and releasing’ hour.

5. Memory loss. A great abundance of short term memory loss and only vague remembrances of your past. You are in more than one dimension at a time, and going back and forth as part of the transition, you are experiencing a ‘disconnect’. Also, your past is part of the Old, and the Old is forever gone. Being in the Now is the way of the New World.

6. ‘Seeing’ and ‘hearing’ things. You are experiencing different dimensions as you transition, all according to how sensitive you are and how you are wired.

7. Loss of identity. You try to access the Old you, but it is no longer there. You may not know who you are looking at in the mirror. You have cleared much of your old patterns and are now embodying much more light and a simpler, more purified divine you. All is in order, You are okay.

8. Feeling ‘out of body’. You may feel as though someone is talking, but it is not you. This is our natural defense mechanism of survival when we are under acute stress or feeling traumatized or out of control. Your body is going through a lot and you may not want to be in it. My ascension guide told me that this was a way of easing the transition process, and that I did not need to experience what my body was going through. This only lasted a short time. It passes.

9. Periods of deep sleeping. You are resting from all the acclimating and are integrating, as well as building up for the next phase.

10. Heightened sensitivities to your surroundings. Crowds, noise, foods, TV, other human voices and various other stimulations are barely tolerable. You also overwhelm very easily and become easily overstimulated. You are tuning up. Know that this will eventually pass.

11. You don’t feel like doing anything. You are in a rest period, ‘rebooting’. Your body knows what it needs. In addition, when you begin reaching the higher realms, ‘doing’ and ‘making things happen’ becomes obsolete as the New energies support the feminine of basking, receiving, creating, self-care and nurturing. Ask the Universe to ‘bring’ you what you want while you are enjoying yourself and having fun.

12. An intolerance for lower vibrational things of the 3D, reflected in conversations, attitudes, societal structures, healing modalities, etc. They literally make you feel ‘sick’ inside. You are in a higher vibration and your energies are no longer in alignment. You are being ‘pushed, to move forward; to ‘be’ and create the New.

13. A loss of desire for food. Your body is adjusting to a new, higher state of being. Also, part of you does not want to be here anymore in the Old.

14. A sudden disappearance of friends, activities, habits, jobs and residences. You are evolving beyond what you used to be, and these people and surroundings no longer match your vibration. The New will soon arrive and feel so-o-o-o much better.

15. You absolutely cannot do certain things anymore. When you try to do your usual routine and activities, it feels downright awful. You are evolving beyond what you used to be, and these people and surroundings no longer match your vibration. The New will soon arrive and feel so-o-o-o much better.

16. Days of extreme fatigue. Your body is losing density and going through intense restructuring.

17. A need to eat often along with what feels like attacks of low blood sugar. Weight gain, especially in the abdominal area. A craving for protein. You are requiring an enormous amount of fuel for this ascension process. Weight gain with an inability to loose it no matter what you do is one of the most typical experiences. Trust that your body knows what it is doing.

18. Experiencing emotional ups and downs; weeping. Our emotions are our outlet for release, and we are releasing a lot.

19. A wanting to go Home, as if everything is over and you don’t belong here anymore. We are returning to Source. Everything is over, but many of us are staying to experience and create the New World. Also, our old plans for coming have been completed.

20. Feeling you are going insane, or must be developing a mental illness of some sort. You are rapidly experiencing several dimensions and greatly opening. Much is available to you now. You are just not used to it. Your awareness has been heightened and your barriers are gone. This will pass and you will eventually feel very at Home like you have never felt before, as Home is now here.

21. Anxiety and panic. Your ego is losing much of itself and is afraid. Your system is also on overload. Things are happening to you that you may not understand. You are also losing behavior patterns of a lower vibration that you developed for survival in 3D. This may make you feel vulnerable and powerless. These patterns and behaviors you are losing are not needed in the higher realms. This will pass and you will eventually feel so much love, safety and unity. Just wait.

22. Depression. The outer world may not be in alignment with the New, higher vibrational you. It doesn’t feel so good out there. You are also releasing lower, darker energies and you are ‘seeing’ through them. Hang in there.

23. Vivid, wild and sometimes violent dreams. You are releasing many, many lifetimes of lower vibrational energy. Many are now reporting that they are experiencing beautiful dreams. Your dream state will eventually improve and you will enjoy it again. Some experience this releasing while awake. My mother commented one day that she believed I was having nightmares in the daytime.

24. Night sweats and hot flashes. Your body is ‘heating’ up as it burns off residue.

25. Your plans suddenly change in mid-stream and go in a completely different direction. Your soul is balancing out your energy. It usually feels great in this new direction, as your soul knows more than you do. It is breaking your ‘rut’ choices and vibration.

26. You have created a situation that seems like your worst nightmare, with many ‘worst nightmare’ aspects to it. Your soul is guiding you into ‘stretching’ into aspects of yourself where you were lacking, or into ‘toning down’ aspects where you had an overabundance. Your energy is just balancing itself.

 Remember.....Finding your way to peace through this situation is the test you have set up for yourself. This is your journey, and your soul would not have set it up if you weren’t ready. You are the one who finds your way out and you will. 

Looking back, you will have gratitude for the experience and realize that you are a different person.

I hope this helps.

[loveisblindfanfictionbka]

Love Is Blind: Chapter Three

Marcus smirked as he watched Chris mess with the straw in his drink, “Man, whoever she is has got you messed up bad.”

Chris jerked his head up and frowned in confusion, “huh?”

“You have completely zoned out on me, Bro. What’s going on?”

“Just thinking.”

“So your divorce? What happened?”

“I wasn’t any good for her. It just wasn’t gonna work out.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Not good. I’m surprised she hasn’t put a hit out on me.”

Marcus chuckled, “that woman loves you too much.”

“Loved.”

“Loves. I said what I said.”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“Do you know she hasn’t dated since your divorce?”

“No. I never bothered to keep up with her.”

“Really?”

“I don’t have the right to. Why keep up with her life if I didn’t have the decency to stay in it?”

“You got a point.”

“So who is the new girl?”

“There is no new girl. Just somebody I’m getting to know.”

“So there is a new girl.”

“No.”

“Chris, we can play with semantics all night but be honest, do you like her?”

“Yes but we’re just friends.”

“For now.”

“She’s still in love with her ex-husband. I’m not in control of my life and neither of us are looking for anything serious.”

“Then what’s the harm in making her your new girl. You both know whats the deal up front.”

“Besides she doesn't want to meet me anyway.”

“You’ve never met?”

“I met her online. I only have a vague idea of what she looks like but we’ve never actually seen each other or spoke to each other.”

“Really? I didn’t know you were into that.”

“I set it up out of boredom but I got lucky with talking to her. She’s really nice.”

“What she do?”

“She’s a Vet. Owns her own clinic and shelter”

“Nice. Is she local?”

“Not sure. I know her business is in the city. Never asked if she lived there or not.”

“Chris, you might know her already.”

“I doubt it besides I think the not knowing her is the best part.”

“No identity, no expectations.”

“Exactly.”

“Well more power to you. Hope you don’t miss out on an amazing woman wanting to be all mysterious and shit.”

“I’m not concerned.”

A: How has your day been?

C: Hectic. My daughter caught the flu so I’m out of commission for the next few days

A: Aww...poor baby. Is this the first time she’s been sick?

C: No so I’m pretty prepared for the theatrics that will be coming my way

A: She’s that kind of kid, huh? Lol

C: Lol regardless of the fact that she’s three, she gets sick and reverts to an infant but I love babying her. Just don’t tell her that

A: Lol, your secret is safe with me

C: How have you been?

A: Good. Finalizing details for this gala a certain someone got me to attend

C: Lol, you made the deal, I just accepted

A: Yea. Whatever.

C: Did you decide on a date for our virtual outing?

A: I mean you have the child

C: It’s not like I’m gonna be leaving my house though

A: That is true

C: Are you nervous?

A: No, it’s not like you’re gonna hear my voice or see me. What’s there to be nervous about?

C: I don’t know I’m asking you

A: Are you free this weekend?

C: 8 pm Saturday?

A: Works for me

C: Cool

A: You know you could’ve just picked a time and told me

C: Yea but it was your idea so your choice

A: Hmm...I guess

C: What you thinking about?

A: If I should send you a sneak peek of my dress

C: You have it already? I thought the gala wasn’t for another month

A: A month goes by fast especially if you own your own business, time is not of the essence

C: Ah, very true. Are we still doing text to speech or?

A: I have some equipment I can use for voice changes. You?

C: I work at a college, I’m sure I can find some

A: Cool

C: Is your voice that distinctive that I’d be able to figure out who you are from hearing it?

A: Yes.

C: Ah, now I’m curious

A: It’s not that I’m worried about knowing you but I’ve been interviewed and stuff before so hearing my voice would definitely be a dead giveaway and ruin the mystery

C: I understand. 

A: Does any of this make you uncomfortable?

C: No. It keeps things simple and uncomplicated. No complaints from me

A: Cool

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robyn quickly composed herself as she posed for the picture in front of her phone. The self-timer clicked and she grabbed the device to see her handy work. She smiled at the successful shot. No identifying marks but it captured her body and clothing perfectly. She sat down and logged into her dating app to send the picture to Chris. Not wanting to be consumed with nervousness, she logged out completely before taking off her clothes and heading to take a shower. Their double blind virtual outing was tonight.

Chris smiled as his phone pinged and he clicked on the new message. The long-sleeve navy blue dress hugged every curve of Anna perfectly. She was completely covered but it still felt just as sexy as if she was naked. That was an art. The message read, “I probably could’ve waited a few weeks to send you this but I figured what the hell. What do you think?”

Chris rubbed his hand along his chin then through his hair as he stared at the picture. Was he making a mistake letting this stay just an online thing? Could she really be as amazing as she seemed? Maybe it was just the lust talking. He had sworn off women the past few years so it wasn’t like he had many outlets for any kind of attraction. Anesa was with his sister and cousins for the night while he had his virtual outing with Anna. He really didn’t understand why she just didn’t call it a date but then again they aren’t supposed to be dating so it makes sense.

Robyn shook off any nervousness as she sat down in front of her computer. It was easier to not be tempted to use the camera if she didn’t have one so she decided to use her desktop instead of her laptop. The older monitor was wired for sound but not video. She had emailed Chris a link to the video chat site with its autoset to start at 8pm. She glanced at the cover of the screen and sighed as the clock flipped from 7:59 to 8:00.

“Hi Anna,” an auto generated voice came through her speakers

“Chris, it’s nice to hear your voice.”

Chris laughed, “well something like my voice. How are you?”

“I’m great. You?”

“I’m good. Thank you for the picture.”

“Eh, I was trying it on and thought why not. You never answered my message”

“Well, I knew I was gonna talk to you soon so I figured it’d be easier to say what I was thinking than writing it”

“Ah, so what do you think?”

“I think you look incredible. It’s hard to be sexy and completely covered from neck to toe but you definitely pulled it off.”

“Why thank you. My friend was a little upset that I picked that dress.”

“Why?”

“She thinks I need to show more skin.”

Chris laughed, “well you’re single, no harm in doing that.”

“Single and not trying to mingle though.”

“If you look as amazing in the face as your body does. Nothing short of staying home would keep people, men especially, from trying to talk to you.”

“Oh don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“Still don’t say it.”

“You’re afraid of dating?”

“No, just not prepared for it. I don’t really want to like anybody else.”

“Not even me.”

“You are a very pleasant and partially unwanted surprise. I don’t think I could not not like you though.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment”

“Good because I meant it as one,” Robyn laughed, “Feel weird yet?”

“Nope. This is a lot easier than typing though.”

“It is. 

“So how was your day?”

“It was good. I had the start of auditions for my upper level songwriting and music composition classes.”

“Really? How do those work?”

“The student either performs live or brings in a recorded piece that they wrote and/or composed.”

“Do they have to be the performer?”

“It is preferable but no. I get my share of duos from time to time.”

“Is it easier to audition as a duo or solo?”

“To me, neither. I try to be equally as hard on all my students.”

“Did you work in the music industry before?”

“Actually no, just a dream deferred, I guess.”

“What about your divorce made you switch careers?”

“Music has always been healing for me. I had no desire to be famous or anything like that but I wanted to deal with music. Teaching did that for me.”

“Were you healing from your marriage?”

“No. My mother had passed away and it just threw my life into a spiral.”

“Were you close?”

“Not like we should’ve been. I was raised by another family member and my mom wasn’t really around most of my life.”

“That’s sad.”

“It’s life. You learn to make the best of it.”

“It doesn’t sound like you did.”

“To be honest, I didn’t at first. I was mad at everything and everybody. I just gave up.”

“And your marriage was a casualty of that.”

“Yup.”

“And you still love her?”

“I don’t want to but I do.”

“I know that feeling. So you were adopted by the family member or they just took you in?”

“Just took me in, nothing official.”

“Oh ok.”

“You have a good relationship with your family?”

“Yea, I think we still sit on different sides of the fence when it comes to my ex but other than that nothing major.”

“Why?”

“They loved him. He was my high school sweetheart so we kind of grew up together.”

“Same here. Do they want you guys to get back together?”

“Absolutely.”

Chris laughed.

“Sometimes I wonder if there were things he told them that he couldn’t tell me.”

“It’s possible. It's easier to open up to somebody you don’t feel responsible for. Men worry a lot about looking weak in front of their spouses. We wonder if women will still trust our judgment if they think we’re more emotional than logical.”

“Any woman worth her medal knows men are more emotional than logical, y’all just like to play with semantics. Just because you don’t deal with your emotions doesn’t mean they don’t exist or magically go away. Y’all just have different methodologies than we do.”

“Were you a therapist in a past life?”

Robyn laughed, “No, I took basic psychology classes in college.”

“Definitely sounds like you took more than the requisite elective.”

“I did. Almost had enough for a minor but I overloaded on vet classes to try to finish my bachelor’s early.”

“Did you?”

“Just a semester early, nothing too major.”

“That’s awesome. Were you always a vet?”

“Actually no. I took a few years off after veterinary school, did a bunch of odd jobs before I came back to my chosen profession.”

“Ah, good deal.”

“It had its perks.”

“How’d your husband feel about that?”

“We weren’t married initially but he didn’t seem to mind even after we did get married. He had a bit of an old school rearing and liked being a provider, I can admit.”

“And all that time you never had children?”

“I don’t think he could’ve emotionally handled children but then again, we might have fought for our marriage more if there were some involved.”

“You think so?”

“We both grew up in separated families, raised by a single parent or guardian. Two parent households weren’t the norm for either of us.”

“Ah ok.”

“We had always maintained the idea of having children once we got married but then we got married and things just didn’t work out. I wanted to try immediately after the ceremony but he kept stalling. First, it was getting his career off the ground then the timing just wasn’t right and by then we were divorced. I don’t think he wanted children with me.”

“You know being a parent isn’t something to take lightly, from what it sounds like it wasn’t you, he just wasn’t ready. At least, he was self aware to know that.”

“And your wife?”

“After the first year, we barely had sex.”

“Were you not attracted to her anymore?”

“I was. I just didn’t really like myself anymore and it made it hard to be physical with her. We had years of having sex and making love. I wasn’t the same so it didn’t feel the same, I felt like I was shortchanging her.”

“Sounds like you made a lot of decisions for her.”

“I know she would’ve stayed if I didn’t leave but I also knew she wasn’t happy. I couldn’t say I love her and subject her to an unhappy marriage, it’s not fair.”

“Why didn’t you just get help?”

“I did that’s what led me to ask for a divorce.”

“Your help told you to get divorced?”

“Not explicitly. My therapist told me that I needed to take time to focus on myself with no distractions. My mother had died, My father showed back up in my life. It just felt like everything was falling apart and then I had my wife. Trying to be supportive but completely unhappy and walking on eggshells. It felt like I was torturing her and I didn’t want us to live like that. I didn’t want her to live like that. When I tried to explain what was going on, it just made everything worse.”

“What you mean?”

“I broke her. In such a short marriage, I broke her and I didn’t know how to undo what I had done. I also wasn’t in the space to undo it. I just wanted to die and I didn’t want her to see that.”

‘Did you try to-”

“It was a week after she had moved out. Complete nervous breakdown.”

“Chris, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was bound to happen. The mind can only take so much before it has to reset itself.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No. I made my family promise not to say anything to anyone either. I made her leave for that exact reason. Sometimes you can just feel when you’ve reached your breaking point.”

“True. So she had no idea?”

“No. If she had, she probably would’ve came back and never went through with the divorce. I didn't want her spending her life fixing my mess, that’s my job.”

“Wow. I appreciate you telling me this.”

“I’m surprised I did. Had this been a year or two ago, I probably would’ve stopped talking to you as soon as you asked about her.”

“Really?”

“Yea. Failure sucks.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you failed. It’s not like all avenues had been exhausted.”

“If your ex-husband had did this, would you be so accommodating?”

“If he had actually told me all this happened with him, absolutely. This is so much different than the silence and moping around that I got.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“I mean I definitely have to get over feeling so betrayed first. Ten years of a relationship and he couldn’t trust me enough to let me in, that’s a hard pill to swallow.”

“Yea but it happens. I imagine my ex-wife would probably feel that exact same way.”

“I might not know you well enough to say this but I really think you should find her and talk to her. The years may have softened her.”

“I don’t think it would be right. I caused her enough issues, the last thing she’d probably want is to be reminded of me.”

“There you go making decisions for her again. You never know until you find out.”

“I guess.”

“Unless you don’t want to find out.”

“What you mean?”

“I think you’re afraid that you really did break her and she never bounced back. I think finding out that she hasn’t moved on scares you more than anything.”

“I-”

“You love her and I don’t think you will ever stop, so you want her to be happy. You want her to have forgotten about you and got everything she ever wanted in life. But if she hasn’t, you’d have to realize that though you did everything to protect her, you made the biggest mistake making her go especially when she didn’t want to. As a woman who’s been there and still there, you didn’t give her a chance to be what you needed because you were so worried about not being what you thought she wanted, even though you never asked.”

Robyn pulled her covers up under her chin as she laid back staring at her ceiling. Talking to Chris, really got her to thinking about her ex-husband. Did something happen to him to make him shut him down? Did he really walk out to save her like he told her? If so, why didn't he trust her to be there for him? At least this Chris is healed but clearly she has a penchant for damaged men. Is she a damaged woman? Did her ex really break her to the point she could never recover?

Chris sat on the phone with Anesa, half listening to her ramble about her day. He was going to go get her from his sister’s house but after talking with Anna, he needed the night to himself, to regroup. He couldn’t say that she was wrong. He never really thought about if his ex-wife was happy or not since he left. At least not out loud. Like what right did he have to shake up her life again after shaking it up in the first place? That’s why he never asked about her. It wasn’t right to be about her life if he made the initiative to walk out of it. Anna really showed him the other side of the situation, it really wasn’t as pretty and hopeful as he thought it would’ve been. He never thought of his divorce as a mistake but did he really ruin something that could’ve been fixed?

[cautelous]

He has a long way to go. Not to the highest summit, of course, but… Targon stands impossibly tall against the backdrop of the Great Barrier. Mountains that are taller than the Ironspikes are cowed before the peak. The ascent.

But he only has to go to the Solari. Still a climb, still a journey - but not the journey. He finds beauty in nature and thrill from danger, yes, but the peak holds little promise for him. What would he find up there, if frostbite and oxygen deprivation didn’t kill him first?

Nothing but snow and ice and a sense of hollow victory, he imagines. The heavens only open for those pure of character, if the myths are to be believed, and he isn’t delusional enough to think that he qualifies. Noble goals and a noble heart, but justice outside of Piltover is still so set on judging actions and actions alone. The gods are no exception.

                                                        —

The Rakkor are far from unused to foreigners. They speak a common tongue with him, and while their grandmothers and grandfathers may have driven him from the land in an instant… Things have changed over the decades. Even in the past decade - he’s been here before, after all, and so much is different since then. He doesn’t have to hide, have to scamper up the mountain in the dark. The Rakkor’s opinions have shifted: so what does it matter if outsiders try to climb to the peak? If they are worthy, the spirit of Targon will embrace them and guide them higher. If they aren’t, their bodies are a sacrifice to feed the mountain.

He spends two days there, going over the contents of his pack again and again. It’s heavy - overloaded, truthfully, for a man of his weight - but he’ll manage. (Or he won’t, and his body will end up as one of many lost beneath the snow or down a crevasse.) There’s others on their journeys, others that he can climb with until their paths diverge. (That’s something new, too.) Cover, if she comes looking. (Won’t she?)

Thrillseekers and adventurers and dreamers. He sees how they shoulder their packs lightly, how they laugh and joke and cheer. (He joins in too, of course, and celebrates on the night before his and some of their departures.) Confident in the mountain guiding them up. No ice axes, no crampons, just their hands and determination. Won’t that be enough, if they place their faith in the divine?

Maybe it will be. Or maybe he’ll see their colorful coats blowing in the wind, higher up on the mountain, as he descends.

                                                        —

The first few days of climbing are more than manageable. The spring thaw had happened a month before, and so they make camp in grass that’s unburdened by snow. The others are less unprepared than he’d originally thought: they have food and shelter, at the least, and the other climber from Piltover has her own backpacking stove for warm meals. They boil water over it each night, taking turns donating packages of tea for the others. The Demacians - brothers, he finds out - look on with a mix of suspicion and interest the first night, but take the offered drinks on the rest. The Noxian has no hesitancy. The Freljordian keeps to herself, eating pemmican and jerky from the lightest pack of the group. Determination has set in as they climb, the stuff of jokes now reality.

The other Piltovian - Beth, he’d learned at the base of the mountain, and he’d given his name as Vincent - is a quiet and kind soul, but still spirited, once the ascent begins. His own mood has turned introspective as well, whether from the journey ahead or the mountain itself.

They sit at the edge of camp, one night, and stare out into the brilliant sky.

“Vincent,” she starts, looking over to him. “Why are you climbing?”

He sighs and watches his breath crystalize in the night, letting the lie come easily. “I’ve always wanted to. Do you remember when the first one of us made it up? The news didn’t stop interviewing him for a month, and… he’d said he’d seen ‘such beautiful things’.”

He remembers the articles and the newscasts. Something that had been talked about over distant dinners - his brother had called the man an idiot, for risking his life for a pointless title, and his mother and father had agreed.

“I wasn’t around yet,” Beth says with a laugh. “But I read about him when I was a girl, so I guess we’ve got the same reasoning.”

Her words hit him in the chest. “You’re- ah, you’re younger than I, then.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m twenty-four.”

“You- you,” he stumbles over his thoughts, turning to her with concern in his eyes. “Beth, you shouldn’t be up here. Not now.”

“If not now, when?”

Gods. He’s a hypocrite, really, worrying over her choices when he’d been robbing nations at her age. But imprisonment isn’t a cold and lonely death on a mountain. It doesn’t matter what he says, though - he knows that look on her face.

“If not now, when…” he echoes and stares up at the sky. Then he gets to his feet. “I’m turning in for the night. We’ve ground to cover tomorrow.”

“Rest your old man bones, Vincent.”

                                                        —

They reach the highest Rakkor settlement after a few more days, and the mood brightens once again. They’re nearing the point of no return, yes, but in the here and now there’s life and living. The Rakkor play host, children darting about and laughing as adults watch with relic-weapons at their hips.

He knows of the Rite of Kor. He knows that each of these men and women have slewn another - another child - for the sake of battle-hardening and survival. (He’s been here once before. He’s held a weapon and known that his are the only bloodless hands to have touched it. It sits in his private gallery with all the rest.) But they offer their hospitality for seekers of Targon’s truths. What a change, what a thaw.

Or perhaps it’s just a matter of sacrifice. He feels the mountain wind run him through as Beth laughs and talks with a girl, the other Piltovian crouching low and listening attentively.

                                                        —

The Solari make their home higher still, secluded from the main path up Targon’s flank. His divergence will be noticed, of course - he can’t run off in the middle of the night. But he has his explanations.

The Demacians, Frederick and Jonathan, have warmed up to everyone - even Felix, the Noxian. They share tales of valor over the stove at night, the three admitting that they had no idea that those from the opposite nation could be so… human. Even Erna has thawed, offering sips from her leather flask to the party and singing into the night.

They’ve all discussed their reasons for climbing. Beauty, achievement, pride, wonder, longing. He keeps his story the same. Inspiration from another, a desire for beauty. It’s true, if one looks at it in the right sort of way.

He asks the group one day, once their mutual camp has been set up, if they wouldn’t mind sitting for a few sketches. Beth claps her hands in excitement - Vincent, you’re an artist? Why didn’t you say anything? - as he pulls a sketchbook and pencils from the bottom of his pack.

It had been extra weight. It had been worth it. So he sets about committing their features to paper, one-by-one, and leaves out his reasoning. It’s something more permanent than memory. Something to prove that they existed.

Beth pulls him to the edge of camp, later that night, and they stare up at the nearly full moon. He worries for her. How could he not? She’s too young for this. Too soft for this. Everyone but them is a warrior, and he’s had his complicated life to prepare him for this. She’s a dreamer, hardly out of her studies - hardly into the real world at all.

“So why are you really climbing?” she asks, gloved hands cupped around an insulated mug. Steam rises in the cold.

“I’ve told you a few times, haven’t I?”

“And you’ve been lying,” she says with a shrug. “At least, I think you have. Not telling the whole truth, at least?”

He freezes. It’s the first time someone’s caught him in a lie in… years. And it has to be someone like her, doesn’t it? The last person he’d suspect. In any other situation, he’d deny it, play it off, laugh. But Beth deserves honesty, he imagines. She’s gone past her point of no return.

“Guilty as charged,” he murmurs. “I’ll tell you.”

“Well, go on then!”

“The Solari,” he starts. “That’s my end-goal. I need to… speak to them.”

She breathes out a ‘huh’. “Didn’t take you for the religious type, Vincent.”

She deserves honesty. Maybe not the whole truth - he can’t surrender himself to the will of another, not now, not here, not with the wrong person - but enough of it. It’s the least he can do. He looks to her and pushes the thought of purple-black frostbite from his mind.

“It’s Julian, actually,” he says with a laugh. It doesn’t sound forced.

He expects her to draw back - to accuse, or at the very least frown - but all she does is chuckle. “I thought you didn’t look like much of a Vincent.”

“I suppose I don’t.”

Chuckles give way to quiet concern. She stares out into the void for some time, silent. “Hey… You don’t have to tell me, but - whatever you’re looking for with them?”

“Yes?”

“I hope you find it, Julian.”

                                                        —

He breaks from the group the following day, pointing out his new route on his map. Everyone takes it well enough, although even Erna seems concerned at his departure. But he wishes them well (and gods, he means it) and soon enough it’s just him and the snow and the ice.

The Solari had been hard to plan for. Records on what relics they have are vague, at best, half-finished anthropologic surveys in the basements of universities and the words of the Radiant Dawn his only clue. But he has his target: another manuscript. He hopes it’ll be small enough to tuck into a pocket of his pack. Preservation is essential, after all, and the thought of accidentally destroying something so priceless is anathema to him.

As for his plan? Simple in planning, complex in execution. The full moon is in a few days. The Solari will stand watch at the edges of their territory, or so he’s been told. Rituals and customs and patterns. Their archives will be left unguarded.

Of course, if he’s caught��� he’ll be executed. But that’s the nature of his work. Perhaps he and the others aren’t so different, after all.

                                                        —

The heist goes fine. The hardest part had been the trip to and from his camp, hidden far enough away from the Solari village that they wouldn’t spot it. No light but the moon’s. No sound but the crunching snow and ice. (And the matter of hiding his path, of course.) But he has his prize, written in a language that he can’t read, and he feels…

He feels lighter, truthfully. He knows what the pages say, or at least the gist. The structure would make it obvious, if he hadn’t already known from his research.

Poetry. Devotion to the sun as the giver of all life, as the celestial being whose love warms the world. The Solari depict her as a woman, he’s read, hair a mane of fire and skin the color of a burning sunset.

He’d left a card in a new color. (They’re going home. Together?) But that will have to wait. For now, the sun needs to rise. He needs to descend. He needs to survive. He forces himself to sleep, book tucked safely away in his pack, and ignores how the shadows seem to dance and twist in his dreams.

                                                        —

The descent is harder than he expects. He finds himself expecting to hear others’ voices, to hear Felix speaking of the life he left behind, to hear Erna humming, to hear the hushed conversations of Fredrick and Jonathan. He expects to hear Beth’s laughter as his foot punches through fresh snow, expects an arm to shoot out to balance him.

He expects company, and its absence chills him far more than the wind. Gods. How had he ever thought poorly of them? They’re all the same, them and him, all dreamers holding onto faith and luck. They just placed - place, he amends with a jolt - their faith differently than he. All the same, but they believe in a goal and he believes in a woman. No one’s more justified than the other.

He looks up into the cold, clear night each time he makes camp. He’s never been a religious man, but he bows his head to the stars regardless.

Let them summit. Bring them home. Please.

He says another for her.

Let her live. She’s too young. Have mercy, please...

He says another for her.

Let her be happy. Let this work. Let her see how much she’s needed, still. Let her choose for her sake.

He thinks, briefly, about saying one for himself. But he’s pushed his luck enough with three. He doubts the gods - or whatever is out there in the inky blackness - would have much tolerance for a man such as he, anyways.

He only hopes that they tolerate prayers for others’ sakes.

                                                        —

It hardly feels real when he steps - nearly tumbles, really - back into the village at Targon’s base. He knows how he looks after pushing himself for days, after not stopping at the Rakkor settlement. He needed to beat the Solari down the mountain, after all, and they had the advantage of it being their home. But he’d done it. The Rakkor give him a wide berth - do they think that he’d summited? Do they think that he’s been changed?

He has been, but not by the peak. His pack feels heavier than when he started. It’s not due to the manuscript. But he makes his exit, begins the long journey home, and tells himself that he isn’t leaving anyone behind.

                                                        —

He reads the paper religiously in Piltover, buying morning and afternoon and evening copies. Her name was is Elizabeth Hargreave. She’ll be trumpeted and heralded, he knows, once she makes it back. But a week passes. Two. Three. There’s nothing.

Maybe, he bargains, she’s come back quietly.

So he goes to find her. Because she has to have made it. The world’s a cruel, cruel thing, but it can’t be that senseless. She’d had faith. They’d all had faith.

He finds grieving parents.

He doesn’t speak to them.

He carefully tears one of her portraits from his sketchbook, folds it into a crisp little rectangle, and mails it to their address.

No return address. No added words. What could he say?

He finds himself drinking more wine than usual.

                                                        —

He finds himself staring at the two manuscripts, a half-empty glass in his hands, and wonders if he’s made a horrible mistake.

It all depends on what she thinks, he imagines, and he downs the rest.

[queen-scribbles]

I Would Never

Bry and Jonas took the “off-track” prompt @greyias sent me and ran away with it to the tune of 3.5k words. :D I apologize for nothing, I’ve missed these two. Set in my canon with Vica as Alliance Commander where Bry joined up somewhere during the KotXXs. (Vica, btw, is pronounced Vee-kah)

---

Vica looked frazzled.

It was an unusual enough sight it took a minute to register when Briyoni passed by a conference room and noted her sister inside. She didn’t know Jedi were allowed to look anything other then calm, serene, put-together, and on top of things at all times. (Which, she thought with a smirk, would’ve ruled Shan right out if the lack of a Force connection hadn’t done it.) It was enough of an oddity to make her backtrack a couple paces and lean against the doorway.

“Need help, Vic?” she asked with a grin as she crossed her arms.

Vica’s head came up, loose bits of hair dancing in front of her eyes, and she blinked as she shifted focus from her trio of datapads to Bry’s face. “No, it’s...” She wrinkled her nose and smoothed back the loose hair. “Thank you for offering, I do appreciate it, but’s nothing a little... creativity with assignments can’t fix.”

“You sure?” Bry arched a brow. “‘Cause not even worrying your boyfriend had turned traitor visibly broke that whole Jedi Serenity” --she waved a hand in a vague gesture-- “but this sure has.”

Vica rolled her eyes a little at Bry’s opening word choice but didn’t take the bait.  “I’m sure. It’s-”

One of the datapads let out an angry squawk and she blanched when she looked at the screen.

“Oh, come on, really?” she groaned, sinking back into her chair.

Bry pushed off the wall and strode over. “What?”

“Two of the perimeter sensors went down,” Vica said with a sigh, nudging the datapad so Bry could see. “It’s probably just surge or something related to the security upgrade Theron and Lana talked me into doing, but on the off-chance it’s not...” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And all the maintenance staff are working on the upgrades, and if it is dangerous-”

“I’ll take care of it,” Bry cut her off. “Haven’t had anything to do for awhile, and even if it’s nothing exciting, it’s a couple hours’ speeder ride. That part’ll be fun.”

Vica didn’t even protest, relief flickering in her eyes.”Take someone with you. Just in case.”

“Sure.” Bry grinned. “Maybe I’ll take your spy boy; make sure he knows what’ll happen if he even thinks about doing something that would hurt you again.”

“Briyoni, if there was any risk of that, I wouldn’t have married him,” Vica said tartly. “Anyway, you can’t take him; we have a meeting--”

“Sure ya do,” Bry teased, waggling her brows.

Vica shot her a withering look. “With Admiral Aygo and General Daeruun.” She toyed with another of the datapad and smiled mischievously. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather take your spy boy than mine?”

“Always, but he’s not he-” Bry narrowed her eyes. “What do you know that I don’t, Commander?”

Vica handed her the datapad. “The Republic delegation that arrived less than an hour ago.”

Bry’s heart leapt and she couldn’t keep from grinning when she found his name halfway down the list. “And he didn’t come find me? I’m hurt.”

“This is business, Briyoni,” Vica sighed.

“Stars, I know that,” Bry said with a laugh as she set down the datapad. “I’m teasin’, Vic. But I have always been a fan of mixing a little pleasure in there, so I’m gonna go find my husband, borrow a speeder bike, and we’ll take care of those sensors and be back in a few hours.”

“Be careful,” Vica called after her. “And try to bring the bike back relatively undamaged?”

“Do my best,” Bry returned in a sing-song and headed for the cantina.

---

Despite being, historically, the most likely place to find Jonas, there was neither hide nor hair of him in the cantina. More than a little surprised, Bry widened her search until she finally found him in the military hanger, perched at one end of a stack of smaller shipping crates and frowning at the datapad in his hands.

Bry sauntered up behind him and leaned against one of the crates so she could look over his shoulder. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Jonas only slightly flinched as his gaze shot up from the datapad. He was grinning even before they made eye contact. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey, yourself, handsome.” She smirked. “I’m trying to decide how offended I am that I rank below datawork.”

“You’ve got that backwards, Bry,” Jonas countered, still grinning. “I’m getting the boring stuff out of the way first, so it’s not an interruption later. ‘Sides, you know how bureaucrats are about their datawork.”

“Nice save,” Bry chuckled, leaning over to give him an upside-down kiss. “If you want something other than datawork to do...” she waited til he arched a brow to continue. “...how does checking a couple perimeter sensors sound?”

Jonas wrinkled his nose. “’Bout as boring as th-”

“With me,” she elaborated, and couldn’t help snickering when his eyes lit up as he pushed to his feet.

“Well, that changes things,” he said, winking and leaning in for another kiss.

“Thought it might,” Bry said with a laugh as her fingers dug into his hair at the back of his neck. “You able to leave now, or need a few more minutes?”

“Oh, I’m all set,” he said, remaining a mere inch or two from her after pulling back from the kiss. “I was just about done.” He reached done without looking and tapped a key. “There. I’m all yours, gorgeous.”

“Mm, just what I like to hear,” Bry said playfully. She kissed the tip of his nose before stepping back. “I’m flying.”

A smirk pulled at Jonas’ lips. “In that case, I’ll need to update my will before we leave...”

She crossed her arms and stuck out one hip as she arched a brow. “You callin’ me a bad pilot, Jo?”

“I would never,” he said, tone dripping with mock offense, and placed a hand to his chest. “It’s just that you have a vastly different opinion than the rest of the galaxy what qualifies as safe parameters for piloting a speeder bike.” 

“Blame it on my swoop racing youth,” Bry snarked, grinning at him. “B’sides, I thought you liked that I’m fast.”

Jonas rolled his eyes but chuckled. “That only applies to some things, gorgeous. Others it just makes me worry.”

“You don’t need to,” Bry said with a shrug, still grinning. “I’m real good.” And real lucky, she added to herself.

His eyes went serious for a minute even if his tone was still teasing. “Y’know, one day that bravado’s gonna catch up to you, Bry.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “‘Til that day comes, though, I’m flying.” She winked at him.  “Look at it as me giving you an excuse to hold on even tighter.”

Jonas snorted and draped an arm around her shoulders as they headed out of the hanger. “When have I ever needed an excuse for that?”

---

All snark and bravado aside, Jonas’ arms stayed wrapped tight around Bry’s middle the whole way to the first sensor. He squeezed even tighter every time she didn’t slow down enough for a turn, or goosed the throttle for sections with a clear line of sight. Were it not for the wind tearing past, Bry was pretty sure she’d have felt his heartbeat pounding against her back. She took pity on him somewhere past the halfway mark and dropped their speed to something closer to generally acceptable levels.

They still reached the first sensor in far less time than your average pilot. Her own heart pounding from the glorious adrenaline rush, Bry hopped off the speeder soon as Jonas loosened his grip on her waist.

She tried--unsuccessfully--to bury her smirk when it took a few seconds for him to follow.

“You better not be laughing at me,” Jonas grumbled, but she could hear the (reluctant) smile in his voice.

“I would never.” She didn’t even bother trying to sound hurt; he wouldn’t buy it.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” he snorted. “Just like Jo wasn’t going to turn into a casual nickname, and we were going to save that bottle of Corellian whiskey for something special-”

“Hey, that was special,” Bry cut him off, wheeling around with a grin.

“Not that bottle,” Jonas smirked. “That was absolutely pretty damn special. The replacement.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose as she backed into the sensor. “You mean the one I broke?”

“Against the wall,” he elaborated for her. “Yes, that one.”

“Hey, I was righteously pissed on your behalf, handsome,” Bry shrugged, but couldn’t keep a sheepish edge out of her smile. “I can replace it; Vica’s gotta have somethin’ comparable floatin’ around that big fancy base of hers...”

“I’ll hold you to that, but one thing at a time, gorgeous,” Jonas said with a chuckle. “Don’t we have a job to do first?”

“Right.” Bry turned from the banter to start prying off the maintenance panel for the sensor array. 

Just as Vica had guessed, a surge had overloaded the dampeners and fried a pair of power conduits. It was a relatively easy fix, and Bry plunked down on a rock to get to it.

“Anything serious?” Jonas asked, leaning against the waist high casing to watch her work.

“Nah.” Bry raked her hair out of her eyes and glanced up at him. “Just gotta replace a couple wires. It’s a simple enough repair I can handle it; nothing serious.”

And it was. Fifteen minutes later she was flicking the sensor’s power on and sliding the maintenance panel back into place. She accepted the hand up Jonas offered, deliberately didn’t compensate momentum for the help so she stumbled into his chest.

“Oops,” she said with a wink as his arms settled around her back.

He laughed and stole a kiss. “Subtlety's never been your strong suit, Bry.”

“Never seen a point,” Bry countered impishly.She patted her hand against his chest and reluctantly stepped back. “C’mon, we have another sensor to check.”

After a last check that the sensor was functioning properly, the two of them mounted the speeder bike again. Bry barely waited for Jonas’ arms to settle around her waist before she gunned it and sent them rocketing forward along the planned path to sensor number two.

Jonas’ grip stiffened and she laughed as she backed off the speed ever so slightly.

“Sorry, Jo,” she hollered, hoping he could ear her over the wind.

He squeezed briefly tighter before his grip slacked to be more bearable, which she hoped meant apology accepted.

At least the slower pace meant she could risk occasional glances at the nav holo hanging between the speeder’s control grips. Another smile tugged Bry’s lips, though not of the ‘messing with my husband’ variety this time. When.the canyon they were following split, she went left.

“Get your left and right mixed up?” Jonas asked over the thrum of the speeder’s engine and wind in their ears.

“No, this way’s-”

“A shortcut?” he interrupted drolly.

“More fun,” she corrected with a grin.

Ahead of them, the canyon widened and the open space was dotted with rock pillars that rose to dizzying heights. She knew the exact moment the terrain and her comment clicked together in Jonas’ head because he pressed himself even closer against her back before she started throttling back up.

While the speeder wasn’t as versatile as some she’d flown, it handled well enough as Bry set it zigzagging between the pillars. Just as they approached the end of the route, she spotted a side cut. Quick glance at the nav holo showed that while it lead to a snarled maze of narrow canyons, it could be followed to their destination. She turned down it without hesitation--Jonas didn’t even protest this time--and cut her speed enough to make repeated glances at the holomap less dangerous.  It still took quick reflexes to pick out the route they needed and make the turns in time. 

A quarter of the way in was when she stopped trying to keep track of them, just let her instincts carry them forward.

Halfway in was when everything but the speeder’s engine quit working. Comms, the map, everything.

Running off adrenaline, Bry followed her gut through the next couple turns until they reached a clearing that seemed a safe enough place to stop. They sat on the speeder, both silent for the moment, the only sound the idling engine echoing off the canyon walls.

“Don’t suppose you know the way out of here?” Jonas finally said glibly, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Bry braced her wrists against the control grips and leaned forward slightly. “Not off the top of my head, no.”

“And I suppose it’s too much to hope you remember the way back?”

“I thought memorizing that was your job,” she teased. “I was too focused on not running into things or going down a dead end.”

“Fair. Maybe we should have clarified responsibilities before you went veering down the fun route....” he teased right back, hands sliding off her waist.

Bry chuckled, turning to face him and leaning against the control grips. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Oh, you think there’ll be a next time, huh?” Jonas’ eyes were laughing as he tried to look annoyed. (He may have also been that, too, but it was hardly his primary mood, she could tell.)

“Sure there will,” she said coyly. “You never have been good at telling me no.” Her weight shifted just enough with the attempt to look smug and seductive she started to slide into the gap between the grips.

Jonas let out an actual laugh as he grabbed her arm. “You got me there,” he admitted. “You alright?”

“Only damage is to my dignity,” Bry said with a huff of sheepish laughter as she righted herself.

“And that was a lost cause anyway,” he needled with a grin.

She pushed him off the speeder.

And remembered too late that he was holding her arm. Fortunately it wasn’t far to the ground, and she landed on top of him, so that softened her landing, at least.

“Ow,” Jonas groaned, then smirked at her. “Least the view’s good.”

Bry half-heartedly slapped his arm as she rolled off to sit next to him, a seat she only kept for a few seconds before pushing to her feet so she could power down the speeder. No sense wasting fuel. She offered Jonas a hand up, which he took. She was more than a little surprised when he caught his balance once upright instead of letting himself run into her. She’d kind of been expecting payback. “Not going to try and knock me off my feet, Agent Balkar?”

“Colonel Nerai, I would never.” His eyes twinkled over the solemn tone and he kissed the tip of her nose. “Besides, one of us has to be the bigger person.”

Bry arched a brow. “Mmhm. Well, Mr. Bigger-Person, any guesses what happened?”

Jonas thought for a minute, running his thumb contemplatively along his lower lip. “Are we far enough from the base for it to cause problems?”

She shook her head. “Don’t think so, they have a hell of a long range.Besides, the holo’s a separate function; distance wouldn’t kill that.”

“Right...Something wrong with the speeder?”

Another shake of her head as she leaned against the side of the bike. “Would have knocked out the engine, too, wouldn’t it?”

“Not necessarily...” Jonas pointed out, leaning against the speeder next to her. “Not if it’s electronics, that wouldn’t affect the mechanical aspects.”

“Wouldn’t affect the comms, either,” Bry sighed, dragging the toe of her boot through the dirt.

He tipped his head in silent concession before lifting his gaze to scan the surrounding cliffs. “What about the canyon?”

“Can’t rule it out,” Bry said thoughtfully. “Not deep enough to be blocking signals, but depending on the rock composition, that could mess with things...”

“Well, in that case, wouldn’t we just need to backtrack out of radius for things to work again?”

She huffed a sigh through her nose and watched a makrin amble along nearby.  “Yeah, except I made... at least three turns after things went down, and those I was definitely too focused on not running into things to remember which way I went.”

“So...” Jonas turned to look at her and arched a brow. “We’re lost.”

“Yep,” Bry confirmed, then flashed a cheesy grin. “At least we couldn’t ask for better company, right?”

He laughed. “And it’s a really good way to get some time alone together.”

“Durasteel clad,” she said cheerfully.

“So perfect no one will believe it wasn’t on purpose,” he pointed out.

“Eh, speeder logs’ll back us up,” Bry countered, sidling closer. “And we are going to work on finding our way out...” She pivoted from where their sides now pressed together so they were chest to chest, Jonas caught between her and the bike. “Eventually.”

“But why waste an opportunity that’s been dropped in our laps?” he supplied with a chuckle as his hands settled on her hips.

“Exactly,” she grinned. “Knew you were smart, s’why I married you.”

“And here I thought it was because I’m roguishly handsome and ridiculously charming,” he deadpanned as her fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket and he leaned closer.

“Those were also factors,” Bry murmured in concession, and tugged him the final inch or so into a kiss.

By the time they got around to finding their way out, neither would have considered this a wasted opportunity.

---

It took an hour or two of trial and error with all the turn-offs, and more than one dead end, but the comms and nav holo did eventually prove Bry’s theory correct and fizzle back to life.

Just in time for an intensely worried “...riyoni?!” to crackle into her ear.

Bry arched both brows at Jonas as she answered. “Yeah, Vic?”

“Oh, thank the Force,” Vica’s voice swirled through the comm in a rush. “I’ve been trying to check in for... half an hour. What happened?”

“We, uh, ran into some technical difficulties exploring an alternate route,” Bry said. “There’s a section of canyon down here, fuzzed out comms and the map.” Silence answered for a long enough stretch to make her frown. “Vica?”

“I think I know where you’re talking about,” her sister said flatly. “Are you out of there?”

“Yeah...”Her frown pulled deeper.

“Good. Don’t go back.” There was a faint tension in Vica’s tone, of the ‘pfassk I don’t want to talk about’ variety, so Bry didn’t press.

“Yes, ma’am, Commander, ma’am,” she said instead, glibly as possible.

The desired snort of almost-laughter came back. “Finish your job, Briyoni.”

“That’s the plan. Get back on track, fix  the sensor, be on our way home. See you in an hour or so, Vic.”

“See you then,” Vica confirmed, and the comm went silent.

“Well, now we’ve got my sister worrying about us, so no more distractions or detours,” Bry said to Jonas, running her fingers through her hair to check for forest detritus.

“You must be heartbroken,” he deadpanned.

“Absolutely crushed I have to behave myself,” she confirmed, kicking the bike up to a more fun speed. At least until we’re back at base...

They reached the second sensor without incident, found the same issue as the first--though this one bore claw marks from curious or hungry wildlife--and had it fixed up easily.

“All done and headin’ home,” Bry reported over comms. 

“Good to know, see you soon,” Vica replied. “Thank you for taking care of this.”

“Not a problem.” She signed off and looked at Jonas. “Think we’ll manage to steal some time once we’re back?”

“We can but try,” he returned with a chuckle, kissing her forehead.

With that incentive hanging in the air, Bry put on extra speed for the ride back. Jonas maintained a death grip on her waist the whole way, and she wasn’t sure if the smile tugging her lips was from that or the adrenaline rush of flying. 

“i think you gave me bruises, Jo,” she needled playfully when they stopped and he finally let go of her.

“I’ll just have to kiss them better,” he retorted, kissing the back of her head.

“No bruises there, handsome,” Bry giggled as she dismounted the speeder.

He slipped off right behind her and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Really? That’s surprising.”

She refused to give him the satisfaction of making her blush, but she did bite her lip. “Shouldn’t be; you know I’m tougher than that,” she whispered back with a wink.

Jonas chuckled and hung a couple paces behind her as she checked the speeder bike back in. When that was done, she turned to find him looking at her with a smirk pulling one corner of his mouth upward.

“What?” she laughed.

Jonas shook his head slightly and stepped closer. “Whatever my opinion of you preferred flying style, I do have to admit this is a good look for you.”

Bry snorted and raked her fingers through her tousled hair. “Windblown?”

“Happy,” he corrected with a laugh, and pulled her in for a kiss she savored probably longer than she should’ve.

“I need to tell Vic we’re back,” she murmured, reluctantly stepping away. “Meet you in the cantina when I”m done?”

Jonas nodded and lightly tapped her nose  “Don’t dilly-dally, gorgeous.”

“With you waiting for me, Jo?” Bry grinned. “I would never.”

[thewritingcaptain]

Bloody Things and Broken Wings (Chapter 7)

He should apologize. For some of it, at least. Tony has reasons for not being an active hero anymore, and he had given him the suit, even if Peter hadn't known that until today. He was trying to help in the little ways that he felt he could, Peter could see that now. Plus the money thing might have been a little more insulting than he'd realized, knowing what he did now. As if on cue, the second voice - Bruce - blurts, "I think he's waking up."

Peter stirs to a half-whispered argument some time later.

"-can't believe you didn't tell him, Tony. What did you think was going to happen?"

"That was exactly what I was afraid of, Bruce," Tony hisses back. "That's why I didn't tell him. And Morgan- God, she was so upset, and I just- I can't tell a six year old that I prioritized raising her over being a hero. She's not going to understand."

While some part of him knows they're not standing right above his head and shouting, with the pounding headache he has comes a dangerous chance of sensory overload, and damn if it doesn't sound like they are.

He'll have to tell the doctor, he supposes. He doesn't have much choice if he wants appropriate medical care. Still, the thought of it makes him decidedly nervous.

Part of him knows what happened earlier was an overreaction. Yet he feels oddly justified in it, given everything he's been through, and considering Tony's own reaction, he couldn't have been too far off his rocker if the response had been exactly what he was expecting. He isn't proud of it, but… he can't say he doesn't feel that way. Like they were left, like the Avengers have been ungrateful, like they don't actually care. He doesn't honestly think he's too far off the mark with some of them. And okay, accusing Tony of basically using him for money was… ridiculous, after knowing who he was, but he hadn't known at the time, and it wouldn't be the first time it happened to him.

He should apologize. For some of it, at least. Tony has reasons for not being an active hero anymore, and he had given him the suit, even if Peter hadn't known that until today. He was trying to help in the little ways that he felt he could, Peter could see that now. Plus the money thing might have been a little more insulting than he'd realized, knowing what he did now.

As if on cue, the second voice - Bruce - blurts, "I think he's waking up."

There's a slight shift against him, and Peter realizes as he opens his eyes slowly that Tony is still laying with him, holding him against his side. The elder hero offers him a smile smile, looking a little abashed. "Hey, kiddo. I didn't mean to wake you, but you didn't seem like you wanted me to leave, and, uh, Bruce and I needed to talk. Sorry."

Peter blinks, surprised at the apology. "I… don't know why you're sorry. I woke up on my own. And... you're not obligated to stay with me." He vaguely recalled sticking to the man again, but he hadn't actually asked him to stay, had he? He hadn't meant to. Why would he have obliged anyway, after the way Peter had freaked out on him? "And if anybody should be apologizing, it's me. After the way I freaked out-"

"Nuh uh. I'm going to stop you there," Tony interrupts, holding up a hand. "You shouldn't be sorry. Everything you said was true. And you're well within your rights to be upset with me. But for right now, we're going to pause this conversation, because you have a visitor. Alright?"

Peter lets out a small breath, but nods. This isn't an argument he's going to win right now. Nor is it one he really wants to have with one of his childhood heroes listening in. So he just nods as Tony gestures to the doctor that he now realizes is standing at the foot of his bed, turning his attention to him.

Doctor Banner looks… strikingly like a normal doctor, except he's pretty small and almost as nerdy looking, kind of like Peter is, although probably in a more attractive way. Peter takes in his nervous stance, the way he moves slowly and deliberately, and instantly realizes that he knows about his fears. This is a man who has experienced exactly the same thing he's afraid of, and for some reason, the thought makes him relax a little.

"Hey, Spidey," the doctor greets softly. "Tony called me to come check you out. You gave him quite a scare. Do you mind if I look at you? I won't do anything without asking you first, I promise." He hesitates at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to agree before coming any closer.

Peter frowns. "I- yeah, sure, but…" he looks at Tony. "You didn't tell him…?"

Tony shakes his head. "I told you, I didn't tell him anything except that you crashed in and that you were hurt. Your name is yours to give away."

"Oh." His voice sounds small, even to his own ears. Well, if that doesn't make him feel like a fool… "Well, uh, I'm Peter, sir. Thank you for… coming to help me." He offers him a weak smile.

Bruce smiles back, stepping up to the bed. "Of course, Peter. I'm always here if you need help, okay?" He puts a hand on his shoulder, and at Tony's prompting, he realizes he needs to sit up and lets them help him up. "I'm just going to do a basic check up first, then we'll talk about your injuries. Do you want Tony to stay?"

Peter hesitates, glancing at the elder man. "I… uh, if he wants to." He's nervous, admittedly, but he doesn't want to ask him to stay, and he's less scared now than he was before.

Tony just gives him another one of those sad smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to, Peter. I am going to stand up so I'm not in Bruce's way, though."

Peter nods, and Tony slips off the edge of the bed as Bruce approaches again. He stays there the whole time, quietly attentive as the doctor runs through a basic exam.

Everything goes well until Bruce starts checking his injuries, particularly the arm and leg that were broken. He makes a pained hissing sound through his teeth that makes both of their heads snap up. "How bad is it?" Tony asks.

Bruce sighs, stepping back. "Won't know until I get an x-ray. But it's going to need rebroken, at least. The arm too."

Peter groans. "Of course it does," he mumbles, running his hands through his hair. He expected this, for sure, but that doesn't change the fact that it's going to hurt like a bitch.

Tony seems to sense his distress. He comes back over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is why I wanted to get it looked at. I know this sucks, but we'll give you something for the pain, and-"

"You can't," Peter interrupts. He looks down, chewing his lip. If he's going to tell them about his enhancements, it's now or never. "And… you'll have to set it quick."

They both stare at him. "Well, obviously, but- are you refusing pain meds?" Tony raises an eyebrow at him, obviously bewildered.

"No, I-" Peter makes a frustrated noise. "I can't explain it, okay? I don't understand it. I just- I heal really fast. Or at least I normally do. And pain meds don't work on me. Not for long, sometimes not at all."

Tony's brow furrows. He looks at Bruce, who seems to be thinking hard. "The only time I've ever encountered that was with Steve. Is it possible…?"

Tony straightens, a muscle in his jaw jumping at the mention of the other man. "He's not anything like Rogers," he says with a sense of finality.

Bruce throws him an exasperated look. "Tony, I'm just saying it's possible that they have similar metabolisms. Do you have any of the enhanced painkillers left?"

He huffs. "Maybe around here somewhere. But this hasn't been headquarters for ages, and I don't exactly carry them."

"Me neither, but I can get some pretty quickly." He sighs. "It's fine. Just- if I don't make sure we're not wrong about this, we could kill him. Do you care if I take some blood, Peter?"

Peter can't help but make a face. He's always hated needles, and recent experiences have done nothing to remedy that. But on the other hand, they've also basically desensitized him to the easier stuff, and who knows when he'll have this kind of opportunity to learn about his full capabilities again, so… "Yeah, go ahead."

The next few hours are spent between the Medbay and the lab.

Peter is put through basically every kind of machine and testing they can do without hurting him - everything from x-rays to bloodwork and so much more. Bruce does manage to dig up some painkillers that work for him from somewhere - not enough that it doesn't actually hurt, but enough to dull the pain after the fact enough that he can sleep.

When he wakes up, it's to the sound of the door creaking open, just loudly and quickly enough that he knows it's not one of the adults.

"You can come in, Morgan," Peter calls to the girl, and that's when she stops peering from around the edge of the door and steps inside for real.

She closes the door slowly, and he can't help but be amused at her attempt at being quiet and sneaky. "You're not supposed to be in here, are you?" he asks, not accusingly, but still gently admonishing.

She shrugs, turning around so that he sees for the first time the paper and the bowl she's holding in front of her. He also notices the fact that her cheeks are still puffy, even if the immediate redness around her eyes has faded. She pads over and hands them both to him silently.

He sits up against the pillows, taking them from her. "Thank you." He looks back down at her, where she stands at the edge of the bed, looking at him, her brown eyes wide and unsure. He bites his lip. He knows she witnessed way too much of the fallout between him and her father, and he can't help but feel guilty. He really had tried not to freak out in front of her, but at some point everyone has to break. Or at least that's what he's going to tell himself to pretend that it wasn't completely unreasonable.

Either way, it wasn't something she needed to see, and he has some explaining to do. "I… do you want to sit with me?" he offers, scooting over a little to make space for her.

To his surprise, she nods, climbing up on the bed and settling against his side. He's sore, and it's not the most comfortable position for him, but she's not putting pressure on any of his major wounds and he revels in the contact and the trust too much to ask her to shift even slightly.

Instead, he drops an arm around her, stirring his soup and waiting patiently for her to talk.

Finally, she does. "Happy said you can't eat real food, so we made soup, but no one brought you any because you were busy," she murmurs, her voice small compared to all the personality she'd had when she visited him before. "And… I made you a picture, but I couldn't give it to you earlier, either."

Peter blinks, picking up the paper he'd set down in favor of the soup and actually studying it. The sight makes his chest grow warm again. It's from a coloring book, yes, but… it was him, in his suit, swinging between buildings. His first thought is confusion - how did I end up in a coloring book? - but it's quickly followed by affection when he notices the scribbles of love and well wishes at the bottom. She's even gotten Happy to sign it - whoever that was.

"Thank you, Morgan. I love it," he says honestly, looking down at her.

She cracks a smile for the first time since entering, looking up at him with wide brown eyes. "Really?"

"Of course."

"You like being here? With me?"

His brow furrows. "Of course," he repeats. "You're my favorite kid." She's the only kid he's been around in years, except for work, to be fair, but that doesn't make it any less true.

She seems to consider this. "But… you didn't seem happy to be here last night."

His stomach plummets. "Morgan…" He sighs. He knew they needed to have this talk, yes, but the words and the knowledge of how he'd somehow managed to hurt a child he'd only talked to a handful of times - a child who, despite that, had somehow managed to convince a total stranger to save his life and let him keep his identity secret - still hurt.

He knows he's caused her - and Tony, too - enough emotional turmoil, so the least he can do is be honest and try to fix some of the damage he'd caused. "Listen, kiddo," he begins softly, squeezing her shoulder gently. "I… It's not an excuse, but I've been through a lot in the past couple years, okay? And so… yes, your dad lied to me, and yes, I was upset by it. But he did it to protect me, because…" he hesitates, looking down. But he knows he has to say it, because it's true. "...I was being unreasonable," he admits at last. "And last night, most of what I said was still unreasonable. But I freaked out. Mr. Stark didn't actually do anything wrong, and… he was helping me, I just didn't know it. So don't be mad at him because of me, okay? If anything, you should be mad at me."

Morgan nods slowly, looking down at her tiny hands in her lap for a moment before finally looking up at him. "Okay," she agrees. "But… I'm not mad at you, either."

Despite himself, he relaxes at the acceptance from the little girl. "Thanks, Mo."

She beams up at him, wrapping her little arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly. He forces out a pained breath silently through his teeth, hugging her back. "I just don't want you to go," she murmurs, so quietly he almost doesn't hear it with the way her face is tucked into his stomach. "But I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to be here, either."

"Oh, Mo…" Peter softens, clutching the young girl tighter despite the pain it causes him. "I do want to be here, I promise," he says into her hair. And it's true, now. He knows he'll have to leave eventually - billionaire superhero or not, he can't stay here and live off of Tony's generosity forever. Even if he would let him, he could never be content that way. But he knows he's not going anywhere for another few days, at least, until he's managed to heal his broken limbs well enough to move around on his own. "If I didn't want to be, I wouldn't be." This is also true. If he really wanted to be, then he would have figured out at least an attempted plan of escape by now. But somewhere in the middle of everything, any thoughts of escaping had disappeared.

She just smiles a watery smile up at him and hugs him tighter. He presses his face against her hair, holding her for as long as she wants to be held. Even though it aggravates his wounds, he finds that he doesn't mind. Despite only talking to her maybe three times now, at some point he'd also started to adore this little girl. And though that kind of scares him, he can't say he regrets it.

The door swings open again some time later. "Morgan-" Tony's voice, low and frustrated, is audible even before the man fully steps into the room. When he does, and he sees the sight in front of him, he stops dead.

They're both still laying together on the bed. Morgan is still wrapped around him, sound asleep with her head still tucked against his stomach. He's laid back down, arms still draped loosely around her, and his own eyes closed, but they flutter open at the sound of the door opening. Peter looks back at him and offers him a tired smile.

Tony huffs, running a hand down his face. "Shit. I'm sorry, Pete. She didn't wake you up, did she?"

"Nah," Peter lies. Tony just raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing him, but he speaks again before the elder man can voice his doubt. "It's fine, really. I'm glad she came in. I wanted to talk to her anyway."

Tony nods, though he still looks skeptical as he steps closer. "About…?"

"About earlier," Peter admits. He looks down. "I… I was way out of line, Mr. Stark. And I made you look horrible in front of her, for no reason other than my own stupidity and paranoia which you did nothing to deserve-"

Tony raises a hand to stop him. "That's enough, Peter. The only thing that's out of line is what you're saying now." He settles on the edge of the bed, letting a hand rest on Peter's newly-casted leg. "I lied to you, and that's on me. Yes, I had reasons, but that doesn't mean my reasons weren't shitty. I just…" He stops, looking down and shaking his head a little. "I was so afraid you'd run," he admits. "I knew if you really wanted to you'd find a way out, and I could have tracked you down, sure, but I didn't want to have to do that to do. I wanted you to trust me of your own accord. And after you told me what they did to you, because of me…" He trails off, smoothing a hand down his face again. "Kid, I should have told you the truth before. But hearing that… it got to me more than I wanted to admit. I'm so sorry. For all of it."

"Don't be," Peter says immediately. "It wasn't your fault. I knew the risks when I started the whole hero gig. And I know you helped as much as you felt like you could. Honestly, if it was me…" He looks down at the girl sleeping in his arms and shrugs. "I wouldn't have wanted to risk it either. You got lucky, Mr. Stark. I would have taken that and ran with it too."

It's silent for a few minutes. When he looks up again, Tony is looking at him with sad, tired eyes. "How many did you lose?" he asks quietly.

Peter looks away again. The pain of it still makes his gut twist to talk about - maybe because he's never really had anyone to talk about it with before. "Family? Just one," he answers, equally quiet, feeling almost as if it's wrong to raise his voice above a whisper when addressing the ones who'd gone missing, regardless of the circumstances. "My aunt. But she was all I had. My friends…" He stops, shrugging again. "All of them. But I only had two to start with, so…"

Tony nods. Something in him breaks even further at the confession, as if he needed more confirmation of how broken the kid was. "So you've been alone, all this time?"

Peter avoids his eyes, looking down at Morgan again instead. "Yeah, for the most part. I've stayed with people on and off, done some side jobs to get by, but… mainly, yeah. It's not as bad as it sounds, though," he adds quickly. "I mean, no one ever made me do anything I didn't want to do. Except when I was abducted, but, y'know, that's a different story entirely-"

"Wait a minute. Just- hold on. You're not seriously implying what I think you just did." Tony looks up, and for the first time, from the corner of his eye, Peter can see that he looks a little angry.

He flushes. Okay, maybe. He's done some things he's not proud of, but… he did what he had to to survive. There shouldn't be any shame in that. "Well, I guess that depends on what you think I'm implying," he mutters, but his blush answers for him.

Tony groans. "That's- wrong on so many levels. Jesus, kid. Were you even legal?"

"Legality is the last thing on a lot of people's minds, Mr. Stark." Another dodge, but another one that is clear enough to answer the question for him.

Tony makes a low, frustrated noise instead of commenting. "Christ. I can't even- and stop calling me that. I already told you to call me Tony." He stands up. "Look, kiddo. I just want you to know you don't have to worry about that anymore. Not now, not ever."

Peter frowns, looking up at him for the first time in several minutes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that-" Tony stops, seemingly rethinking whatever it was he was initially going to say. "It means you have a place here," he says at last. "And while I can't make you stay, I'll be damned if I let you go back to whatever hellhole you've been living in. Just- we've got time to talk about it. Promise me you won't go making any hasty decisions, okay? That you'll stay until you're better and we get to talk. No more lies, no more games, no agendas. I just want you to focus on getting better and we'll go from there. Agreed?"

Peter considers this for a long moment. Then he looks at the girl in his arms, back to Tony's earnest, open face, and he nods. "Agreed."

"Good." Tony comes up to the head of the bed. "I'll get Morgan off to her bed, then, and then I'll bring you some fresh food. Sound fair?"

He considers saying that Morgan can stay, that he doesn't mind her there, because he doesn't, but she's also laying on his already sore body and he can't eat this way, anyway. "Fair enough," he agrees, lifting his arms away from the girl so Tony can lift her off of him.

Tony takes Morgan and leaves. As promised, a few minutes later he returns with a fresh bowl of soup and an offer of company.

Peter is inclined to take it, but he's already taken enough of his time. Besides, this day has taken an extreme physical and emotional toll already, and once he starts eating and realizes how hungry he is, he manages to have two bowls of soup. By the time he gets that all down, all he wants to do is sleep again, his body demands rest to re-heal his bones and knit together his wounds, and properly this time.

Peter finds he doesn't have much choice but to oblige. Between the exhaustion of this day and the fact that he's more comfortable and at peace than he's felt in a long time, he drifts off to sleep almost immediately.

It's the best rest he's had in almost six years.

Taglist: @lyrical-harmony @lovinmarvel3000 @sweatpants-romance @jewelrnicorn @mentalyokay

[seminalstudy]

Hi everyone! I’m currently in the process of transferring to a new university and one of the biggest parts of that has been planning out and scheduling which classes to take my first semester, in hopes that I can graduate at the same time as people my age :’) As someone who’s planned how to graduate in three years not once but twice now, I figured I could share my experience and/or advice with anyone looking to maximize their college academics!

1. Establish a timeline: Ask yourself how many years you’re giving yourself to complete your degree as this will help you figure out how heavy your course loads will have to be to graduate at your expected time (this could be anywhere from 2 years to 5 or more). At my first college, I planned to graduate in three years in order to save money and because the school had easier academics, so I was confident I could handle the extra work. My new plan to graduate in three years is so I can graduate with other students my age, set your goal!

2. Now that you’ve established a broad timeline, it’s time to start looking at potential majors/minors and career tracks: Hopefully, this is something you’ve started looking at before applying to college, but don’t worry - it’s not too late! As someone going into college with the knowledge that I’d be taking out max loans each year, I tried to figure out what I wanted to do early on so I could maximize my credits ie take as many required classes as possible and not ‘waste’ credits on classes that wouldn’t really contribute to my degree (ofc I ended up changing my mind 3/4 of the way thru the year but that’s life). I narrowed my options down to 3 or 4 majors and managed to eliminate 2 of them pretty early on.

3. With at least one track in mind, research all the requirements to earn a degree in that area: Universities often have “general education requirements” regardless of your major, so you take classes in multiple disciplines and broaden your perspective. Course catalogs/general bulletins/college websites are where you can find info about your gen-eds and major-specific required courses. It’s really helpful to map this out by hand or in a spreadsheet program (I did it both by hand and with Excel to stay uber-organized). This is also where you can narrow down the majors you’re interested in by looking at the required courses and course descriptions. I considered a Data Analytics major early on, but after seeing how much coding was required (not a strong suit or interest for me) I could comfortably eliminate it.

4. Reach out to your advisor/navigator/registrar to clarify any questions: If you’re confused by any of the requirements for your major/gen-eds, talk to someone at the university. I feel bad for the numerous advisors I’ve had because I pestered them with questions so I could have a complete understanding of everything - it really helps in the scheduling process and I’ve never had a staff or faculty member be irritated by the questions - they love to help (plus it shows initiative and starts forming connections which is A+). Seriously, reach out if you’re confused, don’t just sit in the dark!

5. Map out required courses and pre-requisites: This is where Excel or Google Sheets can be your best friend - they make it really easy to keep track of what needs to be taken when. Some courses require a certain academic standing (sophomore, junior, senior) for you to take them, others require you to take several classes before you can register for it. Certain progressions of classes can really limit what your schedule looks like, so this step is incredibly important (and somewhat time-consuming).  

6. Generate a slightly less vague timeline: Based on pre-requisites and required class standings, begin to assign classes to fall and spring semesters. Let’s say you have to complete a senior capstone in order to graduate, and you can only take it senior year, write it into the timeline. Maybe you need to take Math123 and Math124 for your major, but Math124 requires you to complete Math123 first. Place 123 into a semester and 124 in the semester following that. This doesn’t have to be exact, but it’s good to be aware of what your future schedule will look like, and what classes you need to take sooner rather than later (this is also time-consuming because you’ll find numerous variations in potential schedules). 

7. Determine the courseload you’ll need to take: Some people luck out and have lots of AP/IB or like credits that will transfer into real college credit, helping to eliminate the number of classes you have to take (I was not such a person). You’ll generally receive a credit evaluation during the summer before the first semester so you can plan accordingly. Most advisors recommend taking 15-17 credits, but if you need to take more so you can graduate faster or less so you’re not overwhelmed, do what you need. I ended up taking the max credits allowed then over that, but that’s only because I was pushing so hard to graduate faster. This kind of ties into the last step, but you also need to evaluate your personal strengths and weaknesses.

8. Determine the courses that will maximize your first semester: Fun fact, your major requirements can often double-dip and count for your general education requirements too! Look at the pre-reqs for your higher-level classes and try to choose those that will open up the most classes, see which of your major required classes could count for gen-eds, such as humanities or science courses. If you’re between a few majors, look for classes that a required for them. For me, I was between a Business Administration or Sustainable Business major, so many of the requirements were the same. I took classes that could count for both, but if I wanted to go one way or the other, I wouldn’t be screwed over.

9. Try to balance the courses you NEED to take with those you WANT to take: I’m a humanities kind of gal (science has not been mon ami in the past) but both of my colleges require science and math classes. So, when I have to take a math and science course simultaneously, I try to add in some of the subjects I’m stronger in (history, english, etc) so that my GPA wouldn’t die. If you’re fortunate enough that affording college isn’t a concern, I’d personally say take as many courses that interest you as possible, but when financing a higher level education is more of an issue, complete your requirements but leave some space to explore your interests.

10. With a handful of courses in mind, look at actually scheduling your classes: With online registration, you can generally look at which classes are full, what times are available, etc. Are you really, definitely, for sure a morning person who can handle that 8am? Do you need a definite break for lunch? Will you be more productive in the mornings or evenings? Are there multiple profs for the class and does one have better ratings than the other? (ratemyprofessor.com is a lifesaver) Is there enough time outside of class to study/do extracurriculars/have a social life? Sometimes you’ll really need to take a class and it’ll be at some ungodly hour, but sometimes you gotta suck it up. Try not to overload one day with classes and make sure there’s enough time between classes to get to your next class, especially if your school has a large campus. This part is really based on personal preference, so enjoy it!

11. Give yourself time to do all of this: Especially for a first-year college student, there’s a lot already happening, and the opportunities are endless. It takes a lot of time to thoroughly research. This is a big process if you really care about being organized, and it can set you up for great success in college! All of these steps are really tied together but you’ll need more than one day (I took several weeks lol) to plan out a college career.

12. It gets easier: After doing this for just two semesters, I was much more comfortable making these big choices. For my new university, I managed to accomplish this in only a few days, but I was already familiar with the major I’m pursuing and how to lay everything out. For those of you continuing in college, consider mapping our the rest of your time if you haven’t already, and keep track of the courses you’ve taken and still need to take! This way, you won’t be thrown any loops when graduation comes.

Disclaimer: This advice is based purely off my own U.S. college experience which is undoubtedly very different from others! Ultimately, pursuing a higher-level education is your own personal journey, and do what you need to do to find success, this is just me trying to help out others!

If you have any questions about any of this, want to talk scheduling with me, or see my schedule planning notes and spreadsheets, just message me, I’m always willing to talk and even more willing to make friends!

-B

[khrsecretvalentine]

sunset reset (for lighteningdancer)

from: @trilies to: @lighteningdancer / Ginger Pairing: Byakuran/Shoichi

Note: Hey there, Ginger! You’re quite the familiar name to me at this point, so I got really excited when I pulled your name. Then you gave me so much freedom and so many liberties that I sort of short-circuited on what to write at first, lmao! However, per your advice, I did go with something that I don’t really write a lot of, both re: characters and, like… tone? Subject matter? I was apparently in A Mood (tw) when I began writing. I do hope that this end result is something that you find any sort of enjoyment in at all. If not, just let me know, because there’s plenty of other stuff that I’d love to make for you. Relatedly, let me know if you have an AO3, because I’d love to put it on this on there properly gifted to you! Unless you don’t want your name attached, which is also valid. 

Content Warnings: Time Travel Fuckery, Alternate Universe Fuckery, Character Death that debatably counts, Suicide, a short Sex Scene, attempts at Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, non-detailed Torture, general Abuse, the intense and vaguely defined set of mental issues that come when your brain just gets overloaded with being Yourself but hundreds of times with hundreds of slightly-to-extremely different memories in slightly-to-different worlds aka “byakuran’s mental state must be a fucking trip" 

——

Once a human tastes food for the first time, they always end up hungering for more, whatever "more” might mean for that particular individual. Maybe they look to be sated, content and full and warm. Maybe they look for a taste that can’t be beat, by their estimate. Maybe they simple look for something new, something interesting- a change in palate. On some level… He thinks Shoichi Irie is like that for him.  Byakuran doesn't need him. Of course he doesn’t. But if he’s being completely and utterly technical, he doesn’t need a lot of the things that he takes for himself, because none of it actually matters in the end. It’s all just a game, something he does because it's interesting. That would be easy enough for anyone to understand, right? Sometimes you turn on a game counsel and feel the need to get all the achievements, and other times you do it because you want to see how far you can strain the system until it shatters completely. It really all depends, and sometimes, they’re both the same thing. One day, in one universe, he’ll complete the Tri-Ni-Sette, and that will be that. In terms of gaming, he supposes that would be the end all for the main objective. Very fittingly, he comes to learn that it is the most difficult task, no matter how much he prepares and plans. Well, it would be a boring game otherwise.  It comes as quite a surprise that what would be a simple side quest any other game is almost just as difficult.

The very first time- if anything can even be called a ‘first’ at all when it’s all happening together, at the same time ,and yet completely separate- he decides to lay a claim to Shoichi Irie simply because it feels as though it’s what he should do. Another thing to check off the list. Besides, there’s a little fondness to it, he supposes. That’s not too surprising. Everyone always has that brief bit of fondness to the first character in a RPG that is kind to them, or makes the first move. He can remember playing a game with a female PC, and being charmed despite himself when a male knight almost immediately gave him a gift. Nothing special, nothing exciting or edgy, but amusing enough.  Shoichi Irie isn’t a knight in any meaning of the word. Byakuran’s impression of him at his young ten-years-younger self is that of a typical awkward nerd, although he has to admit that one’s first impression probably isn’t reliable when it involves time travel panic. Yet that doesn’t change the most important part of their meeting, and it’s that he owes everything to that young flustered teenager who had run into him in the street. He hadn’t given him a rose or sweet words, but rather something so much more valuable.  There are numerous jokes to be made about the tropes and cliches which are so prevalent in otome games, but Byakuran has found they aren’t exactly wrong in some cases. The Shoichi Irie he finds in this timeline fits so neatly in so many little boxes when he meets him for a second impression, watching him play at a seedy bar in a grubby dark side of town. Gone is the frantic nervousness, wore down into something much more exhausted that weighs down underneath his eyes and leaves just a little too much room underneath his shirt. Just a passing glance is enough to tell that the bassist is down on his luck, probably not helped by the fact that he’s not really fantastic at his instrument of choice. Judging by the way his bandmates are either in no better position or spit quiet words out at him with narrowed eyes, Byakuran can tell that they no doubt owe a lot of money from having all their nice equipment. For types like that, just like in all of the little romances he’s played through a screen, it doesn’t take much but a little bit of attention and kindness to draw Shoichi in. He doesn’t even need to do it that often, to his amusement, able to spend plenty of time building up this iteration of the Millefiore while attending to Shoici on the side.  He’s successful with his Millefiore. Of course he is. Having cheatcodes to the universe makes it so very easy. Bit by bit, he lavishes care onto his little side quest, first bringing him in with compliments and indepth conversations even Byakuran is pleasantly surprised to find he enjoys. Then come the casual outtings, treating him to coffee or lunch, the two of them so absorbed that it reminds Byakuran of how fun these minor little things can be as a detour. He makes sure Shoichi never has to pay, the ill-gained money in his pockets always being more than enough. Sometimes it’s a fight to make it happen, of course. Despite his situation, Shoichi always seems to want to be self sufficient, and there’s a fire in his eyes that tugs at the interest of Byakuran’s heart. So down on his luck, and yet he still tries to struggle like this. How cute. Still, Byakuran manages to convince him one way or the other.  Yet the game can’t merely stop at pampering a “love interest”…  He makes the offer at the backstage of one of the many trash bars Shoichi plays at, his back against the wall while his arms have wound lazily about Shoichi’s body. A year of pampering has lead him to looking better than he did before, and a few minutes of Byakuran grinding his thigh inbetween his legs has lead him looking even better. Forget the nervous teenager that awoke him to all of this, forget the dead eyed man he’d seen on stage once. There’s that brilliant flickering fire behind Shoichi’s contacts, brow stubbornly crumpled, skin flushed so vividly it looks as though it should hurt, and his lips slick from every heavy breath that rushes out of him as he digs his fingers into Byakuran’s shoulders to weather the ride. Even when his entire body shudders, nails digging in past cotton, he still tries to press a bruising kiss to the side of Byakuran’s neck. Of course he can’t let Byakuran control the whole situation that easily.  (His first clue, and one he ignores for longer than he would admit.)  “You’re so cute, Sho-chan,” he murmurs into his ear, dragging his fingers down along his spine. Against his leg, he can feel Shoichi’s arousal straining painfully in tight denim and, almost better, the way he shivers when the warmth of his voice rushes through his ear.  He can barely speak, so wound up in lust as he is, but Shoichi pushes through. “Who’s ever heard of a bassist being cute?” he rasps. There’s a ragtag sort of afterparty happening in the bar proper, drowning out the sounds of their rutting, so he does his best in keeping quiet. All that does is make his voice low and husky, drawing Byauran’s eyelids halfway down. That’s more than good enough, he thinks, and he eases up on the pressure. Shoichi blinks up at him, dazed and aroused, unable to stop Byakuran as he adjusts himself until he’s sliding down the wall and inbetween Shoichi’s legs. Understanding hits him quick enough, and he braces one arm against the wall. It doesn’t escape Byakuran how his breathing only gets all the harder.  “I want to keep you,” he says, his own voice low, possessive, and he can almost see the way it drops right through Shoichi’s gut. His fingers make quick work of popping open the button to his jeans. “Will you let me, Sho-chan?” Using the very tip of his tongue, he flicks up the zipper and takes it between his teeth, eyes staying locked on his precious interest’s own gaze the whole time as he drags it down slowly.  “That’s…” The words are choked in his throat, and he tosses his head back as Byakuran slides his aroused cock out into the open air. “You’ve given me so much… and now you’re asking me that?” “But I want to hear it, Sho-chan.” Grinning slyly, he drags his tongue up from the very base of Shoichi’s cock and flicks tip against tip. Satisfaction pools in his stomach at how the hips in his hands jerk. “Let me keep you, or else I won’t let you come even a little bit.” He nuzzles his way back down, hot breath ghosting along sensitive skin, until he can wrap his lips around his balls. It’s harder to watch Shoichi like this now, buried into his hips, but he can still hear the way his hand slaps across his mouth, muffling the harsh gasp he makes. In contrast to the quiet his interest is desperately trying to maintain, Byakuran lives to shatter that. Underneath the yells and laughter and pounding music of the bar, he sloppily licks and sucks along the aching arousal that’s right at his face, every sound an obscene prayer. He knows it works up Shoichi, too. It’s hard not to pick up on it, feeling how his legs shake and his hips tremble from the effort of holding back.  There’s not even any reason to edge him for long. Soon enough, Shoichi is gasping and keening over his head, squirming desperately into Byakuran’s mouth. “Dammit- dammit, Byakuran- take me! I want you…. Nn-” He glances up at that, pleased at what he sees: Shoichi looking down at him, teeth digging into a finger from where his hand isn’t quite covering his mouth, arousal twisting his expression so desperately. “I want you… to take me. Keep me. Please-!"  At the end, when Shoichi is slumped against him and drifting down the tides of post-orgasm, Byakuran indulgently curls his fingers into his hair to keep his face pressed into his shoulder. "No takebacks,” he purrs, ignoring the soreness along his back. “I’ll keep you forever now, Sho-chan. Even across universes.” Blissfully unaware of threat and lie alike, Shoichi laughs breathlessly against his shirt. “Romantic.” When Byakuran says it, he says it as a lie. But what do you call a lie that becomes a truth when you never meant for it to be? Never one satisfied with leaving a side quest partially forgotten or abandoned the first time through, Byakuran pushes all the way. He helps pay off his debt, convinces him out of a band he’s clearly miserable in. With the money he’s so quickly managed to accumulate, there’s no question of how easy it is to get Shoichi to live with him. Free of any real obligation, Byakuran watches in faint interest but mostly amusement as his interest begins to relax. He’s really, truly, unbelievably still nothing impressive with a bass, but at least he seems more content as he fiddles with it and all the other songs he tries to write. What’s more relevant to Byakuran is how Shoichi gets back into what he dismissively calls his “old hobby”. Byakuran had always wondered how a bassist’s teenage self could end up time traveling… and the answer, he realizes with every idle computer program and toy Shoichi makes, is because Shoichi Irie is in fact incredibly intelligent. So intelligent that it seems a waste that he ever became a musician, a fact that he makes sure to pass along to his many other selves. This intelligence comes back to bite him when he returns to his high rise apartment after a nice long trip dealing with a minor emergency. It was nothing serious, just some minor complications one Federico Ferrino left behind in his death. Truly the Vongola had a lot of resources, to be such a bother even in death. Yet he finds them to be less of a bother than the sight that greets him once he steps into his apartment. Shoichi is curled up in an armchair that’s been forcibly turned so that it’s facing in the direction of the front door, knees digging against his chest. He jolts a little at the sound of the door, eyes going to Byakuran faster than a gunshot.  Now now, what could have happened, he wonders? Byakuran rolls the question in his mind even as he carelessly drops his bags to the side, already making his way over to his interest like a good boyfriend would. “Stomach again?” he asks, reaching out to sweep his fingers up into Shoichi’s bangs. It’s been a while since the bassist has had to deal with his infamous stomach aches, brought out whenever he’s too tense, too nervous, too stressed. “Sho-chan, I didn’t realize you would miss me that much!” His hand is grabbed before he can fully pull it away, musically calloused fingers folded almost delicately around his own. Byakuran blinks, eyebrows raising, before he looks properly into Shoichi’s face. All the expressions which would normally be there- sulking aggravation, taut anxiety, restless worry- are completely absent. Instead, his brow is wound tight together, and there’s something… new to his eyes. Dark green is focused fully on him, steeled in a way he can’t quite recall ever viewing before. “Byakuran,” he says, desert grave quiet, “what do you do for a living?” Everyone makes mistakes on their first blind run, of course. Byakuran has made a couple, despite his various connections that are all to himself, and he generally doesn’t worry about it. This particular mistake is that he’s left Shoichi alone, guarded for but not watched, for far too long. With all the things Byakuran is getting up to, well, he doesn’t have full and complete of the world yet. News anchors will talk, radio personalities will gossip, and the internet churns so quickly with facts and facts that are twisted and facts which only have the name but not the definition. Shoichi has been busy. He’s been paying attention. It’s all he’s been able to do.  Lying doesn’t really have a point here, not with how much Shoichi has pulled together. Besides, Byakuran has never really lied to him, has he? Shoichi doesn’t react well to that statement, but it’s true. He’s only been vague, never giving the whole story , only bits and pieces. Maybe he could do damage control, if he really tried. Byakuran doesn’t. It’s so much more fascinating to watch his interest yell and demand and accuse, arm sweeping out in scythe sweep of a gesture.  Shoichi has never burned so bright, not in this universe, and Byakuran is enraptured by this glitch he’s made happen.  They sleep in separate rooms for a while after that- Byakuran taking the lavish and comfortable master bedroom, Shoichi self-exiling himself to a sterile guest room that’s never once been touched. It only takes a couple of days before he breaks the barrier he’s erected, settling himself gingerly onto the couch besides Byakuran one evening. None of the lights are on yet, with only the setting sun illuminating Shoichi’s back from where he sits, eyes on him. “I’m sorry,” he tells him. “It was a lot to take in,” he says. “Can you just promise me that you’ll be honest with me from now on?” “Of course, Sho-chan,” Byakuran tells him, while promising no such thing. This, too, is a lie.  Shoichi must know it as well. He promises nothing either, and he writes I’m sorry once again on a letter he leaves on the counter in their darkened home when Byakuran returns again one day. A surprising amount of his things are left behind, with only the most sensible of clothing that’s been taken, along with all the basic necessities of a healthy human such as toiletries. When Byakuran checks one of his bank accounts, he’s not surprised to find a lot of money withdrawn. While he could pursue his interest, he doesn’t. Instead, he carries out the end of this particular life, his particular run, all the while quite aware of how the patches of rebel forces which never cease to defy him are granted a sudden boost in knowledge. It doesn’t really matter, in the end. This reality is a bust, and he toys with the different ways to end it.  Somewhere, out in the rebel hideouts that he systematically quashes, he’s certain Shoichi Irie dies… but he dies far away from Byakuran, out of his sight.  It’s a “Bad End” if your love interest betrays you and dies. Byakuran passes along the message to Byakuran of everything he’s gone through. It would be embarrassing if this was the side quest that he missed, after all.  Probably the problem Byakuran ran into, Byakuran muses to himself as he thinks over this particular set of alternate memories, is that Shoichi was a civilian kept in the dark for so long. Sure, he had been running around in all sorts of seedy bars in that universe, but being in the same vicinity as some two-bit thugs isn’t anything like dating a powerful mafia don who had blood soaked up to his knees. If he intervenes a little earlier… That sounds right. A slightly earlier intervention, nudging those morals a little further in the right direction, and Byakuran thinks that might finally help complete this little sub-plot. He just needs to get a little creative in when they meet. How they meet.  When he meets Shoichi Irie, he’s not the flustered teenager that gave him this opportunity and he’s not yet the boneworn bassist who played in side alley bars. Instead, he’s seventeen and clearly frustrated with the world, or perhaps merely his place in it. Byakuran only needs a day to see how people take advantage of him. It's  nothing so crass as outright bullying, not most of the time. Instead, they merely pile on expectations and requests onto him, disregarding his interests, disregarding anything else he might have on his plate. In a different way to that time in the bar, it’s easier than anything to slide his way into a friendship with him. Nudging him along towards what Byakuran wants for him… It’s a little more difficult to get the subtleties of that exactly right, and he spends a couple of lives dealing with that. It’s not a complete waste; he’ll need such skills for other people who aren’t Shoichi.  The best way, he finds, is simply phrasing things as harmless pranks in high school, things to tease those who frustrate him so much, things he can build upon so steadily. Shoplifting is a little harder, not something that his Sho-chan really has the hand dexterity for, but it’s easier when he can frame their targets as absolute bastards who deserve it… or detach them so neatly from his life that they don’t really matter.  What his real interest is, however, would be what he told himself from dating that tired and beaming bassist. It’s a waste to keep him as a petty thief, even if there is a kind of casual amusement in throwing stolen candy into Shoichi’s hair while he does his best to scowl instead of laugh. The good news is that he has dozens, hundreds, thousands of other selves knowledge at hand. It’s child play to talk tech with Shoichi, to convince him to stretch his intelligence right past the digital defenses of so many organizations and countries. From high school, to college, to them with degrees spilling out the secrets of the richest and most influential or sometimes holding it over their heads. It hardly takes anything at all to convince Shoichi to join his Gesso, this slowly budding and blossoming Millefiore. This should be it, he thinks. It took a try or four, but he’s finally got this route down.  He thinks that all the way to the day he triumphantly comes back from his meeting with that little Giglio Nero heiress, satisfied from the box he has in his hands. “Ta daaaaa!” he sings as he enters the office where Shoichi is waiting. His interest looks pretty good in mafia black, he has to say, even when he’s clearly fiddled his tie right out of place and jumps what seems like a solid foot into the air. “The meeting went great, Sho-chan.” “I feel like you’d say that no matter what actually happened…” Still, he moves out of the way, letting Byakuran flop loosely into his chair. Shoichi slides his hands into his pockets, trying to seem calm, before he moves them out again to rub his palms against his legs. “Were you able to resolve things mostly peacefully?” Gamma’s fingers broke, one by one, feeling surprisingly like nothing for how long they’d clutched to his pool stick. Genkishi had to be skewered to the wall, bloody dripping from his mouth, simply to keep him out of the way. When Aria had finally conceded, she’d closed her eyes for a brief moment with a box keeping their hands joined together, and a smile had crept onto her face. “Oh, the things that will happen,” she’d said, eyes too blue, too strange. For a second, she’d almost looked human.  “Mhm,” Byakuran says, because that’s the easy answer, and they have the Giglio Nero- what remains- on close watch. He won’t make a rookie mistake again, making it easy for Shoichi to stumble onto such a dark little thing. Setting the box down onto his desk, he flicks open the latch. The second Shoichi turns his back, Byakuran plans on getting nothing less than the absolute best replicas that he possibly can for the Mare Rings… but for now, there’s no harm in keeping them right in front of him. He has no idea when these were last touched, even by their mistresses, but the Mare Ring have a crystal clear shine to them that’s so smooth that not even water would stick. He’d slipped the Sky Ring back into its place after reveling in its quickly comfortable warmth, and it almost seems to glow again at his presence. In fact, it even seems to glow all the brighter than before. His eyelids dip just a little lower. “Amazing, right…?” He can feel Shoichi’s arm brush against his chair, nudging it a little bit. “All that worry, for some rings…” His voice isn’t into the disregarding tone it tries for, however. It’s even… dazed. Byakuran’s first thought is that he’s coming down from his anxiety high. That impression lasts for all of a single second before Shoichi’s hand reaches over from the side, drawn to the box, and Byakuran realizes that the Mare Sky Ring wasn’t glowing any brighter than it did when he first saw it.  Yellow blends into orange so well. Shoichi burns bright yet again.  The knowledge hits him like a bullet train, a feeling that he passes along the second he has the time to spare for it, and he almost doesn’t care that, in this world too, Shoichi once again slowly turns again, once again pokes his nose into something he shouldn’t have. It’s fine to lose that particular sidequest this time around, because he’s gotten a key bit of information that can potentially help in all the others. At the same time, it only makes what was once a silly little romance route gain so much more prominence to the main story that Byakuran can’t help but marvel as the flow of it.  The Mare Rings can’t speak, can’t communicate, and yet Byakuran can’t help but feel as though they’re the most people-like things he’s dealt with ever since Before. Their preferences in wielders tend to be specific, although they can be flexible if no better choice presents itself. The Rain Ring tends to lean towards bright and malicious, people who can demonstrate a sense of mocking humor before they clean away the filth of the battlefield. In contrast, those with any sort of commendable patience draw in the Cloud Ring, and the Storm favors anyone with a shimmering energy beneath an otherwise… passive facade.  The Sky Ring is his forever, in every single iteration of the universe that can possibly exist.  The Sun longs for Shoichi. Every time. Without fail.  Byakuran can understand why. Anyone would understand, he’s fairly sure, if they’d ever seen the way his eyes steel in resolution or the energy that burns from his body or the sheer brilliant gold of his flame. In worlds where he forgets, or where he slips up,  or where there’s merely a spot of bad luck, the Arcobaleno Curse seeks  out Shoichi for the intensity of his Flame.  That happens rarely.  Byakuran laid claim upon him first, after all.  In one life, Byakuran decides to go for a change of pace. Not every romance route can be won through simple kindness. Sometimes, you have to get a little bit creative, or you have to push for a certain event to go off. Sometimes, a Good End is reprehensible in the cruelty it takes to get there. At least, for normal people.  He draws the Gesso up as soon as he’s able, throws all of himself into making them a strong Family as quick as possible. Quick enough to have someone watching over Shoichi, make sure that he doesn’t drift too far from where Byakuran can see him. He goes through a fairly standard dull life, the few times Byakuran takes the time to check in on him- a brief flirt with paying a bass, graduating top of his class. Nothing to pay attention to. It’s after Shoichi’s first year of college that he instructs some of his people to kidnap him one night, when he’s on his way home from a concert of a band he likes and not expecting for a car to stop right besides him. It’s quick, silent, and completely professional. More than a few of his own must be wondering what Byakuran is doing… but that’s the case in every life he lives.  All they have to do is listen to him as he plays a game so long and expansive that they can’t even begin to imagine it.  There’s no reason to go straight into the harshest form of cruelty, not right away, not in this life. There are a lot of ways to twist a will, to shatter it and pull it together in some other shape entirely. Byakuran starts off with the kind of lodgings that would be perfect, if one were merely willing to ignore all the ways in which it’s a cage: sinfully soft furniture, nice lighting that can go from comfortably dim to softly warm, a bathroom large enough to be another bedroom, no windows, one entrance and exit, hidden cameras in more places than the obvious. Byakuran follows the advice of another life, and makes sure that there isn’t a kitchen or access to the outside world via electronics.  Shoichi Irie, in every bit of his incarnations that Byakuran can remember, is always devilishly clever, after all. Even when he had been a bassist who’d skipped college, trapped in a cycle of debt and unfulfilling gigs.  He’s also incredibly attractive, even now, disheveled in last night’s clothes, hair falling in a mess around his face, glasses askew on his face. One hand is curled against his stomach, a warning of the stomach aches that are to come, and his expression is twisted in such alarm that it stirs a heat inside of Byakuran’s chest. This isn’t one he’s indulged in yet. Not for the first time, he appreciates the ability to play with such a purposefully destructive game. “What do you want with me!?” Shoichi asks, sharp, panicked, and yet going right to the point. He doesn’t ask who Byakuran is, which is almost a shame. There are some amusing answers he could give there. And yet, he supposes this question is more important. At least, for someone in Shoichi’s position.  “Now now!” He laughs, draping himself in one of the armchairs that are around. He practically sinks into it. Really, he hopes Shoichi comes to appreciate that much in the time that he keeps him here. “I’m not going to torture you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Not in this timeline, at any rate. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Byakuran Gesso, and it’s nice to meet you properly here. I’d like you to work for me.” Shoichi draws one leg up cautiously, foot digging into the mattress. What he’s prepared to do is anyone’s guess, only that he feels the need to be a little… steadier, perhaps, in case he needs to do something. The hand not clutching his stomach does similar. “This isn’t… exactly the normal way to get someone to work for you,” he says stiffly, and Byakuran’s heart flutters. There’s that Sun brilliance, hardening his eyes and burning him up from the inside out. He hardly had to push at all for it to appear, even in a situation like this. “What do you want me to work on, exactly?” “Oh, nothing that you aren’t already going to college for, Sho-chan.” The nickname makes him twitch a little bit, unaware as he is of how intimate they are long before he was born and long after he dies and even here in the present. They’re completely and utterly bound. He simply doesn’t know it. He will probably never know it, at least in most lives. “I’d like to pick your mind for the treasure trove of ideas I’m sure you have in there when it comes to technology. If you simply go along with it, you’ll find your time here to be quite nice!” Byakuran tilts his head to the side. “And if you cooperate, Sho-chan, then you’ll be out of here in no time at all. I’m positive we can work something out, don’t you agree?” The wary pull of his eyebrows downwards says Shoichi doesn’t believe him, which he shouldn’t. “I’m getting the impression that I don’t have a particular choice,” he says, still not easing up even the slightest. “Do I at least get the dignity of asking some questions…?” Byakuran crosses his legs and let his hands flow to the side in gesture. “All you like, Sho-chan!” He doesn’t promise he’ll tell the truth.  “Then… Why me? I haven’t even- I don’t have a degree of any sort. I’m not even close to graduating.” The hand at his stomach moves upwards, digging into his chest. “Why kidnap a college student who’s probably not even knowledgeable enough for the kinds of things you might ask for? Aren’t there smarter technicians and engineers who could do what you want?” There aren’t. Byakuran knows this for a fact, knows that he would have stumbled upon them a long time ago if anyone had that ability. Yet no one had done what Shoichi had. No one had gone through time, no one had broken it so thoroughly as he had. Byakuran can’t even claim that honor yet, as much as it would amuse him to. No, he merely flows across the many timelines, the many universes where he exists.  Shoichi is the one who reached out where he shouldn’t have, and Byakuran knows for a fact, after listening to him speak in the kinder timelines, that he can break even more if he really tries.  The trick is to get him to really try.  “I have utter faith in your potential,” is the answer Byakuran gives, grinning and flashing a wink to Shoichi. “But you don’t have to worry. Ask for anything, and I’ll make sure to provide it for you. Just knock, okay, Sho-chan?” He’s kept for a while longer, listening to question after question that Shoichi fumbles to pull out from his mind, and he’s not surprised when he almost immediately calls through on that 'knocking’ thing to start pulling in book after book to his room.  Despite it being a simple non-answer, the line about 'potential’ is also fairly true. Byakuran passes along all sorts of little tasks for Shoichi to do, starting subtle at first with computer programs on an isolated channel that Shoichi never gets to keep. Then, various little quizzes, seeing if he can outdo what they already are using in the Gesso and Millefiore. Byakuran rarely delivers them himself. Why would he? That’s something for those far lower on the ladder who have nothing better to do, or at least nothing more important than Byakuran’s pursuit of this sidequest. Instead, Byakuran likes to visit Shoichi in the middle of his time. Sometimes it’s while he’s working through the latest task he’s been given, papers sprawled out all over the floor and a pile working up on the desk Shoichi does his best to remember to use. It’s a nice change of pace from the repetitive motions of running a mafia empire. Shoichi doesn’t take to it well at first. “Of- what? Of course I’m not,” Shoichi says, honesty stuttering out before he can stop himself the first time Byakuran outright asks. “I know your name and literally nothing else, and you’re just- is this a test?” His mouth screws up, eyes narrowed over them. “To check if I’m… I don’t know, cheating or something as I work on this?” When Byakuran bursts out laughing at him, a lobster of a blush spreads over his face in a heartbeat.  “I told you before, didn’t I?” Byakuran says when he’s calmed down, sprawled out in an armchair. His head lolls to the side, lazy smile still in place. “I have full confidence in your abilities and potential, Sho-chan.” “Shoichi,” he mutters quietly, not really stopping the nickname.  “The only reason I’m here is because I’m bored. Besides, you haven’t asked for a rubber duck yet. I thought it might help to bounce your stress off something~.” “Rubber ducks should be a little cuter,” Shoichi mumbles into his shirt, already ducking back down into his work while still a little bit red. It takes a little while for him to eventually start reciprocating Byakuran’s attempts at conversation, but what are a few visits in comparison to the eternity that Byakuran has? The multiple visions of eternity, in fact. So it doesn’t feel long at all before Shoichi begins to speak back to him, gesturing to a paper here and there as he spills out his train of thought or his frustrations on a certain aspect of his latest project. When he finally does that, the other visits Byakuran takes begin to go a little more smoothly as well instead of Shoichi sitting awkwardly in a chair as far away from Byakuran as possible while Byakuran does all the talking. He knows it’s not only his imagination when Shoichi begins to show a little more warmth in response to his visits.  There aren’t many other options for him down in this windowless room, where time doesn’t feel real, where he can’t even sense time, and Byakuran is his only constant person. There’s a certain thrill in indulging in such a thing, at least for this life. One day, Shoichi doesn’t fight against the way Byakuran presses up behind him while he’s reading, white-clad arms lazily winding around him. He only glances up at him from the corner of his eyes, thumb worrying at the page in the book he’s been working through. “I don’t exactly have to point my room is bugged, right?” he says stiffly, a little bit of red burning at his ears. “Is there any shame at all that your- everything is being recorded while you’re doing this?” “When you’re the kind of person I am, you end up being watched all the time anyway, Sho-chan,” he laughs, directly into Shoichi’s ear as to watch him shudder. He’s not the only person in the world who has such a reaction, and yet Byakuran can’t help feeling more satisfied when Shoichi does it. That’s the thrill of having a favorite character, he supposes. Everything he does, Byakuran can’t help but hyperfocus on. “Now, what kind of things are you thinking of that would get you so worked up about being watched? And in relation to me as well?” The tone of his voice says everything that doesn’t get a word ascribed to it. The blush spreads from his ears to the rest of his face quicker than the heartbeat it takes to provide that much blood. Byakuran never stops the cameras from recording… He only goes back once he’s done indulging in Shoichi’s body to cut those particular parts out and save them for his own records.  More interested in this indulgence than the rest of the videos, and relaxed in what has to be his victory this time, Byakuran misses the little things that will give Shoichi away in other universes. The way he begins to sleep more reliably in his bed instead of falling asleep by accident anywhere else. How his hands duck underneath his pillows, still so “absentminded” as to be holding his glasses inbetween his fingers. Byakuran learns later how the sound of his apparent snoring hid the sharpening of his glasses frames against metal frames. Byakuran had made sure they were metal, so that Shoichi couldn’t use the wood chips of such a frame for whatever his brilliant mind could come up with. A pity that ingenuity works with everything at its disposal no matter the material.  In one universe, he punctures his own throat, slides the needle inbetween the rows of his own lungs, and chokes on his blood before medical services can pull him back from the brink. In one universe, he breaks through the system keeping the door shut and makes a break for it. He succeeds, or he fails, or he does both in the end, but it’s a loss on Byakuran either way. “All you have to do is give yourself to me,” he says one day, one universe, popping open a bag of gummy bears. It wasn’t his first choice, but the little gas station he’d stopped at before getting here hadn’t had any marshmallow treats, and, well, as long as it’s sweet, maybe he doesn’t care as much as some might think. The same could be said for how Shoichi has been forcefully tied to a plain metal chair, handcuffs biting into his wrists and rope binding his legs. To keep him from doing anything reckless, a gag keeps his mouth pried open. Tears and spit alike drip down his face, splatter against his pants…  His eyes are still so very stubbornly burning. A sort of fondness warms his veins, and Byakuran pops one gummy bear into his mouth before he reaches downwards. Fingernails catch along knots in Shoichi’s hair, curls always so thick when he’s first woken up in the morning and hasn’t had a chance to compose himself yet. Byakuran is intimately familiar with all the little quirks like that which make up Shoichi Irie. It’s a consequence of playing the same route, over and over and over again. For all the bad ends he’s steadily accumulating, Byakuran doesn’t regret it.  “Although I am curious,” he continues, drifting his hand downwards until he can curl his fingers around the back of Shoichi’s head and guide his gaze up to him. “What made you change your mind like this, Sho-chan? What made you so desperate that you’d want to risk killing yourself, or run away from here? I like to think I’ve been taking care of you so well that there can’t possibly be a problem. You can have just about everything you’d ever ask for.” It’s only the two of them in the room, all guards dismissed without a second thought. They’d only protest if they saw Byakuran reach down and undo the gag keeping Shoichi so quiet. Free of the obstruction, Shoichi takes a quick second to cough and catch his breath. Trapped in this place, at the end of the rope, he’s clearly lost some of that quaint politeness which he’d grown up with, because he turns his head slightly to the side and spits to clear his mouth. Byakuran supposes he should marvel that it wasn’t directed right at him. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says, voice a little raspy, unused. “You brought me here in the first place because… I’m so smart, right? That’s what you told me. And… did you think I wouldn’t put everything together? Realize what all my work was adding up to, even if you never showed me the final product, or the result?” He gives a hard swallow, head bumping against Byakuran’s palm once again. “It’s not like I want to believe it…. but what else am I supposed to think, when you keep me trapped in here?” Teeth grinding against each other, he grits out, “I don’t even know if my own family is alive!” They aren’t. That thought idly occurs to Byakuran right as Shoichi says it, because he vaguely remembers glancing at a report he’d gotten of a little bit of a scuffle against Hibari-Kai over in Japan which had taken out a good dozen of lives or more, and he’d seen the Irie family listed among the deceased. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was anything important. It still isn’t, he supposes. What’s the point of saying it here and now? Idly, he scrapes his nails along the back of Shoichi’s scalp and watches him go utterly still. “And would you return if you got a brief chance outside, Sho-chan?” he asks, amused. Shoichi’s silence is an answer all its own, and Byakuran moves on without really giving him a moment to spare for a potential lie. “You really need to go with the flow, ha. I think you’d find you would have a much easier time of things if you did."  Shoichi swallows again, throat bobbing. His stare doesn’t waver. "Your flow."  Byakuran tilts his head to the side and smiles. "It’s the same thing in the end.” “If I refuse?” “Then I’ll just have to persuade you otherwise.” Persuasion, in this instance and a few others, meaning that he spends some of his time breaking Shoichi where he can. Sometimes physical. Sometimes mental. He already has a good deal of factors on his side for it all, really, from the oppressive atmosphere of never even knowing what time it is and having not known for a great deal of time, to the nice little case of Stockholm Syndrome he’s nestled right into Shoichi’s chest. That latter part he makes sure to especially cultivate. Every broken limb, he helps nurture back to full and proper health again. Every sickness Shoichi catches, whether purposefully encouraged or which comes along as a side effect of all the stress, he takes care of. Even when he threatens to drown Shoichi, serene moments where he holds him down by the throat and watches his mouth work helplessly with every bubble of hair that works upwards, he’s the same person who tends to him in the aftermath. He dries him off, checks that his lungs are still working right, work that a medical professional could be proud of. Pain and pleasure are two things that are so closely related. Fear and hatred and love and obsession, Byakuran thinks, are probably very much the same. If they are, then maybe he’ll be able to make this work as he’s been trying to across multiple lives.  It takes him around a year to look down into Shoichi’s dull eyes and realize that he’s broken him and, unlike so many other things in the world, there’s no possibility of pulling this back together into something whole again.  The Mare Sun Ring longs to be on Shoichi’s fingers. Byakuran thinks he can relate, wanting a thing that continues to not want you back.  Spoiled kindness isn’t working, and neither does abject cruelty. If that’s how it is, than Byakuran can’t possibly imagine what he’s doing wrong in this area. Still, in the end, it’s only a sidequest. A very important sidequest, but not a necessary one. The Mare Sun Ring might want Shoichi Irie out of every other pawn in the current world it exists in, but it knows how to settle for things, too. Shoichi might be its type, might have the most brilliantly burning Sun Flame anyone could imagine, but there are others who, while not the ideal personality, have a Flame that can satisfy the conditions of a Mare Ring.  He’s not giving up or anything. That would be embarrassing for someone who’s playing the game so determinedly like he is. Rather, he’s… merely taking a break.  Of course, it seems like even when he’s taking a break to focus on other aspects of the game, he still ends up paying attention to Shoichi whenever he ends up crossing his path. Even if the route is harder than expected, Byakuran can still enjoy some aspects of it, especially when it’s not so pressing on his overall run. Shoichi is still surprisingly pleasant to indulge, especially when he’s so early on in the stage of things that the criminal aspect of everything aren’t so obvious. It’s easiest to enjoy Shoichi then, trading food and sharing earbuds to the same music and talking about how fragile and sturdy the world is in equal measure. When it’s only theories, it’s easier to get Shoichi to play along with it. In a way that Byakuran is slowly starting to get used to across his many lives, he inevitably turns on him sooner or later.  Sometimes a country’s government- usually Japan, occasionally Italy, America when it’s not a trashfire- will rope him in as an agent to keep track of him. Byakuran has to admit those lives are a little bit amusing, and he can never help playing up the cliche of it all when he can. The powerful mafia boss playing cat and mouse games with the determined cop, or secret agent, or general law enforcement… While he takes some time to relax in how he’ll next properly approach the Shoichi situation, he doesn’t worry about the end result, and merely enjoys the journey. There’s something to be said for an approach like that, especially when Byakuran uses Shoichi’s own handcuffs against him to pin him against the wall, teasing him about the lengths they’ve gone through with each other, and the sexual tension is thick enough for a chainsaw.  Other mafia Families clue in to the sheer skill that Shoichi Irie actually possesses, once every few lives, especially when the world begins to advance technologically so quickly that they have to start paying attention to engineers and those who are up and coming. Those realities are sometimes a little bit disappointing, because the destruction of the rest of the Families, especially those who have connections to the Vongola, are always the first ones he crushes underneath his heel. It’s a pity that he doesn’t get more of a chance to to with Shoichi in those lives.  Oh well. He’ll always have other rounds, other lives, other realities. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter.  Then there are the timelines where Shoichi takes things into his own hands.  This world has already been broken, shattered, vast expanses of ruined cities beyond the walls of his little fortresses where he experiments with his little civilization games. Here, people either submit, or they risk the destruction beyond that doesn’t deal kindly to those trying to carve out a life there. So with that said, he really has to marvel at the underground labs which Shoichi has created for himself. In the places where his people haven’t stormed through, covering the floor in dirt and dust of debris coating the walls, it’s impeccably clean. One of the few, perhaps the only, places where the grimy destruction of the world hasn’t seeped in. Befitting of such a brilliant engineer and technician, a defiled treasure trove of equipment fills the sparse amount of rooms that make up the shelter, and one has already completely self destructed with its remains utterly destroyed beneath the rubble. If they can recover enough, Byakuran has no doubt that the impact on numerous worlds would be immense. “If”… being the key word in that sentence. Shoichi is a genius in any of the worlds that bear his beautiful existence. For all that he can create, he knows exactly how to destroy it again. Almost more than Byakuran, Shoichi Irie has the perfect ability to completely destroy things, and yet he so rarely does it, save in moments like these where it’s to deny him everything he possibly can. His men corner Shoichi in a room that could, in some cases, be arguably titled as a bedroom. Byakuran has a closet that’s bigger. The mattress on the floor barely offers any substantial protection between the body on top of it and the hard ground beneath. The body on top of it has pressed himself back up against the wall with guns pointed at his face giving him no real option, and his hands are held up with the knuckles bumping into plaster. This one looks a real mess, Byakuran marvels, and he takes his time slowly looking over the engineer who’s been tirelessly and fruitlessly attempting to undermine him from beneath his very nose. A life of living outside of civilization has clearly taken its toll on Shoichi. What clothes are out here are basically as good as trash, and that includes the denim jacket on him that’s at least two times too big with more holes in it than Shoichi’s hopes must have by now, and the loose black tank top beneath it is hardly any better. That his actual pants and boots manage to fit, for all their worn nature, is quite impressive. Figuring out glasses in the wastelands has apparently not been a priority for Shoichi, because he’s squinting hard towards the armed men who can very easily take his life. It’s an action that almost makes him look more defiant than tired, than worn down to the very bone. He’s even disregarded scissors, possibly the most hilarious thing, because a good portion of his hair (definitely not all of it) has been pulled into a very lopsided ponytail near the right side of his head.  Lazily, Byakuran raises up a hand to dismiss his men. “Go look over the technology here,” he orders them, voice deceptively airy. Maybe it’s because of that which has them hesitate. Byakuran doesn’t, not when he levels them with a cold gaze full of threat, and that gets them moving again a hurry. He waits patiently  for the sound of heavy bootsteps to be as much in the distance as they can get before he steps forward to take up the whole doorway. “Hey there, Sho-chan. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” With the absence of armed guards, Shoichi collapses back a little bit, although his hands stay right where they are. It would be a gesture of anyone else in the same situation. “Yeah,” he says, voice following the same slump of his spine. “Yeah, it has. Years.” It didn’t take much for this particular world to crumble apart, after all. And yet, still he struggles to preserve it. The defiance is in more than the glare, now, and Byakuran marvels at it.  Hands in his pockets, Byakuran inclines his head to his old friend. “The offer is still on the table,” he reminds him. “Don’t you think that would be so much more appealing, Sho-chan?” He even laughs a little bit. “You’d be able to have a shower and everything! Maybe see things more clearly, hm?” Shoichi is filthy, thinner than in most timelines, and clearly has worked so hard that he’s not had the chance to sleep often. Even with every bit of that weighing down on him, he still slumps his shoulders with an annoyed huff. “Was that… an actual joke about my eyeglasses? At a time like this…” Even when everything is going at it’s absolute worst, he can still get that kind of reaction out of him. Byakuran laughs once more. “Well, it’s the truth, too!” Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, Byakuran puts about the same amount of effort into the way his eyelids dip. “It’s all the truth,” he says, which is a lie. “The Sun Ring would be perfect on your finger,” he says, which is the truth. He’d left it back in the hands of the Sun Guardian he’d chosen for this world, once it had become clear that he would not accomplish his goal in this reality either. That meant, technically, there was no reason to make a claim on Shoichi in this world either. What purpose could he serve, besides potentially passing along more information to Byakuran in another world? And yet still he wants it. Wants Shoichi. Again and again, he’s courted and broken and threatened countless Shoichis, all for naught. Even if this world is useless…. He can only imagine the rush of satisfaction that would drown him if he managed to successfully capture one of the few individuals in all of his many existences who fascinates him so. Sometimes, in some places, he even almost ponders if Shoichi Irie is more his Player 2 than a love interest whose Good End he’s tirelessly chasing across numerous different realities.  Only a thought experiment in the end, that sort of thing. There’s a reason he ponders it more in the late night while some version of him drifts off to sleep, or turns over the idea while his body runs through the motions of a shower. If there is actually a Player 2 against his campaign in one of the many worlds, he’s yet to meet them, for one thing, and he’s fairly certain that there would be more of a fight than all of Shoichi’s desperate struggles.  Surely he must know it too, but all Shoichi does is let out a slow exhaled that scrapes up against lung and throat alike. Typical for someone who has dared to live out here in desolated wastelands. “I bet it would,” he says, a cough forcing a pause into existence. It’s too much for a body that’s become so thin and weak. “But my answer hasn’t changed, you know.” “So stubborn, Sho-chan.” It hardly takes a step before he’s within the room, and filling up a good portion of the space. A mattress can barely fit in here, so even with so little movement he’s already right between Shoichi’s legs. “It might be better for you over all if you just went along with it.” Smiling, he tilts his head to the side. He has no doubt that it’s as empty as he feels. “Everyone has a lot of questions for you back at my base that they’ll get out of you one way or another.” “Do threats actually ever help to convince anyone to do anything?” They don’t, and they never would with Shoichi. His lives have connected well enough that he is well aware of how Shoichi will stay true, even when he’s bleeding out, slow, alone. There’s always something beautiful about the way that fire burns right to the final ember of his existence. Byakuran thinks he could watch it for an eternity, if only he didn’t have the main story to get through first. Regardless, he leans down and forwards until he can pull Shoichi up effortlessly to his feet. Even with his clothing, he hardly weighs a thing, especially in comparison to Byakuran with immeasurable power behind him that could still grow so much bigger. “I thought you should at least know when you’re making a mistake,” he says, watching as Shoichi’s hands finally swing downwards. His fingers shake, quietly but violently. More from anxiety than ever any fear, Byakuran suspects, and always more exhaustion than anxiety. “We’re friends, Sho-chan, so, really, this is the least I could do!” This close, and Shoichi doesn’t really need to squint anymore to see Byakuran clearly. Weariness draws them a little further open, yet his gaze doesn’t shy away from Byakuran’s. In the world above them, in the world at large, so much has been dragged into ash and filth until brown and gray cover it as thick as any blanket. Even in places far away from civilization, the color seems to stick thicker than smog. Here, Shoichi’s eyes are still a deep green, so deep as to be untarnished jade, an oasis refusing impossible odds, poison that has burrowed past skin and flesh and blood and into Byakuran’s bones. “Friends, huh,” he says, voice a breath, an invitation.  “At the very least,” Byakuran murmurs before he accepts it, before he leans in and sweeps up those lips in a long slow kiss. Shoichi doesn’t push him away or, considering the atrophy of his body, make so much as an attempt. No struggle, no kick, no protest, not even so much as a bite. If anything, he actually leans in, palms pressing against the wall as if he’s chasing something, too. Only a centimeter keeps them separated when their lips finally part. Against all odds, the fire in Shoichi’s eyes seems to burn all the harder. Byakuran know the answer even before he wastes any breath on its opposite. “It’s still waiting for you."  He’s still waiting for him.  A kiss has hardly done anything for Shoichi’s chapped lips, the breath which rustles out from between them drying that brief wet respite. It’s hardly done anything for that look in his eyes, either. "Well, it’ll probably have to keep waiting.” Byakuran watches the muscles in his throat stick and bob, struggling for even a simple swallow. “There’s nothing else for me to do in this world. There’s no point.” On the technical aspect, he’s right, of course. The Tri-ni-sette cannot be completed in this world, even if he were to include Shoichi’s perfect brilliant flame to the Mare set. Everything Byakuran does in this particular world is only for his own amusement right now, even if that means dismantling society chunk by chunk, or seeing how far a group of people can be pushed before they shatter into pieces. Even Shoichi isn’t different from this. If he were to finally complete his route in this world, of all worlds, what would he do then? If this was Shoichi the bassist, he could have kept him sweet and separate from the dirty business of a world collapsing in on itself with his goading, could have ducked into their not-so-little apartment and played a more domestic game.  If this was Shoichi the student, he could fill his spare time molding him into something else, treat him customizable, put together all the pieces of a broken man until he wasn’t quite whole but certainly together.  If this was Shoichi the criminal… If he had stayed…  Well. There’s no world where Shoichi has ever stayed by Byakuran’s side as he’s reworked the world into something entirely different. It’s simply not a part of the route.  Byakuran accepts this easily, because he’s had to dozens of times before, in dozens of other incarnations. All he does is chuckle a little bit. “So pessimistic, Sho-chan!” “Optimistic, actually.” That’s certainly a surprise, and Byakuran has to pause, still smiling but with his eyebrows raised a little bit now. Shoichi grins at him, with just enough teeth to be a threat. He’s never felt threatened in all of his lives now, not since he was a kid in some life forgotten a long time ago, and yet that doesn’t take away the intent. “How long do you think you can keep this going, Byakuran-san? How many worlds do you think you can completely dominate?” “Ha. Well, Sho-chan, I think the answer should be fairly obvious, shouldn’t it?” He inclines his head back towards the door, hands preoccupied with Shoichi’s weight. “If I can do this much to this kind of world, then I doubt there are many others that will be as much of a challenge.” The real challenge is in completing everything, in putting together the exact right variables that will give him all of the Tri-Ni-Sette.  The real challenge is in completing everything, including finally keeping Shoichi Irie at his side.  Despite this fact, Shoichi doesn’t stop grinning, although some strength has drained from it. All his fire can’t give him the energy that his physical body lacks from little sleep and about as much food. “Well,” he says, “we’ll see about that. But nothing lasts forever, Byakuran-san. No one does.” And he grits his teeth together… and something cracks.  Later on, his doctors and researchers will marvel at the fake tooth layered over one of his real ones that had laid within Shoichi’s mouth. Such a thing would be delicate and tricky work even as a mere piece of art, yet Shoich had gone somewhere a little deeper. Literally, he’d gone deeper, apparently digging into old forgotten Estraneo strongholds and the secrets that had been abandoned a long time ago. An interesting invention- one of many, across many worlds, many mistakes- had been research into warping the body with the use of Sun flames via a set of specialized modified fangs. Creating a whole new jaw would have been impossible for even Shoich’s genius, at least with everything else he’d stacked up on top of his plate, and, considering the layout of the world, he’d probably never be able to get the necessary requirements for giving his body such base animalistic characteristics… But he didn’t need to.  All Shoichi Irie had needed was the base concept, the base technical aspects that could help active a Sun Flame within his body without the use of a Ring and change some internal trigger.  Sun Flames are activation. The Sun is energy. Too much energy, heart beating so fast as to burst, lungs quicker than the air they can absorb, mind falling apart from energy and crashing in on itself…  They’ll marvel at it all, the people he sends to investigate this, and a few will ponder if they can use this sort of technology to keep a tight rein on anyone beneath them, even if there will have to be obvious changes depending on the kind of Flame that one primarily has. Byakuran will let them ponder and experiment, because of course he will. In a world without any real goal, any real meaning to continue this particular save, he might as well, right? Yet he’ll never go on to use their findings, not in the way they intend, not even in other worlds. In the moment, in that underground bunker where Shoichi Irie lived out his last days frantically working on something that could never possibly have any meaning, Byakuran can only watch the way he jolts suddenly with an exhale so sharp that he breathes out blood… and then he goes limp.  Byakuran doesn’t smile. He can’t even act surprised. All he can really do, after a quiet moment of staring at a corpse, is lower it slowly back down onto the mattress he’s slept on for who knows how long.  Next time, then. If nothing else, he’ll always have next time.  “Byakuran-san, please, pay attention, I need you to have full understanding of the Merone Base, okay?” “I am paying attention,” he says, lips lilting up in a smile. It’s not wholly a lie. He’s always listened to Shoichi in multiple realities, even if he hasn’t listened to him on some occasions. So he’s intimately familiar with many ideas that Shoichi has brought up, some of them more solid in most realities than others.  The best realities for this sort of thing are the handful where Shoichi’s life has him meet someone born on an entirely different little island, separated from Japan by an entire continent. Byakuran doesn’t really mess with the workers on the lower end of things, which Spanner definitely qualifies as despite his own mechanical genius, but he keeps an eye on anything that is prone to influence Shoichi. In the universes where Shoichi Irie and the aptly dubbed “Spanner” meet, Shoichi almost always  comet collides into his talent with technology. Whether those are universes where Shoichi temporarily joins him… That’s a little more in the air. A coin flip, honestly, one of those things that is practically prayed to like the RNG in a gacha phone game.  That such existences are also the ones where Shoichi falls in love with another, where he burns so bright in a different direction, is something Byakuran is pretty sure he’s not jealous about. Why would he be? That happens in the occasional RPG, where your companions fall for each other if you never make a move towards them. Byakuran thinks of such occurrences, of such lives he’s lived with different lovers himself, and then stops thinking of them.  For this existence? This one in particular has Spanner working deep in the machinations of the Millefiore, not inclined to a leadership position that would take him away from the robotics that he loves so much. And Shoichi, in this one…  “Could you at least look at me when trying to feed me that lie?” Byakuran laughs again, shoulders shaking a little, before he rolls his head back along the couch to look at him upside-down. Shoichi the the Right Hand Man, the inevitable betrayer, stares right back at him before heaving out a sigh. Theoretically, he’s supposed to be clad in Millefiore lily white at all times, especially when dealing with official business here in Byakuran’s very own expansive office. Yet it’s a testament to the privilege Shoichi possesses that he can be half out of it already, revealing not a slick suit or combat ready tank top but one of his any ratty and worn band tees. If any of their subordinates caught sight of Shoichi in such a state, it would likely only further fuel the rumors Byakuran knows are out there, that Shoichi Irie slipped into his bed long before he slipped into one of the Millefiore uniforms. In some ways, they might almost be right, just never in the way they’d ever think to think.  If only Shoichi would want him enough to try and seduce him, and more than the simple fact that such a thing would be a hilarious experience. No matter the many different worlds, there’s always some… core to these characters. And it is a core part of Shoichi Irie that he’d never really be what one could call “seductive”.  “I’m looking,” he drawls, long and low, and something about all of it clearly has something to do with the way Shoichi jolts and his mouth twists. He doesn’t blush, apparently old enough to have restraint in some area even if not all of them, but Byakuran can recognize the little things like that. The Cheshire Cat smile on his face only widens. “What, Sho-chan?” “Byakuran-san, you’re…” A huff pops out of him and he strides over closer. “You know what, nevermind.” “Now now!” Byakuran laughs, reaching behind him to pull Shoichi closer once he’s in reach until his arms are folding over his shoulders and he can better see the schematics his supposed right hand is fiddling with. Still he keeps his fingers slipped through those reddish brown curls. They’re soft, comforting. A reminder that, at this stage in the game, he can still enjoy the little occurrences. Those are the kinds of things which help keep a person playing over and over again. “I encourage complete and total honesty in my subordinates, Sho-chan. It’s not good to bottle things up inside, either!” For all of Byakuran’s power- the physical where he’s become steadily good enough in close combat, the political and social where he could destroy a person’s life with a single message, the flames of his which burn through the barriers of separation and the barriers of flesh- For all of that, Shoichi in every iteration never seems to falter enough. He always manages to drum up a look of faint unimpressed exasperation, regardless of his situation. Byakuran likes the one Shoichi is wearing right now, the type where his fondness softens all of the harder edges until his affection bleeds through. If it ever becomes a dam, Byakuran suspects that will be one of the times when he’s won. “You only say those sorts of things,” Shoichi mutters, “because you find it funny when I get pissed off about things such as Glo Xinia and get petty.” “I don’t say it only because of that!” he says, even as he laughs. He laughs because it’s true, and he laughs at the ways it’s not, and because he’ll enjoy these moments where he can be with Shoichi with the Mare Sun Ring on his finger almost fake enough to make him think that this is a perfect run.  But he’s still waiting for that inevitable betrayal. There is always some core part, isn’t there?  Shoichi’s core has never made him take the final step into staying by Byakuran’s side.  Shoichi the Double Agent is a new one, although that only makes things a little more interesting. It also explains a lot, honestly, from how Shoichi had insisted on being able to take care of this younger Vongola with no reinforcements, to how he had kept their block against the Ten Year Bazooka’s effects so close at hand. Byakuran has to hand it to him- he could have been a world class actor in another world. Opposing him outright, or a heel turn at the last moment, those are the choices he’s used to. Yet he’d forgotten, in his apathy, that there was indeed a third option when it came to Shoichi Irie. There was nothing ever stopping him from going along with Byakuran’s plans while readying a knife for his back the whole while.  Faintly, he wonders if he would have bothered to stop any bit of Shoichi’s plot, at least in this world.  Probably not. All of his selves need to ignore at least one thing or go along with one plot if only to see how that might affect the timeline relevant to a completely different self.  It’s enlightening, too, listening to Shoichi explain the entire situation for the benefit of the younger Tsunayoshi Sawada’s group. While he likes to torment his many opponents with his supposed omniscience, Byakuran knows his abilities far better than anyone else. Certainly, he’s far closer to the very concept of omniscience than any other human would normally be… but he’s not quite there yet. If he knew everything, if he had the walkthrough guide to the game of his life, then he would have accomplished his main goal a thousand lifetimes ago instead of having it vex him so much. No, he only knows as much as any aspect of himself knows and shares with the rest of himself. He can’t be in multiple places at once, or, rather, he can, but they’re so detached as to something have no bearing on one another. Every life is its own, even as every life is him.  So, up until this point as he patiently takes in the meeting of his foes and Shoichi, he can’t ever have imagined that Shoichi the Underground Engineer had been thinking of this when he had questioned Byakuran’s ability to continue the game. It’s a brilliant play, a reality breaking move to match his own… and all he can do is smile, smile, smile. The inclusion of a love interest for the main character can really drag a game down, or raise it up to something so popular as to be overwhelming. A rushed and poorly thought out romance can dock a point or two from a review, while a truly heartbreaking or varied one can be the main reason why anyone even touches it.  Once upon a time, he had thought that Shoichi Irie had been just a minor side quest. Enjoyable enough on its own, sure, but no more than delving into a cave during a fantasy game for some quest or another. Entertaining in a mindless fashion. Yet even now, even without the Mare Sun’s quiet intense longing for a finger that won’t ever slip into it, he thinks that was foolish of himselves. Shoichi was never so simple as a minor side quest.  He was as vital a part of the main storyline as any party member, as any guiding NPC, as any fridged lover.  Byakuran wonders how he’ll die this time. Shoichi Irie doesn’t die.  Oh, he certainly does a lot of things that would logically lead to the death of most other people who attempted to do the same. He volunteers to be on the frontlines, despite lacking box and Ring both, staring Byakuran straight in the eyes as he says it. He helps control a moving tank of a headquarters to defend himself even when he’s being shot at. He removes himself from that tank, despite the metal being the best object of defense available to him, and forces exhausted legs to keep moving. He looks at the most powerful person in all of existence and makes demands of him despite the fact that he can’t even get up on his own two fee without assistance. All the while, he burns. Byakuran basks in it, even as he refuses to let this particular part of  the game go on any longer and denies all Shoichi would want for. This has always been a game between them, more than even the Vongola that so often seem to have a tendency of being his biggest obstacle in so many worlds. So, more than Tsunayoshi Sawada, more than the one of two remaining Arcobaleno in the world, more than anyone else, he savors the look of desperate frustrated outrage on Shoichi’s face. Out of his list of things he wants the most in the world, it’s not at his highest shelf, only perhaps in third place, and yet that’s more than good enough. Having that burning and sheering brightness focused on him alone will always place even when not in first.  Of course…. When first rolls around… When Yuni reveals herself, reveals that very puzzle Byakuran has been tearing over in so many places and times and lives, well, every gamer wants to get first place. Byakuran forgets him, save for the briefest flicker of a thought that he ought to thank him in one life or another for helping make this to be the run that finally succeeds. Loss is a new feeling, in more ways than one.  He’s lost his battle, and his war, fire stripping away flesh from bone, bone from existence. He’s lost the game.  He’s even, and especially, lost his sense of self as those flames do more than be rid of the physical. They sever him, completely, utterly, the changing of one blood red sky to something softer and quieter, and he’s never released how much was bearing down on his mind until it’s all been stripped away from him. In the last few seconds where he still exists- only himself, this self, this Byakuran Gesso who has lead this Millefiore family to where it is today in this very moment- there’s so much space to simply… think.  On a lot of things. On the very Player 2 that the Cervello once told him about, that Aria knew about with those amused deep eyes of hers, that a starving man in a lab cleaner than he was plotted so hard to bring into creation. On if perhaps this was perhaps a tester’s way of playing the game, but not how it was to be played. On if he had only been wistful when he’d seen a face twisted in quiet despair from beyond their little arena.  Next time. He wonders if there’ll be a next time.  “Just…. don’t? Alright? Can we please just, stop? I would appreciate it if you could stop. Just… stay in bed and don’t start a fight with the three other absurdly powerful people that are in this hospital.” Shoichi (the teenager, the young genius, thrice lived) tucks Byakuran into the hospital bed so securely like he thinks cotton will be enough to stop really anyone from doing anything. Byakuran lets him, and only partially because he’s surprisingly wore out. This, too, is a new experience, different from the many memories that still overwhelm him from other lives he knows but hasn’t lived. Then again, none of the lives that he’d lived had ever focused on anything but that one, singular goal. He’s never gotten to experience what it’s felt like to be shot at with full strength by one of the Arcobaleno, or seen just how much power the Vindice had been hiding beneath their dark coats for so long.  Not in many lives has he gotten to be so close to Shoichi like this, watching a face much younger than what he’s used to crumple up in an exhausted exasperation that apparently never aged a single bit since the day he was born.  It’s a brand new hospital room that he’s been moved to, now, and it’s completely empty save for the two of them. Everyone else who’d been present, those who would have been his Millefiore in another life, another future, have been looped into clean up efforts on account of the fact that none of them are so gravely injured like he is. Even Bluebell, although he’s fairly confident that she’ll do more playing than helping alongside the new friend she’d made as she’s been steadily absorbed into the Giglio Nero. That’s been slowly happening with all of them, he’s noticed quietly, and that’s probably for the better. He might not have the walkthrough guide for life- perhaps never had it- but he’s seen enough clips to know that they’d find nothing and neither would he if they stuck with him in the same path that he went down in one future that’s now ceased to exist for himself. The person at his bedside right now must know this as well, and yet.  “I don’t make any promises,” he tells Shoichi, smiling as the teenager slumps into a chair. He doesn’t look as bad as he could be, because Byakuran has seen him go through the full spectrum of destroyed and devastated and depressed…. but he does look dead tired, bags under his eyes better suited for the grave and his hair messy from lack of sleep or care. The frames of his glasses smack into his knuckles when he reaches up beneath them to rub at his eyes.  “I really wish you would.” Hands dropping down to his lap, he shifts awkwardly in his seat and glances back toward the closed door where armed guards are waiting just outside. For all his effect on the various aspects of reality, for the sheer potential of what he can do, Byakuran is always being watched. Yuni has accepted his assistance for this latest disaster, of course, but she’s surprisingly clever. That’s how she’d waited so patiently in another future, getting the Cervello into the perfect position to grant her access to the exact right place at the exact right time. Similarly, she’d agreed and complied with the Vongola when they’d requested surveillance on him. Byakuran doesn’t blame them. He’s not sure he’s still entirely attached to a lot in the world to do things like levy blame at anyone for just about any reason.  Shoichi is a direct contrast in that he doesn’t even remotely belong here, and everyone knows it. Everyone on Tsunayoshi Sawada’s side is a part of the Vongola officially now, with even the actual toddler being related to another mafia Family. The Varia, well, they don’t need any introduction to those who are a part of this life. The same can be said for Mukuro Rokudo’s lot, all criminals in their own right, and every single one of the Arcobaleno are wanted for their skills in both ways that can mean. Shoichi Irie is only a middle schooler at a good school whose family has been told that he was going to a tutor who could refer to him a good college while, the last some nights, he’s been involved in the life and death battles of overpowered criminal organizations and helping build a giant super robot that most college students could only dream of. If he wanted to wash his hands of everything, then he would have at least a 50% chance of success with how soft hearted the Vongola, Giglio Nero, and Cavallone could all be.  Yet here he is, one heel bobbing up and down through the air down to the floor while his hand remains loosely curled over his stomach. “I’ve killed you, you know,” Byakuran says casually, stretching his fingers along the too-clean sheets of his bed. From the corner of his eye, he can see Shoichi’s leg promptly freeze its jiggling. “In a lot of different timelines.” Even if it wasn’t directly, well, his hand was always buried deep in that particular pie.  It takes a long few seconds before Shoichi remembers to breathe. With his exhale, the invisible strings keeping his body upright seem to vanish and he slumps forwards. His hands curling into that curly hair are a sight Byakuran is intimately familiar with. “I know, Byakuran-san,” he says, polite even after all of this, across multiple realities. Polite even he sounds as though he would rather be having anything but this kind of conversation, preferably in a bed of his own somewhere.  Well, with how their first meeting in this particular universe had involved Shoichi yelling at everyone else about how he wasn’t to be trusted, it’s sort of a given that he knows. Regardless. “I thought you might need a reminder,” he replies, head falling back a little further into his pillow. Despite how long people can end up staying, hospital pillows really are garbage, he’s come to find. Even when the mafia is involved. And a little bit of the yakuza.  Shoichi’s fingers keep sliding further backwards, catching tangles and tugging free of them until he can rest them curved over the back of his neck. “Thanks for that,” he deadpans. As with many worlds, Byakuran seems to have a talent for getting rid of that patience, even in the times where Shoichi never holds it against him. With that, his head drops, glasses threatening to bounce right off of his face.  It occurs to him, then, that there might be something else responsible for the darkened skin under Shoichi’s eyes and the weight dragging his spine ever further down towards irreparable back pain. It’s something that he’s had to deal with for…. something that feels like years, but which he knows, by the way people quantify time, hasn’t actually happened. Yet that realization only makes Shoichi’s choice to be here over anywhere else in even this whole building alone a… puzzling mystery. His smile shifts a little bit, not as bright and careless, and he finally asks the question he’s been wondering for days and days now. “Why are you here, then, Sho-chan?” That gets Shoichi to looks up at him again, blinking a few times in pure befuddlement. “What?” “I’ve killed you a lot of times,” Byakuran answers patiently, still looking straight at him. This young, and his eyes seem a little darker than the brilliant green he has so many memories of. “I could kill you in this universe, too. So why are you still here taking care of me, Sho-chan? There are others you could get to do this.” Shoichi breathes in slowly again, and removes his hands from his neck with about the same speed. “I’ve been wondering that myself,” he admits. “But, Byakuran-san… You haven’t killed me yet.” …Huh. That actually wipes the smile from his face. When all Byakuran does is stare, head flopping to the side too quickly to be called a 'curious tilt’, Shoichi promptly flusters a nice red and jerks his shoulders up. “I know!” he snaps, which would be an overreaction if they didn’t know each other so well. Have known each other so well even without ever having met before in this lifetime before a little over a week ago, maybe. “I know the, the yet is kind of a, it’s a pressing point, there’s nothing guarantee that you won’t just…. do the same terrible horrible things all over again!” Every ounce of stillness is gone from him now. Free from their anchor along his own skin, Shoichi’s hands start to go flying everywhere as he gestures wildly. “I- I remember the kinds of things you can do, I know for a fact, and you’ve definitely proved that you can just… You’re not any weaker from that point in time, as far as I can tell! But I just-” He draws one hand back, raking it a lot more harshly through his hair than before. “I can remember you dying.” Brows drawn tight together, his eyes… They’re not burning, not in the way that Byakuran has become so accustomed to, and yet they’re an altogether different kind of intense that has him forgetting to even blink.  Shoichi says nothing more on that, says nothing on what was going through his mind as he watched even Byakuran’s very bones turn to ash on the wind. He doesn’t need to. In every lifetime of his that Byakuran has ever seen, his goal has always been to oppose him eventually, inevitably.  It’s simply never been a goal, he realizes then, that he’d ever reach with any element of personal happiness attached.  A single shuddering breath breaks the silence, and Shoichi continues with a trembling voice that’s only barely calmer than his frantic explanation from a second before. “But you haven’t killed me yet,” he repeats, like a spell. “Whatever will happen in the future, or any other futures, it just… It hasn’t happened yet. So I’m just going to deal with the now, with what we’ve actually done, before anything else.” That phrasing tips him off to what’s going on in that brain of his, and Byakuran eases back into his pillows a little bit more. “Hey, Sho-chan,” he says, making sure that he’s snapped out his own brain before continuing. When he’s sure he’s gotten his attention, Byakuran smiles. “You remember two different lives, hm?” His flinch says it all. Most of those who were tightly bound with that one particular future were, to his understanding and one way or the other, given some memories of the event. Byakuran’s knowledge of it is incomplete, admittedly, on account of that self being dead by that point, but he can extrapolate enough. The latest battle demonstrated well enough the combined abilities of the world’s greatest scientist, the unparalleled abilities of the Millefiore’s once-own professional Gola Mosca engineer, and everything that Shoichi Irie is. That sort of thing would have been easy enough for them to do, to the embarrassment of no doubt many other scientists in the world.  Yet there’s a problem with that. For all the others- the tenth generation of the Vongola, the reclusive and violent lot under Mukuro Rokudo, the Varia- they’d only remember the memories of that single time, perhaps an entire lifetime depending on what adjustments had been made for individuals such as Xanxus and Dino of the Cavallone. Yet even before he had died, Byakuran had learned enough to know that Shoichi Irie wasn’t anything like the rest of those who would remember that future, and in a way that had nothing to do with his favoritism for the other. Shoichi had been able to do what he’d done because a future version of himself had trapped a younger version of himself in his future long enough to suppress his memories of time travel, implant sleeper memories of that entire future along with plans to stop Byakuran, and then send him back into the past with the hopes that would stop something. Anything. By the time Captain Shoichi Irie of the Millefiore, double agent, had prepared his machine to let the Vongola’s tenth gen go back to their own time, he'd already been carrying the memories of an entirely different life and future around with him.  When Shoichi Irie the simple teenager had gotten those memories again, he’d remembered not just one other life, but two entirely separate ones, layered on top of the memories he has of his own life in this universe now.  Forcing himself to relax to what Byakuran finds to be mixed success, Shoichi leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands holding onto himself. “How… How do you deal with it?” he asks softly.  Byakuran jazz hands towards himself.  Shoichi squeezes his eyes shut in accompaniment to the scrunching of his mouth. “Alright, I- nevermind. I take back that question. It’s obvious how youdealt with it.” “Ha ha.” “Stop that.” Reaching up, he drags one hand down his face. “Please. Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick again…” “You’ve picked no better place for it, Sho-chan!"  "Please, just…. stop that too.” Sneakers scruffing against linoleum, he slumps backwards into his seat and delegates one hand to wrap around his stomach again. His other hand stays right where it is up against his face. “Okay, if you can’t… promise that you won’t get into a fight with the other super-powered forces of nature also being treated in this hospital, can you…” He falters, for a moment, no doubt remembering so many promises that Byakuran failed to keep. “…Just don’t do that again. Alright? Don’t… try any of those timelines again.” There’s a lot Byakuran could say about that, how he’s clearly lost so many rounds that he can at least gracefully step back from the controller, that he’s honestly become sort of tired after so many different livetimes where he worked so hard for something that he couldn’t get past…. But he doesn’t. That’s a conversation that can, maybe, come at a different time. For now, he only continues to smile slightly in Shoichi’s direction. “There are other things I want to do now, Sho-chan,” he answers, which isn’t really false in any way. It’s only simplified.  Shoichi takes what reassurance he can squeeze out of that response, nodding his head as if it’s made of lead. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “Okay. So I guess that’s… taken care of for now. I guess.” Even with armed guards, it’s good to see that even Shoichi is aware that Byakuran is only really contained when he wants to be. “Now all we have to do is just… focus on the present.” He whistles a breath out between his teeth. “Easier said than done.” While Byakuran’s own case far outdoes just about anyone else’s situation, well, that doesn’t change the fact that they’re both in the same boat of remembering more lives than 99.9% of the planet. How are they to move on so neatly, “live in the present”, when their minds are tied up in so many knot of other futures, other experiences, that they can barely stay put together? Byakuran nudges his hand a little closer to the metal railing of his bed, the failed purpose of which is to keep him in place. “Taking over the world is still an option, Sho-chan. And I’d still make you my Number 2, even.” The expression directed his way would be alarmed, if it wasn’t weighed down with so much exasperated annoyance instead. “Byakuran-san, what did I just say.” Prying his hand away from his face, Shoichi huffs. “Maybe Yuni-san would know… Even if I feel bad about bothering a little girl about this sort of thing. She wanted to talk with me anyway sometime this week…” Consider Byakuran’s interest stirred. “Oh, Yuni-chan wanted to talk with you? About what?” Rolling his head back, Shoichi is too exhausted to even look at him this time. “She wasn’t clear. Just that she wanted to talk with me and… Daisy-san…?” The sudden laughter that bursts forth from Byakuran’s mouth has Shoichi snap up in surprise. “What? What’s so funny!?” Grinning widely, Byakuran wipes away a tear of mirth from his eye with the heel of his hand. “Nothing big, Sho-chan,” he says, which is so transparent a lie that he doesn’t feel bad about it. Once again, he suspects he’s been outmaneuvered by a child, although the women of the Giglio Nero are so strange and otherwordly that perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. He has a suspicion of what exactly she aims to speak to Shoichi about.  Which leaves all the burden of effort on him now, doesn’t it? He allows his eyes to slide shut, comfortable exactly where he is. This entire time, perhaps he’s been playing the game all wrong, gotten the objectives all mixed up. Perhaps this isn’t even the game he thought it was. If that’s the case…  “I think I want to try things your way, Sho-chan.” And, for the first time in so many lifetimes, he feels a light touch at his own hand in return. 

[sleepyfan-blog]

First Meeting

Fandom: Dreamtale AU

Set in the same AU as this

Characters: Nim, Ink, Dream, Nightmare

Warnings: blood

Word count: 1,466

Summary: Nim, dying and desperate, contacts Ink for help.

Nim coughed a little, shuddering for a moment as she stared at the twisted mess of blood and flesh that she had hoped to be the vessels that her successors could live in. Her magic was starting to fade, and she knew that her time was short. There were a near-infinite number of AUs with which she could try to draw inspiration from in order to attempt to create bodies for Positivity and Negativity - the little energy beings nuzzling on either side of her face, trying to soothe her distress and ease her pain. Would a monster’s body work? What type? Or should she copy a magical automaton instead, which would give them more physical endurance than she had?

Nim coughed and stretched her consciousness outwards, lightly brushing a strange creature - the self-proclaimed protector of the AUs. He was young, compared to her, but he was powerful and clever. “Please come to this timeline, I need to speak with you, fellow guardian.” She sent towards him.

He appeared within moments, leaning against his brush, the easy-going smile on his face fading as he saw the damage done to her and The Tree, rushing forwards and saying “I-I’m not sure what I can do to help you - I can try to heal you, but I’ve never been able to heal anyone who’s been as badly injured as you.”

Negativity let out a tiny squeak and hid behind his other half, growling a little, his violet energy flaring in shock. Positivity chirped a little, curious but his darker half’s wariness kept him close to both Negativity and their creator.

Nim smiled and gently raised a slightly trembling hand to both of the tiny spirits, gently petting them and sending a gentle pulse of calm their way, as she responded “I doubt that there’s anything that you can do. I am dying, and The Tree of Feelings - which is what this is - must not go unprotected. I have created these two to take my place - as I will merge with the Tree in order to ensure that it will heal from the damage done to it by my slain attacker.. But they will need physical bodies to inhabit, in order to…” She coughed, biting back a pained groan as she grabbed hold of the Tree in order to steady herself. “To defend it… I… I have given them all the information I possess, but they will… They won’t have any life experience to put such information into context… Please I… Please protect them while they learn their powers…”

Ink nodded, pausing for a moment before rushing forwards, his hands glowing green “I… Ican at least ease your pain, a bit? I… I will try to help them as much as I can… How old are they?”

Negativity hissed and actually charged Ink, passing through the soulless skeleton harmlessly, apart from a vague sense of distress and unease that he briefly felt. The very young energy spirit squeaked indignantly and charged through him again, nuzzling Positivity and clearly began to sulk, the little frown on his face more pronounced.

“... I brought them into being roughly ten minutes ago. But they cannot start out as infants - their magic is too strong for that, and they will need to be able to defend the tree, at least in a rudimentary fashion when you have to defend other worlds.” Nim explained, blinking for a moment as she focused on the other’s physical form. A skeleton, that should work. Powerfully magical, with enough substance to interact with the physical world, but without too much physicality all of the time to be overloaded by the sheer magical power and potential that both Negativity and Positivity possessed. She scanned several nearby AUs and copied two of the same skeleton. “I… I must merge with the tree now, so that it will be able to heal fully. Negativity, Positivity, please go into the bodies so that you will have physical forms, please." She ordered gently, trying to encourage them to merge. It would take them time to merge and acclimate to their bodies, and in that time, she would become one with the Tree of Feelings.

Positivity zipped over to the small bodies that she had created for the both of them, gently nudging a little at one, then glancing up, chirping at Negativity, who was still lingering near one of her shoulders. The violet spirit squeaked in response before reluctantly coming over and gently poking the body that Positivity hadn't.

"Go on... They're for you. These bodies should work much better than the last ones... I promise." Nim encouraged, coughing a little. Ink's healing was helping to some extent, but it wouldn't keep her from dying. She didn't want to merge with the tree in front of the very young spirits - they might think it was what they were supposed to do as well, leaving the tree defenseless.

With only a moment's hesitation, both Positivity and Negativity buried themselves in the chests of the tiny skeletons, one awash in violet magic, the other awash in golden magic.

Nim held her breath for a couple of moments as she waited... But the bodies did not start cracking and twisting under the strain of the magical power. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Ink - who was frowning with concentration and still healing her "I... Please stop. Since they seem to be able to actually stabilize with their physical bodies, I don't want to take more of your energy - not when I will still die, anyways."

Ink nodded, though he frowned "I... I try not to interfere in the actual timeline itself... But I... I promise that I will watch over them as much as I can."

"Thank you... This is all I ask of you." Nim responded with a small smile, closing her eyes and moving so that she was pressed against the bark, shifting so that neither of the other two energy beings could see her as her physical body sunk into the tree and her consciousness began to meld with the magic and power of the tree. She'd be able to watch over them as they lived, though there was very little she could do other than offer them comfort.

~

Ink watched this happen, his eye lights mainly focused on the newly created spirits. The one with violet eye lights - Negativity? Was that what she had called them? Stirred first, staring up at him and glancing at his other half, gently shaking one of the other's shoulders, a quiet sound leaving his lips, before he managed out "Dream! Wake... Dream! ... Please?" Tears gathered in his eye sockets, fear obvious on his face.

Oh no - what should he do? He didn't really dealt with children very much - and why had the other guardian chosen a littleswap Sans to give them bodies? Unless she didn't have much of a choice, energy wise? "I... Hey, it's okay. I won't hurt you. She-" He gestured to the tree "-asked me to come here in order to help you and Dream. What's your name, kiddo? Mine is Ink." He smiled warmly at the other, hoping that it would help. He sat down where he was, not wanting to scare the kid.

Dream stirred and yawned a little bit, staring curiously up at him "Hello mister! I'm Dream - this is Nightmare! It's nice to meet you, papa."

"I-I... W-What?" Ink startled, a light blush appearing on his face.

"We couldn't have bodies before you came! Mama is the tree." Nightmare explained softly, not quite looking at him "These bodies look similar to yours. U-Unless you don't want to be called that?" He was pretty sure that was the term that more or less applied, from what he was told.

"No... No, papa works well." A small smile appearing on his face as he scooted a little bit closer to the both of them "Err... Do you have preferred pronouns, or have you not decided yet? that's perfectly fine if you haven't of course. I generally use he/him pronouns, but sometimes I use they/them... And once in a very great while I use she/her pronouns.”

Both of them stared at him uncomprehendingly, tilting their heads in opposite ways, as if trying to process what he’d just said. Dream rushed forwards, a bright grin appearing on their face, and tackled him, purring happily “It’s nice to meet you papa!”

“Aww… It’s nice to meet you too - both of you.” Ink responded with a cheerful laugh as Nightmare made his way over to him at a slower rate, shyly hugging him as well. They were both so adorably tiny! He scooped them up and hugged him tight to his chest, determined to protect them as best as he could.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond This Existence: Counterpoint, chapter 15

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3 Read it on FF.net/on AO3

----

Ienzo made himself eat. He cut one of the white pills in half and took it, flinching at the bitter taste. He set a timer for the three hours, took the small hand mirror from his bedroom, and crossed back to Demyx’s room. He sat at the foot of the bed.

Mirrors and reflections always made this easier in the past. What else was an illusion than a reflection of hopes, or fears, or memories?

Ienzo leaned back against the bed frame. He waited some time for the medication to take effect, trying to keep his thoughts orderly and calm before proceeding. He didn’t think he would feel anything, but after about twenty minutes or so a vague tingling started in his extremities, and his vision became woozy. He was convinced that Even gave him a sleeping pill rather than a painkiller or nerve block, but the sensation wasn’t like drowsiness. The walls seemed to have no straight edges. His breaths felt foreign.

Ienzo picked up the mirror. There was his own face, clear as day. He shut his eyes.

Magic, aside from the most complex glamour, had always come easily. He understood now more than he had before how deeply Demyx grieved the loss of Arpeggio. Dark or not, this power had been part of him. His control over the illusion was a projection of the loss of control he’d had over his own life. Manipulating others had been the easy way out.

No more.

He took a deep breath, and let his memory drift back. Surely the utter clarity of his own memories was a sign he could still work with others’.

In the beginning, those first numb and horrifying weeks as a Nobody left him overloaded to the point of silence. Xemnas took Ansem’s role as their leader seamlessly, down to the name. At first it seemed clear to them that they would continue their experiments, albeit with a pool of participants all the World over. But Xemnas--Xehanort--had a larger goal in mind. Kingdom Hearts. To get there, they needed Keyblade users. So they were sent out into the World to try and find them. Heartless hunted him mercilessly, figuring due to his small size and fragile nature he was easy pickings. He returned badly wounded more than once before his power manifested.

Heartless, after all, were easier to fool than people. Give them a decoy and they’ll chase after it. As he grew, physically and mentally, so did his power. His illusions deepened, took on the ability to also interact with the senses. It was all perception, of course, entirely artificial. He found he could sense the memories of others, could build these memories in real time.

His own memory was easiest to work with. He straightened his spine.

Remember. And create.

Perhaps an emptier room would have been a better starting point. He imagined his other bedroom, from the Organization. The barren gray walls. The cold metal floor. The bookshelf packed with volumes with identical spines. The window out into the Nobody city, how it always had its own damp sticky scent. The feel of the black coat against his skin, soft and supple.

Despite the medicine, he could feel hollow echoes of pain gnawing hungrily. Ienzo touched the space below his nose--still dry. He opened his eyes.

The space in front of him had changed. The surge of relief he felt was nearly enough to shake what little illusion he’d built. It was an imperfect manifestation--things seemed to twitch in the corners and in some spots he could still see Demyx’s real bedroom peeking through, as if through a veil. But it was something.

He stood slowly, dizziness battering him. He approached the mirror above the dresser hesitantly, aware that Zexion’s room had been bigger and he likely hadn’t yet regained the ability to manipulate spatial perception.

Ienzo looked at himself--and flinched. Zexion stared back. He could feel his human clothes, but what he saw was the cloak.

“It’s over now,” he said to himself.

“Is that what you think?”

The reflection in the mirror moved with him, but the voice in his ear was definitely his own. Ienzo turned away. The facade of the cloak melted away, leaving him in his apprentice garb.

“Clever, clever Ienzo,” said the voice. “You should’ve realized that you’re not immune to your own manipulations anymore.”

Ienzo scowled. “You are a poor projection of my own guilt. I don’t need you anymore.”

“I’m not too sure about that. Come here.”

The illusion pitched and pulled. He found himself standing in a cold dark room in Castle Oblivion. A large and familiar book was in his hands. “So this is what you are,” he said. He looked down.

The color was no longer a sage green, no longer adorned with the Nobody insignia. It was a soft blue, with an artistic rendering of a heart.

“Old friend,” Ienzo said. “You’re different.”

“You do see why I haven’t come sooner?”

“I believe so. But do elaborate. It’s not often I can converse so clearly with my own subconscious.”

“You had to begin to forgive yourself. You had to accept the love you were given. Steep costs for you.”

Ienzo frowned, disappointed. “I’ve done it, then?”

“You may have a complex mind, but your heart is no different than anyone else’s.”

Ienzo stroked the soft cloth cover. It was an odd sensation, familiar-yet-not, like so much of this life. “So he was the key.”

“It didn’t necessarily have to be him. It could have been any love. Familial, platonic. This just so happened to be first.”

“Can I still help people?”

“That’s up to you.”

Ienzo opened the book. The lexicon had always been infinitely useful. Its pages seemed numbered, but the content was completely under his control. Whenever he read or wrote something, it could be accessed inside forevermore. He could access memories. Data.

The inside of the front cover was written in ink. Property of Ienzo, age 8 . He remembered that birthday Ansem had given him a fountain pen and he’d been incredibly proud of it. The handwriting looked similar to it had back then, an attempt at neatness and maturity, falling short.

“Was Even right?” he asked slowly. “Will this risk my life in the process?”

“All power has a cost. You know this.”

Ienzo stared down at the lexicon for several moments. There simply wasn’t time to parse this out properly. He had no idea how much of his three hours he’d already spent. Time he was wasting. Time that trauma could be eating Demyx alive. And if he were to do nothing , and Demyx were to lose the will to live, what then? Could he ever forgive himself? He might as well kill him with his own hands.

“Do you want this power back?” the lexicon asked.

“I cannot let people keep suffering.”

“Then there’s something we have to see.”

The pages of the lexicon shifted of their own accord. Within it was a memory, rendered as though it were a children’s story, with the same etched-looking illustrations.

Ienzo and Xehanort, walking through the castle. The ever-present sea salt ice cream.

“Seven years old. A grown up little man,” Xehanort said.

“Yes,” Ienzo said.

“Master says you’re doing wonderfully well in your studies. Most children your age are only barely learning to read and write, and you’re studying neuroscience. If only there were more minds like yours. This world would be a vastly better place.”

Reading it now, it was so incredibly obvious, the way Xehanort hefted and tugged the strings.

“I only wish he would let you help with our research. A fresh, young, innocent perspective might be just what we need.”

“I like helping.”

“I know. I know you do.”

“I can ask again. I’m seven now.”

“It’s worth a shot. If that’s what you wish.”

The story faded, shifted to a new memory--Ansem’s study, Ienzo so very small in the chair across from his master, head bent over a book that filled his lap.

“Master?”

A kind smile. Ansem had always doted on him, except when it really mattered. “What is it, my boy?”

“Am I very smart?”

“Why yes--of course.”

“Can I help you work?” His speech then had been much simpler, much more plain. Initially, the trauma of losing his parents left him completely mute. It had taken nearly a year to shake the silence.

In the present, Ienzo felt something very like pain. He did not know if it was physical or emotional. “Why are you making me see this?” he asked the lexicon. “I know how it all went down.”

“Do you forgive him?” The text appeared on the page, no longer a whispered voice.

“Master Ansem? Is that… part of all this?”

“He is part of me. He is part of you. His choices have rippled through your life. Carelessly. He agreed to these experiments. He didn’t stop them until it was too late.”

“It is not my place to say anything of the sort.”

“Perhaps when you were a child. That’s not the case now.”

The book trembled in his hands.

“He gave me a home when no one else would,” Ienzo said.

“He said he would take care of us. But he changed his mind.” The book shuffled again, to a different illustration, of darkness consuming Even and Ienzo. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Of course it does, but that was not his choice, he was thrown into--”

“Do you forgive him?”

Ienzo swallowed. “Must I? To take back this power?”

“All it requires is clarity of thought.”

“Because lately that has been so easy.” His mouth was sour. “No. I do not forgive him. Not yet.”

The lexicon flicked through some illustrations. Being strangled to death, waking up as Ienzo, assisting Sora, reuniting with Demyx when he was a vessel. Reuniting with Ansem. Working on the replicas. And every little thing that had happened since then, one after the other, faster and faster, until--

The room in Castle Oblivion gave way to a starry night. Long grasses curled around his knees. Illumina petals, wild and free, glowed softly in the dark, lighting the path forward. Another thin finger of pain, gagged and numb, crawled up and down his spine.

“Where am I now?” Ienzo asked the lexicon, but its work was done; it was silent. He treaded the path. A gentle breeze stirred up the smell of the flowers. Time was truncating; it seemed like he walked both a very long way and not far at all. The scent of the field mingled with something like a sea breeze. He held the book tightly under his arm as a sort of anchor and kept walking, touching the spot below his nose every few hundred meters, but it remained dry.

He heard tides. Softly at first, then closer and closer. The field of grass gave way to sand, which was soft and cool under his now-bare feet. Ienzo’s illusions had never been this strong to him personally. If he had to, could he get out? The lexicon in his arms seemed to shudder a little. How much farther could he push?

The sea spread across the horizon. A quarter-horn moon coated everything in a silvery light. The surf looked calm, and gentle, but he could feel the pain radiating from it. He approached cautiously.

His powers were stronger and weaker than ever before. He had gone, somehow, from recreating memory to actively walking within it.

He set the lexicon down and placed a hand in the gentle, cold surf. Keyblade wielders--child warriors--gathered listening to a woman in a pink robe give an impassioned speech. Something about they will not remember. Fighting alongside other young children who called him another name, against Heartless and other deformed creatures, and the then-unscarred ground of the Keyblade Graveyard--

Ienzo yanked his hand out of the water, feeling as though he had somehow violated Demyx.

“Where are you?” he asked.

No response. He could see nothing, just sand, and water, and night. Ienzo took another step towards the water.

A harsh, sharp pain shot through his chest and back, almost knocking him over. This was too much power. The entropy. He had to act quickly. Otherwise this would all be for naught and they would both end up dead.

He waded into the water. It was icy cold, and painful. Little whisps of memory darted across his vision, memories that weren’t his. He tried not to look at them, but he couldn’t necessarily help it. Fights. Keyblades. Songs-- the most melancholic music he’d ever heard. He took a deep breath, and dove.

Demyx was drowning, immobile and sinking slowly, his palms outstretched. Ienzo, never the strongest swimmer, pressed hard against the viscous memory. His chest was hurting again, though whether it was from entropy or the perceived lack of oxygen he wasn’t sure.

Ienzo grasped his hand and felt something like a shock. The pain of it made him cry out and lose more precious air.

This was unnatural. This would have a price.

It was too late to turn back.

Ienzo grasped both of his hands and pulled. Between the weight and the effort and the memories, Ienzo couldn’t be sure he was bringing them to shore.

They surfaced at last. His muscles were weak and trembling. He dragged Demyx away from the surf and all but collapsed.

Demyx coughed and gagged, spitting up seawater. He groaned.

“Are you alright?” Even outside of the water, the pain was still there, hungry.

Demyx looked up. Apprehension and fear crossed his face, and for a moment Ienzo wondered if he should have left him in the water, if he were disturbing some necessary process. “Ienzo?” His voice was hoarse.

Ienzo breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, Demyx, it’s me.”

“What are you doing here? How--” He coughed harder, and Ienzo patted him on the back.

“My power brought me here.”

“Your power?” He sounded incredulous. “I thought you didn’t have any--”

Ienzo picked up the lexicon and held it out to him. “I’ve found it. My power as Zexion let me bring people into their memory. It only seems natural that as Ienzo I can bring people out of it.”

“It’s different,” he said softly. Demyx shook his head. “Still, you’re in my head--this is weird.”

“I’m sorry. I… I was trying to help.” He looked out towards the sea. “You could’ve drowned. You were drowning. I could feel your heart there, so tenuous--”

“Memory,” was all he said.

“I know who you are,” Ienzo said. “Even told me. But I saw, too.”

His breath hitched. “I tried to tell you--”

Ienzo touched his face. Uncanny, how realistic the wetness and sand felt. “I know. You couldn’t’ve. I’m not mad at you.”

Demyx glanced away at him. His eyes were watering. “So much pain they tried to hide from us,” he said brokenly. “They did a shitty job. I can see everything that happened . ”

“Xehanort?”

He swallowed thickly. “The Foretellers.” His lip twitched. Ienzo drew him into his arms and Demyx started to cry.

Another pang of pain inside of his head. This time it was like lightning. Ienzo knew there would be blood before he even checked.

“Ienzo?” Demyx asked wearily. “What’s--”

“Come back with me,” Ienzo said. “Quickly. We both have to wake up.”

“You’re bleeding--”

“My power, it’s--” The agony tightened within him. He didn’t know how to get out of here, but he had to do it fast. Even his illusory body was losing strength.

“You’re burning out,” Demyx said.

“Worse. I’m--”

“Shit, shit, shit.” He was panicking. “Okay. Um.” He pinched himself hard. “Fuck, why did I think that would work? What do you normally do?”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Demyx blinked. “This is probably really stupid but I can’t think of anything else--” He cut himself  off and kissed Ienzo square on the mouth, blood and all.

The next thing Ienzo was aware of was the pain. He couldn’t move. His insides felt like they were burning--they probably were.

Demyx was yelling. “Hey. Hey, Ienzo. Wake up. You have to--” Hands at his shoulder, his wrist, checking for a pulse. Pressure against his pockets. “I need help. Even, I need-- I think Ienzo’s dying and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Was he dying? He was feeling more numbness than pain now.

Even’s voice. “What happened?”

“He found me. In my memory. I don’t know how, but he--he said he wasn’t supposed to have that power.” Ienzo heard a sob.

Even swore. “No. He isn’t. There’s a reason humans don’t control the elements willy-nilly. What are the symptoms?” He sounded slightly out of breath.

“He’s having trouble breathing. His pulse is really fucked up. His nose is bleeding and it seems like he’s in a lot of pain--” Another sob cut through Demyx. “I’m sorry, Even.”

“I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“Why is this happening?”

“Power like that comes from the will. It can only exist without the presence of a fully realized heart--otherwise, it’s too much power. Hence why Nobodies can use it as a defense mechanism. At that point, entropy starts wreaking havoc on the body. Your cells literally start to break down and melt.  The will to live starts to wear down.”

“Ienzo…”

“I’ve messaged Aerith. I don’t think my skills are enough. We must keep him alive until then.”

Alive.

Ienzo could not feel anything, not even fear. He tried to keep drawing breaths, to stay alive , but his lungs were not responsive. He was starting to get dizzy, and drowsy. There was more pressure against his chest, repetitive and insistent. Demyx’s voice, again, heartbroken: “Why would you do this? Why didn’t you let me drown?”

He tried to fight the pull of sleep, but with his will cleaved, he had no choice but to give into it.

[purpleyin]

Flash 6x04 thoughts

Fun to get a Halloween episode and this one was RAW, so much emotion flying about. Also some fun action. It was a weird mix of comical and angst-ridden but somehow that worked?

As usual, rest behind a cut because it be long.

lol to the previously on doing Cisco airqutoes for “Nash”.

ooh we see Caitlin, if only in the previously on.

Aw, he seems like a nice doctor at the start so my immediate assumption is he's gonna die isn't he :(

Wow Ramsey is sweaty, presumably feverish and I was honestly surprised the other doctor doesn’t notice it and ask him if he’s feeling alright... See ramsey this is why you shouldn’t put random dudes blood in you.

I’m with Cisco on the not just accepting it. But do they know how Barry dies is vaporising by antimatter? I thought the scenes we got implied he died by running too fast as part of some solution or was that not running fast enough to outrun it? It’s all so vague about how Barry saves everyone and I feel like they should be talking specifics, because that’d be how to out think fate.

Very different circumstances/motivations of course but Barry being so very acepting of fate kinda of struck me me as a parallel to Savitar who also didn’t seem to work that hard to escape the crappy fate he had in S3. I know an interview I saw a transcript for somewhere had them mentioning S3 was about how you face death and that this season was about the opposite in some way - maybe how to live post-crisis? 

Really, those lines from Frost in the lounge seems less Frost cadence and more Caitlin here so it’s a bit confusing why they didn’t have Caitlin briefly back to speak those...

It did bug me why is Frost so accepting of Barry sacrificing himself but we get the answer later anyhow. fFeel like Barry leaving the lounge there was a missed opportunity for a Iris/Frost talk and someone to ask Iris how she’s coping with it all.

Joe’s comment about Cisco wanting to save lives but Barry and Cisco go about it differently was interesting. Is the main difference is Cisco wouldn’t give up, he wants to save everybody and maybe that is unrealistic overall and something he needs to work on? But Barry is only so defeatist because he's convinced he’s seen all possibilities - and I’m not convinced he did since they stopped the procedure short due to it overloading his body/brain.

Anyhow, saving lives is the clearly the theme here for the episode. Ramsey wants to too but it’s how it can twist people - Cisco making a choice that was both self-lress for Barry and selfish for wanting to save his friend rather than others and Ramsey’s self-preservation trumping everything else.

Wondering just how fast does HLH progress in this. What I read up on it online did not sound like what they were talking about in the show so I’m not expecting this is medically accurate... I don't quite get why use the centrifuge once he puts the black blood into new blood to create more. I thought centrifuges were to to seperate stuff, no? But I should probably stop expecting medical/scientific accuracy.

Aw to the flashbacks to his mum. I do wish we could have seen her with Caitlin too given the strong bond they are said to have had. The flashbacks feel a touch out of place but I’m guessing this is to humanize him more as he grows more monstorus for a contrast to what he was.

Cisco really isn’t budging is he. Maybe the solution here would be Barry could convince Cisco it’s the only way if Cisco could see all the possibilities too by some method. But I do not think he saw all, only a lot of them (and so didn’t see Oliver’s involvement? or did he see that and Barry dying is the only version where everyone including Oliver survives?).

Barry deciding they’d cure Ramsey did throw me a bit, his focus on how to teach Cisco about saving people is weird (also surely Cisco has saved his share of people as Vibe but the lesson needs to be you can’t save everyone, to pick carefully). Surely that would’ve better been a Cisco and Caitlin thing... I know it diverts quickly into something else that works for their team up but the start of that part felt like yet again they don't use the people that make most sense ala S5 and the cure.

Now I wonder whether Nash will ever use the door normally to enter. Is this gonna be his characters running gag? lol to him bugging cisco. If Cisco’s not wearing the same outfit as he was in 6x03 then where is the bug - like, shoes was a good guess if those are still the same. I'd say it could be on his hair, but surely that'd be brushed/washed out. Maybe his watch or something - or the extra troll-y option that Nash didn’t bug him at all but found out by other means.

With the look on his face at Nash’s turning up, how much patience does Barry have for another Wells? At least they get further and further from Eowells with each Wells iteration they come across but does he maybe always worry what if it could be another Eobard in Wells face, just from another earth? Is it always going to be at least somewhat hard for Barry to trust another Wells? If they do ever do Eobard as Eells from another earth, eep, maybe one of these series...Even weirder if it was not his Eobard but just another Eobard who hates all Barry Allen’s.

Aw to Iris' look when Ralph is so unethused about her dearbon lead.

Argh, why are scifi needles never just normal... eek to Ramsey’s thoughts and the obvious conclusion he's gonna need people to incubate it. Although I did expect his justification was going to be ‘for the greater good’ too. Do love the discordant feel for his theme.

So they’re in a ‘mobile research unit’ van but what did they use those for at S.T.A.R. anyway, sometimes I wanna know what other research they did other than the PA.

ah, McCulloch is gonna have another breakin, oh dear. They’re really using that namedrop as much as possible, aren’t they. I’d be surprised if they don’t make a big deal of them again somehow later in the season...

I was gonna say, how can the serum heal tissues in cases when the body doesn’t know it’s gone wrong but I guess they’re going with if more than 50% of your cells are okay those duplicate?

Oooh to it being Invasion leftovers but McCulloch has sat on that for a while. Trying to reverse engineer it? I’m sort of surprised Barry and Cisco didn’t try to too because more of that could be good to have, although meta reason is it’s too OP of course (and let’s just ignore that no matter how aweseome that serum is healing from anti-matter cancelling you out sounds like bull, but...). 

Oh yay for meta dampener plot point. They’re not overrelying on Barry’s powers this season to be the answer to everything and I really enjoy that, as well as the implication business’ are trying to stop meta crime with those things. lol to their asses getting caught. Did Nash do that just to impress them with saving them, hmm.

I did find Cisco and his plotting fun to watch but a) Cisco no no bad plan and b) if that serum needs -15 then how do thry plan to transport it? lol to Barry just following Nash. Ooh to the explaining his disappearing act last ep with the smoke ball transporters. Kinda comedic for Grant with somestuff this season and I enjoy a bit of that - the faceplant into the floor post-transport especially. XD

Aw to Ralph eating his feelings. Argh to sad Ralph being mean Ralph when Iris is only trying to help him! His comment did make me wonder if Iris has been avoiding Barry or Barry avoiding her, with his dealing with Frost and Cisco and team prep? Do like seeing Iris and Ralph scenes as I like their dynamic we but hoping we get Iris in scenes with others more too.

An important question is, who decorated the louge for hallowen... Maybe Frost if she’s never got to before? I know Cisco did Christmas decorations back in S4 but he does seem a bit preoccupied. I might headcanon Frost tried to distract Cisco with the task.

I swear there was a minute I thought Nash said ‘Bareon’ instead of Barry Allen, because it was said so fast and I thought he’d made up a nickname for him.

And Cisco joins the bad liars club along with Barry and Caitlin... Oh Cisco you could've put a sticker on the thermostat reading, way to make it obvious - did he want it found? He didn’t even put it somewher Barry wouldn’t be likely to see see. I suppose at least Barry got better at telling he was being lied to? He hasn’t always been good at that.

Wow to Cisco determination about not letting Barry at the serum, especially for someone without powers. But ow ow ow with the conflict of Cisco not wanting to let him sacrifice himself and Barry holding onto his friends living as the reason to do that. All the emotions!

So Barry says he's been dealing with it for weeks, but how does that add up with only telling the team last ep. Was there some time before they told them the first part about Crisis bumped up or was there more of two weeks between 6x03 and 6x04...

Oh gods, so much more ow to Barry's ’Maybe I made the wrong choice. They bringing all the Barry & Cisco feels *cries* 

Ooh to the lightning flashes on Barry’s face when he’s in Ramsey’s lab. I was fully expecting Ramsey would take it and it would be too late and just make the bloodwork cells duplicate but it was interesting they went with it didn’t work, after hyping the serum up...

Also shouldn’t Barry have mentioned the -15 storage requirement? It appears to only need -15C when it’s plot convenient... Ahhh that shot of Barry before he leaves the lab, happy to have been able to give it to Ramsey, is such classic noble Barry.

Ooh to a Joe and Ralph scene. So... another timeline pondering - when he says last summer, does he mean summer 2019 or last year’s summer in 2018 (I think the latter?) which would’ve been somewhere in s5... Oh more ow about Barry news being relating to the giving up on the Dearbon case.

Very nice they got a Chyre mention nod to s1, they’re doing good on past season mentions/callbacks this season. Such feels to Joe not saying anything to Ralph’s “I’m gonna miss him” like he can only nod.

Not sure what to make of Nash calling Cisco kid. Is it just to rile Cisco up? Wondering did he know another version of Cisco elsewhere so that’s why he so quickly gets under his skin?

Yay for Frost using the bartending skills.

Her line about you can’t save someone who doesn’t want saving re: Barry fate, not to mention the “the obsess over it leading down a dark path and a mistake you can’t fix” follow up made me think of her team-up with Savitar in S3. Wondering whether Frost wanted to be able to save him (he was the first person to accept her for her after all), for them to escape the timeloop fate and whether she was regretting what she did with getting sucked into that scheming of his.

I may have face!palmed at Ramsey and his epiphany about epinephrine. The whole you must be afraid is so frequently the key, to power usage anyhow, so this being the case is predictable. I just don’t know why he skipped to I must scared and kill people - why not add ephinprine to the blood? It’s a big jump from that to conclusion about the chemical requirements to the have to kill people while they are super afraid. Ramsey, chill, try adding some to the blood samples or something first. Or I dunno taking blood samples from scared people without killing them? There were options and he skipped to the most gruesome and extreme choice. I think I’m gonna have to assume for a smart guy he was a) too desperate to think straight and b) possibly feverish again like they showed earlier in the ep and so not thinking clearly due to being ill.

So they’re tapped into every alert citywide but I’m curious how. Do they hack every system? Or they could just make the security systems to sell  (or buy up a company that does) and add a backdoor if the labs has decent income these days, but I suppose that might backfire if anyone figured it out.

We get another Frost speeded in shot! I am finding it fun for them fighting together this season. Like seeing her using Caitlin’s medical knowledge too. The blast to get out of choke was fun, as was the, ice knuckles and there’s a nifty shot that shows off the shine in her costume. They’re really making efforts to use powers better and in varied ways (and not making people too OP/without weaknesses despite that) and I adore seeing that.

Again with Barry whump, they do like that this season too - almost always with the him thrown into something. And he gets to plead with someone again - so much Barry pleading with people lately.

lol to ‘the bad guy was taken line’ from Frost. Her character growth has been cool to see.

The Ramsey ramblings were strange, he does seem twisted from the flashbacks. I was expecting he’d justify it as wanting to find the cure for others but it is just straight up selfishness he admits, with a little meglomaniac philosophising. Also some irony to talk about finding immortality with two metas who do have healing powers that might slow their aging, although it’s other circumstances for Barry won’t live as long as he could.

That anger for the poor doctor he held hostage felt like it came out of nowhere but must’ve just been well hidden earlier in the ep, he did have other priorities after all.

Ew to the dissolving into black bloody goo for the zombies. Made me think of Stranger Things grossness from S3.

Only 5 killed actually seemed quite a low total given the chaos at the hospital. It being night time and oncology department they were, did Ramsey pick likely terminal patients? So that he could feel least guilt about killing...

The composition of that shot when Barry is talking to the team about Ramsey had a sort of last supper vibe. Also, Barry’s eyes do look red kinda like he’s been crying maybe in between the hospital and there. :( Headcanon time - Barry crying at the futility of having given Ramsey the cure to no avail. His giving up his chance to survive Cisco suggested and it coming to nothing and more people dying instead - the failure of it all getting to him. But if that happened at the hospital, I wouldn’t bet on Frost being good at comforting Barry. Though maybe she would try, figuring she'll have to get good at that too sometime and Caitlin could talk her through learning to be there for people like that?

I find it weird we get Frost turn up in the hallway to ask Iris if Ralph is okay. Don’t get me wrong, I like Frost’s concern for Ralph and their brotp but when are we gonna get a Frost and Iris scene? One just about them! And when is someone gonna ask Iris how she is with everything. It’s like Iris is just expected to be strong, while everyone else falls apart and she’s supporting them but not the same in return and it bugs me.

Ended up glad that Ramsey being bloodwork going so wrong wasn’t due to taking the serum. That'd be extra argh if Barry's choice made it worse.

Eee to Cisco and Barry making up (yay we don’t have a repeat of S3 multi ep falling out). The thing about Cisco finding it hard to pick himself up, was that why he stopped being an (obvious and in the field) hero himself with Vibe? It feels like that could relate to his mental health and heroing getting to be too much to cope with.

They're really making use of that lounge and balcony this last season or two. I like it and it makes a change from the Cortex but I sort of am starting to want more variety now, like more at Barry’s lab or Jitters...

Finally we get the Joe feels on everything. They made Barry cry again, is it gonna be every ep in the lead up...Single tears from him are big this season. Also Barry’s clothes are very S1 feel here too, I feel like they might’ve done that to up the Joe & Barry feels compared to them having more talks like this back then. It does remind me that one of the reasons I got so attached to The Flash in S1 was that I loved they had a show where a male character got to have all kinds of emotions like this, to cry if it was needed. 

So, the projection that Nash watched - did he see the Monitor moving down that corridor through the wall or was it just someone in similar outfit, could it have been Pariah?

Overall like the ep but there were some odd jump to conclusions from characters & plot choices that could have been done to better as they ended up clunky. I think emotionally, it did bother me how preachy Barry got to Cisco. Cisco hasn’t been The Flash but he has been Vibe, and with Barry from the start, so he does know heroing, he’s been there after all. That might not be the same as being the leader like Barry wanted to prepare him for, but I’m not sure Barry went about teaching Cisco what he wanted very well. It was a very obtuse way to go about it.

The contrast with the Frost ep is interesting, because Barry struggled with her at first but figured out how to get through to her after a while (with the Ramsey parallel at least). He didn’t seem to manage that with Cisco here in the same way, it’s only at the very end they realise what’s important. It makes me feel like Barry doesn’t understand Cisco anywhere near as well as Caitlin, or even Frost he could figure out. But maybe that fits narratively seeing as we haven’t had a lot of Barry & Cisco interaction last season and Barry was also irking Cisco in 6x01 with his behavour, pushing too hard and not realising. Makes me want to see/read fic for those two reconnecting better before Crisis.

[vicbartons]

Ohhh and for the prompt I sent could you maybe make it hurt comfort if that’s ok? Xox

#62 “please shut up. just shut up.”

They should have never let Cain talk them into this.

There are thousands of thoughts rushing through Robert‘s head a mile a minute, but that is the loudest one. A screeching alarm bell going off in the depths of his brain, overloading his senses.

Because they were supposed to be this sensible, grown-up couple these days, weren‘t they?

No more dodgy deals, no more lies and schemes. 

Just an average married couple, happy and loved-up. With nothing more to worry about than where to spend their weekly date night or whose job it was to pick up toilet paper from the shop this time around.

Only sensible grown-ups didn‘t run through the wad of cash they had made in what was supposed to be their very last heist within a year and a wedding. They didn‘t have to move into their little sister‘s spare room out in the middle of nowhere once their London rent had gotten too steep. Sensible grown-ups didn’t get turned down when asking for a loan, because neither one of them had a single steady employment to show for over the past ten years that was legal enough to mention on a CV. Sensible grown-ups didn‘t have rap sheets as long as their arms, clinging to them like a persistent rash and keeping them from ever making it through any landlord‘s rigorous vetting process without reverting to old tricks. Let alone the doors of an adoption agency.

Sensible grown-ups also probably didn‘t find themselves bend over their bed  midday on the regular, instead of out shopping for food at the local Tesco or job-hunting.

So maybe they weren‘t really ready for the whole responsible adult thing just yet anyway. If ever.

Still, they shouldn‘t have let Cain talk them into this.

Because they have only been married for ten months and there is still so much left that they want to do. So much more life to live together.

Only now Aaron is bleeding out on him on the linoleum floors of a nondescript corridor somewhere in the depths of the Tate‘s ridiculously massive headquarters and should and shouldn‘t haves suddenly aren‘t worth a damn thing anymore.

“Robert-” Aaron‘s voice is already far too small for his body and something in Robert threatens to break at the sound.

Robert has got his right hand on his left, holding them steady even with his trembling fingers as he presses hard against Aaron‘s middle. He tries to stop the blood from spilling, but Aaron‘s tight black t-shirt keeps growing impossibly darker despite his efforts, the edges of the fabric curling upwards around the wound in wetness right where the bullet cut through it. 

Cain had dubbed the bit of theft a no-brainer. A quick job; revenge and a big pay day all rolled up in one the way the older Dingle always likes it best. Well that and none of them had counted on Kim‘s bulldogged henchmen actually being willing to pull guns on them. Or catching them at all for that matter. They were RobertandAaron after all. They didn‘t get caught, did they? 

In retrospect, that way of thinking had been incredibly short-sighted. Naive even. 

But hindsight doesn‘t really help them now.

Robert‘s eyes keep flicking back and forth between his husband‘s face and the wound on his stomach and he can feel himself drowning in the impossibility of it all until Aaron speaks up again, his voice enough to drag him back to the surface. “Robert,” he whispers, but there‘s a strength to it Robert wasn‘t sure he had in him anymore with his lips as white as they are already. “You know that I-”

And Robert wants to hear him speak, because as long as he‘s speaking Robert can be sure he hasn‘t lost him yet, but he can‘t hear that. Doesn‘t want it.

“Please Aaron, shut up!” The words are loud and sharp and echo through the halls. Booming enough to make Aaron‘s eyes go wide and take even Robert by surprise. It makes him press his hands down a little harder on Aaron‘s abdomen and take a breath. Long and deep, hoping it will right whatever‘s trying to come undone inside of him at the sight of his husband in pain. “Just shut the hell up,” Robert says under his breath. “Will ya?” It‘s a plea more than anything else. 

“No.” Aaron has always been the more stubborn one out of the two and that‘s saying something. There‘s a shake of his head that makes him hiss in pain, but he keeps going anyway. ”I need you to know -”

And of course Robert knows, knows it deep in his bones.

In all his life, one spun out of lies and schemes and make-believe, there has never been anything more true to him than how he feels about Aaron. Or that Aaron feels the same for him in return. It had scared him to the core, the first time they‘d met. When Robert had walked into the Woolpack for a drop-off in search of Charity a little over six years ago now and found her sort-of-nephew with the permanent scowl etched on his face instead. The tug he had felt in the pit of his stomach the moment their eyes met had never disappeared again from there on out, no matter how much of a sour git the younger man had been.  

Want at first sight, they sometimes call it. 

And then so much more after that. 

“I know, okay? Of course I know,” Robert presses out between clenched teeth and he wishes that this stupid game of theirs didn‘t suddenly carry so much weight, “but I need to stop you from dying on me right now and get us out of here and that will work a whole lot better, if you stop trying to say goodbye to me, you muppet.” 

Aaron actually manages to smile a little at the all too familiar nickname and Robert can‘t help but mirror it, all be it a little crooked with his lips bitten and his eyes red raw from trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Bossy,” Aaron mutters between shallow breaths.

“You love it.”

Somehow Aaron gets his eyes to focus on Robert then. “Yeah, I do,” he whispers like he always does when Robert teases him like this, but it‘s lacking its usual levity. “Robert, if-”

The dismay on Aaron‘s face makes Robert lean down until their foreheads are touching and his full weight is pressing onto the wound with him almost lying on top of his husband.

“Shush,” he breathes out and his nose rubs along Aaron‘s with the slight shake of his head. “I‘m gonna get you out of here and then we‘re gonna drop half the cash at Cain‘s and drive right off to Paris with the other half like we planned to. And then we‘ll make a real go of it, all above board, right?” And Aaron just closes his eyes and nods, breathes his husband in. 

Feeling his shallow breaths against his cheeks as reassurance finally gives Robert a chance to think.

He only has a vague idea of where they are. The corridors underneath the building complex that were starting to bear a scary resemblance to an unsolvable maze, with their never ending white blank walls and headache-inducing neon lights had managed to disorientate him once he had gone rogue and just made a dash for the first exit in sight. Usually Robert was a by the book guy, as far as criminals go - always sticking to carefully mastered plans - but the reflex to get his husband to safety at any cost had overruled all that. 

It‘s how he‘d gotten them lost.

“Ace job, Robert,” he thinks to himself. “So much for criminal mastermind.”

He has seen them before though, the corridors, of course he has. In the back of Cain‘s garage on a blueprint spread across the hood of an old Chevy, a system of tunnels spreading across the entirety of the property like a spiderweb. It was too bad that with all of Robert‘s skills, a photographic memory had never been one of them. 

There is one thing he remembers though. It‘s the way all those endless corners end in a clean circle on the outer edge, connecting all the tunnels. Some sort of aesthetic choice on Kim‘s part apparently - the older woman enarmored by the symmetry - but all Robert can see in it is the system‘s fatal flaw. A weakness to be exploited. 

He is a conman after all.

“I know how to get us out of here,” Robert splutters and rights himself. He runs his hand through Aaron‘s dark curls once before busying himself with trying to untie his tie one-handed, determination finally making his fingers stop shaking.

His other hand never leaves its place on Aaron‘s stomach.

“Knew I didn‘t just marry ya for your looks, Dingle,” Aaron mumbles with his eyes still closed and Robert tries his hardest to ignore how every syllable keeps being cut short by haggard breaths.

His stomach grows warm with the epithet nonetheless.

“Then off into the sunset,” Aaron coughs hard and opens his eyes slowly. Looks up at Robert through this lashes, “like that old-timey movie?”

Robert softens at the age-old argument. Indulges it to stop the air around them from growing so heavy.

“I‘ll have you know that The Getaway is a classic.” 

They had watched it one night in the early days, curling up on Robert‘s sofa for what one could almost call a proper first date. Robert had fallen hard and fast for the story and also maybe Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw. 

Aaron on the other hand? Not so much. 

The fact alone that they have still made a habit of watching it at least once a year with only a minimal amount of grumbling from his better half makes Robert love Aaron all the more. ”But yes,” Robert adds on, his eyes no longer just watery, but a tear making its way down his cheek, “exactly like that. Because you‘re going to be just fine, Sugden.”

Aaron just breathes and it‘s all that Robert needs from him right now.

“So you‘re gonna hold on for me now, ey?” He asks anyway, more for himself than because he actually expects a response.

But Aaron has always been good at giving Robert more than he needs.

“Yes, boss,” he‘s barely opening his mouth now, but he‘s still there and that‘s everything. 

Robert presses one last kiss onto Aaron‘s forehead and then he gets on with it: Rips a strip of his dress shirt and ties it around Aaron‘s middle with the sage green necktie his husband hates so much, pulls him off the ground, throws an arm around his shoulder and just keeps walking until he notices a slight curve in the walls indicating that they‘ve actually reached the outer edge of the premises and his earplug crackles and shrieks as the connection builds back up, Cain barking at him through it soon after. Robert just keeps running and praying to whoever up there is willing to listen that they‘ll be okay.

(It‘s the last time the two of them get hands-on with a dodgy job. Not because Aaron doesn‘t make it. He does. Barely, but he makes it. No, it‘s because Robert makes it clear that the gashing scar on Aaron‘s abdomen that matches the one on his husband‘s chest all too much is the last one he‘s willing to bear. And the tired look on his face as he says it, the way his eyes go hollow like the thought alone is making him lose the will to live, is haunting enough that Aaron doesn‘t want to disagree.

Yet, Robert‘s still runs the odd con job out of the basement on the side even seven years later - with their little daughter perched on his lap - and Aaron might find himself laying out a classic thievery trick on deep web forums every now and again.

But that is all it is. Desk jobs, really. 

Aaron and Robert have grown sensible after all.)