#about the personal data of strangers that they will never meet and only hear briefly of

[pigeonfancier]

I've banned myself from complaining too much about health shit at this point, because it just spikes up my heart rate, but the biggest medical snafu I've experienced in a good fucking while, in a lifetime of fun medical snafus:

Opening up my pediatric MyChart and discovering that my shit pediatrician not only listed my 'hives, swelling and difficulty breathing' allergies wrt soy, penicillin and latex as 'multiple allergies' (with no description of what these allergies are, because ofc not).

.. only is her random-ass 'generalised anxiety disorder' diagnosis that she never mentioned to me still on there..

.. but she also merged part of my mother's file into mine, so now:

I do not have chronic kidney disease, for the record, and I sure as fuck don't have STAGE 4 GFR 15 TWO SECONDS FROM DIALYSIS chronic kidney disease. (ftr, my mother's gfr is now 28 and has maintained at that since around 2019, so she thankfully is no longer two seconds from dialysis! yay, aggressive lifestyle changes, meds and good fucking luck, lol)

So if I don't like this cardiologist, I think I'm going to call and throw a massive fucking shitfit to the medical network, because what the fuck is HIPAA? Apparently I just don't know! I'm hesitant to kick up a fuss with any networks that I'm still in, though, so.. we'll see.

I think this is also the medical network that really loved to change my race on paperwork every third visit, despite the fact they shouldn't be touching the patients' clearly stated race, so they're just something. I was so glad to be out of their network, but maybe I'll fix this shit up and find out they're infinitely better now? Maybe! MAYBE.

[bnha-scenerios-imagines]

What if Endeavor had an affair with another woman between the times of Natsuo and Fuyumi? Maybe the reader is the unofficial half sibling to them and they come by one day to tell him of their mother's death and runs into all three of the Todoroki siblings? Bonus if they run into Dabi beforehand and maybe he knew about them long before anyone else did? It was a fascinating idea that seemed plausible. Extra bonus if the reader has a healing water quirk. I love your work and have a nice day!! :D

I didn’t really mention the quirk! I hope that is okay!!

You stood across from him, his tall figure was seated at the table where you had interrupted his ‘personal time’. His hand gripped the mug of his drink, you could see the liquid inside boil under the heat of his hand.

“My mother is dead,” You crosses your arms, your one hand gripping the letter she had asked for you to deliver to the man. You had successfully avoided him for a good portion of your life, you had never mentioned the fact that the so-called hero, Endeavour, was your father to anyone. It was a secret that only your mother and yourself knew. It was why you had been tasked to give him the letter. You were the only one who knew.

His tapping ceased and his head turned towards you, his eyes glaring into your own. He moved the cup to rest against the surface, the boiling stopping momentarily as a small grimace graced his lips.

You knew he didn’t care. She was a one night stand, a mistake that he could never change. You knew if she had come forward years ago his life would have been ruined, both her and him would have been looked down upon. Perhaps it was because of this fact that he reluctantly spoke, 

“My condolences,” he refuses to look at you in the eyes. His own still focusing on his cup. His thoughts swirling as he took another sip. 

You scoffed.

“I don’t need to hear that from you,” you leaned over and placed the envelope on the other side of the table, “she wanted me to deliver this to you.” You pulled your hand back, glaring at the man, “also, don’t come to the funeral. We don’t need news outlets digging up that you have a bastard daughter.” You turned on your heel and left through the kitchen door, freezing when you saw two of his children standing right outside of the kitchen door, the two of them making eye contact with you. You stood there for a moment, taking in their features before looking back at him. You said nothing as you continued out of the home. 

...

It’s raining the day of your mother’s funeral, the dirt still soft as you stand over her casket, saying goodbye one last time before she’s lowered into the grave. Friends and family place flowers on her grave, pulling away and crying into each other while you stand alone. 

“She could have been so successful,” you grandmother says from beside you, “but she slept around so much she couldn’t land a single job,”

You have to bite your tongue. You want to punch that woman square in the face, despite your mother doing everything for her. Your mother had to lie to protect the two of you, she had to move every time Todoroki found you two.

“She was a better mother than you were,” you spoke calmly. Your hand gripping the handle of your umbrella tighter. Your grandmother opens her mouth to speak but before she can say anything your uncle sweeps in, pulling her away saying it’s time to go.

You stand there as people continue to leave, whispering words of encouragement and giving you side hugs as they pass you.

It’s not until the place is completely empty do you feel someone standing next to you. Your head tilts to the side to look at them but the way they’ve positioned their umbrella makes it impossible to see there face.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” His voice is low but genuine. His hand readjusts it’s grip on his umbrella, moving closer to you,

“Thank you.. She was a good person. We’re you a friend?” You looked back towards her grave.

“I didn’t know her personally.” He hums, looking over at you, “you’ll make it through this though,”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling as you glance back at the stranger.

“Endeavour has hurt me too... don’t let yourself fall into any trouble. You have a good road ahead of you,”

Your head snaps to face the man again but you’re frozen when you see he’s gone. You stand there in silence for a moment before taking a step back, focusing on the gravestone for a moment before you moved to leave, no longer finding warmth in the presence of your mother.

“I’m telling you Fuyumi it’s down this way!”

Your head looks up when you see the three white-haired children of Todoroki a few aisles down from where you were standing. The three of them all dressed in black and white. Natsuo is pointing in the opposite direction as his sister shakes her head, pointing to where you were standing,

“Her last name isn’t Todoroki, it’s this way,”

The youngest brother says nothing, simply standing still as he holds both his umbrella and his sister’s. It’s only now you see the large bouquet of flowers that she’s holding in her arm.

Shouto sees you first. He gently nudged his sister and motions to you with his head. There is a moment of silence before Natsuo speaks up,

“Oh! Hello!” He crosses through the distance between you and the three of them quickly, Fuyumi stumbling behind him and in turn, Todoroki trying to cover his sister from the rain. 

“Hello,” you nod your head, unsure of how to proceed. You had expected them to ignore you.. not come to you on the day that you buried your mother.

“Sorry for bothering you, we saw each other a few weeks ago,” Natsuo holds his hand out for you to take. “You’re... uh, our sister?”

“Natsuo,” Fuyumi hisses, bumping into her brother before looking back at you, “I’m sorry for my brother’s behaviour we were just... a little shocked,” she carefully holds out the bouquet of flowers for you to take, “these are from us,” 

 You look down at the flowers, hesitant to take them. You didn’t want flowers from Enji Todoroki yo be laying on your mother’s grave. It would be the exact opposite of what she would want. It would only insult everything she had done to keep you two safe. 

“They’re not from our father,” Shouto says, staring at you, “they’re from us.”“Thank you,” you take the flowers from her, managing to hold them with one hand as you held your umbrella with the other, “You three didn’t to come...” you tilted your head to the side. 

“Our father is an idiot-“ Natsuo is cut off briefly when Fuyumi glares at him, “He’s an asshole really and the way he must have treated you and your mom..”“We wanted to apologize,” Fuyumi finishes. When she bows so do the two boys. You want to reach out and rest your hand on her shoulder to tell them that they don’t need to do anything. They aren’t their father and what he’s done to your family is his own problem, not theirs. But your hands are full. 

“Don’t- His mistakes are not yours,” You motion towards your mother’s grave with your head, “I didn’t know him very well. My mother made sure we didn’t,” You began to walk towards your mother grave once again, the three of them following behind you. “When he learned about my quirk he wanted to put his name on my birth certificate, he wanted to become my father,” you bent down and rested the flowers in front of her headstone. “But my mother refused,” you laughed a little when you thought about it, “she hit him hard and threatened him... she told me that the night she slept with him was the biggest mistake of her life, the only good thing that came out of it was me,” you slowly stood up, “he tried to bring me back to his home but my mother stopped him, she kicked and screamed and wouldn’t let me go,” your hand gently traced the scar that was on your upper arm, “he burned me. When he let go we ran. She moved every time he found us. She lied to her family and said she slept with a bunch of guys and she didn’t know who the father was,” you looked back at them, “my family saw my mother as a whore for the rest of her life. They didn’t want her to come over during family celebrations. She was the mistake in her family. But we were happy,”Fuyumi frowned, her eyes began to water as she took a tentative step closer, wrapping her arm around you. She sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeks as she whispered apologies. 

You gently patted her back, bringing her the only comfort you could. 

“You’re not to blame for your father’s actions,” you rested your head against hers, “Please don’t cry,” 

When she finally pulled away Shouto gently patted his sisters back in an attempt to comfort her while Natsuo spoke,

“We’ve never introduced ourselves-“

“I know who you are, Shouto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo.” You bowed your head before you held your hand out for them, “my name is (Full Name) But you can call me (Name). It’s nice to meet you,”

Natsuo barks out a laugh, taking your hand in his own, grinning.

“Well (Name). What do you say we go somewhere warmer? We can talk? Get to know one another,” he looked over his shoulder at his sister who smiles over at you.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” you followed them as they walked out of the cemetery. Your eyes looking back at your mother one last time before you moved to stand next to Shouto, asking about his classes.

[juniper-tree]

Disaster Recovery

Rating: Mature for dirty talk (but very immature)  |  4577 words

Mass Effect: Andromeda - Sara Ryder x Tiran Kandros

Link to AO3 - thank you for reading

When Kandros and Ryder's private email exchange ends up in the wrong hands, everyone is embarrassed.

Having some fun torturing Ryder & Kandros (my loves), and also doing a little head-hopping and generally being a goof.  

Warning: mention of reproduction & reproductive issues near the end. Just a head's up. <3

The message went astray somehow. The cause must have been an errant keystroke, or a clumsy jerk of the hand—the careless, one-handed typing of someone, flustered and hot, with more indulgent things on their mind than precise data entry.  

Someone who was distracted, imagining the quickened pulse and hard swallows of the person meant to read their words. Imagining how quickly that person would close the email if they were in public, lest prying eyes happen to see. The things they might do when they read it again, in private.  

Someone who was too distracted to see they'd accidentally put an extra name in the "Send to:" field.  

---

Cora rubbed her bleary eyes and tapped the datapad awake. Her morning messages scrolled up the thin blue screen.

The coffee on her desk did not send graceful spirals of steam into the air to entice her, or transmit any It's time to wake up! signals to her brain. Instead it sat there, flat and heavy—hot, but not very excited about it. That made two of them. She drank it anyway.

It was bad. They would have to find something new in Heleus. A native substitute. There had to be one. This Milky Way coffee was over 600 years old, and tasted like it.  

Yawning, Cora swiped her finger across the screen in a sluggish rhythm, trashing a dozen useless messages. There were copies of copies of intel reports from every corner of the cluster, useless ads from Nexus merchants, and more insidious emails from Kadara black market traders.  

These were not-so-carefully disguised as personal notes, to trick a sleepy, or distracted, brain into reading. The family holos you ordered are in! or You'll never believe how good this synth suit looks on me... They weren't usually pornographic—the Initiative's system filters were surprisingly good at blocking those—but they were illegal, and annoying.  

Like this one, at the bottom of her list. Re: Last shore leave. "Oh, please," she muttered at the screen, rolling her eyes. These days, Cora's shore leave activities consisted mainly of waiting for shore leave to be over, so she could get back to work.  

But the trick still worked, because her eyes drifted down toward the body of the message. Then her eyes widened. Now she was awake.  

Every time I leave you, I can't stop thinking about the last time I touched you. The last time my hands found their way under your armor. I hate your armor. I never want to see it again. That's an order. I only want to see you, naked, beneath me.

"What the—" Cora could see her disgusted expression reflected in the glossy screen of the datapad. These ads were getting... creative. What were they trying to sell, some awful serial, like the ones Dr. T'Perro kept leaving in the bathroom?

Do you think about my hands spreading your thighs? How it feels when I lick my tongue up your—

That was enough. Cora huffed an angry sigh and scraped her chair against the floor as she stood up.  

In the research room, an equally sleepy bunch of crewmembers bent over their screens, making notes or checking their own morning emails. Vetra yawned, and her mandibles wiggled. That set off a chain of yawns from Liam, whose loud groan echoed off the metal wall, to Suvi, who squeaked and shook her head, her choppy red hair fluttering.

Drack never seemed to yawn. He said that when you were as old as he was, you were never not tired. No one believed him, based on the available evidence.

Cora stomped out of the bio lab and up to the round console in the middle of the room, holding her datapad up in one hand. "So is everybody else getting really filthy ads break through the email filter, or am I the lucky one?"

"Let me see," Liam mumbled, turning to take the pad from her. After a quick scan, he snorted a short laugh. Then his shoulders shook while he repressed a fit of giggles. Soon, he couldn't help himself, and laughed wildly. "Wow," he said, his free hand scratching his brow. "That's... really something."

Peebee, who seemed to have extra-sensory perception for anything indecent, ran into the room and up to Liam. "Ooh, let me see, too." She grabbed at the pad.

Liam held his hand, and the pad, straight up above his head and out of her reach. He calmly sipped his morning tea with a smug smile, while Peebee jumped around him, trying to take it. He was taller than her, and his arms were considerably longer. She grunted, frustrated, and then a devious look flashed in her eyes. Her hands, fingers clawed, moved to his ribs, tickling mercilessly.

He yelped and backed away, spilling tea onto the floor. "Just listen, ok?” He cleared his throat and put on a sultry voice.  

“Tell me what to do. Tell me where to put my fingers, how hard to grip. Tell me to go fast or slow. Tell me you need me, because I need you, everywhere."  

Everyone laughed but Cora, who folded her arms tight against her chest and looked at the floor, and Jaal, who did the same. There was a reason they got along so well.

With Suvi and Peebee looking over his shoulder, Liam scrolled through the email, which was one of a chain of dozens. "It just goes on and on," he said.

Suvi squinted at the pad. “It doesn't look like an ad to me."  

"Oh, shit." Liam pointed to the expanded data of the email thread. "This was supposed to go to Sara," he told Cora.  "Somehow you got tagged on this.  I'm going to assume that was an accident."  

"Good assumption," Cora said sharply. Liam didn't feel he deserved such a sarcastic tone, but he was, sadly, used to it.

"So the question is, who sent this to Sara?" He thought, for a moment, it could be a crazed stalker. As the Pathfinder, Sara Ryder suffered near-constant exposure to, and messages from, strangers throughout the cluster, especially after she led the attack on the Archon. It wasn't hard to imagine some nutter would get a strange idea in his head, and send her email after email of the worst dirty talk he'd ever read.

Not that he'd read a huge amount.

Peebee tapped on the pad in his hands excitedly. "Uh, you're reading it backward, genius. This is a conversation. The last one is from Sara."

Suvi gasped. "Ryder!" she said, with glee. They all looked at each other in stunned, but mostly amused, silence.  

Except Cora. "You know what?" She held up her hands in a grim surrender. "I don't want to know anymore." She shook her head and walked back to the lab.

"Who's she writing to?" Suvi asked.  

"Who do you think?" Drack answered with a grunt.

Vetra and Peebee gave each other a knowing look and answered in unison.

"Kandros."

"I mean, who's surprised?" Vetra asked. "She was more into the Turian flexing in Last of the Legion than I was."

They continued to scan the thread for more choice quotes to read aloud, now in ridiculous approximations of Kandros and Sara's voices. Everyone had to admit that Peebee did a pretty good Kandros.

“Let me be clear: the next time I come to your quarters, I will dig my fingers under your clothes and pull them off you, slowly, piece by piece.  Then I’ll drag my talons softly across your naked body until you shiver.”

She was appropriately boring with just a hint of apathy. It made his words sound deeply unsexy.

Kallo padded up to the group, his steps soft but anxious. "Suvi," he said, like an exasperated teacher at the end of the term, "we really should begin that trial run of the ODSY drive core overload procedures."  

Suvi, giggling and wiping tears from her eyes, didn't even turn to look at Kallo when she shushed him and waved him off.  

He looked around at just how many of the Tempest's crew were gathered here, and sidled up to the console. "If something's going on," he whispered, "of course I want to know about it." There couldn't be gossip on the ship that he was unaware of... at least not for long.

Vetra gave him the rundown. "Sara and Kandros from the militia office have been writing dirty emails to each other, and we're reading them out loud."

"Oh," he said. He considered, briefly, whether this was interesting to him, decided it was not, and walked back to the bridge, leaving them to it.  

To Kallo, this was nothing compared to Gil's latest attempts at sabotaging the Tempest's perfectly calibrated systems, which he would discuss with Sara at the earliest opportunity. She always seemed sympathetic. If she wanted to spend her free time with the Turian and send him... love notes, he supposed they were—well, it was not something he understood, but he hoped it made her happy.  

"This does explain a few things," Liam said to Vetra. "Like why we never see her anymore when we dock at the Nexus. Even if it's only a day, she's gone."

"If this is news to you, you haven't been paying attention," Vetra said. "Why do you think he comes aboard to debrief her every time?  In her quarters?"

"Debrief is right," Peebee said with a wicked smile. "I walked past the door once. On accident, of course. I had no idea status meetings involved so much moaning."  She held a hand to her chest, as though she were honestly shocked. "And grunts. So many grunts."  

Jaal had maintained his position, staring down at the floor, arms folded, though now there was the distinct air of a pout in his expression. "I do not find this humorous," he said in a low, sad voice. "If Ryder has her own"—he sighed—"romantic attachments, that is her business."    

Peebee elbowed Liam in the previously tickled ribs. "Jealous," she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.  

A large, friendly hand patted Jaal on the back. "Don't worry about it, kid," Drack told him. "She'll get tired of him eventually."    

Everyone else looked at Drack, and subtly shook their heads. Drack shrugged. What did he know, anyway? He was only five million years old. From what he'd seen—and he'd seen a lot—some stars burned out hard and fast. Unless there was something else to it, something like love, all the fucking in the galaxy wouldn't make it last.

If anyone thought this wouldn't end in the worst way, they were wrong. It ended when Sara jogged into the room.

It wasn't a large ship, and she would have come past here on her running route eventually.  It just so happened she ran by while everyone (except Jaal) was still laughing.

She was all smiles, catching her breath and pulling down her headphones to hang around her neck. "What's up? Having an all-hands without me?"

The laughing stopped. To call what followed an awkward silence would be a sincere understatement.  

Everyone suddenly found themselves busy with... something far from the research room. Everyone but Liam. If no one else would tell her, he would.  He could handle it. Crisis management was his thing.  

"I think this is yours," he said softly, and handed the datapad to her. "Bad routing on the email. Got mixed up."

When she realized what was on the pad, her face stiffened. Her whole body stiffened. She did not look up. All she could do was stuff the pad tightly under her arm, and take herself back to her quarters on legs which were suddenly very bad at walking.  

Everyone knew her secrets now.  Everyone knew about her relationship, the dreams and fantasies she could sometimes barely type, much less say aloud.  They were things she would never have shared with anyone, except Tiran.

Sara was not hurt, exactly, and not angry, exactly, though she was not not those things. At heart, she was supremely, profoundly embarrassed. The only cure for that, she knew from painful past experience, was time. But a shower and a stiff drink, and some quality time with Benny the hamster, might help, too.  

Maybe a holo call to Tiran. He would make her feel better. He could also send a Strike Team to obliterate her entire crew. He wouldn't, but he could. Perhaps they hadn’t considered that.            

---

One week later, Liam Kosta strolled past Nexus onboarding security and made his way to the tram terminal. A few days' break for Tempest repairs meant he could not only get some overdue work done here, he could get some fresh, non-ship air. He could go to the Vortex or anywhere really, but preferably the Vortex, and see some faces that were not the same ten faces he saw every day.

For now, he was on an odd, but hopefully short, mission. He was headed to the militia office, to see Kandros.

If Tiran Kandros had a temper, if he was the kind of guy who would get violent when slighted or embarrassed, he wanted to know about it now. Sara was his friend, even if he had messed up and hurt her. She didn't deserve what he—or any of them—had done, but she also didn't deserve some idiot with more fists than brains.    

Besides, if he was going to get decked, or worse, he'd be prepared for it.

Kandros stood in his permanent spot. Militia officers buzzed from terminal to comm around him, but he didn't move. There were probably dents worn into the floor from his feet. His ever-present aide, Lt. Sajax, stood nearby, giving harsh orders to her omnitool in a soft, light voice.  

Liam could have sworn he saw a flinch from Kandros when he approached.  If it had been there, it vanished quickly.

"Kosta." Kandros hardly looked at him, but Liam felt the quiver in his subvocals. He wasn't especially angry, it seemed. More like embarrassed. Both of them knew what both of them knew. But Kandros wasn't about to acknowledge it.

Timidity. Not what Liam expected, but it was better than a three-knuckle sandwich.  

"Hey, Kandros," he said, keeping his voice high and friendly. "Good to see you."

He didn't know if Turians could, physically, roll their eyes, but the withering look he received from Kandros was close enough.  

"Ryder come aboard with you?" Kandros asked, with calculated, and transparently false, disinterest.  

"You don't know?" Liam teased.

Kandros didn't answer, but he shifted uncomfortably, without moving from his spot.  

"I believe she's still on-ship," Liam said. "You could email her."  He smiled at Kandros, a bigger and more obnoxious smile than he'd given anyone in a long time.  

He wanted to test him, yes, but it was also entertaining.  If anyone knew Liam Kosta could be an ass sometimes—well, first in line would have been his mum, but close second was Liam himself.    

Kandros didn't punch him, or curse. Not even a subharmonic growl. The biggest reaction Liam could see was that his small round pupils narrowed just a bit further, and his mandibles twitched once. Then he pushed past Liam without a word.

That must be Kandros at Level: Pissed Off. Not bad. As long as it didn't all explode out of him later in an uncontrollable rage, Liam guessed he was probably an all right sort of guy. He passed the test. For now.

“Touchy.” Sajax sighed and shook her head. “But he’s been that way lately.”

“Oh, I deserved worse,” he said. “We found a bunch of… intimate correspondence between the chief and the Pathfinder.”  

Sajax groaned. “Gross.”

“She must have told him we found it. I feel bad. A little, anyway,” he said with a sheepish grin.  

“Only a little?” Sajax laughed, and her laugh was softer and higher-pitched than he might have guessed. It was lovely.  “I may not want to know the details, but I’m not sure why they thought it was a secret. In the early days, every time she came by, we had to mop up the drool.”

“Hers or his?” he asked.

“Both. I hope it didn’t take them long to figure it out. If it did, they’re both clueless.”

Liam laughed, recalling all the times Sara, in the middle of a firefight or exploring a vault, would turn to him and say, I really have no idea what I’m doing, you know? Never. Not a clue.  

“That wouldn’t surprise me at all,” he said with a smile. “Sounds like they’re made for each other. We should all be so lucky.”

“Aw,” Sajax said, her subvocals humming. “That’s really sweet.”

He leaned in closer. “I can be, sometimes.”  

She looked him over, and it seemed to him like a positive appraisal. “So you’re the one who pissed him off, and made my life hell for the past week?”  

“Is he that bad?” Maybe his test method was all wrong, and Kandros wouldn’t show his true colors around Liam, if it would get back to Sara.    

“Nah,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You saw him. Grumpy and miserable. Nothing I can’t handle.”  

“Grumpy is still a pain in the arse. Let me make it up to you?”

“And how do you propose to do that?”  

He pretended to think it over, as though it had not been in his mind the moment he stepped into the office. “Buy you a drink at the Vortex later?”

“That’s a start.” Her purple markings crinkled in a kind of smile. “I’ll be there at 2100.”

“Roger that,” he said, walking backwards out of the office. “Looking forward to it.”

2100. After he finished up a few errands, he’d have just enough time to swing by the ship, and change into something a little nicer for her.  

---

We, the undersigned crew of the Andromeda Initiative Survey Ship Tempest and others, while in support of the freedom of both Pathfinder Sara Ryder and Nexus Militia Chief Tiran Kandros to pursue a life in their off-duty time, are nevertheless distressed by the lack of opportunity and means for these individuals to keep their private discussions just that.  

We ask that the AI Communications Steering Committee extend the budget for holovideo conferencing to include two room-to-room comm devices for the aforementioned personnel. The benefit of this outlay would well exceed the cost of not only the devices themselves, but the mental cost to the undersigned from hearing, or seeing, anything of a personal nature between our respective leaders.      

Cora Harper Liam Kosta Pelessaria B’Sayle Nakmor Drack Jaal Ama Darav Not Of The Tempest Crew Permanently But For Now Gilbert Brodie Dr. Lexi T’Perro Vetra Nyx Dr. Suvi Anwar Kallo Jath  Suvi, I did not sign this.   Lt. Popitina Sajax, Nexus Militia

---

Kallo found her in the galley, alone, drinking coffee. Sara had been so quiet on the ship lately. That whole email thing really made her clam up, as they say.  

Clams. He wondered if there were any clams on Aya.

He pulled a tall glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the filter tank. It was time for his daily algae juice, which he had every afternoon at roughly the same time, in the typically empty galley. Except today, it wasn’t empty.

“Do you mind if I sit with you, Sara?”  

She gestured to the empty space on the bench seat beside her. “Be my guest.”

He spooned in the dried algae powder and it bloomed in his glass. Reconstituted, never his favorite, but working on ships for years allowed him grow accustomed to it. At least back home, there was always the opportunity for fresh.

Here? Only powder, not even tank bred. Unless…

Clams on Aya. If there were clams, there could be algae. Natural algae. He filed the idea away to ask Jaal about later.  

He took the seat next to Sara and set his glass on the table. She stared down into her coffee, her hands wrapped around the cup. Her face was blank, which was unlike her.

Perhaps some conversation would cheer her up. He always enjoyed their chats on the bridge.

“So,” he began, “seen anything fun off-ship lately? I never seem to disembark these days,” he said with a laugh.

She thought for a moment. “Well... last week on Voeld I counted twelve frozen, snapped-off toes in the snow. Most of them were Angaran. Their toes are long. That’s how you can tell.” She sipped her coffee and grimaced.  

So much for small talk. He gulped down half his algae juice and glanced anxiously toward the door.  

“This is bad,” Sara said. She sounded so dejected.

“Are you all right?” he asked.  

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “I just meant the coffee.”

The problem was, she didn’t sound fine, and he wasn’t sure what he could do about it.  

That wasn’t true. There was one thing he could do, one uncomfortable thing, but he had a feeling it was the right thing.  

“Sara,” he said, “I’m sorry your private emails were read by everyone and I’m sorry everyone laughed at them.”

She turned to look at him, to really look at him, he thought, for the first time since he entered the galley. “Uh… thanks,” she said, a slightly bewildered smile on her face. “But I didn’t think you were in on it.”  

“No, not me.” He found himself looking deeply into his own drink. “I didn’t find it very interesting. We—Salarians, I mean—don’t have those kinds of relationships. It’s really only about procreation for us.”

What he wanted to say is that he found everyone else’s preoccupation with sex to be dull in the extreme. Unfortunately, most species took offense at that notion. For them, it seemed, mating was the center of their universe. To him, it was a family duty, and only as exciting as that sounded, which was not at all.

She nodded in acknowledgement. “Are you… looking for someone to procreate with from the Paarchero? Or on the Nexus?” she asked with a small smile.

Sara meant well, he knew, but she could only see such things through her own lens, her own cultural experience. It was not a fun process, or a love match. In fact, family negotiations were very fractured here in Andromeda, because there were so few intact families.    

“No, not yet. I suppose I will look for someone to make a procreation bond with soon,” he said. “It would make my parents happy, if they knew.”

“It probably is weird to you,” she said, her brow furrowed.  “I mean, I can’t… um, procreate with Tiran, but that’s not what it’s about for me.”  

“Not weird,” Kallo answered, and he meant it. “Just different.”

“I’m not ruling out procreating with someone else,” she said, almost to herself, as if she’d never thought this through before. “Although with everything I’ve been through, I’m not even sure I physically can—”

A pained look came over her face, and she held her hand in the air. She always did this when the AI in her brain interrupted her.

“Thank you, SAM, but I truly do not want a real-time update on my reproductive system. Don’t need to know how many eggs I have. Let’s keep it a mystery, ok?”

She sighed and sipped her coffee, though she seemed to instantly regret it.  

He couldn’t help but ask. “Humans have eggs?”

Sara held her eyes shut tight. “Yeah, we have eggs. The point is that for me, there’s a lot more to it than all that. And—”  She laughed, and looked surprised by it. “It’s not about what was in those emails, you know? I care about Tiran. He cares about me. I—”

She looked up at the ceiling. “I love him, I guess.” Then she laughed more.  

Kallo had never been more grateful to be spared this overly complex and difficult cultural ritual. Love was simple—immediate family, close friends, those who were good to you. Whatever Sara was experiencing looked painful and… confusing. He hoped it was worth it.

“And, honestly,” she continued, “kids or not or whatever, my legacy is set. I’ve made a difference.”

Now here was something that made sense to him. Something that had only been a fleeting idea to him at first, but had settled in his mind more recently.  

“Actually, I do understand,” he said. “I don’t feel the same pressure I might have back home to continue my family’s line. Despite how few of us there are here,” he said, an acknowledgement that made him feel guilty. But he could not change his response to that.

There was so much he had done to be proud of. He had helped build the Tempest and come with her on this long voyage, to see what he had built come to life. He had helped Sara and the others defeat a terrible threat, and saved so many lives. He had made friends, and seen new worlds.  

“I will still try to make a bond but… I feel much the same as you, Sara,” he said. “I have made a mark here. And that’s important.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “Exactly.  Cheers to that.”

She held her coffee cup in the air. He held up his algae juice. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a “cheers” situation before. He was not sure who was supposed to initiate the clinking, or if it was a simultaneous clink.

Sara clinked for him, ever the leader.  

---

>> ENCRYPTED COMMUNICATION RECEIVED

>> CONFIRM PATHFINDER COMM ID - ***.****.***

>> AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED>> RUNNING DECRYPTION…

APEX mission on Eos - your report

Pathfinder,

Spirits know you’re busy, but can I get a little more detail on this Eos report? I appreciate brevity—in official comms, anyway—but “your guys took care of it” isn’t going to cut it. And “my guys” aren’t being very forthcoming.

What happened down there? Something I should know about?    

Kandros

PS - I’m sending all of my messages to you encrypted from now on. Just in case.

____

>> ENCRYPTED COMMUNICATION RECEIVED

>> CONFIRM NEXUS MILITIA COMM ID - ****.***.**

>> AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED>> RUNNING DECRYPTION…

Re: APEX mission on Eos - your report

Tiran,

Nothing happened, really. It was a very boring mission. They walked in, did the job, and walked out. The only details I left out are personally embarrassing to me and don’t need to be in your status files. I don’t even want them in an email. For obvious reasons. Your team is doing me a favor.

You know, if you want to teach me the proper way to write a mission debrief, you’ll have to give me a hands-on lesson. Of course, I only have time late at night…

Sara

____

>> ENCRYPTED COMMUNICATION RECEIVED

>> CONFIRM NEXUS MILITIA COMM ID - ****.***.**

>> AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED>> RUNNING DECRYPTION…

RE:  Re: APEX mission on Eos - your report

Honey,

I know how to get you to talk. You say all kinds of things in my bed… I’ll find out sooner or later.  

Make it sooner. I can’t stop thinking about you whispering in my ear, your breath against my hide…

Can you do a holocall tonight? I’m off duty at 1800 Nexus time.  

____

>> ENCRYPTED COMMUNICATION RECEIVED

>> CONFIRM NEXUS MILITIA COMM ID - ****.***.**

>> AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED>> RUNNING DECRYPTION…

Yes

Need to clear the meeting room... I’ll just tell them the pyjak peed in there again. Worked last time.

[guidanceofficer-fr]

Astral Discoveries

Prompt: Space-themed lore!

I decided to actually focus on the stars for once.

Summary: A troubled flight controller of the Baikonur Spaceflight Agency contemplates the importance of his role. A stranger from the Starfall Aisles helps him deal with grief after two cosmonauts died on his control team’s watch.

Warnings: Extensive discussions of death, guilt & spaceflight disaster. Also, very long. I’m sorry, mobile users. (It’ll read-more on reblogs, I swear!)

@fr-community

Clear skies were a rare treat in the Shifting Expanse. They came only once a month, or every two months, if at all for a whole season. The breaks in stormy weather were traditionally a time for Lightning dragons to cram in as much outdoor labor as possible, while they weren't under the constant taunting of the stormy sky. Though there were no electrons hopping busily from atom to atom in the few clouds above, the dragons who harnessed them were busy far below making their own sparks of creative magic happen. Even dragons working desk jobs like Pathfinder felt the rush of the sunny swells; as projects were completed quicker down at the Launch Base, the demand on the workers in Mission Operations grew too.

But Pathfinder had no urge to rush now, under a clear starry sky. He'd been rushing for the past seven months to keep up with a tight schedule from the Spire. The whole agency had. It was an old story: the Stormcatcher needed things done /now,/ so people cut corners to get the work done. He'd notice, after all, if you faked a few figures. So the work had to be done honestly, and fast. But quality takes time, time the Baikonur Spaceflight Agency hadn't had. They all rushed like workers under sunny skies to complete the newest crewed spacecraft and the systems that would support it. Hasted decisions were made; "it'll have to do" became the unofficial motto in all the Agency's divisions, adopted by dragons who didn't have time to relax, to think deeply and thoroughly about the problems they'd been given, and solve them in the best manner. Everyone knew if they'd pulled off the mission, it would be a miracle.

But miracles don't exist in Lightning. The sky strikes wherever the land beneath it is vulnerable. If you leave yourself exposed, you're struck. Miracles don't save you. Preperation does.

That day at work had been the hardest day of Pathfinder's entire career. There are no words to describe the feeling in your bones as you watch a rocket explode eighty seconds into its launch. Dragonkind, for all its ingenious, couldn't invent a language capable of describing the inescapable sickness of watching a vessel of hope--a physical testament to the dreams and work of an entire world of dragons--turn into an atom bomb, shaking the windows of the blockhouse with a terrifying force, obliterating the poor crew within. There was nothing in Pathfinder's lexicon that could describe the horrifying beauty of cracking a firework in the dawn on the high desert, the blinding light which cleansed Sonrieth briefly of the unforgivable sin of incompetent engineering, an angel of probability, judge of Murphy's law, carrying out its awesome duty to smite down any vehicle vulnerable to its own flaws. It paralyzed him, even now, to remember that day.

And yet, in the moment, Pathfinder had been anything but paralyzed. The holy fire had cleansed him of any emotion, and all that was left was cold, dead precision. It became an obsession, checking over the logs for any funnies in his own console, then moving to help his more paralyzed team members process the information while it was still fresh in their minds. He'd been given congratulations (or, more accurately, been acknowledged) for how his actions helped out his team. In the moment, he'd performed the best he could have.

Doing his best work wasn't a comforting feeling anymore. Doing his best work hadn't saved two starry-eyed cosmonauts. No. The agency had been unprepared. And he was a part of that agency, meaning part of that guilt lay on him. He wished he'd had some of the experiences of the military types in the control center, who had trained with the Air Force before being transferred to Baikonur. At least they had some experience with mortality. Comparatively, Pathfinder had lived a sheltered life, teaching at computer museums and studying software engineering.

Then again, he shared a space with people who'd worked with test pilots, not all of whom came back. They hadn't seemed any less shocked than he was. But what did he know? Social cues were the last thing he was looking for when he was stressed.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

It took Pathfinder a moment to realize someone had spoken to him. When he did, it startled him, and he froze and turned an ear to the speaker.

"The- The stars, I mean. You guys must not get to see them much from out here."

Pathfinder nodded. He wanted to speak, but a pain in his throat told him when his voice came out it would be unstable.

The dragon behind him was silent for an awkward portion of time. Pathfinder wondered if he was waiting for a response. He didn't quite understand what he was supposed to say, though, other than a note of affirmation... It wasn't worth revealing how shaky his voice was feeling just to add a "yes." Still, though, the stranger stayed silent, so he closed his eyes and beckoned his courage to speak. Just when he was about to, though, he heard the other dragon's voice again:

"If it's alright, I'd like to sit with you."

Pathfinder gulped to keep his emotions from getting the better of him. "Yes. That's alright."

He heard motion behind him, and a fairly large Imperial lay on all fours next to him. Without waiting for another word from Pathfinder, he spoke again. This time, he was softer, about as soft as an Imperial could hope to be. "They called us all out from the other launchpad in the Aisles. My flight came in a few hours ago. I don't- I don't know what to say."

Pathfinder's voice was barely a whisper. "Me neither."

He was tempted to introduce himself, but he stayed quiet. An introduction to another Agency member would mean reciting his title as Guidance Operations Officer and Software Engineer for Baikonur Mission Operations, and MO wasn't something he wanted to think about right now.

"Thiore sure is bright tonight."

Pathfinder nodded, though he wasn't sure how the other dragon knew the fifth planet from the sun apart from the other stars in the sky. "Hmm."

As if reading his mind, he shifted his weight to point. "She's the bright one up there," he said. "The one just to the- to the left of that lightning tower to the northeast."

"Interesting. I thought planets didn't twinkle."

He couldn't see his companion, but he practically feel the expression change. "Twinkling has nothing to with whether it's a star or a planet. See- see, it has to do with- with the atmosphere. The atmosphere distorts the light from the star, or the object, so planets appear to twinkle too."

"Well, I stand corrected."

"Don't- don't feel bad about it. I've heard that same question from plenty of other smart dragons."

He smiled, and Pathfinder could hear it. He considered that a fair response, and didn't feel a need to add anything else to the conversation.

The pair lay under the stars for hours. It was hard for Pathfinder to fully relax; he was used to being on top of everything, or trying his hardest to be on top of everything, needing to know exactly where the spacecraft was and everything that could be pushing it off course. It was why he worked with a team to start with. No one person could handle that task without other dragons there to process data and hand it to him to use, and they needed his information as much as he did. So everything was a conversation, every little funny, every speck of error... and every number in the trajectory of a broken spacecraft that led the Range Safety Officer to explode the remains of a decapitated rocket before it hurtled down towards the town miles downrange.

"I- This is- This is an odd question... I'm not sure how to phrase it..."

Another awkward silence passed. He figured he couldn't complain, considering he could barely talk at the moment himself.

"Do you think they're up there?"

He turned his head. "Who?"

"The cosmonauts."

It hit Pathfinder like a brick to hear those two words. He felt a painful lump in his throat that he didn’t know was there. He shut his eyes quickly, trying to keep hot tears from rolling down his face. He wasn’t about to sob in front of a colleague. It had never happened, and it wasn’t going to happen today.

“I can’t think of anywhere else for them to be, can you?”

He heard a sigh next to him, as if it took physical labor to bring words to his comrade’s lips.

“No. I- I can’t.”

The wetness of tears on his eyes felt cold in the desert evening.

“And you know what?”

Pathfinder didn’t turn his head, fearing his tears were more visible than he wanted them to be. “Hmm?”

“I think- I think-” He sighed. “I think they’d want us to keep trying.”

He felt a grin form on his lips. He blinked, trying to keep tears in, but he felt one on his cheek.

“I think that’s a good guess.”

“No… You see… They didn’t die because they wanted to give up. They died because they were as determined as we were to get up there and touch the stars.”

“And we rushed them,” Pathfinder almost spat out. “We were too caught up in the stars, we didn’t focus on what we could have done down here-”

“We did what we could, and-”

“But we didn’t!”

Pathfinder’s breath was heavy. He was whispering, but with such force his words were practically a hiss. “We didn’t do what we could! We did shoddy work, and now two innocent cosmonauts are dead! While you guys were out-” He gasped- “While you guys were out at Tereshkova launching tracking satellites, we worked our asses off to keep up with deadlines that we knew we couldn’t meet! We knew we weren’t ready, and now two dragons-”

He stopped himself. He’d never thrown a tantrum at work before. But he’d never had blood on his hands, either. He didn’t know how to wash it off.

The air was silent. A satellite passed by somewhere up above. Pathfinder focused his vision on it. He wondered if he could judge the height of the object by how fast it was orbiting. But he’d already missed when it crossed over the horizon; there was no use counting how long it took to cross over the other. Ah, well. He kept his eyes fixed on it. It was like a miracle, he realized, all the work it took to put that thing up there, that it even bothered to stay.

Was that what he was supposed to be? A miracle worker?

“... I think you’re right to be angry, and I think they’d think so too.”

He sighed. “You think?”

“Well, I- I can tell that you have a lot of passion for what you do, even if you don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t know you, but out in the Aisles, well, we don’t ignore things like that. We channel our passion. That’s why Arcane dragons can be so intent on being dreamers. They use those dreams.”

“So what, am I supposed to dream of cosmonauts not being dead?”

“No, I- Listen. Passion doesn’t have to be a dream. It just has to energize you. It has to be enough to wake you up in the evening, or the morning, if you wake up then. It has to be the driving force behind what you do. You need to let it invigorate you, let it ignite the breath inside of you.

“What I’m saying is, I think it’s good that you’re so angry and regretful. In Arcane, we don’t throw that away. We use that anger to remind us to do better.”

Pathfinder nodded. “So I have to feel it fully, so I remember that I never want to feel it again.”

His companion was silent.

“Well… Something like that.”

Pathfinder lay in contemplation for a few moments. It was late, and perhaps it was getting to him; while he thought he’d been contemplated, he’d been thinking of nothing at all. He watched the stars pass above, and realized he’d been watching a constellation get closer and closer to the horizon for the past… god, what time was it? He’d better get back to his dorm; the last thing he needed was to be sleepless during the next weeks’ briefings. He was barely prepared as is. Sleeplessness wouldn’t help.

He stood up and brushed off his feathers. But before he left, he turned to the stranger.

“Thank you for talking with me.”

The Imperial’s eyes were still fixed upwards, searching the skies for lost wanderers of the cosmos.

“It was no trouble at all.”

As he headed back to his dorm, Pathfinder felt a strange sense of ease about him. He wasn’t at ease at all; on the contrary, he was still turning the events of the past few weeks over and over in his mind. But he knew he wasn’t wrong in doing so.

Starting tomorrow, he’d be sure he and his colleagues were exacting in their work. They would be slow and methodical, and refuse to proceed to the final steps of a launch until they were sure that their data was nominal. They would design and construct all the devices necessary for a launch with excessive care, leaving no room for dragonmade error in their work. They would leave as little up to the hands of fate as possible; Murphy was too harsh a judge to trust with cargo as precious as life. When the crew climbed the gantries and strapped themselves into their capsules, he wanted them to know their lives weren’t in the hands of fate, but in the claws of the dragons who’d welded its seams and sottered its avionics, and the few who watched over the craft’s telemetry with care at the launch site and back at Baikonur Mission Control.

He’d wronged those first cosmonauts, and he knew they’d want him to right things again, so no more would die as they had. It was Pathfinder’s duty to ensure that; the stars themselves had told him.

[spideyxchelle]

I know you've been taking a break from headcanons so please feel free to ignore this. Michelle and Peter decide to be mature adults and break up before college only they're doing it wrong. They should probably stop texting all the time, maybe notice when someone is trying to flirt with you, and they should definitely stop sleeping together. This is not what breaking up looks like.

hey friends, i have been taking a break from headcanons but this one spoke to my angsty ass. i did go a little off the rails with the prompt here. it just went in  a different direction. sorry! here, have some angsty angst with some feelings. 

there is something haunting about seeing Harvard and MIT acceptance letters in bold next to each other. its in ink that peter and mj won’t be in the same place for school. sure, its they’re both in Cambridge and TECHNICALLY they could make it work, their relationship, but their paths are diverging. they can’t deny that. they will have two different peer groups, new friends, a new place that is devoid of the other.

peter is the one that suggests they let each other go. its the mature thing to do, he reasons. and the ice pick driving through michelle’s heart numbs her enough to agree. 

they spend the last summer before they go off to college making the most of a summer romance. every moment and every kiss burned into the wasteful memories of teenagers. 

and then, as swiftly as they embraced, they are tearing themselves apart, packing up for Cambridge and acting as good as strangers. 

the first month of school is a lot of stimuli. noises, smells, foods, one-night-stands. its the heady rush of college that everyone had warned them about. and for this first month they don’t talk or text or even think about each other. 

and then, facebook pops up a memory on peter’s feed. its a picture from September of his senior year of high school. michelle is burying a kiss in his neck and he’s smiling so broadly his lips look on the verge of splitting. 

he picks up his phone and texts her: u up? he watches his phone for thirty minutes before he tosses to the end of his bed. because this is dumb. he’s a mature adult now. and they made a deal. they promised each other. and he’s not gonna be the asshole making shit compli-

yea, she replies. he scribbles back a response, how’s school? and he feels so lame for making small talk. this is mj. and they are better friends than small talk. but its been a month without her. and he realizes he misses hearing about her day. 

so they start to talk that night. about school. catching each other up on all of the nonsense happening at their respective schools. they text and text and text until sunshine peaks his data acquisition class yawning like mad. he barely manages to be productive for the rest of the day.

which, of course, he has to text her that he blames her for. she sends him a picture of her own tired expression and the middle finger. he immediately saves the picture. 

that is how they get in the rhythm of texting. and even though they are only a train ride away from each other at best they keep their new text-friendship restricted to over the phone. 

peter goes to parties, he assumes she does as well. and he meets people. beautiful people. who think he’s smart and charming and take him home. after, he always texts mj and asks about her day. texting mj is always way more satisfying than the weird blips in random people’s beds. 

when they go back down to new york for thanksgiving break that is the first time he sees mj. and, fuck, she’s beautiful. it smacks him in the face. all of their high school friends gather together at Ned’s house for a catch-up party. and peter falls into his normal seat next to her. and the normal rhythm of his hand on her knee. if she’s bothered by it she doesn’t say. in fact, he even catches the quirk of a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. 

after, he offers walking her home. cuz he’s a superhero and new york is a dangerous city. she rolls her eyes but lets him walk her home. and only when they are alone does it start to feel awkward. its been months, since august, since they’ve seen each other. and texting every day is not the same as in-person talking. 

mj speaks first. “i missed you.” he’s so startled he nearly trips down the sidewalk. “you do?” he asks. she nods and ducks her face to the left to avoid his eyes. “i, uh,” he tries, “missed you, too. miss you. present tense.” “present tense?” she drawls. he nods, “i don’t want you to think that i missed you for like a minute and then got over it once school started. like, no. i miss you, uh, every minute i’m not with you.” she licks her lips and her pupils are so dilated her eyes look almost black. his pants feel tight at the heat of her gaze. she grabs his hand and the flesh-to-flesh contact shocks him, but not as much as her next question, “you wanna get out of here?” he nods. because, fuck, he really, really does. 

they stumble into her parent’s apartment with laughter pressed between their kisses. he reaches for every inch of skin denied to him for months and she loses her mind. 

peter pulls out of their kiss enough to rest his forehead against hers. he pants, “what does this mean?” she smashes an impatient kiss against his lips, “less talking, parker.” he hoists her up around his waist and drops a nippy kiss on her neck, “i thought you liked when i talked to you during this.” “that’s different,” she runs her shaky hands through his hair. and that’s the last words exchanged between them. well, except the filthy words he growls in her ear. 

after, she silently dresses in his shirt and her jeans. an old tradition of theirs. a cute way to collect his clothes. and one he never fought much. her in his MIT shirt now though made his chest quake with worry. “Em,” he tries. but she shakes her head, “you decided you didn’t want to try, peter. and, honestly, it was a good call.” “a good call,” he repeats, hollow. 

like that, its over. back to the status quo. 

texting back at school. not seeing each other. and, for peter, missing her like a phantom pain. some nights after michelle goes to sleep, he rolls over in his wildly uncomfortable twin bed and curses his stupid self for thinking that he could cut her out of his life as easily as he had presumed. 

he sits up halfway through February and calls tony. his mentor grumbles into the line, “what is it, parker? the suit acting up?” peter tugs his knees into his chest, “no.” there is a long stretch of silence between them on the phone before tony asks, “are you okay?” “i’m sorry,” peter blurts out, “i don’t have anyone else to talk to or, well, you know, ben and my dad aren’t exactly around to talk to, i mean.” it costs peter something to admit to tony that he doesn’t have any other strong male figures in his life to talk to beyond him. its ridiculous. his father figure is a freakin’ superhero. and his problems are so minuscule next to saving the world. tony clears his throat, “what is it, kid?” and just like that peter tells him everything. about missing mj, feeling like he made a terrible mistake and being unsure of how to fix it. tony patiently listens and then gives him one line of advice, “some complaining to me and go and get your girl, parker.” 

he trips out of his bed at the speed he tries to get out the door. he is still pulling up his jeans as he hops down the hall. he runs to the train. its a ten minute train ride and the fact that she’s so close is not lost on him. he’s been so stupid. 

he knocks on her door and she opens it to great confusion. there is a beat, a gaze and then, a profound surge of feeling between them. peter steps forward and kisses her. she makes the softest, most profound noise at the back of her throat. 

he trails her back into her room. “peter,” she sighs, “peter, wait.” he shakes his head and clings to her forearms to steady his pounding heart. michelle guides his hands off of her arms and turns her back to him. he fights the urge to reach for her. “mj,” he shatters. “no,” she shakes her head, “you wanted this. you did this. i had no say. i had no-,” her voice breaks, “you don’t get to just decide you want me again. because what if you decide you don’t want me again? i-i don’t want to play this game. it’s painful.” 

“i’m a shit,” he steps toward her, “and so, so stupid. i thought i was making college easier for us. giving a chance to, i don’t know, try something new. but damn it, Em. i wake up every morning and think about you. i spend every night dreading when you inevitably fall asleep because then i can’t talk to anymore. what do you want me to do about that?” “live with it,” she snarls, “i had to.” “how can you even say that?” he exhales. “i’m not playing this game with you.” “this isn’t a game!” he roughs out. she shouts back, “then why do you get to make all the rules??” 

he stumbles backward two steps, “i shouldn’t have come.” “no,” she agrees, “you shouldn’t have.” her words cut him down. his heart bleeds for her and for them and for every moment he screwed them over. “Em-” he swallows.

she blinks back tears, “don’t call me that.” she brushes past him and throws open the door, waiting for him to walk out of it. he gives her once last lingering look, hoping, until he chokes on his pride and leaves. 

they don’t talk again until april. and every week that rushes past without her in it, for peter, is like a flash of unimportant moments. he gets uninspired and lazy during patrol. which is why he gets in a horrible, horrible accident. 

when he wakes up in the upstate facility, mj is there clinging to his hand. he blinks the pain away and tries to focus on his surroundings. he wonders, briefly, if he is dreaming her there. his voice is scratchy from the lack of use, “Em-?”

her head snaps up and he sees her cheeks wet with tears. “god damn you, peter parker,” is the first thing she says to him after three months of radio silence. it feels apt. “next time,” she plows on, “you decide to take on aliens without back-up….don’t.” “did i stop them?” he sniffs. she rolls her eyes, “you spectacular idiot.” she leans forward and presses the sweetest kiss to his dry mouth. 

his eyes widen in shock, “i-” she shushes him, “don’t speak. you need to drink some fluids and rest. we can talk about it later. we have time.” he shakes his head, “now.” she sucks in an impatient breath, “no. i’m making the rules this time. got it?” maybe its the concussion that is making him so confused and light-headed, but he grins, “this time? we get a this time?” she shrugs, “who else is gonna keep you from making stupid, rash decisions, superhero? you’re a full time job, peter parker.” 

he wants to tell her he loves her. he wants to grab her face and kiss her senseless. he wants so much to have a dazzling moment of getting back together. but the reality is so much less epic: him in a hospital bed, nursing a concussion and mj calling him an idiot. 

and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[fiveknivesdates]

Prolouge

Miriam

 It's strange from the bottom of the sea. Depending on how deep you’ve gone, the sun might not even reach you, but if the light does find a way down to you, it’s even more bizarre. It's like standing in a desert, devoid of anything living, except you and your heartbeat. There is no air around you, but only vision-slurring, body-cooling, sound-removing water.

   Back when Miriam was still a kid, she would sometimes find herself standing on a beach, listening to the waves. If she was feeling especially brave, she would even take a few steps out into the dark blue ocean. Miriam likes to think that she already back then knew where her real home was.

   And home she was. She was standing in the Glass Pyramid, an ancient building beneath the Atlantic ocean that the first Tethered humans had built. It was a sanctuary for people like Miriam; hidden from the normal humans who weren't supposed to know about this more divine breed of humans. The Glass Pyramid was separated into fifteen floors, each one smaller than the one beneath it. Right now, Miriam was standing on the top floor of the building, with a mug in hand while looking out into the ocean through the clear walls. In the nineteen sixties, a deep diver had accidentally stumbled into the pyramid. It had been a hazard getting hold of his film and destroy it, and it had been even more tedious having to set up barriers that blocked normal humans from viewing the pyramid. In the end, though, it ended up being worth it. The Glass Pyramid felt even safer than before, and that made Miriam proud.

   Miriam had been elected forty-two years ago when the last leader died. It was no surprise that Miriam had been elected since it had become a tradition to have the oldest, and therefore most experienced, Tethered be the leader. Miriam was currently a little over two hundred years old, which was impressive for a Tethered person.

   Tethered people could, in theory, live forever. Once they reached the age of nineteen they stopped aging, both physically and mentally. The reason why the immortality was only a theory, was that most Tethered couldn’t stand the long life. Miriam had seen many dear friends kill themselves to end their inhumanly long life, and she had even thought about doing so herself. Then twenty-two years ago, Erika had come to the Pyramid, and all of Miriam's thoughts about ending her own life vanished. Then two years ago, Erika had woken Miriam up on a quiet Sunday morning, whispering into Miriam’s ear, and now Miriam couldn't even understand why she had ever thought about leaving the world.

  Now there were two minutes until Erika and her team would come back from their mission. Miriam didn't have to check the time. She knew it from the way the ocean moved, from the way the ground shook slightly. Most people don't realize how much the planet is moving, but, Miriam supposed, most people didn't live long enough to even have to think of it.

   Miriam saw the shapes of bodies swimming towards her.

   Two seconds.

   It had been nearly two hundred years since Miriam first swam towards the Glass Pyramid. She remembered looking at it for the first time and knowing that this was going to be her forever home. It was love at first sight. Back then, the pyramid had been decorated into carpeted floors and lavish furniture. Miriam had never seen such a beautiful place, and it simply took her breath away. When she closed her eyes, she could still remember the feel of the ornamental rug that used to be in the sitting room.

   Miriam took a sip of her tea at the same time the team broke through the glass walls. Erika fell first, landing on her feet, out of breath, with a smile on her face, which was very much an Erika thing to do.

   Erika looked at Miriam. She said, “Mission was a success.”

   Then the others fell through the roof.

   Miriam didn't bother staying any longer. Signaling to Erika, she nodded and took the firepole down. She reached her office quickly, moving swiftly through the maze-like building. Over the years, the Glass Pyramid had had many inhabitants, all of them leaving their own touch on the place, and the result was a cramped and cozy mess. Miriam liked it very much, every day she would learn something new about the Pyramid and all the people before her.

    Inside her office, she pressed the yellow button on the wall. Meeting. The buzzer sounded through the radio system, and the sound of people moving on other floors was clear as day for Miriam’s practiced ears.

 Back when Miriam was still living her normal life, she would sometimes sneak up to the attic. If she sat on the big old crate, she could see through the hole in the roof. From there, she used to listen to the wind. It made a peculiar sound when it entered that little hole. Like a whistling, like a song. Miriam came up to the attic often, trying to figure out how the wind sang like that. One day she managed to figure it out, and she managed to make the wind sing different songs. That was the first time she ever used her powers.

   The meeting was brief. It wasn't even an important mission, only a collapsed building. The most important part of the mission, was for the team to figure out what caused the incident. Miriam had hoped it might be a new Tethered human, they could always use more hands, but unfortunately, it had only been an earthquake.

   “I managed to help the civilians out of the site,” Erika reported  “Meanwhile Aiden and Shira tried to minimize the damage. Lynn checked on the town’s aqueduct, making sure the earthquake hadn’t caused a leak.”

  “Thank you, Erika,” Miriam said as Erika sat herself back down in the chair. Miriam looked around at all the people gathered. “Anything more?”

   “Yes, actually” Adi said, rising from his seat. After Miriam, Adi was the oldest. He didn't do missions any more, but stayed in the Pyramid where he made magical objects and provided everyone with valuable knowledge from his many studies. “I’ve been looking at the data Zeph and Javier collected. Someone is definitely using magic in Scandinavia regularly. Possibly a new Tethered. ”

   Miriam looked over at Zeph, his head was hanging low and his arms clinging to nothing on the table. Miriam was almost certain his eyes were closed. Zeph had been on a mission to Germany two months ago, along with Javier their healer and tracking expert. Only one of them had returned.

   Although these immortal humans could die, it was a rare sight. And Javier’s death was stranger than most. No suicide note, no traces of the murderer other than the fact that Javier’s heart had suddenly grown out of his chest.

   Miriam shook her head as if to banish the image. “Okay. We’ll send someone out in a few days. For now, I want everyone to enjoy being in a full house. Meeting over.”

   Everyone were quick to get out, the mention of Javier’s name stinging a bit too much. Miriam gave Zeph a friendly pat on the shoulder as he left, and Erika who trailed behind Zeph touched Miriam’s elbow briefly with light fingers. It made Miriam smile. A sad kind of smile, nostalgic and regretful, longing and missing.

  The rest of the day was so normal it began to feel strange. There was training, watching television, forgetting to drink water, reading the current news while eating noodles from a cup even thought there was perfectly good food in the fridge. Miriam could feel something underneath her skin, and it was not the normal sensation of youthful magic flowing in her old veins. The feeling was much more human, it made her feel dread down to her bones. It made her feel suspicious.

   Miriam decided to go for a swim. She knew the ocean would welcome her and make her worries wash away, just like it always did. And it worked. As soon as she stepped outside, she smiled. She closed her eyes and she swam. Twisting in joy, shaking her hands just to feel the comforting weight of the water restricting her movement. She ran her hands through her hair, and it was like touching silk. She breathed in, breathed out, like a fish.

   She was at home.

   She didn't hear or feel anything, she only saw the blood as it started to pour from her. She touched her fingers to her chest and found a hole that wasn't supposed to be there. It was also the source of the blood. Her lungs filled with saltwater, her body fell to the ground, feeling the deep-sea pressure for the first time. The ground shook in times with her heartbeat. It was slowing down. Dying. None of that mattered to Miriam. She was at home with the sea, she had come from the sea. She would die at sea, and somehow, someday, she would be revenged at sea. That was the last thought that passed her mind, and it rang truer than any other thought in her entire life. Next chapter -> Chapter index

[rabbitwrite]

virus ; kim taehyung

characters: reader (gender neutral), hacker/virus!taehyung

genre: comedy, fluff

word count: 2430

It all started with a movie.

Watching it in theaters would've been a bullet to the bit of income you earned, and as much as you wanted to watch it you literally could not afford to purchase a movie ticket over groceries and other necessities.

Still, you were determined to watch the movie you had been anticipating before the trailer had even been released, and you would not let your financial status get in the way of it.

That was how you stumbled upon an "illegal website" on your phone's internet browser that pirated movies, your only method that would allow you to watch the movie for free.

It was also how a certain Virus found its way to your device, one that impacted your life more than the couple of bucks you could've spent on watching the movie at the theater would.

Maybe using your phone wasn't particularly the best idea for the notion, but it's not like you had access to a laptop anyways. At first, the only thing you worried about was the amount of pop up ads that engulfed about the entirety of your screen. It was becoming tedious having to click the "CLOSE" button in the corner of every advertisement that surfaced, especially annoying when they just happened to be related to dating. Yes you were single, but you didn't need dating website ads to rub it in.

Right after selecting the title of your movie on the website, another ad covered the display, causing you to heave a deep sigh. This particular advertisement was something along the lines of "lonely? find singles near you", and you rolled your eyes as you led your fingers towards the 'x' button.

You had only realized that your fingertip came a bit short from the target after pressing down on the screen for a few seconds, accidentally accepting the block of nuisance instead.

"No, no, no, no, no!" you groaned in frustration, tossing your phone onto your mattress as your touch activated something.

It took you a moment to notice that your screen had gone completely blank.

Picking your phone up, you observed the device and attempted to turn it back on. For some reason the screen failed to display anything, even after you pressed down on the power button.

Did your phone run out of battery without you noticing? Your mind was running with all sorts of possible reasons as to what the root cause had been. Halfway into thinking this was some sort of backlash for attempting to watch the movie illegally, the screen burst into its former color and revealed your screen.

A bit of text contained in a digital box projected itself where your lockscreen would've been. Upon closer inspection, it said:

ERROR 951230

THIS DEVICE IS HEARBY TAKEN OVER BY V.

A pixel sprite of a boy in chibi form appeared after the "V" began to glow white, nearly giving you a heartattack. Mockingly, the little character stuck out what looked to be a pixelated tongue as it winked.

"What's going on? Who's... V?" you questioned, though you chuckled bitterly after realizing you had actually expected an answer.

Your phone let out a single, prolonged beep.

I'M V.

The two words had replaced the original text from before, but the box they were contained in morphed into one that appeared to be a speech bubble.

This time you full out scoffed. "Ah yes, a bundle of pixels is the culprit who took over my phone."

Then you took a moment to think.

"How did you respond to me? You are just a pixellated little virus, aren't you?"

The face of the little chibi went blank, much like the speech bubble above him.

UR PHONE HAS A MIC, DOESN'T IT?

After processing what the message meant, your eyes widened. "What the hell? I didn't ask for some sort of virus stalker person having access to my phone!"

RELAX.

The message in the speech bubble alternated.

THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH UR PHONE.

Before you could react or remotely do anything as a form of response, the speech bubble disappeared, along with the little pixel guy with it.

This left you flabbergasted, still attempting to process the predicament before you returned to your phone.

Strangely enough, the V character seemed to be stating the truth. For the most part, your phone functioned just as well as it did prior to his appearance.

He just didn't state all of the truth, because you ended up finding it yourself.

Your phone's mic wasn't the only thing the stranger had access to - he had access to everything. It was absolutely frightening for you at first thinking of the endless possibilities V had with your data, but the fear of him showing up at your doorstep to kidnap or murder you was eventually dismissed when you discovered that the only thing he did with your personal information was to taunt you with it.

Whoever V was, he sure liked to check whatever you were doing just so he could make fun of you for it.

"UR MUSIC TASTE SUCKS." the text bubble would emerge whenever you tried listening to music, and soon after your song would be replaced by something of V's choice, typically something from a Highschool Musical soundtrack.

Every time you tried to access your camera, "U HAVE A QUESTIONABLE PHOTO GALLERY" would pop up for so long you would give up taking pictures completely.

Sometimes he wouldn't even let your phone's messaging app open, instead bringing up the text box to taunt you about how "NO ONES GOING TO CONTACT U".

When people did contact you, V would do all sorts of things to tamper with them. He would turn the ringer off, decline calls before you could even touch your screen, and open your text messages so you wouldn't see the notification, making it seem like you left it on read.

He would turn your alarms and reminders off, move around apps while filling up their former spaces with unnecessary ones he downloaded, all with his pixellated avatar peeking out at you in the corner of your screen.

After tolerating it for a number of days, you had eventually snapped.

"I give up V, I give up!" you exclaimed in pure frustration, releasing your phone from your grip in order to slam your palms against the table in front of you. "All I wanted was to watch a movie!"

Your phone vibrated soon afterwards.

Glacing towards the screen, you knew it was meant to indicate that he had responded.

"ATLEAST UR NOT LONELY. NOW UR JUST SINGLE."

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you glared directly into the camera. If V was looking through it, you hoped he could tell how pissed off you were with your expression alone. "If you're going to act like that, I don't want to deal with you anymore."

Then you walked away. Away from your phone, away from the only connection you had with V, and you avoided it for as long as you were able to. The little virus was no where to be found by the time you picked up the handheld device once more, but you knew it would be unwise to think he was gone forever.

Your assumption was proven correct the next morning, though it was in the form of a rather pleasant surprise. Woken up by an alarm you were quite sure you had never set, you were greeted by the all-too-familiar text box and pixellated figure on your phone. 

“MORNING!” the box displayed, adding on soon after. “I REMEMBERED U MENTIONING SMTH ABT NEEDING TO WAKE UP EARLY.”

“Right,” you responded with an eyebrow raised, emerging from the comfort of your bed while you were at it. “Thank you, I guess? What’s up with the sudden change of attitude?”

The little V sprite winked as the dialogue in the box was replaced. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT UR TALKING ABT.”

A lie, obviously, because the next few days consisted of V’s change of behaviour. Perhaps it was your sudden outlash at him, but the new way your Virus was treating you caused the guilt to subside easily.

V’s signature cheesy remarks were still a thing, but they did become more lighthearted and enjoyable. Rather than making your life harder than he once did before, it now felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Not only did he set alarms and reminders for when you needed them, he practically did the exact opposite of all the playful torments of the past. He had even cleared the cache of your apps, giving you much more space on your device.

In fact, you were starting to look forward to his little “GOOD MORNING”s and “GOOD NIGHT”s, random messages and greasy jokes he would put in the text box that appeared various times a day.

The only one who had yet to change their attitude was you. V had noticed that too. It was almost as if his attempts were futile, and it discouraged him. So much that eventually, it was his turn to confront you about it.

Your phone blacked out once more, but only for a mere second. When it lit up, it seemed there was an incoming call. The caller ID displayed a series of digits, 951230, a sequence that struck you as familiar. Curiously, you accepted the call, bringing your phone to your ear a bit eagerly.

“Don’t tell me you’re still feeling lonely, even with me around.” It was the voice of an unfamiliar man, deep yet rich with a tone that sounded like honey. Hearing it put you in a brief state of shock as you tried to guess who the owner of the voice was and what he was talking about.

“Is this... V?” 

“It is,” he responded, this time with a hint of enthusiasm dipped into his voice. “I know I’m your virus, but I think you’re lacking some Vitamin V. Or in this case, Vitamin Me.”

You could practically sense the smirk that was probably on his face, the face you had never seen before. “Ew,” you fake gagged. “That pickup line was greasier than all of your jokes combined. What are you playing at?”

“What do you think about meeting up?”

“V, we’re technically still strangers to one another. How do I not know you’re just plotting to, I dunno, kidnap me or something?”

“After days of interaction, I wouldn’t consider us strangers. But hey, if I wanted to I would’ve done something a long time ago.”

You sighed briefly, pinching the bridge of your nose in the process. “Let’s say we were going to meet up. How would we do it?”

“Hey, that ad that installed my virus said you would “find singles near you”. I’m a single near you, so we can meet up somewhere local.” Just as he finished speaking, a faint sound of an engine zoomed by in the background of the audio.

Realizing what the sound would have meant cued another sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re already somewhere we can meet up!”

His only response this time was a laugh. Sweet and soft to listen to, but irked you nonetheless. The next thing you knew you were already grabbing your jacket off the coat hook, and you pulled open the door.

“I just left my house. Where are you now?”

“I’m just on that street with all the convenience stores.”

Your legs were taking you at a faster pace now. The location was more than familiar to you, and it was thankfully close by. “How will I know it’s you?”

“You’ll get there and see a cute guy waiting outside one of the shops.”

Nothing could’ve prevented you from rolling your eyes. “Seriously, V. What do you look like?”

“Alrightie, alright! I’ll take a picture of myself for your convenience. You’ll find it in your photo gallery.”

You nodded, despite the fact V couldn’t see (or he just wasn’t looking through your phone’s camera at the moment), and crossed the street to the next block.

“One last thing!” you were caught off guard by the voice on the other side of the line. “Just call me Taehyung from now on.” And with that, he hung up.

The destination was close now, so you unlocked your phone to check the photos. A new picture emerged from the top of the collection, and your eyes widened at the picture that was supposedly V (or Taehyung, as he had requested).

Sandy brown hair that framed his handsome face was styled messily, yet cutely. He had a white face mask on, and although the accessory and the peace sign he was doing with his hand obstructed a large portion of his appearance, Taehyung was undeniably attractive. It was hard for you to believe that this was the same person responsible for the virus in your phone.

As you looked up from the screen, you realized that you had just arrived at the street Taehyung claimed he was waiting on. At this point, you bolted towards the sole figure who seemed to resemble the picture you had just seen, even from afar.

“Taehyung?” you called out to him, claiming his attention completely.

The young man pulled his face mask to rest upon the tip of his chin, revealing an adorably boxy grin. “That would be me.”

You weren’t sure what caused you to do so, but the next thing you knew you were already pulling him into a tight embrace. “You’re actually real,” you breathed in amazement, making eye contact with Taehyung.

“Of course I am! Real and single,” he winked playfully, and you unhanded him quicker than you had ran to him. “What about you?” he then asked after a brief chuckle.

“What about me?” You tilted your head to the side ever so slightly.

“I mean, are you still single? Because you’re not lonely anymore, not with me around. If you are, well, I could totally change that right?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, but the corner of your lips quirked upward at his eagerness. “We’ll see about that.”

"Speaking of seeing things, we should go watch a movie," Taehyung declared. "I'll pay for you. Then you won't have to go on an illegal website to watch it for free."

You hit him in the arm lightly in response to the tease. He stuck his tongue out in return, looking an awful lot like his pixellated virus counterpart, but still managed to weave his arm around yours.

[izaswritings]

YGO VRAINS fic: hurricane season

Synopsis: There's a new enemy on the horizon, but Yusaku no longer has to fight alone. This... has its downsides. Namely the fact his friends are more interested in bantering than helping.

Notes: I have no excuse for this. I just can't wait until they get to the friendship stage. Think of all the humorous team-ups, it'll be great. Revolver is there because lets be honest, he's probably going to get a redemption arc. 

-

The last remnants of the storm are still swirling when Yusaku emerges from the cyclone, pieces of data streaming past him. It’s only code, a mess of zeros and ones, but the blocky and clear edges look enough like glass it takes effort to keep from flinching. His board is shaky beneath his feet; the latest storm is one of the strongest he’s passed through, and the effort of surviving in those raging winds took more that Yusaku had to give. It is skill and sheer will that keep him balanced on the board, and as he transitions back to the main river of the Data Storm, he finds his hands are shaking.

As always, exiting the cyclone leaves him breathless, and his opponent notices—laughs, too, that sort of loud cackling laughter that Ignis says belongs to “one of these weird American Disney villains” rather than an actual person.

“Look at you shiver, boy! Finally realizing you’re out of your depth?”

Yusaku kind of wants to sneer at that, but the sad thing is, it's not wrong. His opponent is stronger than expected for sure—Yusaku wouldn’t have risked such a volatile storm otherwise. It’s a shame, too, because he can’t remember the other duelist’s name, and he’s losing to the guy. Talk about embarrassing.

He’s saved from having to respond by a sharp crack of a whip, and holds out a hand gratefully. Blue Angel’s rope of pure blue energy wraps tight around his waist and yanks him through the air. His board slams down onto another stream, the data storm kicking up a multitude of colors in his wake. Her own board skates alongside his, and her face is flushed with exhaustion even as a glowing smile curls her lips.

“Having some trouble, Playmaker?”

“No,” Yusaku says, and casts his gaze behind her. No one is following them, even though when they separated he saw four of the men head after her. “You?”

She laughs. “Took them out in one fell swoop! Well, it’s what they get for underestimating me.”

He can’t help but smile at her glowing pride, even as his heart sinks. At this rate, he’s the only one still fighting--the others will never let him hear the end of it.

He used to live such a quiet, manageable life. Sometimes he still dreams of it.

“You know,” Blue Angel adds, still talking. “He thought I was your sidekick? Which, rude, everyone knows Ignis is your sidekick.”

What? Ignis gasps, reedy voice pitching high. I am not!

Blue Angel gives the AI a look—possibly pity, probably laughter. “I hate to break it to you…”

I’m not his sidekick! If anything, Go’s his sidekick.

Hah. No. “Go would kick your ass for saying that,” Yusaku shoots down flatly, not meeting either of their eyes—or, well. Eye, in Ignis’s case. “Try again. Or not at all. I don’t have a sidekick.”

“Superheroes have sidekicks!”

“I am not superhero, what part of me looks like a superhero?”

Blue Angel tsks. “Well, true… you do look more like a surfer.”

“A—A surfer —”

HAH! Ignis declares, so loud and sudden Yusaku nearly starts off his board. I got it! Revolver’s your sidekick!

“I’m what,” a new voice snaps, and Blue Angel puts her hand up to her mouth in a mock gasp. She’s probably hiding a smile. Yusaku kind of wants to hide. Just for a little while. They’re all terrible people and he hates that he knows them.

“Ignore Ignis, he’s talking nonsense.”

We’re deciding who Playmaker’s sidekick is. It’s you.

Revolver, for one glorious second, looks so absolutely disgusted by the idea he nearly slams into the side of a stray building. It’s hilarious and undignified and Yusaku can feel this… alien sensation trying to crawl up his throat. Laughter. Good god.

“I am no-one’s sidekick,” Revolver says delicately, and his voice is cool enough to freeze water. “Remember that, AI.”

De~ni~al~ is all Ignis sings in response, and through the mask Yusaku can see Revolver’s cheeks flush briefly in rage as his shoulders bristle and eyes narrow. Revolver has always been emotional in anger, but to see him react to something so petty…

Yusaku used to see this guy as the greatest threat to the virtual world. That was a thing, that definitely happened, he got scars from it and everything. And yet. Here they are, baiting each other with superhero references. This is actually his life.

“Regardless of who’s whose sidekick,” Blue Angel says, though the slight quirk of her lips fools no-one. “We have to move on—your friend and Go can’t hold down the fort forever, right?”

“Right,” Yusaku says. “I’ll hurry. His deck is simply… difficult.”

Blue Angel nods, and the lack of scorn on her face is the only reason Yusaku admits that much at all. It used to be that he never admitted any difficulties to anyone, but the past few months of working alongside Ignis and the others have changed him in ways Yusaku still doesn’t understand.

“It’s fine, you’ll get through it. Need any help?”

At this, Yusaku frowns. “No.”

Revolver’s eyes narrow, his mouth thinning. “If this takes too long— “

“It won’t.”

“Do not be prideful, Playmaker. I refuse to acknowledge someone as stupid as that.”

His shoulders are rising, his frown deepening into a scowl. He leans forward, eyes fixed on Revolver’s face, teeth near bared. “I don’t—"

A gloved hand shoves them apart, and Blue Angel’s voice snaps between them, as sudden and as striking as her whip. “We don’t have time for this, either.” She turns to Yusaku, smile gone flat and hard. “Need help or no?”

“I don’t—“ Yusaku starts, but sees the looks on her face and bites back the rest of his words, taking a long breath. Blue Angel is not the only one who is intolerable of his “do-it-myself” attitude, as Ignis calls it, but unlike Go and Kusanagi, and even Revolver, she’s one of the few who acts on it. If she thinks Yusaku is about to do something stupid, she will stay and make sure he doesn’t.

“I can finish this on my own,” Yusaku says, more calmly, and when Ignis gives a dissatisfied grumble from his wrist, amends, “ Ignis and I can finish this on our own. Go on ahead.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Neither does Revolver, but then, he’s always irritated by something. “If this is about pride— “

“It’s not,” Yusaku refutes, and sighs, anger draining. That’s concern on their faces, not scorn, and the sight makes him feel… tired, but also a bit guilty. “I have a plan. I can do this. Go ahead—I’ll catch up, and then we can take that bastard down together.”

It’s the last word that Blue Angel catches on, and her eyes widen before she smiles, small and soft and bright—one of her real smiles, not the showman one she’ll put on for the camera. “Okay,” she says, and though Revolver says nothing, his shoulders have relaxed, and his head tilts into a slight nod—recognition, maybe.

The understanding on her face—on all their faces, though Revolver looks impatient, but not mocking—is a relief he didn’t know he ever needed. They don’t understand, but they respect his choices. That’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Sometimes Yusaku can’t believe he’s standing here. Can’t believe that this is his life now—that these wild, emotional people, former enemies and strangers, have shouldered their way into his world so thoroughly. He can hardly remember what it was like to live without them, and that…

It scares him. But it also makes him smile.

“Leave it to us,” Yusaku says, and Ignis cackles by his side. He watches them leave for the next level, and feels oddly at peace.

Footsteps land behind him. A voice sneers, “Ready to be beaten, boy?” and Yusaku doesn’t bother to acknowledge him. He doesn’t know the man’s name, but that’s fine—this faceless opponent doesn’t matter in the end.

There’s a new storm on the horizon, and Yusaku refuses to let his—his friends, for that is what they are, isn’t it? —face it alone.

Ignis’s laughter is echoing in his ears, high-pitched and familiar, and Yusaku lets a rare smile curl his own lips—a smile not unlike Revolver’s, sharp and fierce and unfaltering.

“Only if you’re ready to lose,” Yusaku says, and Playmaker takes to the stage.