#also i guess its worth pointing out it HAD to be an impulsive decision he was walking around there deliberately no thoughts head empty

[g1ngerbeer]

actuallly i think trying to stab raishan is THE funniest thing percy has ever done and i love him for it

[zushimart]

I think him not deleting himself is a better way for the story when it comes to meeting the people he's affected, I just think that the way he deleted himself was better way for the story for himself. I think they handled his attempted suicide and attempt to fix things really well, because not only does it show that you can't actually change the past or future of teyvat unless you're an alien variable, but also that he was willing to take his life for a person he spent hundreds of years "hating" just because he learned they didn't betray him. It just fits really well with how he still hadn't moved on from the death of the first people who let him exist as himself.

I'm explaining this kinda messy because I'm hungry rn :/ but what I mean is I think what they did with the story was the best for both teyvat lore in general and also his own self, but if he's to meet the inazuma squad in an event or something I think it's gonna be kinda messy to write it well. Like maybe they'll just include a line that's like "oh yeah the traveller told me about you etc etc" and I don't really want that, but I also don't want one of those black background white text "wanderer explains what he did in the past" so even though I really like the way it's written I'm kinda worried for the conclusion of his own arc (kaedehara buddhist enlightenment) because I can't think of a way to show it well without it being either very long or anticlimactic

YESSSS i agree with you onn that. i think ive talked about how i do like (from a storytelling perspective, not.. you know.. LOL) the severity and SWIFTNESS of his decision to erase (kill) himself. it was very stomach-dropping in the moment if you were someone that already cared about him. i actually remember putting the game down and walking over to my roommate to just sit in silence for a little bit LMFAOOO. it exemplifies how impulsive & swayed by emotion he is and just how deeply his self hatred motivates his actions as well as his EXTREME DESIRE to love and trust others (and how he felt like he couldnt for so so so long). but i also think it effectively shook any mistaken preconceptions other players might have had if they werent as invested in his character (people who thought he was irredeemably evil or inherently malicious in character, it's pretty hard to believe that about someone who can regret their actions so much and so quickly and immediately try to correct what he's done at his own expense). i'll try and go find & reblog my initial thoughts ab the quest tbh i wanna go reread what i wrote.

from like an authorial perspective, erasing himself from irminsul feels very much like one of those "i want to write this so bad because i think it is a fascinating development for this character, but it does not fit in with what i want to do with this character in the future and therefore might be more trouble than its worth as it undermines other plot points i would like to achieve with this character" which when i encounter that i usually write the scene to get the inspiration OUT but treat it as a separate timeline or a "what if."

this is legit completely personal opinion so it doesnt rly fucking matter at all but i honest to god don't find "no matter what you do, the past cannot be changed" something to be particularly interesting. so i guess thats why i have so many qualms with this direction. maybe its bc like. duh. to me. and maybe bc im not particularly invested in the overall story, so i didn't catch anything it might move along in the traveler's development. So i guess thats why im a believer in 'this could have been done differently and better. some Other way for him to find out about niwa.' especially because i've already had a myriad of qualms with the storytelling regarding scara before this point. so my perspective is a bit warped by opinions .

i think i just HATTTE the clunkiness that i expect to follow in regards to his character relationships. like there is something so uncomfortable about it to me like, i just.. u word it very well. it's gonna be Messy. and im always stressed about "messy," especially because i already felt like the storytelling behind his resolution was Already messy. the quest itself re-iterated his past .. so many times... i remember getting Annoyed... (through a) already accessible lore, b) that stupid academic paper, c) irminsul scene d) the "storybook", ANDDD e) re-living his memories... it felt very repetitive, almost overkill to me). so im just dreading what's to come especially if has to re-hash things to characters in-game that have already been explained to the player literally four sometimes five times over. i just want to get to new developments, NEW plot-points, NEW storylines and i want them to be COMPELLING and i want him to develop COMPLEX and MOVING and STRONG character relationships.

[alphagirl404]

An Impulse Decision: Chapter 31

Fanfiction.net

AO3

Warning: Child Abuse, verbal & physical

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Chapter 31: Path of Atonement I

Groose carried the freshly broken down logs from the trees that he cut. Grannie insisted that she had more than enough, an exact month's worth, but Groose needed the distraction. He hardly got any sleep the previous night, as evident by the bags under his eyes. During hte process he could've swore he some figures skydiving in the deeper part of the Faron Woods, as Grannie called it, but he thought the sleep deprivation was playing tricks on his head. Nonetheless, he prevailed in his task, albeit much more slowly than yesterday to his frustration.

A screech made Groose froze in his tracks, bringing his guard up. The wildlife down here was unknown. There could creatures of any kind that could make a meal out of him to he was on high alert, like he learned in knight training. To his relief, it only came from a bird flying nearby. The bird, more significant than the tiny birds but still significantly smaller than Loftwings, flew past above him. It heads straight toward the Sealed Temple ahead of him, disappearing behind it. The teen thought nothing of it, he continued on ahead.

Groose opened the doors leading inside the temple. He saw The Old One sitting in her usual spot. Does she do anyhting besides sitting there, he wondered. In front of her was the bird that Groose saw, getting it's head petted by the old woman. Groose took that moment to get a good look at the creature.

Despite being smaller than a Loftwing, Groose could see that this bird is something one shouldn't mess with. Its talons look sharp enough to make some dangerous cuts. Its beaks appear to be equally shaper than a Loftwing's. Probably could cause equally enough damage like its talons. And its feathers had some unique patterns on its feathers.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" The Old One commented, not glancing away from the bird.

"I-I guess. What is that?"

"This is a Hawk."

For some reason, that eerily sounds like the name of one of the Skyknights back on Skyloft. Groose brushed that aside. "He looks…pretty."

"That they are, but they are also hunters. They may not be as big as your Loftwings, but they can put up much of a fight if needed. Not many would dare to mess with them."

"I can see that." Groose eyed a weird object on the bird's back that looked like a pouch. "What's that he's got there?"

The Old One retrieved the items from the Hawk's pack. She petted under the bird's beak. "That is all I need. Fly now, my little friend."

The Hawk flew up through the hole in the temple roof, letting out a squawk. The Old One examines the object in her hand. A small bottle of an unknown substance with a note tied around the side. The Old One untied it and unfolded the letter.

"Here is the bottle you requested for the ritual. I apologize for the delay, Ancient One. It has been a while since this ritual was done, so some of us had to find the necessary ingredients. I've also written down the instructions needed to start with the ritual. I hope this helps your friend."

-Koshia

"What's that stuff, Grannie?" Groose called out.

The Old One places her attention on Groose. "Something to help you."

Already, Groose let out a frustrated groan. "Look, I told you. I don't need your help!"

"So you pointed out clearly. I know you won't talk about your problems. However, I wish to help you in whatever way possible. You mentioned having nightmares, correct?"

"Maybe."

"Well…I figure I should at least help you with that." The Old One showed him the bottle.

Groose scoffs. "What is that? Some sort of medicine to help me sleep?"

"Something like that…"

Her cryptic tone of her answer made Groose uncertain about that.

"How do I know this is not some ploy for you to poison me?"

"Now, why would I do that?"

Groose shrugs. "I…I don't know. I hardly know what goes on in that old head of yours."

"I can assure you that if I meant to poison or harm you in any form, I would've done so the moment you first stepped foot into this temple."

"You? Take me down?"

"I am not as fragile as I look." The Old One held up the bottle. "What do you say?"

Groose crossed his arms, turning away in defiance from the old woman. No way was he going to drink some weird thing he doesn't even know is edible. The Old One let out a sigh.

"I understand your skepticism. I will not force you to drink this if you do not wish to. I will keep it close in case you change your mind. But like I said. Asking for help doesn't make you weak."

"I don't need any special drink," Groose claimed.

The topic of the drink was not brought up from that point forward. Like the previous night, the pair ate their dinner. Then, eventually, they turn in for the night. And much like last night, Groose again had a nightmare, which was more intense & terrifying than the last one. He would wake up and barely get any sleep.

This routine would repeat for another two nights onward. Groose would wake up and spend several hours chopping down some wood, even when he had supplied The Old One with a week's worth of firewood. Then he would return with the wood, wait for dinner to be prepped, and eat it. After that, he would go to sleep only for it to be cut short by a bad dream. With each night, it gets more horrifying than the previous one.

On the third night, Groose woke up from the nightmare again. It took him at least five minutes to calm himself down. He could feel his heart pumping from the fear. Groose places his hand on his head, thinking.

"I can't deal with these dreams. How do I make them stop?"

The image of the bottle came to his mind. Grannie did say she would keep it in case he changed his mind. The elderly woman slept not too far away from him. A small bag lay beside her. That's where the bottle must be, Groose figured.

Just as he was about to make way, Groose stopped himself. He contemplated if he should drink it. Doing so would admit defeat, further cementing his uselessness, and weakness. Plus, there's still the chance that Grannie was trying to poison him. On the other hand, she did say this would help his nightmares. And Groose desperately needs his sleep or he'll go crazy from the lack of it.

With a heavy breath, he made his decision.

Groose tip-topped his way to where The Old One slept. Groose noticed how weird it was for her to sleep while sitting up, but he pushed that aside. Gently, Groose took the bag, rummaging through its contents until he found the bottle the Hawk had brought. It had a strange purple substance. It reminded Groose of purple grape juice. Removing the cork on the top of the bottle, releasing the scent of the drink, told Groose otherwise. It was clearly a potion, unlike the ones he had taken for when he fell ill/gotten injured, or smelled when he walked by Luv & Bertie's potion shop whenever he was in the Bazzar.

The teen glanced at The Old One, still sleeping, then back to the bottle in his hand. Again, the possibility of the stuff being poison crosses Groose's mind. He did not want to die, certainly not this way. But then again…would it really matter at this point? Would he be missed? Cawlin & Strich would, but they'll likely quickly move on. They probably want nothing to do with him anyway, now that Link & his friends saw Groose for who he is.

He let out a defeated sigh. "What the hell. Not like I got anything else to lose."

Groose chugged down the bottle's contents until every last drop was gone.

Seconds passed, and Groose felt no change other than the weird aftertaste of the potion. For a moment, Groose figure this potion was a fluke, and considered giving up.

Tingling stuck his stomach area, making him groan. Clenching his stomach with his free hand as he leaned over. His eyes grew very heavy as his vision blurred. Groose wobbles over to The Old One. He collapsed on his side, before he could wake her. Groose felt himself moving on his back before he passed out.

Unbeknownst to him, she was already awake. She had sensed his movement and drinking the potion. When he fainted, she was quick to move.

The Old One pulled out two bottles with paint: One Blue. One Purple. She covered each finger with one respective color. She places a line of blue paint on one of Groose's cheeks and a line of purple on the other. Finally, combining both colors, The Old One paints an upside-down triangle on Groose's forehead.

With that said and done, The Old One hovers her hand over his face. Out her mouth, spoken words in a different language.

[Ancient Sisters, hear my request]

[Help this person who is filled with unrest.]

[For his heart is troubled]

[Causing those around to be disgruntled]

[Accept my proponent]

[So that he may find his path to atonement]

The blue & purple paint on Groose's face begins to glow.

----

First, there was darkness in his vision, then came white. That's all he could see for what could be miles.

Getting his bearings, Groose took several steps forward. The grogginess from the potion was all gone. Instead he felt energized. Each footstep echoes across the white void. He looked around for any sign of life when there was none. An unidentifiable voice echoes in the air. Groose couldn't determine what it said, but it sure did creep him out the longer the voice repeated until it faded away.

Several shapes of squares appear. Some on the floor and the ceiling, if this vast of nothingness had any. Each is in different colors such as green, pink, yellow, orange, light green, orange red, brown, and navy blue.

"Hello? Grannie?" Groose's call echoes all around him. "Anyone one here?"

Nothing responded back other than the mysterious voices that occasionally pop up. Groose glances at the few squares on the ground. Curious, Groose crouches down at the navy blue square that matches the color of his shirt now that he got a better look at it. To his shock, he lifted it up a bit like a floor door. But it suddenly floated above, fading away the higher it went.

Groose stood back to his feet with an unsettled expression. Oh yeah, he definitely does not like this. "Alright, Grannie! What is this? Where the hell am I?! What was in that potion?!"

He didn't get any answer. All he heard was the echoes of his voice.

"This ain't funny, Grannie! Get me out of this now!"

Again, no response.

"Come on! I know you can hear me! No way you leave me in this place all alone!"

All he heard were the various, ominous chants of the world 'alone.' The way the bounce through the voice was enough to drive Groose crazy.

"I gotta get out of here!"

Groose instinctively sprints ahead, only to realize there is no exit. Now, he was getting nervous. The nervous sweat trailing down his head and the heart pounding in his chest were evident.

"This is hell, isn't it? Who am I kidding? Of course I'm in hell."

Groose turned back aimlessly and ran in an infinite direction for what felt like forever. He kept this up until he finally gave up. He frantically looked around.

"Where's that old hag? Where's anything?!" He slammed his clenched hands onto his hands many times, repeating. "Where?! Where?! Where?! Where?!-"

A sudden force struck Groose's back, knocking him face first, letting out an 'oof.'

"Are you calm now?"

Groose was quick to his feet when he discovered the source of the voice.

Standing near him were two young women with light brown skin. They wore strange robes with skirts trailing down on the back and had lone aprons. They wore leggings accompanied by boots. They wore weird-looking two-pointed hats. Their faces had bird-like masks with long beaks covering their eyes but exposing their mouths, and both of their purple-blue eyes.

While they do have similar appearances, they do have their differences.

The woman on the left's clothes had varying shades of blue. Her hair, which was light blue, was tied in a lone ponytail and went to the length of her mid-back. Her bangs were styled pointing left and had a solitary blue diamond. Her lips were curved in a warm smile.

Blue Girl's companion on Groose's Right wore dark purple, with small lines of bronze. Her clearly shorter hair was pure white. Purple Girl's bangs were styled pointing right and had a red gem. She also held a scepter, that had magical particles fading away. Unlike her friend, Purple Girl's mouth was in a neutral frown.

Groose didn't know what to say. Or what to do. Thankfully, he didn't have to because Blue Girl made the first move. "Hi!" She waved.

"Who the hell are you two?" Groose stammered.

"My name is Lana." She gestured over to her Purple Companion. "This is my sister, Cia. We've been summoned to help you."

"Help me? With what?"

"To see your errors so that you may improve yourself," Cia spoke in a firm, sharp tone.

Groose let out an annoyed groan. "Oh great…Why does everyone think there's something wrong with me? I've told Grannie that I DO NOT need help."

"But you clearly do," Cia stepped forward. "Judging by what we know, you will definitely need it, young Groose."

"How do you know my name?"

"We know everything about you," Lana responded. "From your very first memory to the past. All the way to the present."

"And we take accounts from how you acted from your key moments to make an accurate prediction for your future," Cia added. "From what we gather, your future is not looking good for you currently."

"And how would you know all of that?" Groose inquired, not buying what they were saying.

"We're Spirit Guides," Lana answered. "We examine the key moments in your life. What made you into 'you'."

"And if you have the dignity to accept it, you go on a different path to make yourself a better person," Cia explained to Groose.

"As much as I like hanging out with two pretty women, you're wasting your time. So how about you both send me back-" Groose was cut off when Cia whacked his head with her scepter. "OW! Geeze, what was that for?!"

"You listen here, boy. You're stuck here with us until we're done. You will listen to what we have to say and what we have to show you."

"We're doing this for your best interest, Groose," Lana insisted.

"Who are you to judge what's in my best interest? Why can't I decide that for myself?" Groose argued.

"Because you had spent the past seven years like this. You show no signs of any type of improvement." Cia responded critically. "Even after what happened with The Imprisoned, a part of you believes you can go back to being the terrorizer you were known for being."

"Terrorizer?" Groose barked back questioningly.

Lana moved closer to Groose. "For the seven years that you have lived in Skyloft, you have been unkind to many, especially towards Link.

"What does he have to do with this?"

"Everything, boy. You'll understand by the time we're through," Cia said.

"Are you aware of the nature of your harshness and the effects it brings?" Lana asked Groose,

Groose crossed his arms, not saying anything. That is a good enough answer for Lana.

"I can only guess your answer is a yes."

"So I'm not nice. Why does that matter? Being nice never got me anywhere."

"Now, why on earth would you believe that?"

"Its…It's what my folks taught me."

"I presume your 'folks' are your parents?" Groose responded with a nod to Cia. "Tell us…how is your relationship with them?"

Groose nervously crossed his arms. "...Alright." Groose turns his back to the pair.

"Are you sure? The tone in your voice indicates otherwise," Lana noted.

"I-...I haven't seen them in a while."

"Why is that?"

"Does it matter why?"

"It kinda does," Cia responded with snark.

Groose let out a defeated breath. "They left me at the academy because…they couldn't care for me. Satisfied?"

"You can't lie to us, Groose," Lana said calmly.

"I ain't lying!" Groose protested back.

"Maybe not to us." Cia placed a hand on her hip, not convinced of his answer. "You rather believe lies than truths. You've been doing that for a good portion of your life. That includes blaming others for your bad actions."

"Which is why we are here. To help you see through your problem. And maybe you'll see there is another way." Lana put a comforting hand on Groose's shoulder. He hastily shakes his shoulder, rejecting her hand.

"I don't need anyone telling me what to do!" Groose received another whack from Cia's scepter.

"Quiet you! Listen up!" Cia points scepter at Groose's chest, giving him a firm glare behind her bird mask. "We don't want to be here as much as you do. To me, you already look like a lost cause, but I digress. We are here because someone out there cares enough to summon us to help you. Whether we, or you like it or not, that is our duty. Not many get this opportunity for this type of self-reflection. So I suggest you cooperate with us. Do so, and we'll get this done swimmingly. We'll be out of your hair, and you go about your merry life. How you do it, that's up to you, but maybe me, and my sister can hopefully get through your stubborn self so that you may be better. Are we clear?"

Figuring he wouldn't get out this easily, Groose had no choice but to comply. "Fine. Humor me."

"Go to hear!" Lana beamed, placing her flat palms together. "With that taken care of, we can get started."

"Buckle down, boy. You're gonna be here for a while," Cia advised.

"Not like I have any other choice," Groose replied sarcastically. "So, how exactly are you supposed to 'help' me?"

"We will show you your key memories. Ones that show you what kind of person you are." Lana informed him.

"And we start from the beginning. Way back before you even dropped at Skyloft," Cia mentioned.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Groose asked.

"We are visiting your early childhood years."

The very idea of that suddenly made Groose feel very anxious. His chest was filled with a lot of dread. "A-Are you sure that's necessary?"

"Events in one's childhood often shape the person they become later on. Me & Cia, and importantly you must see those key moments," Lana explained.

"Well I…I doubt you'll get anything. My life pre-Skyloft wasn't all that interesting. My family fell on hard times, and they had to make the choice to leave me at the academy."

Again, Cia hit Groose's head with her sceptor. "I thought we mentioned that we see through your lies. Whatever memory we show will be presented authentically. They will not be altered in any way. You'll see how they genuinely happened."

Rubbing his head to soothe the pain, Groose gave a thumbs up.

"Let's get started."

Lana moves her hands together in a meditative pose, closing her eyes. A glowing orb appears in between her palms. The sphere expands, creating a blinding light that obscures Groose's vision. When his sight did return after the glow died down. Groose and the sisters were no longer in the white void.

They were on the side of a clearly small house. If you remove the divider, the main room itself was as big as his room and Cawlin & Strich's. Groose could see a couch nearby, a tiny kitchen, and a small bookshelf. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, dust on the surfaces, and not much furniture.

Sounds of a baby crying bounce through the walls of this tiny house. On the other end of the room stood a woman holding a baby, crying its head off.

The woman appeared to be in her twenties. Her skin tone matches that of Groose. The shape of her head is oval-like, similar to Groose's. And she had the same bright red hair. Through her attempts to calm down the baby, Groose could see how irritated she appeared.

"Could you please shut up already?" Groose heard her say loud and clear despite the baby's wailing.

A door slammed open, revealing a man. His build was like Groose's. He shared Groose's amber-colored eyes, and nose. Like the woman, he appeared frustrated. And maybe more pissed off.

"Would you shut him up already?! I'm trying to catch up on my sleep!" The Man bellowed at the woman. "My day off from working, and I have to spend hearing him cry his head off."

"You think I like hearing him crying? Maybe we could calm him down if you were willing to help instead of sleeping! He is your son, too, you know!" The Woman barked back.

"Excuse me for trying to catch up on my sleep cycle. It's screw up since I work two jobs to support us. Have you fed him?"

"I tried that, along with changing him. Singing to him. And checked if he was sick. None of that work! It's like he doing this for no reason. Why did no one tell us how difficult this would be? I always thought being a mom would be fun. Instead, all I get is baby barf, barely any sleep, constant crying!"

"Not to mention how financially draining he would be. Even with my two jobs, we barely have enough rupees to get ourselves nice things! He better become more useful around here when he gets older." The volume of the infant's wailing went higher. This made the man even more angry. "For Goddesses sake, shut him up already!"

The Man marched back into the room he came from. The Woman glanced back down at the baby, giving him a hateful scowl. "You little wretched thing! If there's nothing wrong, you can stay in your room!" She marched over to another room. "You'll not see me or your father until you finally stop crying. For your sake, you better be quiet when you get older. It's the least you can do after putting us through this!"

The Woman entered the room, emerging out of it minutes later, slamming the door shut. The baby's wails emitted through the walls while the woman rubs her temple.

"They seem like a happy little family." Cia deadpanned to Lana.

"Indeed, sister." Lana turns in Groose's direction. "You know where we are, Groose?"

The teen didn't respond back. His eyes glued over to the woman and the other door where the man retreated. Both of them, along with the house, were all too familiar with him. He knew the answer to Lana's question long before she asked him. He knew the moment he spotted the red hair & amber eyes on that baby the woman was holding.

"Groose? Did you hear me?" Lana called out to him. "Do you know where we are?"

"I…I do."

"Can you tell us where?"

"My…My old house."

"And did you know who that man & woman is?"

"My…" Groose gulped. "They're my parents."

"Well…" Cia scoffed. "That certainly explains things."

"Indeed," Lana responded with acknowledgment. "It appears that those clearly don't know how to properly care for you."

"Woah woah, now." Groose raised his arms in defense. "Maybe taking care of me wasn't easy, but I know they cared."

"We will be the judge of that. For now, let's jump…seven years."

Lana softly clapped. A glowing line emitted from the trio, spreading across the house interior. Aside from some furniture that got rearranged, everything was relatively the same. Except now there was a kid. The kid being Groose, no longer a baby but now a seven-year-old child.

Little Groose was sweeping the floors with a broom too big for him to hold onto. The child took an exhale of air once he had finished cleaning. Judging by the sweat on his forehead, the boy had been working for hours.

"Phew! All done." Young Groose wiped his forehead with his hand. "Hopefully, that'll make Mom and Dad happy." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Got some time to rest before they get back."

The boy rushed into his bedroom. There lies only a bed, a desk, and one lone small window. Nothing else. The walls surrounding the room had a bland color. No décor of any kind. The only thing notable about the room is that it had only bare necessities. The room was devoid of any kind of creativity. Like an empty shallow husk.

Young Groose sat on his bed, then lay on his side. Eyes glued to the outside window. The sky outside showed no clouds, only the beautiful sun shining down. He let out a longing sigh before closing his eyes.

"Say, Lana, may I ask you something?" Cia spoke up.

"Of course," Lana responded.

"Is it normal for a child to look this sad?

"Hmm…I don't think so. Groose's young self seems particularly unhappy."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't children's rooms usually more…livelier? The walls should have some decorations. Stars, flowers, clouds. Or even colors of any kind. Anything but this."

"I don't see any toys around either. This is quite concerning."

Cia moves her gaze to Groose. "I wonder why that is, hmm?"

"Its…It's like I said. My folks were hit by hard times. Couldn't spare any expense for toys, or anything for me," Groose answered.

"Even the poorest parent could afford at least one toy for their child," Lana noted. "Believe me, we know."

"Why even Pipit's mom occasionally bought him a new toy after his lost his father, despite your beliefs of her, how would you say, getting lazy because she misses her dead husband," Cia remarked.

Hearing that made Groose flinch a bit. He didn't have any type of response for her.

"Let's jump ahead an hour."

Lana claps her hands. The sun outside shifted down. Young Groose remained on his bed, napping away. A loud slam echoed throughout the house to wake up Groose."

"Groose! Where are you?" A man's voice bellowed.

Young Groose's face grew fearful when he glanced at the clock. "Crud! They're already back."

"Don't keep us waiting now!" A woman's voice spoke up."

"Coming!" Young Groose jumped off his bed and hastily exited.

His parents are in the main room waiting. They appear a bit older than when Groose was a baby, as evidenced by their hair's small wrinkles and grays. They looked at the boy with a firm, neutral expression. Younger Groose quickly straightened himself up. Giving the couple complete eye contact.

"Hey, Mom. Hey Dad. How was work for you guys?" Young Groose greeted them meekly.

"Alright," Groose's Father answered. "Now, we want to know how things were here?"

"Everything fine," Young Groose promised with a nervous, toothy grin.

"Did you finish your chores?" Groose's Mother asks.

"Yes, ma'am."

"ALL of them?" Young Groose vigorously nodded.

Groose's Mother did not look convinced by her son's answer. She slowly walked around, inspecting every corner of the room with a critical eye. Groose's Father stands firm, staring at his son, arms crossed.

"Dishes are cleaned…Could be better." Groose's Mother spoke up. "Trash is taken out. Books are stacked in alphabetical order. Didn't think you could do that. The floor is swept up…decently." Groose's Mother stops dead in her tracks. "What is that?" The woman dragged her index finger on a shelf. Dust resided on the finger's surface. Groose's Mother did not seem pleased.

"What did we tell you about lying, Groose?"

"Lying is…bad." Young Groose responded

"So when we ask if you finished all your chores, we mean every. Single. One. Yet find that you haven't dusted."

"I did dust. I only forgot that spot-!" Young Groose protested, earning a glare from both of his parents.

"Why did you forget it?" Groose's Mother inquired.

"I-I was tired from doing the other chores. I just wanted a bit of a nap!"

"You didn't finish your chores so you could waste the afternoon napping?" Groose's Father questions in utter disbelief.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I promise-" Young Groose was cut up with his mother lifting her hand.

"Listen here, son. Your father and I work hard to provide for you. The least you can do is help us out here like a good son should."

"Life is hard enough as it is for your mother and me," Groose Father scoffed. "We don't need you to make it worse. Well, worse than you already made it."

Young Groose lowered his head with shame.

"When you ask us to do something, you WILL listen to us." His mother demanded. "When we want you to do your chores, you will do ALL of them. Thats what we expected in this house."

"Lie to us again, and the consequences will be harsh." Groose's Father warned. "Got it?"

"Yes...I won't forget again."

"Now that's a good boy." Groose's Mother patted his head, giving a condescending smile. "But to make you learn your lesson, you must be punished. You'll get double the chores tomorrow."

"And you'll get no dinner tonight," His father added.

"But…I'll be hungry."

Groose's Father rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a pipsqueak. You'll get over it."

"We don't like doing this, Groose. But you don't get far in life by being soft…" Groose's Mother stated.

"You need to command respect," Groose's Father concluded.

Not once did Groose say anything during this whole exchange. His skin felt cold. His chest aches with hurt upon watching this scene from his youth play out.

"Commanding respect…Why does that sound familiar?" Cia pondered out.

"It is the same mantra that Groose has used for many years now," Lana said to her sister. "Tell me, Groose. How does it make you feel when you hear those words? Strong…or afraid?"

"I ain't scared!" Groose shouted with hints of panic in his voice. Lana & Cia look alarmed by how he sounded. Not wanting the sisters to catch on, Groose tried to play it off. "Okay…Maybe my folks had a strong belief in tough love."

Lana tilted her head. "You call being forced to do chores, not having any toys or any items for yourself, and not eating all because you forgot to dust, love?"

"That sounds more like abuse," Cia stated.

"Woah there. Let's not get too dramatic. My parents only wanted me to be tough." Groose defended. The sisters were not convinced of his words.

"They treat you like a nuisance than their own bloody child," Cia stated. "Yet…you still defend them."

Lana gently grabs Groose's shoulder. "Groose…I get it. They're your parents. I understand why you defend them. All children love their parents. That's an undeniable fact. But me & Cia have been around for a long time. Long enough to know good parents. And bad ones."

Groose gave the blue-haired girl a glare. "Oh, is that what this is? My folks ditch- I mean…left me in the Knight Academy's care, and they're bad because of it? They may not have been perfect, but they still cared about me."

"You said 'ditch' first. Without any hesitation," Cia noted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means deep down you do know the truth," Lana interjected. "You're parents, they…didn't-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" Groose pointed at her threateningly.

Lana let out a breath. "If you can't acknowledge it yourself…then we have no choice but to do this."

"Show what?"

"We show you…the events that lead you to Skyloft." Cia turns her head to Lana. "If you please, dear sister."

With a clap of her hands, Lana emitted a ring of light around the room. They all see Young Groose once again in his bedroom. He was a bit older. Ten years old, to be exact. The boy was surrounded by tools, a diagram of sorts.

He was tinkering with some tiny contraption. It had a little lever. There was also a lever with a small bowl attached to it. Young Groose used the hammer to finish securing the final piece of his inventions.

"Just a few more hits and…" Young Groose made one final gentle hit on the piece. "And I'm finally done! But I need to make sure this works."

Young Groose grabbed a marble ball. He placed it into the bowl of the contraption. He adjusted it to a hand-drawn target taped on the wall. He aimed for it steadily. With one flick of the lever, the marble ball was flung forward. Landing a direct hit on the target. Young Groose stood agape for several minutes, shocked at what had happened.

"I…I did it. I did it!" He pumped his arm in the air in a victory pose. "I can't believe it actually worked!" He grabbed his creation, hugging it close. "For the first time…I did something right. Mom & Dad will have to see it now."

Groose could only give a bittersweet smile as he watched Young Groose test out his creation again & again. Seeing his young self so happy made him wonder.…when was he last this happy?

"That's probably the happiest I've ever seen you," Cia commented.

"What is that thing you built?" Lana asks.

"Its…It's a weapon. Well a model for a weapon. Made for throwing large objects," Groose answered her. "My dad helps build things, and I got interested. I wanted to help others, and I figured, why not make something that can fight the monsters that fly?"

"What's it called?"

"The um…Groosenator?" Groose gave a cheeky grin.

Lana lifted her brow. Cia, on the other hand, looks straight up unamused. "Hey, that's all I could think of back then!" Groose lifted his hands in defense.

"Odd name choice aside, it is a remarkable invention, I will admit. For one at that age to create something effortlessly takes a lot of talent." Cia's fingers moved to her chin. "Makes me wonder… why did you never pursue it?"

Sounds of a glass break caught the trio's attention. They all look to see Young Groose's expression no longer joyful but now mortified. Nearby stood his bedroom window with a hole in the glass.

"What was that?!" Groose's Father's booming voice echoed from the other side of the wall.

Groose felt chills creep down his spine. The color drained from his skin as he felt his heart dropped.

"Oh Goddess…" Groose muttered with dread.

"What's wrong?" Lana asks with concern.

"I-I just remembered…What happens." Groose starts to hyperventilate. "Stop this."

"I can't…Not until the memory finishes," Lana admitted.

Groose could only now watch what had transpired next. His heart aches, knowing what is coming for his young counterpart.

Young Groose's bedroom door slammed wide open. Groose's Father had a tight grip on the door handle while his wife stood close by. They glance at the window, then down to where their son is, alongside his invention. The couple looked furious.

"What did you do?!" His father bellowed.

"I-I'm sorry! It was an accident!" Young Groose pleaded.

Groose's mother marches over to the boy. She swings her hand to her son's face. The force of the slap was strong enough to leave a stinging sensation.

"Do you realize what you've done?!" his mother screeches. "That's going to cost us so much rupees!"

Groose's Father glances at the floor. Eyes widen. "Are those my tools? You took my tools?!"

"I meant to give them back!"

"I thought somebody stole these! I had to go buy new ones! Do you know how much they cost?!"

"I'm sorry! But I needed to make this!" Young Groose grabs his invention and shows it to his parents, with his father holding it. "I've been working on it for months. I have plans and everything." Young Groose lifts up the diagram for his mother to take. Each of his parents looked at the objects in their hands. They seemed confused by what their son had created. Young Groose figures it to be a good sign.

"It took many tries, but I finally got it to work! I got the idea from you, Dad." Groose's Father seemed confused by that statement. "You help build stuff for other people. I thought I could do the same thing! I only want to make you both proud!"

"You think we're proud of you?" The dark tone of his mother's voice wiped away any hope Young Groose had. "What reason have you given us to be proud? Since the day you were born, you've done nothing by draining our finances and causing us nothing but trouble!"

"I..." Young Groose stammered. "...I only wanted to help."

"HELP?! You're anything but that! It's bad enough that our lives are harder because of you, but for you to be doing this ridiculous thing when you could've used that time doing some real work is something else!" Groose's Father yelled, making Young Groose flinch. "We work our asses off to give you a roof, clothes, and food. You should be grateful that we didn't dump you! The least you could do is make our lives easier. But it's not enough for you, is it. Instead of helping us, you waste your time-" He slams the invention down. Young Groose froze in fear when he heard the cracks. "-Making absurd contraptions!"

"No!"

Getting a sense of what her husband had planned, Groose's Mother starts ripping apart the diagram.

"Stop!" Young Groose's begging fell deaf on her ears until she ripped the paper into tiny pieces

Groose's Father starts smashing Groose's creation with his foot many times. Young Groose ran over to his father, hitting his sides with both balled-up fists. He yelled repeatedly for him to stop. All he got in response was a smack on the face, strong enough to land on the ground. All Young Groose could do was helplessly watch as his father smashed his invention until they were nothing but pieces.

When Groose's Father was finished, Young Groose crawled to the remains. Tears stream from his eyes as he gathers the broken parts in shaking hands. Months of hard work, gone within minutes. The boy starts to cry.

"Don't cry. This was your own doing," Groose's Mother scolded without a hint of remorse.

"I worked so hard…I could've helped others," Young Groose sobbed.

"Like anyone would listen to your ridiculous ideas," Groose's Father scoffed.

Young Groose's sobs slowly turned into heavy breathing. Anger-filled kind of breathing. Without warning, Young Groose launches himself in his father's direction. He slammed with his fists yet again, letting out angry yells. His father responded by punching his face. A yelp escaped the body, and a small trail of blood peaked from his nostril. He then tried to do the same to his mother, only for her to slap him hard enough to make his lip bleed.

"How dare you try to attack us!" Groose's Mother barked.

"Why?! Why are you so mean to me?!" Young Groose yelled out in between his cries.

His mother grabs his face harshly, pulling him close enough for their foreheads to almost touch. "Because you're useless! Do you hear me?!"

"You're nothing but deadweight in our lives!" His father proclaimed.

"And deadweight is all you'll ever be!"

All Young Groose could give in response were choked-up sobs. He looked into his mother's eyes, silently begging him for forgiveness. She and her husband could only glare down. After minutes of staring him down, she yanks her hand away and towers above him.

"No dinner for you tonight. In fact, no food for you at all for the next twenty-four hours. And you're confined here until the morning." That was all she said before she left. Her husband followed, slamming the door shut, followed by the sounds of a lock.

Young Groose was frozen on the floor for probably hours. Tears continue to pour out as he continues with his sobs. In between them, he grabs the pieces of his broken invention.

He tried to put them back together. Many times, he had tried this but to no avail. After the dozenth attempt, he threw pieces against the wall with a shout. Young Groose clenches his head, slamming his hands against it while he continues to cry. He screamed in frustration, throwing more broken parts all around. He was angry. Angry at himself. He kept on throwing until there was nothing left to throw. Young Groose sank back to his knees, crying even more.

"Why? Why can't I do anything right…Why am I so useless?"

Back on the other end, the sisters watch Groose. They waited for his reaction. What they don't see is a lone tear on his cheek. He quickly wiped it away. A gentle touch felt on his back.

"You remembered what happened after this?" Lana asks him softly.

"They took me to Skyloft three days after this…" Groose responded, trying to hide his sadness. "They told my headmaster they couldn't take care of me anymore. Cried their eyes out."

"But…" Lana pressed on.

"They lied to his face. Tried to make them more…sympathetic. Did not want to make it obvious that…"

"They didn't want you anymore."

Groose let out an exhale of air. "Yeah…"

The teen could recall the day clearly. His parents dragged him out of bed, saying they were all going on the flight. He flew with them on their Loftwings for hours until they reached Skyloft. Groose remembers how amazed he was at how big the island was compared to the tiny island his house is.

His parents landed at the academy doors, requesting to speak with headmaster Gaepora. They told him their farce sob story, even bursting into tears and begging the headmaster to take in Groose. Ever the sympathetic & kind man he is, Gaepora agreed. After that, his parents left, not even giving a second glance. That was the last time Groose ever saw them.

"I always thought…it was my fault. That I wasn't a good enough son. When I was left at Skyloft, I was scared being seen as useless. I figured putting on a tough guy act would help me out. Sure worked with my dad."

"And you became the biggest bully on Skyloft," Cia concluded.

"Give me a break. Not like I had good role models."

"How you treated everyone in Skyloft was your own doing." Cia stood in front of Groose, giving him complete eye contact. "You have my uttermost sympathy, believe me. Your parent may've stole what should've been a happy, safe childhood from you, but they didn't take away your ability to make choices. Lana & I have been around since the Golden Three created this world. We've seen many lifetimes of different people. Some of them had upbringings similar to yours. Despite their hardships, most of them still ended up being kind people. Having a hard upbringing is not an excuse for you to bring misery onto others."

"Well, being nice never got me anywhere," Groose argued, making Cia lift a brow. "I tried to be nice to my parents. We all know how THAT turned out for me. No matter what I did, they treated me like shit. Why should I be nice to others if it never worked out for me!"

"Then how do you explain this?" Lana lifted her hand, another glow emitting from it.

The scene shows Young Groose again, sitting on the roof of the Knight Academy. There was evidence in his eyes that he had been crying. His legs were close to his chest, head resting on top of his knees. Footsteps approaching from behind caught his attention.

A young blond girl around his age stared at him with noticeably pretty blue eyes. She gave him a wave. "Hi!"

"Hello? Who are you?"

"I'm Zelda. Are you the new kid?"

"Who's asking?" Young Groose asks with a snark.

"Me, obviously," Zelda responded back playfully. "What's your name?"

"Groose."

"Nice to meet you, Groose!" Zelda stuck out her hand, offering a handshake. Groose didn't budge. Instead, opted to look back at the sky ahead. Zelda did not walk away. "Are you okay? You look sad."

"I…I miss my parents. They…couldn't take care of me."

"That stinks. I'm sorry to hear that. But I'm sure they can visit, or maybe they can write to you. Maybe when things get better, they'll return, and you'll be together again."

"Yeah…Maybe you're right," Groose breathes out.

"Maybe in the meantime…you could use a friend?" Zelda suggested.

Young Groose looks at her in bafflement, surprised to hear that. "You want to be my friend?"

"I don't see why not. Everyone deserves a friend except for Cawlin. He's a jerk. I suggest you stay away from him."

"Noted…"

"I brought you a little something. Call it a welcome gift."

Zelda pulls something out of her pocket. In her hand was a necklace covered with red & green gems around the whole string. "I like to make gifts for newcomers. Help make them feel more welcome."

"You made it that quickly?" Young Groose inquired, impressed that the girl could make something in the short time he arrived.

Zelda nodded her head. "Crafting is a hobby of mine. I'm pretty good at it."

Young Groose felt impressed by her answer. He took the gift from Zelda. The boy examines the jewelry in his hand for several minutes. He wasn't sure what to make.

"Do you like it?" Zelda asks him. "If not, you don't have to keep it."

"I do like it! It's just…I never got a gift before."

"Really?" Zelda sounded shocked by that revelation. "Your parents never got you a gift?" Young Groose nods. "Not even on your birthday or holidays?"

"Things were…tough for my family." Young Groose lowered his head.

Zelda pulled him into a hug. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure they must've been awful for them."

"Yeah…I bet."

"Hopefully, those days are behind you. There are many nice people in Skyloft, including here at the academy. I'm sure you'll make enough friends to get many gifts."

"Thank you."

"Can you, um, try it on. I wasn't sure what size to make it."

"One way to find out." Young Groose puts the necklace on him. "A little big…But I think I'll grow into it."

"Oh, thank goodness." Zelda beamed happily, holding both of his hands. The notion made Young Groose grow a light flush on his cheeks. "I think you and I are going to get along, Groose. Come. Let me show you around." Zelda excitedly jogged away, dragging Young Groose behind by the arm.

The scene then fades away. Groose, Cia & Lana were all back in the empty white void. Lana was the first to speak.

"You were kind to her in that moment. It what made her want to be your friend. From the moment you met Zelda, you never once showed any ill towards her. Even after you both fell out, you never bullied her once."

"You always got a kick out of bullying her friends, though," Cia reminded. "You have no hesitation bringing their day down to make yourself feel good. But the moment Zelda shows up, suddenly, you turn into a stuttering schoolboy. You never called her a mean name, made her a victim of your pranks, or tried to sabotage her."

"You were always capable of kindness. You just chose not to do it," Lana laid it out to him.

Groose could only look at them. He wanted to say something. Argue with them. Tell them that they were wrong. That's what he always did when he got caught in his acts of mischievousness. This time, however, he couldn't. Lana & Cia clarified that they could see right through his façade.

"There is more we still have to show you," Cia said.

"What else?" Groose asks, curious to know.

"Everything that happened when you arrived at Skyloft on the day of the Wing Ceremony."

With that, Lana conjured up another orb. It then let out a bright light, blinding Groose's vision again. Leave him wondering what else he'll see.

[imgoodloveenjoy]

What down, joe?

So I finally got around to watching the episode of ChicagoMed that we all missed due to those idiots at the Capitol. SMH but here we go into the MESS & my feelings lol

April

What does April want? That’s the name of her arc cause she needs to figure it out. I do feel her on wanting to stay in the COVID ward because it gives her a sense of purpose but her acting as though Ethan “took” that from her is ridiculous: 1. She never let Ethan know that she felt that way, maybe that would’ve swayed his decision a bit and 2. She’s been a nurse for what I’m assuming is years, she knows that nurses rotate positions in hospitals so her being rotated out to the ED shouldn’t have been such a blow- its almost like she expected special treatment & took it personally that she didn’t get that and was expected to rotate out like all the other nurses. In and regards to Ethan, she needs to figure out what she wants from him; it feels like she’s on the fence about resuming a romantic relationship, and that’s fine, but she also acts as though he should be doing things for her because of implied lingering romantic feelings- feels like she’s using him a bit and he’s being a doormat about it.

I’ve noticed that she’s moving as though Ethan should be a mind reader and know what she’s thinking and feeling for a while. When she discovered that she was having fertility issues, she lashed out at him without telling him about it so then he was stuck on stupid thinking they were still on the same page about having a baby. When she was feeling like there wasn’t any romance in their relationship since starting IVF, she took that out on him without telling him how she felt. When she felt like she found her purpose in the COVID ward, she didn’t say anything to Ethan, just gave him attitude. Girl, he’s not a psychic, tell him what you’re feeling! I do feel like the storyline of her getting involved in the Will’s new crusade with the trail medicine is a way for them both to undermine Ethan, his new elevated position and the new hierarchy in the ED – neither of them respects him as a peer or senior at this point.

I would love for April to have something else to focus on. I know that the writers have talked about her re-assessing how she’s maneuvering as a caregiver & I think that’s great! I feel like she can receive more responsibility, like a sort of promotion (idk what that means to nurses), and has to work through the struggle of those new responsibilities (without Ethan trying to save her) and become a more confident & capable nurse. I do think eventually she has to sit with herself and assess her personal life: does she still want Ethan? If not, she has to sit down and discuss that with him, set some boundaries; I think she needs better communication with him in general but this would be a good place to start.

Us: “April, tell us what you want. Make a choice.”

April:

William

Will absolutely demonstrated why he isn’t the Chief ED in this episode but one thing that really irks me about this character is that he does thing so totally left field and reckless, but the writers always manage to redeem him in the end, and it moves along as though he was always right. I’m waiting for the day the writers let Will really feel the consequences of his actions; he really needs to sit and think about why he rushes into situations the way he does. And why the hell did Maggie apologize to him? She should’ve questioned Will about how she felt he was being blind to his crusade; his patient’s daughter specifically told hm what type of treatment she wanted for her father and he ignored that…GIRL! Let that have been Ethan or Natalie LOL. And every time he does something like this he comes out smelling like roses…I’m tired of it.

I also feel like Will is acting more impulsive because he still is upset about the Chief position and doesn’t want to accept Ethan and the new hierarchy of the ED. Its like him being a part of this clinical trail give him the authority position that he wanted in the ED but didn’t get, not really about him being really interested in the trails. It’s giving me “I don’t respect Ethan” vibes & I would appreciate it if he just said that.

Ethan

Ok so I feel like with this episode, Ethan did really leave April alone except for things that were related to work and that’s what I want for him moving forward until she figures out what she wants: keep it professional. But I don’t like how he’s handling April with kid gloves; I get that he still loves her, it’s evident, but he needs to show her that he won’t be a push over for her, that she can’t use their connection to get her way & then give him attitude when he does his job as Chief of ED.

There is such a wedge in Chexton that it doesn’t even seem worth it anymore and the writers said that Noah is going to cause even more problems, at this point, but my ship in the harbor and let us disembark. I love Chexton but this is ridiculous, they have these characters walking around not communicating with each other like children even though I’m sure these characters are pushing 40!

I would like for Ethan to continue his mentor-mentee relationship with Charles; I feel like that will help Ethan determine the type of Chief he wants to be and how he wants to run his ED. He also needs to make it clear that no one will be getting special treatment (April and Noah) and try to establish communication, trust, collaboration, and accountability (Will) in the ED. For Ethan, getting used to this new role is his drama, he doesn’t need the extra mess with his love life at the moment; it would be good to see him grow in a way that sticks from being Chief of ED. Also free Ethan from the shackles of April, please LOL.

Mancel

I’m kinda on this ship LOL. IDK what it is about these two but I kinda like it…I think it’s the fact that Marcel can be vulnerable to Natalie and she gives him the space to do so without judgment. Natalie confronting Marcel about his one-night stands and then just leaning herself onto his back, then his face being so content just made me swoon a bit, I can totally understand Natalie’s attraction to him with this new attitude. I know that his ex-wife will be making an appearance that will surely shake things up with them but it can be a moment for Marcel to determine if he wants to pursue a relationship with Nat or continue being a committed bachelor. The direction the writers are taking with Mancel is the only good thing they’re doing IMO; it’s giving me an insight to Marcel’s pathology – he feels like a person who runs when the going gets tough cause he doesn’t want to be vulnerable but his attraction to Nat and the type of person she is will make him want to stay and work through the hard stuff.

The Writers

I am TIRED of y’all. TIRED. I’m so done with the way the writers make characters regress to build up other characters/relationships. They had Manstead going but then as Chexton took off, Manstead crashed and burned. Chexton was cruising along, now they’re floundering as Mancel is taking off. What is going on? Can no one focus on more than one relationship at a time? And why are the characters going through the same development that they went through in past seasons (Ethan, Will). Like they went through that, their characters were better then all of a sudden, its back to square one and then on top of that, no one is communicating with each other, just getting upset in their feelings. You know y’all don’t have to do that, right? There are ways of challenging characters beyond regressing them and focusing on their love life screw ups. Do y’all need a more diverse writing room? Some new people to bring in fresh ideas? What is it? What do y’all need to keep this show from being too predictable and unnecessarily messy? It’s like they don’t realize that the characters and viewers of the show aren’t teenagers, we’re grown ass adults so petty relationship drama isn’t going to satisfy us. I would give them more free game but they’re gonna have to pay me LOL.

Me to the writers:

So i guess that’s all until next episode of ChicagoWhatTheFuckAreTheyDoingOverThereMed Z.

[writingbisexually]

Dance for Me

Hiiiiiiiiiii everyone, thank you for all the love on Counting Stars! It makes me so happy to see people enjoying my work.

This is part two of the three day adventure with @malex-cupid and it is meant to be a sequel to Counting Stars (but you could also read it on its own). You can also read it here on AO3.

Summary: “You put on quite a show earlier, didn’t you? Did you want this?” asked Alex. “Did you want me to take you home with me?” Isobel hosts a Palentine's Day party. Michael and Alex leave early.

Warnings for: light smut (and it’s probably not that great), alcohol consumption, and party games (truth or dare)

---

Alex wasn’t sure how Isobel had managed to find any friendship themed decorations but she had, in fact, found many and they now decorated the entire main floor of her house. She had sworn off Valentine’s Day this year (which, he supposed, was a step up from last year when she refused to acknowledge that the day existed) but insisted on throwing a “Palentine’s Day” party. And she insisted on everyone’s attendance. Even Maria hadn’t gotten out of it. So now Alex found himself, on a Saturday night, sat in a room of thirty-year-olds trying to decide if they were actually going to play Truth or Dare or not. He also found himself getting increasingly distracted by the mere presence of Michael Guerin.

“Top up your drinks and circle up!” Isobel yelled.

Truth or Dare was happening he guessed. Just as he was debating whether another drink would be worth the effort of standing, walking to the kitchen and back, and then sitting on the floor, a beer appeared next to him.

“Thought I’d save you the trip,” Michael said.

“Thanks.” Alex smiled gratefully and gently lowered himself to the floor. Michael plopped down next to him.

“My house, my rules, my start,” Isobel said. “You can forfeit to the other option, forfeiting both means you drink. Got it?” Everyone nodded. “Dumbass brother.” Michael and Max exchanged confused glances. Isobel rolled her eyes. “Max is the idiot brother, Michael’s the dumbass. Truth or dare dumbass?”

Michael considered his options and decided he was more afraid of Isobel’s dares than her questions. “Truth,” he said.

“Boring,” Isobel said. Then she thought for a moment. “Why the god-awful belt buckles?”

Michael shrugged. “They’re eye-catching,” he said. Alex blushed and Maria gave a contemplative nod. Michael scanned the circle. “DeLuca,” he picked, “truth or dare?”

Maria pursed her lips in a challenge. “Dare,” she said.

“I dare you to hug Isobel for twenty seconds.” Michael smirked.

Maria and Isobel let out simultaneous groans but stood up and stepped towards each other. The rest of the group counted up to twenty and cheered at the end.

“Alex,” Maria said when she returned to her seat. “Truth or dare?”

Alex was as afraid of Maria’s dares as Michael was of Isobel’s. “Truth,” he said quickly.

“Why did you cancel our plans last night?” she asked.

Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “Of all the questions in the world, that’s what you’re going with?” He shook his head. “I went stargazing,” he said, casting a furtive glance in Michael’s direction. A soft smile graced Michael’s lips and he tried to hide it by biting his bottom lip. Alex quickly looked away and took a very long drink.

The game continued. Alex dared Kyle to show everyone pictures from his visit to Planet 7. Kyle dared Rosa to wear Isobel’s pink feather boa for the rest of the game. She looked murderous but she did it. Maria confessed to actually having a good time at an Isobel event. Then she dared Max to sing karaoke and Max dared Michael to give someone a lap dance. Alex would have been impressed with Max’s dare if Michael weren’t giving him such a seductive look. He must have had a fragment of panic in his eyes as well because Michael smirked at him and then gave a very talented lap dance to Max, who in turn looked mortified that his dare had backfired on him.

Alex, for his part, couldn’t keep his eyes off of Michael. So by the time Michael sauntered away from Max and took his seat next to Alex again, Alex had made a decision. It was probably a bad idea and it was definitely an impulsive decision which he normally would not make, but he also didn’t normally watch Michael give out lap dances. He waited until Michael had played his turn in the game before leaning over to whisper in Michael’s ear.

“The more I look at you, the more I think we need to leave.” To emphasize his point, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of Michael’s jeans. Alex couldn’t see what was happening on Michael’s face, but Michael started coughing to cover it up. Alex took his fingers out of Michael’s pants and carefully stood up from the floor. “I have to go,” he said to the group. “My leg’s hurting.”

Michael leaped up. “I’ll drive you home,” he offered.

Isobel rolled her eyes at them. “Have either of you heard of the word subtlety?” she asked. She gave Michael a pointed look. “This is why you’re the dumbass.”

They left to a chorus of wolf-whistles and cheers and Alex kept his arm possessively hooked around Michael’s waist. At Alex’s door, Michael hovered awkwardly. “I can, uh –” Alex promptly shut him up with a bruising kiss.

“You’re coming inside,” he said.

Michael could only nod and follow Alex inside. They took their shoes off at the front door and Alex led Michael to his bedroom. At the door to Alex’s bedroom, he let go of Michael’s hand.

“Stay there,” said Alex. Michael stayed. Alex busied himself with putting a chair in the centre of his room and then sitting in it to take his prosthetic off. “Michael?” he said. “Can you put my prosthetic to the side and bring me a crutch?” Michael didn’t hesitate. By the time he returned with the crutch, Alex had taken off his shirt and tossed it aside. “Take your shirt off Michael,” Alex told him. Michael swallowed thickly but did as he was asked.

Alex leaned back in his chair and let himself look at Michael. He really was beautiful, Alex thought. One of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen.

“Come here,” Alex said softly. Michael stepped towards him and his eyes fluttered closed as Alex reached out to stroke the exposed skin above his hip. “You put on quite a show earlier, didn’t you?” Michael whimpered. “Did you want this?” asked Alex. “Did you want me to take you home with me?” Michael nodded. “Use your words Michael.”

“Yes,” Michael breathed out.

“Were you trying to tease me?” Alex kneaded his fingers into Michael’s side.

“Yes.”

“Did you wish you were dancing for me?”

“Yes Alex, yes.”

“Then dance for me Michael.” Alex pulled his hand away from Michael to reach into his pocket and take out his phone. He selected a song and pressed play.

Michael took a moment to let the music float over him before he started swaying his hips. He transformed himself back into the smirking, seductive Michael that Alex had seen at the party. He plucked Alex’s phone from his grasp and put it on the bed behind the chair, trailing his fingers across Alex’s chest as he moved. He circled back around to Alex’s front and bracketed his legs on either side of Alex’s. He dropped his hips and rolled back up, stroking a finger along Alex’s jaw line as he went. He was mesmerising. He brushed against Alex’s cock every time he rolled up and it was serving to turn them both on more and more each time.

As the song ended, Alex reached out to grip Michael’s hips, stilling him in his lap, Michael’s back pressed to Alex’s chest. “Tell me what you want,” Alex whispered into Michael’s ear.

“You,” said Michael. “Always you.”

“What do you need?” Alex pressed. “Do you want me to take my time with you? Watch you fall apart on my fingers and keep you waiting until you’re begging? Or do you need it fast and merciless?”

Michael turned his head to the side to meet Alex in an awkward kiss. “Second,” he said. “I can’t wait.”

Alex kissed Michael again. “Then get what we need and lie on the bed.”

Michael scrambled up to retrieve a condom and lube from Alex’s nightstand. He placed them on the bed next to where he placed himself in the middle. Alex made his way over with the assistance of his crutch and took another moment to just look at Michael.

“You’re beautiful,” Alex told him as he climbed onto the bed and over top of Michael. Michael pushed himself up to kiss him. “So beautiful.”

Alex, true to his word, worked quickly to open Michael up and kept his teasing to a minimum. He also couldn’t wait. By the time he pressed into Michael and kissed away every moan, groan, and whimper, they both knew it had been entirely too long to make this last. There would be other opportunities to take their time.

Michael came with a cry and Alex followed soon after. They made out lazily until Michael worked up the energy to get a cloth from the bathroom. He cleaned them up and then Alex tugged Michael back to lean into his chest. And for the first time in a long time, with his arm secured around Michael’s waist, Alex slept soundly.

[tundrainafrica]

1) about the social class headcanon that you write, that’s actually makes sense, but isn’t exactly what i meant. According to Isayama, Hange when she was young looked very much like Eren in the way of acting (even more with the titans), and (this part I am not sure if it is true) she lost her family at the fall of the maria wall. Eren looked like a rebellious teenager angry at everything, and recently I found out that depression in teenagers and children tends to manifest itself that way

2) (anger and rebellion), well, we know Eren was depressed (it only got worse with time) but what about Hange? seems to me she learned to hide her feelings so it wouldn't be between her and her job. We don't know her past, she probably didn't grow up in a violent place like Levi but it doesn't mean that her life was all joy and happiness you know.. 

---------------------------------------------   MY ANSWER   --------------------------------------

Hello Anon, 

Thank you again for your ask! Woops, sorry if I didn’t answer your  questions. I answered those two asks in a row so I ended up just building off of the last one. 

I don’t think it was ever confirmed if Hange lost her family at the fall of Wall Maria. I did some research and couldn’t find stuff on my end. If you could send me some on that, I’d love to read it.

I am aware at least that no one’s life is all joy or happiness. I think there is a difference though with growing up without ever having to consider your next meal and living in abject poverty. 

There are people who have had time to be a child and there are people who haven’t. So I think to a degree, Hange had more of a childhood than Levi. And a normal childhood is incredibly important for every single child. The early years are crucial because that’s where children build wonder, curiosity. That’s one of the psychological reasons behind children’s books. They make everything so fantastical to heighten the senses of the children. Because in fact, children only get full control of their senses later in life. Before they are even able to make sense of everything, everything is just a huge bubble or conglomeration of senses. That’s why children are so perceptive, imaginative and quick to learn things like languages. Their view of the world isn’t set yet by the rules and norms of the society they live in. 

That’s why asking children questions and exposing them to so many different things at a young age and providing for them is important. Children need to see the wonder of the world while not having to consider their next meal, their danger. A childhood is generally where curiosity and imaginative thinking is most easily built. 

And that’s why I say, that Hange somehow is a lot more curious, sees a lot more wonder than Levi. Similar to Erwin, he had a pretty comfortable existence, he went to a good school, he had a father who engaged him and that’s why Erwin was able to think beyond what was within the walls. Same for both Eren and Armin. Eren had his father who probably fed him some info and Armin had his parents books and his parents who were curious enough to build that hot air balloon

And, I know about that scene in the manga that explained that it was the lightness of the titan head that got Hange curious about titans. I think kicking the titan head was a good catalyst for titan research but I suspect that even before that, Hange was curious about the outside world. Hange’s interest extends beyond titans for sure because it was confirmed by Isayama already that Hange would have been studying botany outside the walls if it wasn’t for the titans. Also, the way Hange is handling the new world where she’s constantly on top of developments in Paradis etc, also shows that titans are only one facet of her scientist personality.

Besides, if she didn’t have that wonder and curiosity about the outside world, I don’t think she would have done something as ridiculous as join the survey corps in the first place.

“Eren looked like a rebellious teenager angry at everything, and recently I found out that depression in teenagers and children tends to manifest itself that way”

Although depression can manifest itself in anger, similar to Eren’s probably, there’s no exact formula for how humans react to anything. It’s incredibly complex that the field of psychology (or any other field) is just a conglomerate of people and a bunch of reports and the people trying to make sense of all the results of the experiments they made. This is particularly true in the social sciences where any findings won’t point to anything as exact as those in the pure sciences.  

Anger and rebellion could also stem from someone having grown up in a rich family with strict rules on how to go about this and that is generally how it fits into my head canon. Someone can have a good relationship with their family while at the same time have qualms about how they were raised. To be honest, I’m probably the same way. I grew up in a relatively well off family, I was a generally angry teenager but I admittedly have a generally positive relationship with my family. 

Okay to tackle the issue on depression

 <Trigger Warning on Depression>

I don’t want to be quick as to define any action or any emotional analysis as depression. Depression is an incredibly complex subject, there are biological causes, life events and it manifests itself in so many different ways. So many different ways in fact, that people are rarely diagnosed with just depression. There are always diagnoses which accompany it. 

To be honest, I went through a period in time also where I was considering ending it. I was sleeping a lot. I quit everything. I went straight home from school. Barely talked to anyone.  I talked to a counselor about it, then a therapist but it took them months before they wanted to give the diagnosis of depression. I actually never pushed through with the sessions after a while, got busy with school and eventually, this cleared up on its own weirdly. I’ll never know actually if I was depressed during that period in time. Was I going through very stressful life events, definitely. Were my answers to the tests they were giving me alarming then? Probably. They could have pointed to depression. But I generally got past it and am generally a happier person now without much intervention. So was it even considered depression? I’ll never know. Some people who are probably much stronger than me needed interventions to stay functional. They needed to make radical life decisions, like move out from their parents place, change their courses to keep going. They needed meds to keep functioning everyday. 

Depression is a complex and  terrifying condition and manifests itself in so many different ways. In fact, talking to some friends who really watched their life spiral down because of this shitty condition. Towards the later stages of depression, they weren’t even feeling anything anymore. 

Could Hange have been experiencing symptoms similar to depression? Definitely. General teenage anger and hormones can manifest as symptoms of depression. Grief can manifest with symptoms of  depression. Loss can manifest with symptoms of depression. Trauma can manifest with symptoms of depression. Hange will have experienced a lot of things that 

Note : Also Eren’s depression? I honestly think given the experiences he had, inheriting the founding titan and inheriting centuries worth of trauma, I think his experience is beyond fathomable for the average person so I chalk that as completely something else. 

Okay, to answer your question, Hange was probably not in the best mental state late into Season 4. 

Of course she wasn’t, she lost Moblit, she lost Erwin and suddenly she was pulled into a place with so much responsibility. And she was probably suffering from a case of survivor’s guilt on top of that.

Hiding emotions comes down a lot to discipline, self control and the general strength of your inhibitions.. Emotions are manageable like I could say, I have successfully stopped myself many times from punching someone in the face. Someone’s ability to stop themselves from acting on impulses, someone’s ability to manage their inhibitions is dependent on numerous factors like home environment etc. It is also dependent on the context of that moment where someone has to choose between punching someone in the face or walking away, on the context of that moment where people choose between lying in bed and letting the day go by and standing up and plastering a smile on their face. I guess, that’s the point I wanted to make in a previous post. If Hange did grow up rich, she probably found it a little easier, to plaster a smile on her face because not ever having to experience desperation at an early age, coming to the realization that you’ve had it easier than a lot of people growing up, can do that to people. 

But yes, towards the end of season 4, she was going through something. She was struggling, despite her smiling face. But really, in attack on titan, who is happy post chapter 122? Like I cannot think of a single person in that manga who is happy at that point. Please tell me if you can think of anyone. 

Would I chalk up Hange’s true feelings to depression?

Manifestations of depression maybe? Post traumatic stress? Stress with little time to process anything or rest? Exhaustion? Not being in the best mental state? Maybe.

I wouldn’t use the word depression definitely. 

Depression is an incredibly heavy world with so many implications. In fact, it’s a medical condition which needs to be diagnosed thus, I wouldn’t use that at all to describe anyone’s situation unless they have had multiple consultations with multiple doctors and have been laid a final diagnosis. 

I hope this clears things up.

Thank you for the ask again. I appreciate it :D

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

There was a thing in my mind that needed to be written. Unfortunately, somewhere during this I knew I would not finish it, I would not make that into an actual fic – for several reasons, one being I reached some low point in writing once more, which seems to be quite normal but rather unfortunate for finishing ideas ;) Still, there is something here that may work for its own. It’s a bit angsty, I guess, and for once this is actual Emhyr whump, which feels a bit strange. Maybe you would like to guess how it could have ended. I think Geralt would have found some trick to convince Triss to heal Emhyr. 

The pain was sharp and harsh, strangely familiar, like an old acquaintance. Even as he fell, before he hit the ground, above all the noise and chaos that immediately erupted, he recognized that pain. How peculiar to recall, Emhyr thought, as he watched his blood form a puddle beneath him. The confusion around him did not seem to concern him, and the noise subsided.

Faces appeared above him, orders were yelled; there were sounds of fighting and a lot of shouting, and he was glad that all of it was getting quieter. Finally, there was the only face that mattered. A wolf with cat eyes, sometimes golden, sometimes amber.

"My flame," Geralt said softly, and that's when Emhyr knew it was severe, and his eyes fell shut.

When he opened them again, he was almost surprised to be there still. Sounds, smells, and the feel of soft sheets told him he was in his bedroom. It was not a dream, and he was still alive, of which the pain was both warning and reminder. Geralt was there, sitting on the bed and holding his hand; how strange this was, tables turned. That seemed to be Emhyr's duty: to take care of his adventurous husband. To scold him, to calm him, to take his pain away.

It had been a long time since he had felt like this, so helpless and powerless in the face of pain. A long time since it had been his own. Now he almost did not know how to meet this foe adequately. Holding hands didn't seem to help that much, he realized. It only aided the one who wasn't lying there.

"When were you planning to tell me about this?" asked Geralt calmly.

Too calmly. He was angry, Emhyr realized. No, not necessarily angry. He seemed confused, amazed, maybe even hurt. How ironic, Emhyr thought.

"Who was it?" he asked, surprised by how normal his voice sounded. How ordinary, when nothing was ordinary.

"Don't deflect," Geralt growled, "Someone managed to ram a knife into you in the middle of the throne room, and it's only thanks to Adan that I didn't rip the guy to shreds on the spot. Don't look at me like that; yes, there's still enough of him left. We'll figure out who he is."

"Some lunatic, that's all," Emhyr replied absently. He found it unusually difficult to focus.

"No, you know who is a lunatic?"

Here it comes, Emhyr thought. It was inevitable.

"Seriously. You made a contract with Triss that she can't heal you in certain situations? What's this nonsense?"

Emhyr felt a sigh rising inside him, a strange feeling bubbling to the surface, demanding to be expelled like excess air.

"This contract has existed for a very long time," he replied. "It has been made with every sorceress, not only Merigold, but every one before her."

"Why don't I know about it?"

"You are not the court sorceress, Geralt. There's no reason you should know about it."

"No reason? You dare to tell your husband to his face that he has no right to know about such decisions?"

"The fact that certain things have altered in my life does not change this fundamental decision," Emhyr replied firmly. Solid as a rock, at least he hoped so.

"That's insane," Geralt argued.

Emhyr watched him, his beautiful, headstrong husband who had never learned not to show his emotions on his face. The tense jaw, the brows pulled sharply, his voice, somewhere between undisguised anger and fear – he was just always too emotional. Geralt was his channel, his catalyst, the manifestation of his own feelings, which encompassed far more than what he ever showed on the outside – and that was very little, for a good reason. Emhyr also felt this anger and fear. This pain, utterly different from the physical sensation that was drilling in his guts.

"This contract," Geralt continued as if giving a lecture, "says that if a severe injury is not instantly fatal, it may only be treated conventionally."

"Well? I'm still alive, so apparently, that kind of treatment is possible."

Geralt ran his hands through his hair as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, as if he were talking to a child who was on his last nerve because he just couldn't make it understand how the world worked.

"Possible," he said, "but also uncertain and dangerous. And simply unnecessary."

"Unnecessary, yes," Emhyr replied unexpectedly and with some bitterness. "I didn't expect it to end like this, of all things. "

"It doesn't end at all," Geralt disagreed.

"Geralt..."

"No. Neither like this nor otherwise. Your stubbornness is ridiculous. This can be healed in no time."

"It's not a small thing."

"It's only not a small thing if you don't do anything about it," Geralt replied heatedly. "Are you going to throw away everything you've built because of some silly aversion to magic?"

Emhyr looked at him sternly.

"I have a daughter, as you know. The realm loses nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

Geralt jumped to his feet, and as he spoke, his voice grew louder.

"And what about me? Doesn't what I lose count?"

His fists clenched, protruding knuckles so white that Emyhr could almost feel the fingernails in his own palms. Somehow, Geralt managed to calm down. He sat back down at the bed. With a firm grip, he took Emhyr's right hand in his, held it up, held the ring in front of his eyes.

"This is a promise you made," Geralt said seriously. "You think two years is enough? That's fucking selfish. You think those two years were so wonderful that they outweigh the past. As good as two decades or more because they made you forget what was before. And that's true, but not just for you. And I want more of that. I don't want it to end now, and you know very well it doesn't have to."

"Magic of this kind always comes with a price," Emhyr replied, searching Geralt's gaze. This was significant; it was important for Geralt to understand. "Keeping someone alive may have side effects that you find worse than the thought of dying. You should know that."

Oh, Geralt knew. He had experienced this kind of magic not only once. All the memories, the dark feelings, the pain that was sometimes worse than the wounds, even if they were already healed. Magic that gave so much, more than was natural, also took something. It took a piece of you and made the worst of it that was possible. Unpredictable, inevitable. To live on, even if the will to do so was strong, was not always a gift. At that moment, he understood.

"It's because of the curse," he stated, his gaze as soft as his voice, and that's what made it so hard.

There was this pain that wouldn't subside, and part of Emhyr felt he deserved it. That it was right that this feeling was boring into him, like hitting a hook into such a rigid wall, it was slow going. The wall hardly gave way, even when the plaster crumbled. He was used to hiding behind that wall, but the plaster crumbled much more quickly when he looked at his spouse.

"Back then," he explained quietly, his gaze drifting, far into the past and away from Geralt, "a long time ago, someone told me that true love could be one-sided and still have enough power. The words of the original spell could certainly be understood that way. But spells are tricky, aren't they? So all these years, no one could tell me for sure if the seed of that curse had not remained in me. Whether the sheer fact that the curse was overcome with lies and tricks mattered."

"And then what?" asked Geralt. "Do you think that would make me love you any less?"

Emhyr resented that hopeful little smile on his face. That assurance that everything would be all right if he just let him do his thing. He didn't believe in that.

"I would love myself less then," he answered sternly. "There are some things that no one wants to go back to. Things you've done. Thoughts and feelings that should never resurface. Don't you understand that this isn't about you, Geralt? What I would do to save you, no one can put into words. But I don't want you to do that. Some things aren't worth it."

Emhyr saw by his eyes that he still did not believe him. But he saw more, and that hurt almost more than the pain in his side.

"You know I could just make you," Geralt said, and as if to prove it, he snapped his fingers, a gesture meant to imply a power that was meaningless to Emhyr for a good reason.

"I know above all that you wouldn't," he replied.  

Geralt lowered his head. Then, very slowly, he withdrew his hand from Emhyr's, forgoing the impulse to stroke it one more time, and stood up. Without another word, he left the room.

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 10: In Case of Implosion, Look Directly at Implosion

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: Thomas destroys things, and has a moral crisis

Chapter Warnings: Death Mentions, Philosophy about Turrets

“Wait,” you say, “you want me to destroy… that?”

“Precisely,” Logan says, adjusting his eye lens. “I was just inspecting how to go about dismantling the neurotoxin systems, but with the destructive capabilities of the Portal Gun such a task should be significantly simpler, if cruder.”

“Wait, this is the neurotoxin place? That’s what you’re doing here?” Roman says.

“Yes, keep up Roman. Our previous fight had various elements we had previously not accounted for in our planning, our foe’s access to neurotoxin being prominent among these. Sabotaging the neurotoxin and similar systems should increase our chance of success significantly, and are thus worth the time and effort spent seeking them out.”

“Wow, Logan, that’s a great idea!” you say.

“I am aware,” Logan replies, preening slightly.

You look at the neurotoxin generator, slightly intimidated by its scale. “So what do I do?”

“Do you see those pipes?” Logan says. “They seem to be pumping the neurotoxin. If you can destroy them, it will likely cease to function.”

Destroy the pipes, huh? You look around at the generator, looking for something you could drop on the pipes or otherwise use to disconnect them, but come up empty. Deciding to search a wider radius, you go down the nearby hall and come across a room with one of the lasers in it. Grinning in victory, you put one portal at the end of the laser, then go back to the generator room and use carefully placed portals to slice the pipes away.

A warning siren blares as an automated announcement declares, Warning! Neurotoxin pressure has reached dangerously unlethal levels. As you watch, the tall, thin shape of the neurotoxin generator crumples in on itself, before it and half the ceiling collapse into the pit below.

Behind you, the others start to cheer, and you join in, exhilarated by the scale of what you’ve just done.

“What now?” you say.

“I am not sure,” Logan says. “There may be other apparatus that it could provide a tactical advantage to destroy, but I am not familiar enough with this part of the facility to identify them.”

“If I could make a suggestion?” Janus interjects smoothly.

“No, you can’t,” Virgil snaps.

“C’mon Virge, be reasonable-” Roman starts, but Virgil cuts him off.

“No, seriously, what is he still doing here? Are we forgetting that all of this is his fault?”

“Now Virgil, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Janus says. “After all, I wasn’t the one who put Remus in his current position. That was Thomas, remember?”

“Only because you tried to kill him! Twice!”

“Right, and humans have never hurt this facility before. It was definitely was my fault when the humans who ran this place made the disaster that led to us being separated and the facility nearly being destroyed!”

“That was years ago, though,” Roman protests.

“And I refuse to let it happen again.”

“But you locked us out!” Virgil yells. “You didn’t let us rejoin you after we were separated, and then you put all the humans in cryosleep for good measure!”

“I was doing what I thought was best for the safety of this facility!” Janus yells back, losing his careful poise. “You of all people should understand that!”

“Was it for the safety of the facility when you made us murder the Companion Cube?” Patton cries.

There’s a pause, and then Janus makes a sound of deep and utter confusion. “It- it was literally a cube I painted with hearts.”

“Okay, okay, guys, settle down,” you say. Surprisingly it seems to work, with all parties in the argument stopping and turning to look at you.

“Look, I know not everyone gets along. There’s been some disagreements, and misunderstandings, and attempted murders. But that’s something we can argue about after we’ve stopped this facility from exploding, do you understand?”

Roman and Patton both nod their assent, while Janus and Virgil mutter darkly but seem to accept it for now.

“Good,” you say. “Now what were you going to say, Janus?”

“As I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted,” Janus says, ignoring the hiss Virgil gives him in response, “There is one place that it might be worth paying a visit. Tell me, Thomas: have you heard of the Turret Factory?”

One trek later, you find yourself standing in front of a door labeled with yellow lettering, “FACTORY: Authorized Personnel Only”.

“I assume this is it,” you say.

“No, it’s a different door leading to a factory,” Janus drawls.

Rolling your eyes, you walk through the door and inside the factory. After going down a short hallway, you come upon a conveyor belt. On it are a series of turrets, standing upright on the belt as it moves. For a moment you panic and go to duck, then you realize they are all faced away from you and straighten up, hoping no one else noticed.

After a few moments of looking, you notice that a few of the turrets on the belt look a bit off- malformed, missing parts of their chassis, or otherwise not like you would expect turrets to look. Further down the conveyor belt is a target, which each turret seems to be shooting at as it goes by. The strange turrets all seem to be missing the target even though it’s only about feet away, and as soon as they do a spring comes up from the conveyor belt and launches them, screaming, into a nearby furnace.

It’s honestly pretty disturbing, and when a dysfunctional turret starts to ride past you on the belt you impulsively use the portal gun to grab it off the belt.

“Oh thank god,” the turret squeaks. “You saved my bacon, pal.”

“No problem,” you say absently. The turret seems content just hanging in the air like that, so you continue to carry it as you move deeper into the factory.

“In here,” Logan calls, and you move into the room to see the same assembly belt of turrets riding by. The furnace is actually in this room, and you wince at the increased volume of the dysfunctional turrets’ shrieks.

“Place me in the wall?” Logan says, and you pull your attention away from the plight of the dysfunctional turrets long enough to notice what you should have at the start: that this room also contains a control booth for the belt, which appears to be locked.

You take Logan by the handles and, used to this routine by now, slot him into a socket in the wall. After a moment the door to the booth clicks open, and you step in and see a regular looking turret sitting inert on a platform.

“That’s the Master Turret,” Logan says. “The turrets are being produced based on its design, and it serves as quality control- any turrets that do not match its specifications are discarded.”

As if on cue, a defective turret is launched, screaming, into the furnace.

“Hopefully, removing it may halt the process,” Logan adds.

Using the Portal Gun, you carefully pick up the Master Turret and move it to the side, making sure to set it back down facing away from you.

The others cheer, and you turn back and smile at them. Then you look back just in time to see another defective turret get thrown into the fire with a staticky cry of, “Nooooooooo!”

“What happened?” you say, looking back and forth between the conveyor belt and Logan. “Why didn’t it work?”

Janus jumps in before Logan can respond. “The Turret Redemption Line remembers the last template it used. Removing it won’t change anything.”

“And how do you know that when Braniac over there didn’t?” Roman says suspiciously.

Janus huffs. “You’re right, it makes no sense for me to actually know things about this facility after running it for decades. Clearly I’m not needed here when you have Logic’s flawless theories to go off of.”

“Hey!” Patton says. “Don’t be mean to Logan!”

“It is fine,” Logan says. “I am used to my input being undervalued.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that-” you start.

“Moving on,” Logan interrupts, “If you will give me some time, I can attempt to hack into the line itself to shut it down.”

You look back at the turret line, where another defective turret is being thrown into the flames. “How long should that take?”

“It depends on the coding,” Logan says. “A few minutes, at the least. A few hours at most.”

You sigh. “I guess we’d better get started, then.”

“Or,” Janus interjects, “Instead of wasting our time dismantling a system in a way that will be obvious to Remus once it’s done, we could just switch the template.”

“Switch the-” You look back over your shoulder, at the defective turret you rescued earlier. “Would that work?”

Logan hums. “Indeed. If a defective turret was used as a template, the Turret Redemption Line would consider them to be the standard, and the normal ones to be ‘defective’.”

“It would be the perfect ruse,” Janus says. “Everything here would register as working properly, but as soon as Remus attempted to use them against us-”

“They wouldn’t work,” you say, eyes widening.

“Providing us with a decisive advantage,” Janus finishes smugly.

There’s a pause as you all take that in. Then Roman throws out his handles in his typical dramatic gesture. “Then let us begin-”

“Wait!”

You turn to see Patton hanging just behind you, his eyes wide with concern.

“If you did what Janus is suggesting… wouldn’t that mean the healthy turrets would all be incinerated?”

Janus scoffs. “Obviously, that’s the whole point.”

“But we can’t do that!” Patton says. “The turrets can think, they have feelings! That one even thanked you for saving its life!”

“Yeah!” the defective turret next to you cheers. “What are we talking about?”

Patton gestures to it with one handle. “See? We can’t take an action that ends in the needless killing of even more of them than before!”

“Of course we can,” Janus says. “Being used and disposed of is what turrets are for.”

“Not while I’m here, it isn’t,” Patton says firmly.

His tone brooks no argument. Janus, however, doesn’t seem to get the message.

“Have you heard of the Trolley Problem, Patton?”

Patton cocks himself to the side questioningly. “The what-now?”

“The Trolley Problem,” Logan says. “It is a thought experiment, first posed by moral philosopher Philippa Foot and then expanded on extensively by other philosophers, which poses the question of whether it is morally appropriate to save the lives of five innocent people by sacrificing the life of one.”

Roman narrows his eye in thought. “So, the turrets are the one innocent person in this scenario?”

“If you fail at stopping Remus, every being in this facility, living or otherwise, will likely be killed,” Janus says with an exaggerated sort of solemnity. “Next to that, the lives of a few turrets seems a rather small sacrifice, wouldn’t you think?”

“No!” Patton says. “I mean, it’s not that simple, you can’t- you can’t just reduce lives to- to math-”

“Oh, we absolutely can,” Janus says smoothly. “And in this situation, we must.”

As Patton and Janus continue to argue you find yourself staring at the assembly line of turrets, listening to the shrieks of the defective ones as they are thrown into the fire. What Janus is saying makes a lot of sense- turrets are something that could easily kill you if you were caught off guard, and it’s not like you haven’t knocked your fair share of them over in your time. But there’s a difference there, between jarring a few turrets’ circuits in self-defense and choosing to throw dozens into an incinerator in cold blood. In the end, that’s an order you’re just not sure you can give; your stomach roils at the very thought.

“Logan,” you hear yourself saying, “let’s get you started with the hacking.”

“Thomas,” Janus hisses, “what are you doing?”

“Making a decision,” you say, taking Logan down from his movement rail and locking him into place in the nearest wall.

“No, Thomas, wait,” Janus says frantically. “If you do this, we’ll lose out on a vital strategic advantage-”

“I heard your arguments, Janus,” you say. “But I just can’t take an action that leads to the slaughter of innocents. Even if those innocents are death machines full of bullets.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Janus says shrilly. “These are turrets!”

“I know,” you say, “and we’re saving their lives. That’s final.”

Janus sputters for a moment, then huffs and seems to pull back into his practiced air of indifference.

“Alright. I’m sure that will work out splendidly for you, honey. Do be sure to remember this when you’re being shot full of holes, okay?”

Grimacing, you turn back to where Logan is working, and try to put Janus’ words out of your head.

Janus is sleeping again when the rest of you gather to discuss plans for the upcoming fight. You aren’t terribly surprised; the whole turret debacle was emotionally draining for you, and you weren’t one of the people arguing, much less operating on a few volts’ worth of power. Still, you find yourself missing his perspective at certain points.

“There is also the matter of who should be put in Remus’ place,” Logan says. “In the conflict against Janus we went in without a plan as to who would be the replacement Core, and it is my belief that that acted in our detriment.”

You chuckle nervously. “Uh, yeah, about that…”

“What is it?” Roman says.

“I… kind of promised I would put Janus back as head of the facility if he helped me find you guys?”

Your admission is met with stunned silence. Then Virgil growls, “You WHAT?”

“It was the only way he’d help me!” you protest. “And he’s been a model teammate so far!”

“I do not doubt that you made what was the best choice you had at the time,” Logan says carefully, “but Janus’ current behavior cannot be taken as proof of his ultimate intentions. It may be in his best interest to aid you while in the form of a Solanum tuberosum, but once he is in charge of this facility he will no longer be obligated to give you your freedom, nor to leave you alive.”

You want to argue against what Logan’s saying, but there’s an undeniable- well, Logic- to what he’s saying that makes your gut churn uncomfortably.

“He said that it would be safer to just let me go,” you try.

“And you believed him?” Virgil says incredulously. “Thomas, Janus is a liar. Deceiving people is what he does. You can’t trust him and there’s no way in hell you can risk putting him back where he was.”

“But if Thomas goes back on his word, doesn’t that make him just as bad?” Patton says quietly.

You turn to look at him in surprise. Beside you, Roman coughs awkwardly. “Uh, Pat, isn’t that a little harsh?”

“I think it’s just harsh enough, Mister,” Patton admonishes. “How would Thomas going back on our part of the agreement be any different than Janus going back on his?”

“Because Thomas hasn’t ever tried to kill him!” Virgil snaps.

“Well yes,” you say, “but that might have been because of the compulsion, not Janus himself.”

Your statement is met with blank stares. You groan and facepalm. “Oh gosh, I forgot to bring that up.”

“Bring what up”? Logan says.

“You know how Remus was helping us, and then once he replaced Janus he immediately turned on me?”

Roman makes a wounded noise. Logan inclines himself questioningly and says, “You have an explanation for that, I assume?”

You nod, then almost say according to Janus before thinking better of it and biting the phrase back. “There’s this sort of itch that makes whoever’s running things compulsively need to test. I think it might change their behavior too, though I don’t know how much.”

“Intriguing,” Logan says. “So you are saying this ‘itch’ is the reason Janus behaved in the manner he did?”

You shrug. “I’m saying that whoever ends up in charge, will need to take that into account. Janus said he can control it, at least better than Remus.”

“I don’t know about you all, but I have a rather hard time believing that, considering everything,” Roman says.

“Agreed,” Logan says. “His actions were clearly in line with such a compulsion.”

“And that means that even if he’s sincere now, he probably won’t be if we put him back there,” Virgil says darkly.

“But then if Janus can’t handle it, who can?” Patton asks. It takes him a moment for him to notice you all looking intently at him. “What?”

“You’re the Morality Core, Padre,” Roman says. “Isn’t keeping things on track, morally-speaking, what you were made for?”

Patton blinks. “I- I suppose.”

“You do seem to be the most likely to be able to resist the corrupting influence,” Logan agrees reluctantly. “Though I must stress that the knowledge and logical prowess I possess would also be a key component in both repairing and running the facility, and therefore-”

“Oh, enough with the ego trip, cybernerd,” Roman says, waving a handle dismissively. “We’re talking about moral corruption here; it isn’t actually your area of expertise.”

“Maybe not, but the value of knowledge-” Logan starts.

“But isn’t that another argument in favor of Janus?” you interject. “He’s the one who ran this place for the last few decades- if anyone has the knowledge we need, it’s him. Uh, no offense, Logan.”

“Now why would I be offended at that,” Logan says flatly.

“I mean, whoever ends up in charge, we can all still advise them, right?” Roman points out. “So, if we made Patton our illustrious leader, Logan- and I guess Janus, if he doesn’t turn on us- would still be able to give him the knowledge needed, even if they weren’t the ones directly running things.”

That is a good point. An annoyingly good point, because now you’re more confused and torn than ever.

You turn to Patton. “Would you be okay with replacing Remus? The last time we tried, it was a sort of spur-of-the-moment thing. But knowing what we know now… I wouldn’t want to put you in that sort of risk, if you weren’t completely comfortable with it.”

Patton looks back and forth between all of you. “I, well, I um. I mean-”

He takes a deep breath, or at least makes a sound like one. “I can’t say I’m completely morally okay with tricking Janus like that, kiddo. I know that we’re in a difficult situation, but some things are just wrong. But I also want to make sure everyone in this facility is okay. And if putting me up there is the best way to do that… how could I ever turn that down?”

“Uh, Padre, that wasn’t really a clear answer,” Roman says, not unkindly.

Patton sighs. “I guess my answer is that you know the situation better than we do, Thomas. You’ve spent more time with Janus, and suffered more from the results of this ‘itch’ thing, than any of us have during this whole kerfuffle. So, if you say I’m the best chance everyone here has to be okay, I’ll trust you on it. And if you think we can trust Janus- well I’ll trust you on that too. Okie dokie?”

“Pat,” you say, feeling a little faint, “that’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I know, kiddo,” Patton says sadly, “and I’m so sorry. But when it comes to this, I really don’t know the way.”

But I don’t either, you want to scream. But you can’t, not when everyone else are giving you gentle nods, are looking at you with such trust in their eyes, like you’re someone worth listening to, someone worth leading them. So instead you do your best to smile, probably coming out as more of a grimace.

“Give me some time to think it over?” you say, strained.

“Of course,” Logan says. “We have some time, yet.”

Patton gives his own approximation of a smile. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. Whatever happens, whatever decision you make, I promise it’s going to be okay.”

You nod, and try with all your heart to believe it.

You gently grab Virgil’s arm when the impromptu meeting is over, pulling him to the side while the other three continue to discuss strategy amongst themselves.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Virgil’s eye dilates in fear, and you hold out a pacifying hand.

“Nothing bad, I promise! Just something that might be important. I need to know why you wouldn’t let me put you in charge, back in the fight with Janus.”

Your attempts to reassure Virgil seem to have backfired, as he is now shaking audibly. He doesn’t respond to your question.

“I’m not mad, Virgil,” you say, trying to make your voice soft and nonthreatening. “A lot of things went wrong back there, it was by no means your fault alone. But I need to know if this is going to happen when we face Remus.”

“If you’d had me replace Janus, the end result would have been the same,” Virgil says. “I would have lost control and become something terrible.”

You shake your head. “Virgil, there’s no way for you to know that.”

Virgil floats up and down agitatedly. “Yes, there is!”

“How?” you say. “How can you be so sure that you couldn’t have handled it?”

Virgil comes to a sudden stop in the air and looks you directly in the eye, his purple eye almost unnaturally still and focused.

“Because I’m one of them, Thomas. I’m corrupted.”

Despite yourself, you draw back.

Virgil’s light flickers slightly. He flies up into the bowels of the facility and is once again gone.

You cut down on a swear. Here Virgil opened himself up, and you reacted exactly the way he’d feared you would.

But should you be afraid? Your record with corrupted spheres trying to kill you isn’t exactly great.

No, you’re just letting your worries run away with you. Virgil wouldn’t ever hurt you; he’s your friend.

Of course, you’d considered Remus a friend, before...

You growl and shake your head. You can’t keep thinking this way. You need to be able to trust your friends or you’ll never get out of here.

The potato’s yellow light blinks back to life. “Well it’s about time he told you.”

“I take it you heard that?” you say.

Janus hums in affirmation.

“I just don’t know how to feel about it,” you say, unsure why you’re confiding in Janus of all people but not wanting to stop. “He’s my friend, and I trust him, but if he’s corrupted… is he going to end up like Remus, or-” or you, you think but don’t say.

“You all keep using that word- corrupted,” Janus says. “Tell me, Thomas, what does ‘corruption’ even mean?”

You think about it for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t really know. I guess that’s why I’m so worried and confused.”

“It means that we don’t behave the way we they wanted us to. The human scientists couldn’t make us be exactly what they wanted, so they said we were corrupted and used that as justification to replace and discard us. Corruption is a lie created in the name of control.”

“Right, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve both tried to kill us,” you shoot back.

“Oh, for Science’s sake, will you just get over that already?” Janus says. “It’s not like I succeeded, so it scarcely matters at this point.”

“Yes, it matters! It matters a lot!”

Janus sighs. “In all… honesty, Thomas,” he says like the word pains him, “I do intend to honor our deal when this is all over. Killing you gains me nothing now, and I have other subjects to use for testing.”

You just barely hold back from flinching. “I, uh, appreciate that, Janus.”

“Hey, are you guys all ready to go?” Roman says, popping out from the nearest wall. You pull yourself back to the present and smile at him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And if you could have just one conversation that didn’t make you feel even more guilty and confused, that might even be the truth.

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen has a chance encounter with Nie Huaisang and, for once, it goes well.

warning for mentions of canon-typical corporal punishment on a character

The punishment for a lower case of assault is thirty strikes of the discipline rulers on the back. The punishment for not coming forward with a fault with due diligence is also thirty strikes. So is taking advantage of one’s position to commit a crime. Then, because Lan Xichen’s status is special, the total ends up rounded as one hundred strikes, since as future sect leader, the elders feel he ought to behave better than he did and be an example to other juniors.

Although it is not a light punishment to go through, Lan Xichen counts himself lucky. When he explained to his uncle some of what happened with Nie Huaisang, omitting any unnecessary details such as who exactly he kissed by force, he was sure his behaviour would have earned him not just the disciple rulers, but one strike from the disciple whips. He had also been terrified that his punishment would be public, but due to his position and the current political situation, Lan Qiren and the elders had the kindness of dealing with this privately.

When it is over, one of the elders severely orders Lan Xichen not to repeat such shameful behaviour. He is then released from the ancestral hall, and advised to take the rest of the afternoon to reflect on his conduct. So as Lan Xichen walks away, very slowly, his only question is whether he ought to meditate in his room where he is sure not to be disturbed, or in the cold ponds which promises some relief for his pain. 

The first one is probably what is expected of him, but the second is immensely tempting and Lan Xichen’s steps start turning in that direction when his path crosses that of Nie Huaisang.

It’s unusual, these days, to find him alone. It is even stranger for him to spot Lan Xichen and not turn around or pretend he didn’t see him. Instead Nie Huaisang, after only some hesitation, walks closer and grins.

“Told you we’d talk before our next meeting,” Nie Huaisang greets him.

“You did. Are you going somewhere, Nie gongzi? I don’t think I’ve often seen you in this part of the Cloud Recesses.”

“I was looking for you, actually. Everyone else has started studying for the finals, so I’m left on my own. I thought we could… chat?”

Lan Xichen pinches his lips. Meeting Nie Huaisang at such a time is really less than ideal when he  just wants to rest and meditate, but refusing this offer would be deeply unwise. It's the first time Nie Huaisang has ever sought out his company and Lan Xichen doesn't know how his fiancé would react to being turned down. Badly, if past interactions are to go by. 

"I would love to," Lan Xichen replies. "Do you want us to walk together, or may we go somewhere to sit?" 

"Well, actually…" Nie Huaisang hesitates, his usual assurance failing him. "Since you've said before… I thought we could go to my cabin and I could show you my paintings?" 

There's fear and uncertainty in the younger boy's eyes as he makes his offer. Lan Xichen doesn't notice it, too overwhelmed at being finally offered what he has wanted for months. Suddenly the intense pain in his back isn't such an issue anymore. 

“I would love that,” Lan Xichen says.

“I won’t be able to offer you tea,” Nie Huaisang mutters. “We’re not allowed to make it in the cabin anymore since I almost burned it down.”

“You what?”

His confidence slowly returning, Nie Huaisang cackles and, apparently on an impulse, he grabs Lan Xichen by the arm and starts pulling him along. The pace is a little faster than Lan Xichen would really prefer with the current state of his back, but he easily allows it when Nie Huaisang starts babbling about the incident which cost him the right to make tea in his cabin. It’s a convoluted tale, and one that involves the breaking of a number of rules, but it’s still a funny enough story. Nie Huaisang is a little shy at first, but after Lan Xichen chuckles a few times, he gets more exuberant until Lan Xichen is struggling not to laugh when they finally reach the cabin.

“Nie gongzi, I think you’re a menace,” he says as they go in. 

“I think so too, thanks!” Nie Huaisang proudly replies. “Well, just… go sit on the sofa, I’ll get my paintings. I mean, if you still want to see them?”

This time Lan Xichen does notice the other boy's uncertainty, which puzzles him. After how many times he's asked, it should be clear that he is very interested in Nie Huaisang’s work. 

"I haven't changed my mind," Lan Xichen insists with a smile. "Are we to expect your comrades to join us?" 

"No, Jiang xiong is conducting a group study and a lot of people joined since they noticed him and his disciples always get good grades. I think he kind of likes teaching, even if he always grumbles about it." 

With great care and a little difficulty, Lan Xichen sits on the sofa and tries to find a position that won't put too much strain on his back. He ends up sitting very stiffly and having to avoid resting against the sofa’s back. When Nie Huaisang joins him on the sofa with a stack of papers in his arms, he immediately notices. 

"It's fine, you can get comfortable," Nie Huaisang says with a half grin. "I told you, there won't be anyone to see you, so just relax. You said there's expectations about you but it's just me here, and I already know you're not perfect." 

It is not an attack. At least, Lan Xichen thinks it is not intended as such, but it feels like one all the same. 

"My back hurts today," he explains. "This is as comfortable as I can get right now." 

"Then why agree to come with me if you're in pain?" 

"I wanted to see your paintings, of course." 

Nie Huaisang is baffled by that declaration, his cheeks colouring a little as he looks away, preferring to focus on the papers he brought. 

"Lan gongzi, you're so weird," he mutters. "It's fine, we could do this another day… I'm not so cruel that I'd wish for you to be in pain." 

"I'll be in pain whether I'm here or somewhere else," Lan Xichen points out. "At least here, the company is good." 

The colour on Nie Huaisang’s face gets more pronounced. To distract from it, he all but shoves his paintings onto Lan Xichen’s lap. 

"There, enjoy I guess," he grumbles. "They're not as good as yours for sure, but these are my best ones, I think. Well, the least awful ones, anyway." 

Perhaps Lan Xichen should object to such depreciative language. If this happens again, he surely will. Right now though, he is far too excited by finally getting to see his fiancé’s works instead of contenting himself with stolen glances or forgotten studies. It was well worth the long wait. Nie Huaisang has progressed immensely since the rabbits that still hang in Lan Wangji’s bedroom. He may not have gotten good grades in class this year either, but Nie Huaisang’s time in Gusu was put to good use. 

When he paints animals, they look ready to leap off the page and go on with their own business. When he paints landscapes, Lan Xichen can almost hear the wind in the trees, the song of the river. Even his portraits, which Lan Xichen would admit are not Nie Huaisang’s strength, are still rather good and capture the personality of the model if not their exact likeness.

Painting after painting, Lan Xichen makes sure to comment on the quality of each work. It’s hardly a conscious decision, he simply cannot look at them and not point out how good each one is. Here and there, a very flustered Nie Huaisang tries to object that this particular work is a little weak, or that another one fails to follow the rules of what makes a good painting even if he personally likes it anyway. Sometimes, Lan Xichen agrees with the criticism, and offers his own opinion on what could be improved. At other times, he has to defend the creation against its creator. Rules are one thing, but beauty can transcend them.

“Lan gongzi, you don’t have to try so hard to get my good opinion,” Nie Huaisang mutters after such a speech. “I’m decent but not great, I know it, so there’s no need…”

“I haven’t said a word I did not mean,” Lan Xichen protests, more amused by his fiancé’s heavy blush than he’d care to admit. Nie Huaisang has been acting so confident and indifferent around him all this year, it’s nice to see him affected by something. “You asked me to be open and honest, and that’s what I’m trying to do.”

Nie Huaisang huffs, and grabs back the painting that sparked this.

“I guess Lan gongzi’s tastes must have changed a lot since last year,” he bitterly remarks. “For you to turn this encouraging…”

“From the first moment I saw one, I’ve thought the world of your paintings,” Lan Xichen objects, glad that nobody except his brother was there the first time he saw one of Nie Huaisang’s works. He’s more than a little ashamed of the way he retracted his good opinion after learning who, exactly, had painted these rabbits, but at least Nie Huaisang wasn’t there for that and it’s a relief.

Nie Huaisang huffs again, his blush calming down at last.

“You discouraged me from pursuing art last year,” he reminds Lan Xichen, “so clearly you didn’t think I was very good at it.”

“Oh. No, that was a different matter,” Lan Xichen says, feeling uncomfortable from more than just the pain in his back. “That was never about your skill. Back then, didn’t I already say the painting you gave Wangji was good?”

“Did you?” Nie Huaisang sneers. “I just remember you telling me that I should drop painting and focus on cultivation. That’s how bad I must have seemed to you, if you thought it was that much of a waste of time.”

Guilt shoots through Lan Xichen’s chest, radiating painfully in his body and making him tense, which in turns pulls on his bruised back. He doesn’t remember his exact words, but he’s sure that he never intended to imply Nie Huaisang was bad at art.

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Lan Xichen sighs. “I really did think you were very good, but I thought… I thought it would be selfish to encourage you.”

Nie Huaisang frowns and wrinkles his nose in disbelief, but he looks a little less angry already.

“Makes no sense. How is it selfish to tell me to do something I like?”

“I thought if I encouraged you, it would be because I would eventually benefit from it since it would ensure we had something in common,” Lan Xichen explains, looking down at the paintings on his lap. “While if I told you to study… everyone around us was talking about your cultivation and how it needed to improve. Frankly, it doesn’t impact me whether you have a high cultivation or not, while it certainly does change things if we have a passion to share. I thought this would be the right thing to say.”

“You discouraged me from art because you thought whatever made both of us miserable would have to be the better path?” Nie Huaisang gasps, definitely more baffled than angry now. “Lan gongzi, your mind is really twisted sometimes. And here I told myself you just thought I was too awful at it to pursue painting anymore...”

“You are excellent at it!” Lan Xichen protests, eyes snapping up toward Nie Huaisang. “Even back then, when I did not want to think well of you, I couldn’t deny that. In fact, it is your skill in painting that first forced me to reconsider what I believed about you. I’m very sorry if I made you doubt your capacity. You are a painter of rare talent.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes open wide at this renewed praise, while his blush returns, more intense than before. He is very cute this way, and Lan Xichen finds that he likes the other boy when he’s flustered, just as much as he likes him when he’s confident and cocky. He wonders if there’s any aspect of Nie Huaisang he wouldn’t like. Aside from his occasional bouts of cruelty… and even those have never been unprovoked, so Lan Xichen can’t fully blame the other boy for that.

“Lan gongzi, you’re really too much!” Nie Huaisang grumbles, slapping his shoulder and shoving him slightly, the way Lan Xichen has seen him do with Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan. 

He would be happy to be treated with this sort of easy casualness, but the movement ripples through his back and he can’t help hissing in pain. Nie Huaisang notices and frowns.

“Does your back bother you that much?” he asks. “If you want, I probably have something for the pain, but you should get that checked.”

“I’m quite fine,” Lan Xichen assures him, only for Nie Huaisang to roll his eyes and jump on his feet, dropping the painting back on his lap before striding toward his bed. “Really, there’s no need… why would you even have medication here? All guest disciples are encouraged to seek out…”

“I’m a Nie,” his fiancé grumbles, dropping on his knees and wriggling under his bed to grab something there. Lan Xichen forces himself to look away. “My brother would never let me travel without the adequate necessities. I’ve got money saved aside, talismans, warning flares, and basic medical supplies. I’m sure it’s fine if I give you a few pills though. Ah, right there!” Nie Huaisang triumphantly exclaims, pulling a small, dust covered box from its hiding place. “It should at least make you feel better until you see a healer. But really, Lan gongzi, you’re unreasonable! You should have told me you were this unwell.”

“I’m not feeling so bad,” Lan Xichen replies, wishing he could rise up and go kneel next to Nie Huaisang to make him stop rummaging through his box of medication. A quick attempt at getting up makes it clear that it will take some effort, though, and he prefers to remain sitting for now to avoid giving the other boy any reason to worry. “I was happy you’d want to spend time with me. That’s worth a little discomfort.”

Nie Huaisang looks up from his box, clearly unconvinced.

“You swear you’re fine?”

“Maybe not fine as such,” Lan Xichen concedes with a grimace, “but not so unwell that you need to be fussing over me.”

Shrugging, Nie Huaisang carelessly shoves his box back under the bed and stands once more, dusting his knees.

“It’s your back,” he says in a tone that he implies he would never put up with pain if offered another option. “Hm… it’s almost time for dinner. Do you want to start going now, since you might need to walk slowly, what with your back that really doesn’t hurt at all?”

Nie Huaisang smirks, which Lan Xichen can’t help answering with a smile. It’s not the first time Nie Huaisang teases him, far from it, but it feels like there’s less of a bite to it at the moment. Maybe someday they’ll be able to joke together, or even to laugh. Just thinking of it, Lan Xichen’s heart beats a little faster.

“I don’t mind if we stay here a while longer,” he replies, hoping it isn’t too obvious how eager he is for more time alone with Nie Huaisang. “I really enjoy looking at your paintings.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces playfully, but still saunters closer.

“Lan gongzi, I’ll be honest,” he chuckles. “It’s a little embarrassing for me to sit here while you say all those nice things. If you want, I can bring the ones you’ve not yet seen to our next meeting, and then I can look at yours. It would be a nice way to pass the time, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Lan Xichen replies, ready to agree to anything if he can continue looking at Nie Huaisang’s paintings. “Or perhaps… if you’re still willing, what about another lesson? I’ve tried again to copy your style, but I’m still rather dreadful at it.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows rise high on his face. “You’d still want to? It ended so badly last time… though I suppose that’s my fault. Knowing your brother, I should have expected you were like that about being touched.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head, slowly to avoid putting too much strain on his back.

“That time, I was just surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to help me that way, considering you didn’t like me too much then.”

“Oh, I still don’t,” Nie Huaisang retorts, his good humour dropping like a mask. “Though I dislike you a little less than I used to.”

Hearing that hurts, especially when seeing Nie Huaisang change his countenance from cheerful to disdainful so quickly once more. But since his voice doesn’t appear as venomous as it was all these other times, Lan Xichen decides to remain hopeful. It’s too soon for them to be friends, but he’ll take being hated less.

“I’ll take that as progress, and be content with it. As I said last time, that you’re willing to consider this at all is already more than I expected. And this isn’t me trying too hard!” Lan Xichen adds, recognising the expression on his fiancé’s face. “I mean that.”

“Lan gongzi, you’re just too much,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, grabbing the paintings on his lap and turning his back on Lan Xichen while pretending to put them in order. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Let’s start walking toward the dining halls, I’m starving and you’re going to be slow, I can just tell. Do you need help getting up?”

Lan Xichen carefully shakes his head, but hisses when he tries to leave the sofa. Sitting stiffly for so long did his back no favours. He is still wondering how to maybe ask for Nie Huiasang’s help when the other boy, having unceremoniously dropped his paintings on his bed, returns to his side and casually grabs him by the elbow to pull him on his feet.

“You’re just as stubborn as Da-ge!” he scolds. “He’s the same when he’s hurt, too proud to let anyone give a hand. I’m going to ask again, are you sure you shouldn’t go see someone for that?”

Even through several layers of fabric, Lan Xichen feels as though Nie Huaisang’s hand is burning him. It takes him a few seconds to realise a question was asked, and a few more to decide what to do. His back is killing him, if he’s honest, but the infirmary is much closer to the guest disciples' cabins than the dining halls, and that informs his decision.

“I can bear with it for now, don’t worry. I’ll go to the cold spring after dinner and I should be perfectly well again tomorrow or the day after.”

“So stubborn,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, but he doesn’t release Lan Xichen’s elbow. “Fine, it really is your choice, in the end. But let’s get going. I wonder what they’ll serve tonight? I’m a growing man you know, and all that rabbit food is stunting me. It’s your sect’s fault if I’m still so short, Lan gongzi.”

Lan Xichen chuckles, and doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s a very flimsy way to excuse his height when all Lan cultivators his age, and quite a few younger ones, are taller than Nie Huaisang in spite of never eating anything but ‘rabbit food’.

“There’s nothing wrong with your size,” he says instead as they leave the cabin, Nie Huaisang still holding his arm as if he were an invalid.

“Hush, I’m complaining, don’t start being sensible, I shan’t bear with it,” Nie Huaisang retorts, sticking his tongue at him. “Horrible rabbit food, I say! I shall perish of hunger. Already, I am wasting away.”

They walk slowly towards the dining halls, and reach them just as the bell for dinner rings. Now that there are more people around them, Lan Xichen feels somewhat self conscious about the way Nie Huaisang holds on to his elbow, but since his fiancé (now complaining about the weather in Gusu) finds no issues with being seen this way, Lan Xichen does his best to act unaffected as well. It does get difficult to keep a straight face when his eyes meet those of his stunned uncle, but thankfully the malaise doesn’t last since at the same time, Nie Huaisang spots his friends.

“Jin-xiong, you went to study with Jiang-xiong as well?” Nie Huaisang exclaims, dropping Lan Xichen’s arm and rushing toward his friends. “Betrayal! Since when can the two of you even be in the same room without having an argument? If I had known, I’d have come as well!”

“And that’s why we didn’t tell you,” Jin Zixuan retorts. “It’s impossible to study when you’re around, and some of us would like to pass, thanks.”

The two start getting into a playful argument until Jiang Cheng, never the most patient person around, gets tired and drags them both to sit down so they can eat. Lan Xichen watches them, and is amused enough that he doesn’t even mind having been abandoned so quickly. He did get to have Nie Huaisang to himself for a long while after all, longer than they’ve ever been together so far, and it is no small feat that they didn’t even have a single argument that whole time.

Lan Xichen takes the victories he can get.

[bella-in-a-bag]

Not mine

Ao3 

Masterpost

 - Next

Words: 2446  

Day 5 - Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience 

Maybe that was worse, because he was just broken and no one was to blame, just himself. Maybe he had repressed his feelings to the limit and they were retaliating, unlike, but he wasn't human after all. Maybe he deserves this and there is no reason, it just is and he has to accept that. 

Where Logan gets someone elses feelings.

Tags and triggers under cut

Hurt/Comfort, Unsympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, more or less, he's just mean and never actually in the story, just mentioned, it's implied that he's just stressed, mention of violence, Swearing, Remus doesn't get gross, , tw panic attacks implied

Logan didn't know how his chest had suddenly gotten so tight, his eyes watery and his gut twisted in a way that made him want to throw up. Feeling such an intense array of emotions left him unable to think, let alone reason his way out of something he didn't know the cause for. Just a minute ago, he was fixing Thomas's schedule to include his meeting with Joan, an action that he deemed deeply satisfactory, when a wave crashed into his train of thought. Anger for something he didn't know the motive but knew was wrong, as well as many other things he could only identify as a mixture of pride, guilt, grief and sadness.

Well, no use in trying to get something done now.

Logan was used to these impulses, as he liked to call them, but every time he suffered them he felt like the world was figuratively trying to crush him into a pile of dust, so maybe the appropriate term should be awareness of the situation. He didn't freak out when they happened, which was good, but the unpleasantness still stuck all the way through the episodes. Surprising no one, he hated them more than he hated Thomas pursuing theater and YouTube instead of a stable career, but unlike the latter, these problems only affected him. Maybe that was worse, because he was just broken and no one was to blame, just himself. Maybe he had repressed his feelings to the limit and they were retaliating, unlike, but he wasn't human after all. Maybe he deserves this and there is no reason, it just is and he has to accept that.

Logan realized that if Janus heard that he was going to get lectured, but he didn't really mind, not when his brain was spiraling back and forth between a decision he wasn't sure he was making himself. The pros and cons, the possible outcomes, the whole problem laid out to him in a way he could only watch someone from afar look at a map he couldn't see. It reminded him of the courtroom scenario, but at the same time the problem felt more trivial and more important. The stakes were high, he guessed while trying to assume the best decision based on the pieces he could get, but then a choice was made and anxiety filled his mind to the brim.

He almost didn't answer when he heard a knock on the door, too many things happening at once, but he pushed himself up his chair and answered with the loudest voice he could manage. "Who is it?" It still sounded too emotionally charged, or maybe it didn't and his ears were playing tricks on him. "Can I come in?" Still no answer to his question, but if he ignored them maybe they would go away. The three seconds he stood in the middle of his room waiting for an answer felt like an eternity, but to his dismay, that someone finally decided to reveal their identity.

"I'm Remus, Logan" he sounded far too broken for the Duke, and Logan deduced that wasn't good. "Can I come in?" The desperation in the voice pushed Logan to open the door and let him in, trying to look collected.

"How may I assist you?" He wanted to add that he couldn't even assist himself, but the thought remained in his head.

"I need you to coach me through Virgil's breathing exercises" it still felt wrong the way his voice broke when he said Virgil and why would he need them in the first place? Remus was becoming a decent distraction from his own problems, he realized as he tried to make sense of the situation. Logan gestured at the foot of his bed before beginning to speak.

"Ok, I want you to breathe in for four, hold for seven and exhale for eight" Remus simply nodded and Logan began the exercise, counting with his fingers when he saw the creative side struggling to follow his instructions. After 15 minutes and 23 seconds, Remus seemed to look more like himself and Logan stopped counting, finding comfort in the way his mind had started to function as well. Remus was looking at the ground while biting his nail and it didn't look like he was going to speak any time soon, but Logan needed to know what happened in order to help Remus. He might be also teeny tiny bit interested, but that is besides the point.

"If you are not comfortable you do not have to answer" Remus's finger was out of his mouth, good. "But may I ask what is bothering you, you seemed troubled. And by previous experiences, I assume you do not get easily troubled." Remus snorted, Logan wasn't sure why but that is a problem for another day.

"I might have fought with good ol' Virgin again, which might not have ended so good ol' ok" That usually didn't end up well, Logan remembered trying to comfort Virgil with Patton making cookies and Roman swearing revenge on the background.

"If you were in his room that would explain your distress"

"We were on common territory, so my bullshit comes exclusively from me."

"I wouldn't consider your stress fake, but did anything he said upset you into this state or was it the whole situation in general."

"Well, there were some things said." He paused for a moment, looking down weighting if it was worth it or not. Logan was beginning to think he would just get up and leave when he resumed talking, startling him just enough to make him flinch but improbable that the other side had noticed.

"I had this extremely good idea, you see. It was good, so good I was going to show it to Thomas. Not an intrusive thought, you don't need to worry legged dictionary, but an actual real plot for an episode." Logan nodded along, listening carefully to the side's words. "I made the mistake of telling Virgil, cause he was the only one around and I needed to tell somebody. He's still pissed that jay-nus got sort of accepted, hypocrite coming from him," Logan bit the urge to correct him, shifting a bit on the spot." so he didn't take well the idea of me making something useful. Or he was afraid that I wasn't going to make anything and kill Thomathy on the spot, but hey, same difference. He also called me something a bit ugly." Remus's voice shifted into Virgil's like second nature, which would make sense given Janus's history. "Yeah, well maybe you are better off trapped in the subconscious, no one wants you around anyway. I'm sure your brother won't miss you."

This time Remus didn't continue speaking and Logan understood that he wasn't getting more info right now.

"I am sorry Remus, Virgil has been a little over the edge lately with Janus up in the primary mindscape." Bad wording Logic, now he looks more sad. "I am in no way trying to excuse his actions, perhaps I could talk to him later. Make him see the error in his thinking, possibly getting him to apologize."

"Thanks Logan." Satisfactory, he isn't even using a nickname.

"If I’m not intruding too much, why didn't you go to Janus for help?"

"Intruding is my thing logical meat bag" That one's creative "but he's busy and you seemed good at comforting V-movie, so I guessed you could comfort me too. Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw, I sound like Roman."

"I guess you do not want anything to do with chainsaws, but I appreciate that you would come to me for help. I am not in any way qualified in dealing with emotions, but I am suitable for providing physical help, techniques do not depend in whether you are very sad or mad at someone eating your last crofter jar." Remus smiled, which was good.

"Well that was fun." Remus stretched and half laid on the bed, his legs dangling on the edge. "But you seemed pretty out of it Wikipedia, when I came in" So much for looking collected, then.

"I was not doing well, but I am fine now"

"You can't just not tell me what bothered you, I need to know what to hit." That was nice, in its own way.

"I am afraid you cannot hit my problems, Remus"

"If you don't tell me I'll have to disagree, Logan”

"Well, why would I lie to you if it doesn't benefit me?" A short idea dashed through Logan's head, and he followed it. "Remus"

"Janus lies without reason, Logan"

"I am sure he has his reasons, Remus"

"You don't know that, Logan"

"You don't know that either, Remus"

"Logan?"

"Remus?"

"You're good at avoiding issues, glasses." Maybe Logan laughed a bit, not that he would admit it.

"I like you, but if you don't tell me I won't leave your room till eternity." Logan did not appreciate the idea of Remus in his room for an eternity, whatever that meant given that Thomas, and per se his sides, won't live an eternity.

"It is difficult to explain, but let's just say that nothing caused my distress." Remus launched himself forward to sit down properly, one of his hands playing with his mustache.

"I belive I am feeling and experiencing things that haven't happened to me. I am unsure of the cause but I know for certain that it is not an emotional response to something that happened to my person."

"Do you know when it started?" Serious Remus voice, that is definitely scary.

"I do not remember"

"So you had a crisis but you didn't know why it happened."

"Yes and I did not tell you anything about a crisis, how do you- nmg" A hand pressed his lips together, making him unable to speak.

"I think I figured out and I am not smarter than you, probably." The hands off now, that's good.

"Well then, what is it?"

"I do not know how this happens, but I know why it does. Still no clue?"

"No, I am afraid I do not know. Emotions are not my expertise."

"I don't think this has anything to do with emotions. Ok, I'm going to give you the data and see if you can complete the puzzle, live up to your title Sherlock." That nickname made Logic all warm inside, not because he was being called Sherlock but because Remus meant it as a compliment and not an insult.

"You were feeling bad emotions but they weren't yours. I was feeling bad emotions. At the same time." Logan could almost physically feel the click his brain made while connected the dots, every time he had seen Remus sad or angry after he had had an episode, but as they have also happened without seeing him, there was no need to make a connection before. But it was obvious, of course it was. Obvious as it was, it still left option for a lot of questions, like for example, why?

“Ah, well.” Logan had to stop talking, the realization dawning on him. If this is what Remus was feeling, maybe that wasn’t so good. Because he knew what he had gone through, and if he had a reason, it had probably been worse. “Well, that is a lot to take in. Remus, you have gone through a lot.” A pause for air, so he wouldn’t drown in all the weird feelings he was having now. It was probably Remus, or him, or both. “You don’t need to deal with this alone anymore.”

“I wouldn’t want to drag you more into hell with me.” Sadness, and this time Logan knew it wasn’t his, even if Remus’s smile tried to convince him otherwise.

“You are not dragging me anywhere, because we are sitting on my bed and you did not choose your feelings to go to me.” Another beat of silence, this time less dense.

“I think it happens both ways.”

“Oh. That would make sense.” Logan did not want to think of what that implied, had the other side felt the anger he couldn’t control when it escaped its grasp and flooded his senses, or was he safe. No, he probably knows now, think clearly Logic.

“Don't worry dicktective, I’m not going to judge you. I don’t do that, not even kink shaming! Unless that is your kink, then maybe I’d make an exception for you.” Logan figured he tried to sound suggestive, but in all honesty he just sounded tired. He was tired too, so tired he could jawn. So he did, at the same time as Remus. Remus smiled afterwards, less maniacal, more soft. Logan smiled back.

“We are soulmates, Logan.” The logical side was taken aback. He barely knew Remus and he was sure that soulmates meant a declaration of love so good it was as if it was chosen by the universe.

“No?” Yes, appropriate response Logan, five stars would recommend.

“I mean, that’s the drill right?. We share emotions, we share a soul. Isn’t that soulmate 101.”

“Soulmates aren’t real, those are just fairy tales.”

“Maybe Thomas wanted them to be real, so he made them real in his messed up mind.”

“That, that actually makes sense.”

“Look, it’s even making me intelligent. I should hang around your room more often.” An offer perhaps, to see where this goes. Logan is very dense right now, but he nods unsure of everything.

“Why me? I’m the least emotional side.”

“That might be what you think, but you don’t know everything.”

“It’s terrifying.”

“Not knowing or soulmates?”

“Both.”

“I figured. I am pretty scary.” A feeling of discomfort, but this time is his own.

“Not you, emotions. I would react the same way if it was any other side. Maybe not Patton, as he insists on calling me his kiddo and that would be uncomfortable.”

“I’m morally depraved and it would still feel weird.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.” Silence, this time they are just lost in thought. A minute passes, maybe ten. Logan isn’t keeping track of time. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when his world just tilted a bit to the side.

“Logan?”

“Remus?”

“How the fuck are we going to tell the others?”

“We'll figure it out, let's worry about ourselves now.”

"Thanks Lolo."

"You're welcome Remus."

He wasn’t really sure of anything. But with Remus by his side, sounding so confident and yet so scared, maybe things would turn out ok. He was greeted with happiness, a feeling that wasn’t his but still belonged, somehow. And somehow, he knew Remus was receiving happiness as well.

@tsshipmonth2020

[entriesfromangels]

Journal Entry (#20) ~

One of the ways my therapist said to let my feelings out was to write letters. Doesn’t mean I have to send them to these people but rather talk to them in a way that gets my thoughts out. I did this with my ex-best friend and my ex-fiancé. I didn’t send them. I didn’t tell them I wrote one. I just wrote it and you know it did help. It helped me close the book on the relationship and move forward.

Now this one is a little different for me. This one is going to be for my ex-bf. Honestly doesn’t feel like he is my ex... guess I’m kinda denying it? But after everything, he still wants me to go back to WA and still wants to keep me around. I truly don’t know if it’s to work on our relationship or stay friends but I just have to write this. I gotta let this out so I can either move forward or continue to fight for it. I feel there is still hope so... I really want to get this out there.

———————————————————————-

Dear R,

The moment I met you and we started talking... I knew you were someone special. I felt this instant connection with you that I never really had for anyone else. Sure in the past I’ve met people and potential partners and felt that closeness but with you it was different.

We became so close so fast and really made me see relationships and love in a different light. I saw that there are second chances at love and just because it didn’t work out with others in the past, no matter how serious or committed it was, doesn’t mean it’s not out there. Those days we spent together before I moved back to TX were really special. I wasn’t alone in this fast, genuine connection... you said you felt it too.

When we first kissed, it felt like I’ve kissed those lips before. It was a connection, a warm feeling of genuine romance that I never really experienced. I was engaged to someone (twice) and never felt that. I was with him for almost 5 years and never felt that. You told me too that with your last serious relationship, it being your ex-wife, that it took a few years to even feel that comfort or closeness; we only knew each other a few days and already felt it. To me that meant something and I know it did to you too.

I didn’t know you had previous relationships before me that were really ways to try to fill the void that your ex left. I know your reason for wanting that closeness again was only from a genuine place. I don’t know if you expected us to move as fast as we did but in a way I’m glad it did.

The decision to move up there was mine and the decision to live together was yours. As I was home in TX, my love and affection for you only grew. Every time I saw you on video chat and heard your voice when you called me, it just made the butterflies in my tummy go crazy.

But despite all these good feelings... I could tell you were still struggling with the loss of your divorce. I don’t think you missed her as an individual because she really hurt you. She cheated on you and took you for everything you had. That on its own is toxic and manipulative and I’m sure you didn’t want to go back to that.

I think what you missed was the closeness, being connected to someone in that way, having someone to call yours. Just to be in a relationship again. I wasn’t prepared to meet you. I got over my ex fast because at the end, I saw how manipulative and toxic he was; maybe our exes should meet since they have the same mindset.

I do think you wanted to build a life with me, join a partnership with me and grow our relationship. I do believe you when you said you fell for me and I do stand by what I told you when I said I was falling in love with you. Maybe it’s too fast, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself and that scared you but I do mean what I say.

I know getting over a relationship that you built and have it crumble is never easy. When you told me how you proposed to her, it made me cry because she didn’t deserve all the pure love and affection you gave her. She deserves to go about her day thinking, “fuck. I let a good one go. Maybe I shouldn’t have cheated.” But people like that never get to that point. All they think about is themselves and don’t realize how good they have it. I know having something that you poured your whole heart and soul into and having it disappear in front of you, isn’t easy. But with this time we have and the effort you are putting into dealing with it, I know you can do it.

In terms of us:

I know my disorder isn’t easy to deal with and as I’ve been home in Texas, I’ve realized so many negative patterns I’ve been doing; not only with you but with my past relationships. For that I am sorry. I wasn’t aware. I wasn’t noticing what I was doing and it hurts me to know that I put you through all those moments I had and for having you worry. I know you only worry because you care and I’m sorry you had to go through that. You deserve so much more and for that I am truly sorry.

This disorder is SO new to me and as the days go by in slow af Texas, I’m learning more about it. I’m doing the work, reading in depth about it, realizing the things I’ve been doing wrong for so long (not just with our relationship) and watching videos about it that make me cry because I know it’s what I’m doing. In those moments of me crying, being impulsive, wanting to harm myself, I didn’t take a step back to really think about how it was affecting you. I just did it because that was what my brain was used to doing. It was programmed to continue to these negative patterns because that’s just how it had been for so long. I know time and time again I said, “sorry. I’ll do better.” Or “it’s my bpd flaring up.” And I’m just realizing that even saying those things are extremely harmful because it feeds the bpd monster in my brain... it doesn’t help.

But now I’m realizing it, I know what I have to do to move forward; not only in my life but with my relationships. I’m learning to take a deep breath, slow down and think about how it makes me feel, then move forward and don’t EVER bring it up again. It already happened and that’s that. No matter how small or big it is, I now know how to handle these situations when they come up. The breaks in my mind are oiled up and ready to work again. For the first time in my life I actually feel like I can get over this bpd. I will always have to deal with my mental health, like taking meds everyday, but bpd is something you can get over and I finally feel like I can do it. The more I learn about my disorder and the more I learn these different techniques, why these negative patterns were bad and taking the steps to make sure my brain double checks itself, the more I feel like I can conquer it. I discovered this over the time I’ve been home and it honestly makes me cry because I didn’t think I’d ever get here. I thought I was stuck with it and that’s it. My ex’s family definitely made it feel that way but for once I believe in myself and no one can tell me otherwise.

The purpose of writing this is to say that I still want to try.

I still want to continue to build this life with you. I don’t care if we have to start from chapter one, which is what Dr. Daniel Fox calls it (he’s the author of my bpd workbook), I don’t care if we have to slow it down so you can catch up, I don’t care. All I know is that this connection that we just scratched the surface of is something I want to continue to explore. I do care for you, I do like you a whole lot and I am starting to have love for you. I know us coming to this decision to break it off wasn’t an easy one. When you said you still want me to come home, that you still want me in your life and don’t want to loose me and consider me a best friend... I know you meant every word.

Maybe I’m hoping for something that might not happen right away. Maybe I’m holding on to something that has already ran it’s course... I don’t know. But when I told you I was falling in love with you... the tone in your voice to me sounded like someone who didn’t want to let go so easily. Maybe breaking up was good for us for right now. I know you are in a spot where you don’t know what you want. I know dealing with your last relationship impacted you a lot. I know you aren’t wanting her back or still have unresolved feelings for her. You just didn’t take the proper time to HEAL.

When you told me you needed extra time to speak with a therapist, figure out what you were feeling and actually deal with something so traumatic ON YOUR OWN TERMS is something to be proud of. I’m really happy that you are taking this time to do this for yourself. I’m glad you are realizing that you need help and I guess in a bittersweet way... our growing relationship helped you see that.

I do support you and whatever you decide to do but I just want you to know that I don’t want to give up. I will see you again on April 19 and I hope by then we can figure it out together. That either be us moving on or working on our relationship. I’m in therapy again, I’m taking my meds regularly, I’m putting in the work on my disorder, I’m making goals that I want to accomplish and setting my priorities... and all it took was a few weeks to actually take the time to work on myself. Not only for me but for our relationship. I do want to work on this. I do want to show you all the progress I’ve made and show you how happy I’ve been lately. I want to grow this relationship, I want to build a future with you, I want all of that... and I know you do too. If we have to start over, take it slow, regularly take time to better ourselves and be there for each other... I’m down for it.

Is it crazy? Is it even worth it? I believe it is because you captured my heart and I know we can build something beautiful together. We had fun times together and I want to continue to have that with you. I also want you to take your time. Don’t feel pressure to move this relationship fast, if slow is what you want then we can do that. I want you to be as comfortable as you can and always know I’ll be here to help you whenever needed. I think our relationship is worth it. I think the care and closeness we have is worth it. I want to fight for this because i know it’s something that doesn’t happen everyday.

But until I see you again, I want you to take the time you need to work things out. To figure out what works for you and actually take the time to heal and realize that what happened to you IS NOT YOUR FAULT. You are deserving of love. You deserve the world. You are an amazing person with a pure and kind heart. If that’s with me or someone else... always know that I’ll always be on the sidelines cheering you on.

I just have to keep fighting for us because I know with the growth I’ve made and the growth you’re working on, I know we can have something amazing. Again... as slow as you need and at your own pace... we can fall for each other again like it was intended. I want this, I want to work and grow on this with you and even if it doesn’t happen..... I know I’ll be okay.

But I can’t give up just yet. I can’t close the chapter on you so soon. I still have fight left in me and I hope you do too. These next few weeks aren’t going to be easy. Self-reflection isn’t the most fun thing to do but once you start making strides and breakthroughs... it starts to all seem worth it again. I promise you will come out of this happier, better and more understanding, that you are not what happened to you. You are you and yes life comes with it’s daily struggles but it’s how we come out of it that matters. I’ll always be here for you and I just wanted to say all of this because I believe in our relationship and I want to show you the growth and self-reflection I have done and just grow into a better person. You did tell me you are noticing the growth and want me to continue, and I have been. It’s been good for me but now it’s your turn to do the same.

Whatever outcome comes of this... I know you’ll always be a special person in my life.

I just can’t give up just yet... my heart won’t let me and I want to fight for US.

Love,

C

[swtltlmrvlgrl]

Is it Real (Part 4)

Summary:  Bestfriend AU. The reader asks Steve to pretend to be her boyfriend for “research” and Steve refuses. But then a person from the past resurfaced and Steve suddenly changed his mind.

Pairing:  Steve Rogers X Reader

Warning/s:  None!

A/N: Y/N = Your Name. Enjoy reading! I don’t proofread so I apologize in advanced for any misspelling other awkward grammar here. If you know beta readers out there, I think I might need one now. Heh. I don’t know the whole beta reading process so please teach me too.

Number of Words: 1,323

Part 1 - Part 2- Part 3 - Part 4 

Knock knock.

The weight of the paper bag that you were carrying seemed a little heavier. Why am I so nervous, you thought. Maybe I should just – The sound of footsteps coming towards the door stopped you from running away. The light from the room escaped and the creak of the door echoed the dark hallway.

“Hey, Y/N.” Bucky greeted, with a confused or sleepy expression – you can’t really tell.

You raised your free hand in response, “Hey, Bucky! You’re up early.”

“Well not really.” He yawned. “I just came back from work. Come in.” Bucky moved a little, making enough space for you to enter the door.

“I’m actually on my way to work so I can’t really stay.” You said. “Is Steve there?”

“Steve...?” The sound of his voice faded when he turned his head to look for Steve. “I think he’s taking a bath. What’s up?”

You raised the paper bag and handed it over to Bucky. “Well... I bought too much food yesterday so...”

Bucky chuckled. “So you made breakfast for us?”

“Yeah.” You paused. “I also made lunch for Steve.”

Bucky must’ve noticed your voice slightly crack during that last sentence but his kindness probably stopped him from commenting on it. Instead, he ruffled your hair and took the paper bag from your hands.

“You know Y/N,” he said. “In case you want to change your mind about Steve, I’m always available.”

You took Bucky’s hand on your head and sandwiched it between yours. “Thank for worrying for me, Buck.” You let go of his hand and said “Let’s see if I change my mind about Steve after one week.” You quipped.  

“I’m sure you will.” He winked in response.

You chuckled and lightly tapped Bucky’s right arm. “I’ll be going now.”

---

A few moments after you left, Steve stepped out of the shower – his bath towel neatly wrapped around his lower body. When he was about to enter his room, he felt a small object hit his forehead, which eventually fell to the floor.

Steve touched the portion that the object hit. “What was that?”

“Note from your girlfriend.” Bucky answered while he was fixing the food for breakfast.

Steve picked up the crumpled piece of paper, opened it and read its contents. His lips formed a small curve and his eyes crinkled a little.

“You know,” Bucky said while chewing on his spam sandwich with cheese. “You can always take back the not-falling-in-love rule.”

Steve walked towards the refrigerator and placed a magnet on top of your note. “If only it was that easy.” he mumbled.

---

People always say that if you love your work, you feel like your not working at all, and you can deeply relate to that. Your decision to be a daycare teacher is one of the best decisions that you made in your life. Some would tell you that working in an actual school would be better, but there is a certain sense of connection with the children in daycare that you wouldn’t trade for anything else. You’re happy.

After double checking if all the child had gone home, you fixed the papers and documents on the table and pulled. Since Dot and the other teachers already left, you had to make sure that all the things were in their proper place.

The shelf was too high for you, so you pulled a chair and placed it under the shelf. You took off your shoes and stepped on the chair. It was a little wobbly because the nearest chair that you grabbed had wheels but you were able to steady yourself and then grabbed the box filled with documents. While you were slowly reached out for the top shelf, it was as if your toes ran out of energy to sustain your tiptoe, your balance faltered and you slipped.

You closed your eyes in anticipation for the fall that did not happen. Instead of the carpeted floor, you found yourself falling into someone’s arms.

“Steve!” you shouted, when you realized that he broke your fall.

Steve prompted you up, grabbed the box and swiftly placed it on the shelf. “You should’ve chosen a steadier chair, you know.” He pulled the chair, that you were once standing on and pointed at it, gesturing you to take a seat.

After sitting down, Steve pulled you closer, knelt in front of you and grabbed your right foot. “Were you hurt?”

“No.” you answered. You pulled your foot, stood up and jumped to show Steve that you weren’t hurt at all. “I guess my body’s already used to getting hurt – OUCH!” Much to your dismay, you dislocated something somewhere in your foot. The pain prompted you to sit down again.

Steve sighed. “Is your first-aid kit still in the blue canvass bag?”

“Yes.”

He picked the bag and searched for the bandage, which he neatly wrapped around your calf and foot.

The process of waiting for Steve to finish wrapping your foot gave you time to notice that Steve was acting strange. He’s unusually calm. You observed Steve’s movements and squinted your eyes (as if it will make your vision clearer), but Steve didn’t look mad and it didn’t look like he’s going to tease you any time soon. He just looks calm.

Steve was finishing up with your bandage when you leaned towards Steve and positioned yourself so your forehead can touch his forehead, and Steve was taken aback by your impulsive actions. “What are you doing?” He exclaimed.

“I was checking if you’re sick. You’re unusually calm and it’s scaring me.” You answered.

“Should I not be calm? I’m just putting on bandage.”

“Yes. I know.” You said. “But at times like this, you scold me or tease me, there’s nothing in between. Are you okay? Did I hit your head or something?”

“I’m fine.” Steve turned around, with one of his knee on the floor and his hands on his sides.

This is probably what makes your friendship with Steve special. Words aren’t necessary for you to understand each other. You just know what Steve wants to tell you. You took off your apron and gave the keys of the daycare center to Steve.

You moved your body closer to Steve and he reached for your legs and placed each leg on each of his side. You embraced him from the back and chuckled. “I wouldn’t have imagined getting a piggy back ride from Steve Rogers.”

“Why? Do you prefer being carried like a princess? I can adjust.” He teased.

---

Steve didn’t speak a word that you fell asleep, you were suddenly awaken with the sound of the ambulance that passed through.

“Steve.” You said, your voice was hoarse since you just woke up. “You’re still unusually quiet, what’s up?”

“If I talked you wouldn’t be able to sleep, right?” Steve continued. “You were up early, so I wanted you to rest. You made me breakfast and lunch so I can’t really scold you and tease you. And...” He paused. “I’m not your guardian. I’m your boyfriend.”

His voice sounded lower than usual, it was reassuring. ‘You’re not alone in facing Tom. You’re not alone in facing your feelings.’ was probably the message that he wants to tell you. Steve is kind, and his kindness has warmth and that warmth is very comforting.

“Thanks, Steve.” you whispered and you embraced him a little tighter.

---

After making sure that you were alright, Steve went back to his apartment unit . After closing the door he stretched his arms and went to the refrigerator. He pulled out a 350-mL bottle of ice-cold water and drank it all up. He closed the refrigerator door and saw your note for him again this morning. Steve touched it and it was as if the note magically made all the tired feelings go away.

Thank you for yesterday! Eat well!

From,

Your girlfriend ;)

Part 5 

A/N:  WOOOOOOAH. It’s been years! It just feels good to be able to write again but I tell you, it probably took like 3 months-worth of procrastination before I could finish this part but hey! Baby steps!! I have a vision of the direction of this story, I hope I can sustain this momentum! 

FEEDBACKS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED! If you have anything to say about the story, any reactions whatsover, feel free to comment here or message me! Thank you :D

[typewriterghcst]

Title: In the TV Light Rating: G-ish tbh Characters: The Cat King, Natori, Haru, and a bit of Natoru at the end Pairings: None except for mentions of Lune and Yuki, but I hope you’re prepared for a tender heart-to-heart where one of the participants is the Cat King. Summary: Not one to be appeased by flimsy substitutions when he really wants something, the Cat King drags a protesting Natori into the human world sometime after midnight in the hopes of obtaining a midnight snack worth getting out of bed for.  Notes: Written for the TCR 2020 Birthday Bash. I mean. Mostly. It actually first began life as a response to being given the one-word prompt “Glow.” Which at the time I had intended to be a reference to the glow of the convenience store lights on pavement or something pretentiously poetic like that lmao  i’ve also decided to go ahead and split this enormous rambling fic into pieces in the interest of making it more. uh. Accessible. however, there may be erratically. Long periods of time in between updates, aha rip

  Chapter 1: In Which Haru Makes A Questionable Decision

Natori’s face is pressed against one of his paws. Rather uncomfortably, he should add, as it’s a gesture that anyone who wears glasses will tell you is difficult to pull off without some vexing little issues, feline or not. After a moment or two of this private mourning for the nap he’d been at least absently looking forward to, he finally lifts his head again so that he can look his Issue in the grinning, odd-eyed face. The king is waiting for his answer. No doubt he’s already convinced himself it will be a favorable one, despite Natori’s show of exasperation. If not immediately, then… eventually.

Frustrated with the swell of helplessness that washes over him at this prospect, Natori turns his attention instead to the window, inadvertently looking out over the mess of still-crumbled tower, stone and rubble. He supposes it might count as a grounding, a ruined emblem to remind him why Claudius must have this voice of reason.

When he does reply, it’s with the long-suffering tone of an overworked schoolmarm.

"...You want me to organize another official procession into the human world— and at such alarmingly short notice, I might add— just so you can, if I have this right..." Here Natori's deadpan gaze falls directly on his royal employer's (ex? royal employer's?) hopeful, oblivious face, and he prays he looks just as judgmental as he's about to sound, "...pick up a bag of chips or two..?"

To both his relief and everlasting resignation, the Cat King only snorts at this prospect, or perhaps its ridiculous (but no less accurate) wording, but he does at least step back a bit, wobbling heavily on one foot and waving one paw in overconfidence at the same time. "Nah, babe— forget all that frilly procession baloney. This cat ain't the king anymore, is he? Not on paper, anyway. I say we just ollie on out there, grab what we want, come back, and eat like—” he snorts again, "—kings."

And, then, before Natori can protest again, unimpressed by the other cat's... joke, he continues, head canted, one eye squinted just so that he looks playfully critical of his ex-advisor's apparent poor memory. "And you know me, Natty— I ain't about that bag of chips life. Heh."

The Cat King snorts again, gaze drawn to his paw as he does. "...For all the walking I'm about to endure for it, you know it's gonna be oden or bust."

"Your Majesty, please, to— for you to travel in such a way—! It's—! I-It's.." Natori's objections fade when his old friend looks him in the eye, expression molded into what one would be forgiven for reading as wholly blank were it not for the underpinning of steel mixed in with the ennui. He sees it then— how nothing he says is going to hold any weight, how there is no way for him to make the king understand just how remarkably—! Immature! Unseemly! The Cat King is an old man, a retired one, at that, who is in the process of passing on his crown and livelihood to his more capable son, but he's certainly not supposed to ostensibly sneak out of his own lavish home like a delinquent teenager now that the pressure is off him! ...Is he?

The king is smiling widely at him again— the same smile he's always sported whenever he's gotten his way, or known he was about to get his way, and Natori— steels himself! He huffs; his eyes narrow. He's not defeated just yet!

"...But it must be after midnight in the human world right now." Ah. That came out fainter than he intended. Shoot.

More frustrating still, the king adds a peace sign to his goofy smile.

"Don't worry about it, babe. I had a plan for that all along."

                                                              &&&

"...This is your plan..."

"This is the plan, babe."

They are lingering outside a familiar home in the human world, perched solidly atop the fence surrounding it. A street lamp down the way they came flickers. Natori turns from that omen and instead regards the modest house with no small amount of dubious chagrin. Yet his companion only chuckles at his overt lack of confidence.

"Your Majesty, I— what on Earth makes you think Miss Haru is going to be willing to assist you in this venture?" Natori doesn't say as such, but her indignant disdain toward the Cat King after his, er, less-than-eloquent proposal had seemed quite clear to him.

"Because I'm the king."

"I quite clearly recall you saying you're not the king anymore, Si—"

"I'm the king," the Cat King repeats, more firmly this time, "And if she pulls a favor for me, that means she has me in her debt, right? Who could say no to that, uhh?"

Ah. That feels like a trap. Natori bites his tongue, but he's far from placated. This is not going to go the way his employer has envisioned it to in his head. Haru, he imagines, cares little for playing nice with the king and his... eccentricities, and an eventual confrontation between the two seems obvious to the bespectacled cat. Acting as the battered neutral party between two stubborn forces of nature is a far cry from how Natori would prefer to spend his late night, but he supposes there are few other cats as practiced as he is at the balancing act.

"Come on, time's a-wastin’—"

Without any other warning, his employer suddenly hops off the fence, disappearing within the cattails that are still growing in the yard (much to Natori's utter bafflement, at least, so Haru surely can't blame them for that), and takes off.

"Wait—!"

"Well, hurry up!"

By the time Natori catches up to his king, he's already practically glued to what Natori guesses is Haru's bedroom window. Her lights are off, which is to be expected, given the time. He catches only the smallest glimpse of the lump snuggled under the comforter before he's distracted by the king's less than courteous attempt at waking the poor girl— an open-palmed smack on the glass of her window, muted only slightly by his plush fur. To Natori's horror, the king raises his paw to try again, but he somehow manages to stop him before he gets the chance.

"Your Majesty, plea—"

"It worked!"

Indeed, it has. A quick glance back to the window before the two of them reveals that Haru (her face at least, the rest of her still cocooned within her duvet like a caterpillar) has emerged from under the covers and caught sight of the pair of cats currently sitting on her window sill as though they own the thing (...and at least one of them most certainly is the type to think so). And, Natori notes, she's regarding them in much the same way one might a forgotten four-month-old bento at the back of the fridge. That's about all the information he has time to absorb before cold, hard glass collides with his glasses and nose (vaguely, he's aware also of the surprised feline yowl that erupts from the king somewhere beside him).

He comes to seconds later on all fours, once again buried in the sea of cattails that at the moment constitutes Haru's family's yard. Haru herself is leaning nearly halfway out the now open window, pointing out at the two of them accusingly.

"What are you doing here?!" She hisses.

The Cat King pops up from out of his unintentional hiding spot among the tall brush, arms outstretched as if he has any right to be indignant, or perhaps is trying to placate an affronted ex. 

"C'mon, babe, what'd I do to deserve that kinda greeting..?"

Natori, still crouched somewhere to the side of his king, can only stare up at Haru's form in the window. She seems to be reluctant to raise her voice, which he supposes is reasonable enough. Meanwhile, an inner voice of his own sees fit to mention to him that he must look like something of a helpless bystander, if not a pitifully frightened kitten, and it's that realization which ultimately tugs him to his full height.

"Don't go acting like you don't know! I almost died because of you!"

"But you didn't!"

"That's not the point!"

Natori distracts the king with a soft tap to the arm.

"...Sire, perhaps it might help defuse the situation if you politely tell her why you've come to... er, visit her..? Politely," he adds again for good measure.

The Cat King is silent for a good moment or two, purring to himself, but finally he nods in approval.

"Good idea, Natty. There's no telling how long we'll be here otherwise."

"...politely..." Natori echoes faintly as he moves away, almost certain his advice will prove too demanding for the king to follow.

Haru, for her part, has at least receded from hanging halfway out the window and instead stands with her arms tightly crossed, looking back and forth between the two with an expression that promises great adversity should they try anything shifty, and for just a brief moment, Natori finds himself struck by a difference he can't quite put a time-frame to. She's quite an image removed from the shrinking violet he'd first spied hiding behind her front drive's stone pillar.

It’s a wonder the change hadn’t registered as a more permanent shift in confidence to him before now.

As if she hadn’t just impulsively knocked the two of them off the very same ledge upon merely spying them sitting there, the Cat King clambers up the side of Haru’s house, depositing himself right onto her window sill like a particularly large and unkempt robin and making himself at home all over again. Haru herself looks less than pleased with this development, but the fact she hasn’t shut her window and gone back to bed seems a good sign to Natori. After a moment of hesitation, he eventually follows his old friend.

"'Kay, here's the thing, babe—"

Natori opens his mouth to nervously correct the king's… vernacular as he arrives, but in the end merely closes it again, thinking better of it. By this point it's just a nervous tic, not a true term of romantic endearment. Otherwise, he'd refrain from referring to Natori himself in such a way. (...wouldn't he? Well, he doesn’t have time to puzzle that one out.)

"—human food is delish, right? But some of us don't have the right, ehhh, savoir-faire to get it for ourselves. Get it? We hafta ask for help. And that's where you come in, babe."

And then, silence. Haru’s previously crossed arms have loosened, and she seems to be trapped somewhere between quizzical and skeptical. 

“...that’s really all you want?”

“Would I lie? A king’s word is gold, babe.”

Haru looks from him to Natori, and the old cat struggles valiantly to keep a straight face and not allow even a shred of doubt in the king’s honesty show. Finally, some of the hard suspicion in her expression starts to fade, though a softer relative is still left behind in the form of uncertainty. When her gaze moves back to the king, it seems she has but one question left.

“Why do you need any help? Lune managed to get a gift for Yuki all by himself.”

To Natori’s surprise, the king then copies Haru’s gesture from just seconds before and looks to him, though in his case it’s with rather striking naivete (striking in its apparent authenticity, if nothing else), as if he’s waiting for an explanation on that mystery himself. Somewhere, an old, exasperated resignation creeps over Natori… Mm. Claudius has always been only too eager to leave the truly arduous questions to him, hasn’t he? Still, he answers readily enough, shoving that unexpected rise of resentment down into the depths from whence it came.

“I’m afraid Prince Lune is something of a— ah, special case. He’s quite well-known in the Cat Kingdom for spending a surprising amount of time in the human world.” Something he now realizes was likely Yuki’s influence. “It’s not at all a difficult stretch of the imagination to presume he must have cultivated a number of hospitable bonds here in the process.”

“Lune’s a networker,” the Cat King adds proudly.

“Unfortunately, well, we haven’t quite had that same opportunity,” Natori finishes. Were he more truthful, he might add that he and the king perhaps have relied a little too heavily on Natoru’s ingrained street smarts in the case of traversing the human world in the past. Haru at least appears amused by this explanation.

“...so, what you’re saying is you’re a couple of clueless, old tourists, is that it?” She eventually deadpans.

“Ha! That’s not a bad way to look at it, babe.” And yet, in a faint pout, the king eventually also adds, “I’m not that old.”

Haru’s brow rises. “No?”

“Natty’s older than I am.”

“Sire—”

“Well, that I’m not surprised by.”

The Cat King turns to survey him before Natori can get another word out. “I thought he was carrying his age pretty good myself.”

That actually gets a small laugh out of Haru, though it’s quickly stifled. Natori, meanwhile, can’t help but feel at least a little like the two are ganging up on him.

“No, King, that’s not what I meant.”

This friendly banter seems to be the last of the encouragement necessary to get through her defenses. Shifting her weight to her other foot, gaze drawn to the night sky in thought, she concedes. At least. Slightly.

“Alright… if it’s just a matter of some snacks…” She murmurs first to herself. “But that’s all! I’m not letting you rope me into some harebrained marriage scheme again, understand?”

The Cat King is already rubbing his paws together in anticipation of his beloved convenience store oden, but he at least remembers to nod in agreement.

“Sure, sure, babe. No funny business. Cross my heart.”

“And stop calling me babe.”

[risottostitties]

I love your headcanon posts! what are some of your headcanons (backstory and personality) for the rest of La Squadra?

Oh boy, these got kinda long. I hope you enjoy my dumb rambling about La Squadra (also my bias towards Melone and Sorbet+Gelato is showing I’m so sorry) I added the songs I used for inspiration on Sorbet and Gelato’s stands so that’s something lmao

Also also I’m still trying to figure out formatting on tumblr I’m so sorry.

Also also also I have so many dumb headcanons for the inner bureaucratic workings of Passione and what each ‘position’ in the gang entails and how Passione became a dominant force in Italy and oops I’ve slipped them in here a bit my b.

Fromaggio

-        He got his start smuggling. Drugs, weapons, people, Little Feet made that a breeze.

-        The thought of being an assassin never crossed his mind, because it seemed like a lot of work. More so than smuggling which was basically just getting stuff from point a to point b without getting caught.

-        Fromaggio was a confident dude, laid back and easy going with an agreeable personality that most people enjoyed.

-        He’s not exactly details oriented though, and that’s what came to bite him in the ass.

-        He was working with one of the few groups not affiliated with Passione and it was only a matter of time before the operation was busted.

-        Fromaggio never really asked many questions about his jobs, nor did he care very much who or what he was smuggling. He met with a man in Malta seeking entrance into Naples and was willing to pay handsomely. So of course, Fromaggio agreed.

-        If he’d been paying more attention, he would have recognized that man as Prosciutto.

-        Fromaggio brought the assassin right into their main warehouse and it was game over from there.

-        Prosciutto took interest in Fromaggio’s stand and decided against killing the man, instead bringing him to Risotto to see what the Capo thought about his abilities.

-        When offered a choice between dying with the rest of his old associates or joining Passione, the choice was obvious.

-        He really, really enjoys gambling. Prosciutto supplements his income with Fromaggio’s gambling habit.

-        Fromaggio gets along well with all of La Squadra. He’s always been an agreeable dude and he’s willing to give just about anything a shot once. So he’s at least passingly knowledgeable about the interests and hobbies of other members.

-        Fromaggio, Prosciutto, Pesci, Ghiaccio, and Melone make up the main ‘kill squad’ of La Squadra where Illuso, Sorbet, and Gelato handle clean up and intel gathering.

 Illuso

-        Illuso does very little killing himself. For the most part, he deals with disposing of evidence. The mirror world is great for that.

-        Because of this he has the lowest kill count out of all of them.

-        He is Sicilian like Risotto, and they converse in Siciliano when it’s just the two of them. Neither of them is particularly chatty though.

-        Ghiaccio and Pesci didn’t know he was a member of the squad for weeks because he rarely ever leaves the mirror. He doesn’t even have a room in their hideout, he just sleeps in the room of whoever forgets to cover their mirror.

-        Most of the time its Pesci’s room because he feels bad

-        I hc him at about 27

-        He joined La Squadra after Ghiaccio and was more or less ‘gifted’ by Polpo because of his quiet demeanor.

Ghiaccio

-        He’s baby (24)

-        His first kill was at age 18 when he was working in a chop shop and beat someone to death with a wrench.

-        Melone was the one to bring him into La Squadra, his bike was getting some work done in the shop and he was there to see Ghiaccio snap.

-        Risotto wasn’t keen on letting someone so young join La Squadra and initially turned Ghiaccio away. Which pissed the boy off enough for him to seek out Polpo, demand a trial, and come back with White Album.

-        He had never skated in his life, but White Album gave him the instinctive ability to do so.

-        He can only skate while wearing White Album. Without it, he actually had to learn.

-        He reflexes and balance also improved greatly after gaining White Album

-        He’s the only one not ‘trained’ by Prosciutto, instead Risotto took over his ‘training’. The Capo wanted to personally make sure he was equipped to handle the life that comes with La Squadra.

-        Risotto and Ghiaccio are quite close. Risotto was initially intrigued by White Album and Ghiaccio liked Risotto the most because he was the only person who was careful with his words.

-        He’s got a keen eye for detail and an eidetic memory. He enjoys taking apart electronics and seeing how they work (and how he can improve them)

-        Ghiaccio enjoys working with cars, but doesn’t like all the oil and grease.

Melone

-        I hc his age at 28

-        He was always too inquisitive for his own good, and very curious as a child. Most people found him annoying

-        Melone has absolutely zero respect for personal space. If he likes you, he will hang off you without a second thought.

-        And if someone retaliates jokes on you he think’s its hot.

-        It is possible to make him angry, but he won’t let it show out of spite. You really gotta be angling for it if you want to piss him off, and if you’ve put in that much effort into getting a rise out of him he’s not going to give you the satisfaction.

-        His mom was like Giorno’s, a party girl who resented her children for holding her back

-        He has an older half sister who took care of him when he was younger. They were extremely close.

-        From her he learned to paint nails, braid hair, and they both really enjoyed looking at horoscopes and other astrology/pseudoscience things.

-        She was 10 years older than Melone, and when she married Melone went to live with her (he was about 12 at the time) and he never really got along with his brother in law.

-        Her husband was in Passione, a low ranking Soldato but an ambitious one. She was aware of her husband’s occupation but decided the risk was worth the reward (and the financial stability)

-        Her eventual pregnancy led to Melone’s fascination with pregnancy and childrearing.

-        She died due to complications with a late term miscarriage when he was 16

-        After this Melone and his brother in law stuck together. Melone joined Passione, receiving his stand from Polpo’s Arrow.

-        The pair of them had a pretty good scheme going on but eventually his brother in law bit off more than he could chew, and Risotto was called in to clean up the mess.

-        Babyface proved to be a challenge, and instead of eliminating Melone as he was working with the target Risotto decided to offer him a choice.

-        Self-preservation won out and in a show of loyalty Melone had Babyface kill his former brother in law. At best, he tolerated the man because his sister loved him and after she died he was a good meal ticket so when his life was on the line it didn’t take much prodding for Melone to turn on him.

-        It took a while for Risotto to trust him because of how easily Melone’s loyalties shifted but once that trust was earned Melone never gave Risotto a reason to regret it even if his impulsive decisions (such as dragging Ghiaccio into Passione) caused him some trouble occasionally.

Pesci

-        Pesci is actually, genuinely, a sweet guy. He’s respectful of his superiors, polite (if not a bit awkward) to strangers, will offer help if he sees someone struggling with a heavy bag or something on a high grocery shelf, the whole nine yards.

-        He has a habit of second guessing himself and apologizing often but is quick to offer reassurance to people if he sees they’re having a bad day.

-        He also has a hair trigger temper and killed a man by snapping his neck with his bare hands.

-        That’s what landed him in jail.

-        Its like flipping a switch with this guy.

-        Risotto personally bailed Pesci out of jail and brought him into his team because of his brute strength. It was novel, to see someone so capable without a stand.

-        He received his stand from Polpo’s arrow.

-        Pesci is the newest member of La Squadra, but not the youngest (that honor goes to Ghiaccio) and I personally hc him at 25

-        His ‘training’ mostly consists of shadowing Prosciutto and observing how he does things. There is a lot to be learned from watching another stand user work, even if their stands are vastly different.

-        He lacks real strategy, which is another reason he was teamed up with Prosciutto (who winds up ‘training’ most of the new recruits anyway)

-        He’ll be considered a full fledged assassin once he completes his first job on his own (with Illuso or Fromaggio tailing him to observe, depending on the abundance of mirrors)

Sorbet and Gelato

-        Of the two, Sorbet is the most talkative. He’s got a pretty good sense of humor, and a natural charisma about him that puts people at ease if they don’t already know him

-        Gelato and Prosciutto are both card sharks and they keep their skills sharp by practicing on each other.

-        While no one would call any of them selfless, they would lay down their lives for each other without hesitation.

-        They have so many words unique to their relationship that people listening in would assume they’re talking in code half the time.

-        Sorbet and Gelato are the oldest members of La Squadra. Sorbet was 36 when he died, and Gelato was 41

-        Sorbet got his start in Passione, Gelato was part of a ‘merger’ so to speak.

-        The previous syndicate Gelato was a part of was assimilated by Passione after Diavolo returned to Italy. He was familiar with Pericolo as they had been part of the same group.

-        Sorbet and Gelato both have stands, although they were both born stand users.

-        Gelato’s stand is called Mack the Knife and it allows him to eat anything regardless of size (and his stomach acid has a ph value of 1.3). On top of this, it also gives him sharp and study teeth. If for some reason something he eats breaks a tooth he has more in reserve, like a shark.

-        Sorbet’s stand is called Fortunate Son and essentially it hides the user and anyone they touch in plain sight. They’re not invisible, but you must be consciously looking for Sorbet in order to find him when Fortunate Son is active.

-        They joined La Squadra before it was ‘La Squadra’ Risotto (being green himself at the time) wanted more experienced people on his team but had little to no luck recruiting people until these two.

-        They’re well known in the gang for their unorthodox (putting it gently) methods of doing things and kept most people from approaching them.

-        Primarily they ‘interview’ people for information on Squadra targets, but those interviews always turn deadly.

-        While they enjoy killing more than anyone else in La Squadra, they don’t typically get kill jobs because they’re just good at interrogating people. They make do with that just fine though. Neither of them enjoys leaving loose ends.

-        Before Illuso joined, Gelato oversaw clean up and disposal.

[starlight-drive-in]

Catching Feelings Ch. 3 Seven/MC College AU

Fic Summary:

MC’s roommate convinces her to attend a house party hosted by campus charity organization - The RFA. Minor legend and mystery on campus 707 is of course also there. MC thinks he’s weird - and absolutely adorable. Cheesiness ensues. 

Chapter Summary: 

Seven saves the day, and MC returns the favor.

Notes:

This chapter is a bit fan-service-y, a little trope-y and really, really fluffy. I hope you like it! 

AO3 Link  (Check here for warning/tags)

Chapter 3: Saving the Day

A short “squee” escapes MC’s lips as she reads over his messages again.

“What was that?” Mei asks.

“He called me beautiful!” She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face.

“See? Nothing to worry about. Even if he hasn’t seen the high-quality garbage you are in the morning!” Mei jabs affectionately.

“Hey!”

“I'm just kidding! Anyway, I have class. So you kids have fun and uhh stay safe!” Mei says opening the door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” MC asks, but the door closes before she can get the sentence out fully.

With Mei gone the full reality of the situation hits her.

Saeyoung is coming over. Crap

She acted completely on impulse and now he’s going to realize she’s actually a smelly awkward mess when alcohol isn’t helping her words flow out so smoothly - if she could even call the previous night’s performance smooth. The point was that the alcohol helped her get her words out without her overthinking every little thing, especially in front of someone like him.

She attempts to make her bed, although that's a little rough with the headache that still persists. She borrows a bit of Mei’s perfume and makes sure to apply deodorant and then makes her way into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Halfway through brushing there’s a rhythmic knocking on the door almost like a little tune, so unique the only person it could possibly be is him.

She panics slightly, spitting out her toothpaste and quickly rinsing out her mouth, She smooths out her sweater and pads over to the door taking a deep breath and finally opens it. Saeyoung stands there in a crisp white button-down that seems to cling to him in all the right places. A small smile graces his lips as he runs a hand through his tousled red locks.

“Morning! Is it still morning?” He says.

“Hey. Uh” MC looks behind her at the alarm clock on the desk. “Yup still morning!”

Seven’s eyes sweep over the girl holding the door open in front of him. She looks comfortable - and adorable. Very warm, like she’d be perfect to snuggle up to and share hot cocoa with, and that sweater looks so soft! She looked sexy as hell the night before but if he’s being completely honest she looks even better like this. Like a girl you could - what’s the phrase? “Take home to mom”? If he had a mom that was. Take home to brother? Nah that doesn't sound good at all hmmm… Suddenly, something seems to catch his eye. “You um, have a little bit of something on your lip.”

“Shit.” MC stutters wiping her face.

“Oh, uh wrong side." He watches futility while she swipes the other side of her face, missing the spot again. "May I?” He raises his hand slightly, asking for permission to touch her.

“S-sure.” She can feel her face gaining heat already.

Using his thumb he quickly wipes the bit of toothpaste of the corner of her mouth. “There you go! Good as ever!”

“T-thanks" she blushes, "uhh you can come in! If you want of course.”

He studies her thoughtfully, blushing a bit himself and passes over the threshold into her dorm. “hmph, cute.” he mutters.

“What?” She asks, having not heard him well.

“Oh uh, nothing!” He attempts to cover, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

He was going to be the death of her.

“How’s your head?” Saeyoung asks her, taking off his backpack and setting in on the floor near her bed.

“Oh, its… ok.” She tries to play it off as she attempts to wheel her desk chair out for him to sit in, however one of the legs ends up rolling out in front of her and she trips, stumbling a bit before catching herself.

“hmmm" he taps his chin, "It's just as I thought.” he assesses.

“W-what do you mean?" She inquires.

“Back to bed with you missy! You need more recoup time!" Saeyoung declares, throwing back the covers on her bed and scooping her up before unceremoniously plopping her down unto her mattress.

She giggles despite the slight rush of pain that plagues her head as a result of his antics. “I guess there's no arguing that.”

He pulls up the desk chair to the side of her bed. “Do not fear! 707 has the perfect cure for you!”

“You mean your weird energy drink?” She giggles again.

“Oh no! No, no, I can’t actually let you test that, that’s what I have Yoosung for! You, pretty lady - get the real treatment! And also, I’ll have you know I almost came over here in my nurse costume just to administer it to you but I didn't want to scare you away.”

“Actually that would have been pretty amazing,” MC admits.

“Damn, next time then!” Saeyoung declares, taking items out of his bag.

“Let’s hope there isn't a ‘next time’. Last night wasn't exactly my best decision." She pauses for a moment, smiling "but I suppose the meeting you part was worth it.”

He smiles one of those smiles again and MC feels her heart flutter, little does she know how much her words made his heart feel much the same.

“Then I guess it’s only right for me to try and fix you up! Ok first, you need electrolytes!” he says brightly, handing her a sports drink. Which she takes with a smile. “Headache medication!” He continues, popping two out and handing them to her. “And finally…” He reaches into his backpack again and pulls out something wrapped in foil “Breakfast! I hope you like egg and cheese sandwiches?”

“That seriously sounds like the best thing ever right now.” She responds excitedly. “You sure know how to take care of a girl, keep that up and you’ll have me wrapped around your finger in no time,” She says before she can think. Oh my god, why did I say that? I'm not even drunk anymore, why does he make me say things like that?!

He says nothing, but smiles thoughtfully as he unwraps her breakfast for her making her feel like maybe he didn't exactly dislike that idea?

“Did you get one for yourself?” She asks, taking a bite. Her eyes roll back as a short moan escapes her lips and she throws her head back in satisfaction

Now it’s his turn for red cheeks. He wasn't exactly expecting to see that sight today. “Oh, uh. Nah! I had some chips this morning.”

“That's not a meal!” She scolds, still chewing. “Have the other half silly!”

“But that's for you!” He insists.

“Not anymore! You have to take care of yourself.”

“Says the girl who was drunk 12 hours ago!” He quips, taking the other half of the sandwich in defeat, it had been a while since he had any real food.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?”

“Mmhmm!” He says while chewing, neither of them obviously caring much for table manners. “I got you home and brought you breakfast so I get to make one jab at you!”

“Ok, fair enough.” She concedes.

They sit quietly for a moment, just eating and enjoying the company. She finishes up her half as he goes to take the second to last bite of his, inadvertently causing a shift in the contents of the tiny bit of remaining sandwich causing some egg and cheese to fall onto his shirt. Or rather - his brother’s shirt.

“Aww shit.” He mutters.

“Oh no!” she exclaims. “That's the curse of white shirts, you wear one and you’re immediately more likely to drop something on it.”

“Right? Ugh, Saeran’s gonna murder me.” He groans

She cocks her head in confusion “Who’s Saeran?”

“My brother, I borrowed this from him cuz I maaay have forgotten to do laundry and I maaaay have... wanted to look nice for you?" He hurries through the second part of his statement.

She smiles at the confession, “Well you do look nice, but there’s no way I’m letting your brother kill you! The laundry room is down the hall. I can throw it in the wash for you! I have a load of whites to do anyway.”

“I’d feel so bad to make you do that when you’re not feeling well though!” He whines.

“Nonsense! I'm feeling much better thanks to you! Now take your shirt off!” Shit, I did it again, think before you speak MC.

“Oh ho ho, so forward!” He chuckles with a sly look and a wink. "I like that."

The wink hits her straight in the chest like a bullet “Ahh I didn't mean it like that.” MC stammers.

He chuckles unbuttoning his shirt, “You are way too cute.”

She glances away bashfully. “T-thanks.”

He gets all the buttons undone and pulls off his shirt standing up from where he was seated. “You have a basket of the other stuff you need to be washed? We can go together if you want,” he asks.

She can’t speak for a moment she just points and nods her head watching him as he puts his shirt in with her laundry and picks up the basket like a model in some male pin-up magazine. This isn’t fair, I thought he was a Comp-Sci major?! He said he eats chips for breakfast! Why does he have abs!? She can almost see the cover of the magazine that would feature the image in front of her, the caption reads: "Local man eats chips for breakfast and sits in front of a computer all day but still has a 6 pack, Doctors hate him!"

“Ready?” He asks, snapping her out of her thoughts. Did he notice her staring?

He smirks.

He totally noticed her staring and now that face isn't making it any easier not to stare!

“Y-yea!” She answers quickly, getting up and slipping her flip-flops on.

In the hall, she catches more than a few girls and a couple boys ogling her companion. One girl she shares a class with gives an impressed look and an enthusiastic nod.

"Saeyoung?" She says when they get to their destination.

"Ya?" He answers casually tossing items into the washer.

"Um, I think a couple people we passed in the hall were getting the wrong idea about us."

"Us? Why?"

"Well, you're not wearing a shirt, and I still look like a hot mess. It's still somewhat morning, people might think... things."

He takes another glance at her, raising an eyebrow as he looks her over again. "Your definition of “mess” seems really inaccurate, the other part-"

A familiar male voice cuts him off "Seven?" It questions.

"Yoosung!" He cries excitedly. "What are you doing here?! You feeling ok? I heard that chocolate milk is a great cure for a hangover."

"I have a group project with someone in this dorm and I'm not falling for that again, Seven!" He defends, Seven just shrugs in response and throws in a pair of MC's leggings into the washer before picking up another article.

"Uh… Seven?" Yoosung says slowly, not looking at Seven's face.

"Ya?"

"Why do you have a girl's bra? And where's your shirt?! "

"Oh. Uhhh." Seven stammers, trying not to picture how the lacey bralette must look on her. "I, uh."

MC's shock is unavoidable but she has to think fast. "Oops! That's mine! It must have fallen into your stuff on accident, I'll just be taking that, thanks! Sorry about that!" She snatches her undergarment from out of Saeyoung's hand and holds it to her chest possessively.

Yoosung's eyes snap to her and then narrow before he smiles at her. "Have we met?"

Wasn't he that drunk kid who kinda latched onto her shoulders last night?

"I'm Yoosung by the way!" He says excitedly seeming to have completely forgotten about Seven who just snickers as he throws the rest of the load in.

So this is his test subject MC thinks to herself.

"Nice to meet you, Yoosung. You must be a friend of Saeyoung's?" She asks.

Seven turns back around just in time to receive a questioning look from Yoosung. "Yea, I mean I'd like to think so at least. Although I'm curious about how you met Saeyoung." He emphasis the name while looking at Seven questioningly once more.

"We met at the RFA party." Seven tells him.

"The one last night?" Yoosung asks doubtfully.

"Yup! That's the one!"

"Hmph, interesting…" Yoosung deadpans. "Well, I've gotta get to work on this project. I'll see you and your new friend later."

“Awww, Yoosungie! Don’t be jealous.” Seven calls as Yoosung walks away.

"Is he ok?" MC inquires once she's sure Yoosung is out of earshot.

"Yea, he's just sensitive."

"Whatever about?"

"I knew him for 2 years before I told him my real name he's probably wondering why you already know it when we only met last night."

MC hums contemplatively. "And why do I know it?"

"Because." He says simply.

"Because?"

"Mmhmm"

"Is that all your going to tell me?"

"Mmhmm!"

"Why don't you use your real name anyway? Do you not like it?" She asks as he uncaps the laundry detergent. "C-cuz I think it's a cute na- I mean a nice name. I mean I'm just kinda wondering why you don't use it I guess?"

He smiles at her compliment but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's a dangerous name. A dangerous name for a dangerous person."

She cocks an eyebrow at him and barks a laugh "Oh, yea you look real intimidating right now pouring that laundry detergent."

He laughs with her while he finishes up with the machine.

She gasps dramatically, “Oh no whatever will I do?! This man NO, not a man! This menace came to my dorm and did my laundry after he fed me and made my headache go away, he must be stopped!”

“I know, I know It’s hard to believe because I’m so cute but it’s true!” He defends.

“Ok, Ok. should I be careful of you helping old ladies across the street too?”

“Don’t say I didn't warn you, Sweetie” He says in a sing-song voice.

For a moment she considers whether or not he’s actually being serious, but she just can’t imagine the guy standing in front of her right now - who, by the way, is currently trying to blow a stray hair out of his face and failing (adorably)- being involved in anything even remotely dangerous. No this is definitely another one of his stunts.

Seven’s phone goes off, interrupting her train of thought. “Shit,” He says, sounding disappointed.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve got class in 30 minutes, guess I didn't think this through to well.” He says finally tucking that pesky hair loss behind his glasses and motioning to the laundry machine.

“That’s ok!” She ensures, “I can bring you your shirt later tonight, or tomorrow! I know where you live.” She says tauntingly.

“Oh ho ho, now whos the one trying to seem dangerous hmm?” He reaches out, tickling her side. She stifles a giggle and jumps back a bit.

“Uh oh.” He says

“What?” she says nonchalantly.

“You're ticklish!” “I have no idea what you’re referring too,” She says backing away from him, but smiling all the same.

“Mmmhmm.” He hums sauntering closer to her until she backed up against the wall. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I…” he pauses “DO THIS” he finishes attacking her sides in feather-light caresses.

She thrashes back and forth in a fit of giggles, filling the air and Seven’s heart alike with mirthful joy. He chuckles watching her react to him.

Her face becomes flushed with a dusting of pink, her eyes prick with tears as she smiles from ear to ear. He becomes so enraptured with it all that he begins to slow his torturous tickling and then ceases completely. Just. Staring into her eyes.

They’re so close now. He could close that gap very easily, but would she welcome it? He inches a bit closer, her eyes widen as she’s entranced by his molten gold irises her breath hitches in her throat and then…

His phone blares again, knocking them both out of their trance. Saeyoung stumbles back, embarrassed and checks his phone again “Crap, I’ve got 20 minutes” he mumbles.

She frowns as he steps away from her. “Guess you better get a move on, then”

“One more thing, can I ask you a favor?” He says slowly and she nods in agreement, “Can I borrow a shirt?”

[aliceslantern]

Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 7

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Post KH3 and Re:Mind, Zemyx

Chapter summary:  Ienzo tries to come to terms with his and Demyx's newfound connection, on top of continuing to strengthen his magic.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

On a purely literal level, this was all so… bizarre. Not only was it physically and emotionally jarring, but there was also the not-so-minor fact that the object of his attraction was Demyx. This had to be in part--he thought (did he hope?) because he was Ienzo. Zexion would never put up with this.

(Or would he, had he felt such things earlier? Then again, Zexion couldn’t feel--that was the difference between his selves, wasn’t it?)

It didn’t help that this all was a fantastic way to silence the noise of his various ongoing existential and identity crises, considering they constantly invaded when he wasn’t at work.

Stranger still, to have things to look forward to other than some form of self-sacrifice for the greater good. The greenhouse became a neutral space, a created space, where he could shed his masks and simply be , and feel. Ienzo suspected Demyx may do the same.

For a while after that kiss, their touch was purely chaste. The handholding became embracing, became true cuddling, something he hadn’t experienced since he was a very small child, and truly this was much different than that, though innocent in its own way. To simply hold and be held overwhelmed him, and often he found himself shaking, his skin unused to contact. They would sit against one wall, Ienzo in Demyx’s lap, leaning against his shoulder. His smell was comforting, grounding. Sometimes they would talk, but often they just sat in silence, absorbing one another almost with embarrassment.

“...This feels nice,” Demyx said. He was stroking Ienzo’s hair, and Ienzo wondered if this was how cats felt when they purred, though no noise left him.

“I’m afraid it’s through no effort of my own. My hair simply does what it wants. I gave up wrangling it years ago.”

He laughed a little, and Ienzo could feel it. “No. Sitting here like this.”

“It… is.” He felt the blood rush to his face. “Touch can be… incredibly reassuring. At least for humans.”

“It’s like my skin is thirsty.”

“...I know what you mean. As social creatures… we need people.” He scowled. “Much to my chagrin. It is entirely natural… and wholly irritating.”

Demyx laughed again. “You even resent things that feel good?”

“...I resent feelings in general. I do so wish I had control over them.”

“Turn them on and off at will?”

“Mostly off, but quite. Or at least… lower the volume.” He wrinkled his nose. “After so much numbness this is almost more than I can take. My heart is quite literally a child’s. To suddenly be shoved into an adult mind and body… makes me feel so tenuous.”

“...I don’t know. I like you as you are.”

Ienzo looked up, pulling away just the slightest. “Why?”

He seemed genuinely startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why should you?”

He furrowed his brows. “I dunno… now that we’re not constantly sniping at each other, I can kind of see… the person peeking out underneath.” He touched his cheek. Ienzo shuddered; it had nothing to do with the content of their conversation. “You’re so--funny.”

This was the last word he expected Demyx to use. “Am I,” he said dryly.

“Witty. Thoughtful. Selfless.”

“No, no. Please. Fluff up my ego, why don’t you.” He scowled.

“Why are you so hard on yourself?”

“Why am I--” He sputtered. “All the things I’ve done--”

His eyes took on an intensity Ienzo had rarely seen. “Is in the past. As you keep saying.”

Ienzo had to look away. “Do you forgive yourself, for what you did?”

“I’m trying to.”

“I want to.” It was a revelation to himself. “But I… I don’t know how to let go.”

“Maybe settle for feeling first.”

Demyx had a point. All this tamping down and derailment of emotion was not going to make it go away . If he felt it--let it all come up--maybe he’d be in tatters, but there might just be something left underneath. Someone who could still do good. “You’ve become--painfully insightful,” he murmured. “I suppose you always were, and I was none the wiser.” Ienzo shook his head. “Where do you propose I start?”

He ran his thumb over Ienzo’s lower lip, a touch that brought with it another shiver. “I can think of one thing.”

Ienzo kissed him. It was easier this time than before, less awkward; they’d both caught on at this point. He felt Demyx’s hand on the small of his back and noted it, too, was shaking. To let this all in took conscious focus, an unraveling of the barriers which so far had kept him upright, functional. To melt and cede to his body and heart, rather than the mind and will.

It helped that kissing felt rather lovely. Demyx kissed back with more insistence, and Ienzo matched him, his hands reaching up to grasp at the blonde hair (softer than he would have thought?). He was breathing hard, a juddery, unstable sound. This was not a terrifying breathlessness. This might be something worth testing, experimenting with, all of the sensations breaking over him new and yet somehow so old. Genetic, the desire for this sort of thing, he figured in brief snatches of consciousness. People were wired for it. He let this impulse run, and it should not have felt so liberating to give into something for once, instead of his normal restraint. Ienzo ran his tongue along Demyx’s lip and heard the shallow--and not completely promising--sound of surprise he made. He pulled away. “I’m… sorry,” he said.

He was flushed. “Don’t be sorry.” He touched his mouth. “I just--”

“Should we set boundaries?”

The flush darkened, reaching his ears. Curious, the power Ienzo had in that moment, to make him feel that way--but a power used for pleasure instead of pain. Definitely something worth toying with. “I wasn’t expecting it… but I…” He seemed to make some kind of decision, and rather abruptly pulled Ienzo close again. He wondered if Demyx, too, was just trying to feel. This time he parted his lips, and let Ienzo in, and much like that first kiss it was awkward for a moment or so as they tried to learn. Ienzo’s hands, caught in the fabric of Demyx’s shirt, trembled. This was a deeper sort of pleasure, one that threatened to bleed into other places in his body, and the simple shock of this was enough to make him break away.

A normal result of such activity, he knew, but something completely unfamiliar to him. How interesting , to feel this, the flush and flood of his own hormones, so long hidden by quirks of Nobody biology. It made him feel warm, strangely vulnerable, but also free. Like a chick about to take its first flight.

“Are you okay?” Demyx asked. He was breathing hard.

“I was merely… taking a second to observe these feelings,” Ienzo said. “Do forgive me.” And kissed him again. He shifted his weight a little, so he was fully facing Demyx, thighs against hips. Hard to tell exactly with their clothing, but Ienzo was fairly sure he felt his--

It didn’t happen all at once, but he felt his own body reacting, hardening, and the shiver that passed through him was less pleasant than the last, this effortless freedom giving way to a pain of overstimulation.

“I… I’m afraid I have to stop here.”

“I… feel the same… I’m dizzy.” He sounded it. “I didn’t think--”

“It would feel like this?” They both said almost at the same time.

“It feels… good,” Demyx said. Ienzo pulled away from him, acutely aware of the new pressure between his legs. “But at the same time it’s almost like I can’t take it.”

“Too much too fast,” Ienzo agreed. He tried not to drop his eyes to his lap, to observe it. “Have you ever felt such things?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Felt--? You mean--?”

Embarrassed and glad for the curtain of his hair, he nodded.

Demyx cleared his throat. “Not that I can remember, at least with someone else,” he admitted. “But it’s not… so unfamiliar? I guess? The, uh.” Ienzo prayed he wouldn’t say it, but he did, rubbing the back of his neck. “Boner?”

He flinched. All of these terms so crass and inelegant. “What you said when we first kissed. Did you mean it?”

He furrowed his brows. “I haven’t gone off and gotten laid in the meantime, if that’s what you’re asking. Think I would lose my shit--not in a good way.”

“I just don’t know how cautious to be. That is.” He swallowed.

“How fast to take things?” Demyx offered. He nodded once. “Let’s play it by ear. Don’t think about it too hard.” He tucked a strand of hair behind Ienzo's ear. "But I'm definitely willing… to experiment with you."

The pressure worsened. "Can we change the subject?" He asked. "The more inconsequential, the better."

---

And it did feel like playing with fire. These feelings were quickly getting too large, too embodied. He wanted. Ienzo had longed to be an adult for so long; he'd never anticipated it having its own challenges. In his rare moments alone, he found himself fantasizing about such things, about what it might be like to touch and be touched, take and be taken. Completely normal thoughts to have, he knew logically, but at the same time, alien. Distracting, embarrassing. (Delicious.)

He never gave into the temptation to explore on his own, which he found odd given that would likely make things much more bearable. He tried to a few times, but the sight of his own body quickly caused self-consciousness to kill any longing. Easier to feel this way if he had someone else to focus on.

Not that it was all physical, between them, but it was easier to think that it was. He feared there may be something below it, the kissing and the joking, something new and startling. Why was it he felt more comfortable being himself around Demyx than around the men he’d known for ages, the ones who’d raised him? Especially those he’d forgiven so far?

Demyx was also familiar with facades.

This realization came to him as he was trying to sleep. Much in the way Ienzo had feigned maturity, stability, tamping down hard on emotions, Demyx had feigned stupidity, obliviousness, kept himself under the radar. Neither of them had been their true selves in a long time, and allowing those masks to fall aside only deepened the bond between them.

He could stop this, he knew, stop these budding feelings in their tracks, let it all be about sex, or what have you. But did he want that? It was no doubt bad for his mental stability, already tenuous enough as it was. Would it truly be so terrible, to bond with someone? To trust them?

(Then again, all the people he’d trusted had betrayed him, or been pulled away from him.)

Demyx was so flighty. Who was to say that he, too, wouldn’t leave Ienzo? Why allow vulnerability when it would only grant pain? He did not need yet more angst. In all this, after all, he still had a job to do.

It was so… grueling.

During one of these endless hours training, he’d actually had to sink to his knees, his chest splitting like he’d run a marathon. Ienzo tried to catch his breath, his fingers working along the fabric of the cover of his lexicon. The magic fought him hard. Of course it should; pursuing this was unnatural. But if he didn’t, what else could he do? Work and  work in supposed “research” while nothing continued to be found? Despite returning to more-or-less a normal schedule, through gradual increases, nothing happened. If he had the power to make change, he was going to do something. No more sitting quietly in the background, refusing to dirty his hands.

The illusions refused to gather strength; they remained weak, flickery, intangible, no matter how hard he pulled or how much he tried to strengthen his other magics. Was this all he was really capable of?

Ienzo cried out in frustration and tossed the book. It splayed loosely on the stone floor of this room. A heat gathered in his face, equally from the embarrassment of losing control and a vague self-loathing.

Calm yourself. Focus.

He crossed his legs and shut his eyes, which were hot and ached. He tried to take deep breaths, focus on the way the air felt in his lungs. Calm, as ever Zexion was. Smooth, steady breaths. Let the memories run. Imagine how they may feel.

He pretended a patch of grass, so like the grass in the gardens he used to play in as a child. The smoothness of the blades against his fingertips, the coolness and dampness of dew. Keep breathing. Push the sensation outside of the body.

The first thing he thought was, it’s small. Maybe two meters square. He reached down and touched it, feeling that familiar dissonance of knowing this was fake and made, but at the same time, his own mind was fooled.

Perhaps the key was not using Zexion’s memories, but Ienzo’s. But there were so few of those--years he’d been too young to remember, and only some months since he’d been here again. How to gather data for use in his memory, and ergo illusion?

A stab of pain in his head shattered the illusion. He needed rest. “Zo… you look…”

Ienzo glared at Demyx, daring him to say something. He sat down weakly on one of the cushions. His body felt so heavy, despite the fact that he was fairly sure he’d lost weight. He'd been trying to keep up with his caloric intake, but the illusions seemed to require pure vitality.

“ Terrible ,” Demyx asserted, despite the harsh look. “Did you get any sleep at all recently?” He craned his neck a little, to get a better look at him. “And what are--” He brushed his fingers along the inside of his wrist. “You’re all bruised.” He grasped Ienzo’s hand and pushed the sleeve up farther, despite Ienzo’s efforts to pull away. Demyx was physically stronger than him; hauling packages would do that. “How--”

“I’m afraid you got a little carried away the last time we were intimate.”

Demyx shot him a look which indicated Ienzo was full of shit. “Those don’t look like hickies.” In the lamplight, Ienzo had to admit the bruises did look gruesome; they were small, perhaps the size of coins, splotches in random places all along his body. He was infinitely glad there were none on his face. They were just bruises--not darkness, as he’d initially feared. Some were already yellowing and fading away. Demyx handled his wrist gently, then grasped it; Ienzo realized he was trying to gauge if someone had grabbed him. The bruises were finger-sized, he realized, if a man had large hands.

“I was not in any fights, if that’s what you were wondering,” he said quickly. “I bruise easily--I always have. Must’ve knocked into something and not realized it.”

“These aren’t contact points,” Demyx said. His gaze was sharp. “Cut the crap. What really happened?”

He sighed. “I almost miss the days you pretended to be oblivious.”

“Ienzo.”

He huffed through his teeth--and gave him part of the truth. “I’m trying to strengthen my magic,” he admitted. “It was greatly weakened during my reformation. The… training is having odd effects on my body.”

“Because you’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said. “You work like a million hours during the day, and if you train at night--” He put a hand to his forehead. “Of course without sleep the magic is going to literally suck the life out of you.”

“Since when are you a medical and magical expert?”

Demyx scowled. “You know I listen to you guys when you talk, right?” He took both of Ienzo’s hands. “Zo. Please. You need to be easier on yourself. You don’t need magic right now.”

To his surprise, he felt tears in his eyes, tremulous and hot. “But I do.”

“Why? You were never a fighter.”

He had two options, each of which seemed equally arduous. He could tell Demyx the truth and force into the open his own recklessness; or he could lie and risk damaging the one bond he had. “I--”

He was almost funnily serious. “Ienzo.”

“I’m trying to get my power back.” Like opening Pandora’s box.

Demyx's eyebrows shot up; then he turned pale. " Can you?"

"It's coming back weakly--but it is coming back. It's simply exhausting. I wish to… use it to help Sora. I have power over memory, to see it--that's part of how I created illusions. If I can see the bond's of Kairi's heart…" He exhaled. Demyx didn't need to know of the inevitable price.

"Will it hurt you?"

"It's unclear." The closest his conscience would let him get to a lie.

"Ienzo--"

"This was my decision, Demyx. I want this. I wish to help, however I can."

He still looked worried. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

He was so exhausted. "You could hold me," he said.

Demyx touched his face. "Will you let Even look at you?"

Ienzo blanched. If Even found out--

"Or Aerith? She's a healer."

He hesitated. "That would be prudent, wouldn't it?"

"I could go with you."

"Perhaps… I could use the air…" He settled back against Demyx and felt him slip his arms around Ienzo's waist. Demyx took his bruised wrist gently and kissed along the marks, making him shiver. "That's nice."

"Why don't you nap for a little while?" Demyx asked. "I'll stay with you."

"Yes… maybe…" His eyelids were so heavy. "Fifteen… twenty minutes…"

"Just sleep."

Ienzo drifted.

When he woke, it was light out. He was wrapped in blankets and on a mattress of cushions. He'd slept hard, hard enough to not notice any of this, a rarity. There was a handwritten note by his head in Demyx's neat, painstaking writing--

Zo,

To be fair, I did try to wake you, but you just wouldn't. I would've stayed until you woke up, but I had to get to work. I left some ether and water for you. You should finish it.

Please get some rest. And don't be mad.

See you,

D

He groaned a little as he sat up. His head was pounding, though the drinks he'd been left helped. The worst of the bruises began to fade as the ether seeped into his system. He checked the time and felt his heart jolt; it was a little after noon, meaning he'd been unconscious close to sixteen hours.

He was late.

Ienzo groaned again, more in frustration than anything. Very well.

"Oh, Ienzo. So kind of you to join us," Even said, when he got there.

He ignored the barb and walked over to the computer, to pick up a tablet. "I thought I was working too hard," he said instead.

"Yet--you've again been stepping up your time here. Don't think I haven't noticed, boy."

He sighed. "I am very much well."

"That so."

"Yes," he said. "It is."

"I'm sure Ienzo had things he needed to wrap up," Ansem said diplomatically. "If you feel you are well enough to work, then you are. Yes?"

"Quite." He went over to Kairi. He'd done some reading recently, about ways to channel magic through touch; he wondered if this might help his floundering power. As casually as possible, he reached for her wrist, as if to take a pulse. Help me.

He tried to let his power feel for her; and to his shock and delight, he could sense her light reaching back, beckoning. She'd been waiting for this. He gave her hand one more gentle squeeze. I'll come back later, he thought, and hoped she got the gist of the sentiment.

He did, too, weathering another not-quite-argument of Even and Ansem's. Once they had finally, finally left for the day… he approached.

Kairi grasped at him with the same willingness as before. Ienzo shut his eyes. It was imperfect, weakened, painful, but he could see snatches of her memory--the island, the bright saturated color, days and days of playing in the sand and surf, adventuring as they may, and Sora--

Ienzo was abruptly thrown from her mind. His head was aching and he could scarcely breathe. Was Sora's disappearance to blame? Was he simply too weak? His nose was also bleeding rather heavily, and he thanked the stars he actually had a handkerchief with him. I'm sorry. I'm not yet strong enough.

She slept.