#he who controls the canals controls the universe

[alistair-blackwood]

while watching nimona, my friends and I got into a huge argument about how they could have scottie terriers with no scotland and jazz with no harlem renaissance so now I too just like to drop explicit references to real world things in my fic that have 0% justification being there in the first place and i feel like the funniest mfer alive

[johnbrand]

The Stages of Arabization

With @next-pharaoh

“Jeez, it’s so bright here,” Henry oriented his phone up in front of the sun, hoping to block out a few of the direct rays.

“Well, you are closer to the equator,” his boyfriend, Alex, joked. “Dubai is a bit farther south than Boston.”

Henry rolled his eyes, “What would I do without that intelligence of yours?” 

“Too bad you don’t have your own.” They both laughed at that remark. The pair had started dating in graduate school, with Alex venturing down the path of mathematics and Henry following the racial trends of Sub-Saharan Africa. Everyone joked it should have been the other way around, given Henry’s geeky, pale exterior fit the math nerd stereotype better than Alex’s lanky, darker frame. But Henry loved his studies, so much so that he had been invited to a conference in the United Arab Emirates to talk on them.

Suddenly, Henry received an email notification from one of his sponsors. “Dang, looks like I have to get back to work. Just received an essay to review before the next presentation.”

“How long do you have?”

“Barely 30 minutes.”

“Well forward it to me,” Alex replied. “We can tag team it. I know this isn’t my strong suit but at least I can help cover more ground.”

Henry thought that was a great idea. Without a second thought, he redirected the email and wished his boyfriend goodbye. Alex would send his thoughts over text when he had finished.

“‘The Stages of Arabization’,” Henry recited aloud. He was planning to head inside to read–gingers burnt way too easily in the direct sunlight–but he noticed the writing was pretty short. Barely even a page. Henry was surprised to realize the essay was in Arabic, but he quickly utilized a translator app to resolve the issue.

Stage 1: Islamization  Islam becomes the majority religion or state religion.

Strange formatting, but Henry understood the statement as rather truthful. The historically successful Arabizations of Morocco, Algeria, and Egypt had followed a similar suit. Even some of the countries he had studied had shown signs of this progression.

Stage 2: Linguistic Arabization Islam brings fixation on Arabic language, thus the Arabic language becomes central to the society's identity. Arabic becomes the state language.

Henry found this statement agreeable as well. There was something so methodical about the Arabic language, how it melodically ebbed and flowed in such a way that it twirled through the hearing canals directly into the brain. Anyone who listened to it almost became entranced, as if captured by its beauty and awakened by its fluidity. Henry closed the translator app before continuing on. 

Stage 3: Cultural Arabization Arab cultural practices become common due to Islamization. Own cultural heritage is deemed closer to ages of ignorance and thus gradually forgotten and replaced with Islam.

Henry had followed this trend through his research. Many of the countries he had analyzed over the years had demonized their traditional practices once introduced to Islamic culture. It was like watching a child being given a new toy; the original quickly discarded for one deemed far more superior. These assimilations had even started to appear in Henry’s life. Thobes were the new fashion craze among his fellow researchers, midday prayer rooms had taken over labs, and even the cafeteria had become completely halal.

Stage 4: Ethnic Arabization Planned migration of many Arab tribes and deliberate suppression of the numbers of natives, consequently major demographic shift. Media encourages Arabs to multiply and mix.

This too had arrived in the workplace. Rapidly, it had become obvious that the university was prioritizing hiring Arab and Arab-American employees. Political discourse on abortion had suddenly disappeared, instead dropping birth control from medical insurances and advertising “Reversion Through Fertilization”. Luckily, Hussein had not been influenced much by this change. In fact, he almost felt as if he was somehow a part of it.

Stage 5: Fully Arab State Arabs and the Arabized become elite and majority. Non-Arabized are shunned and pressured to revert until no opposition remains.

Hussein smiled with pride, closing the essay he was sure to give high remarks to. His best friend Ali had a similar response, a text from him glowing with praise about the truth in the writer’s words. The essay was eloquent, thought-provoking, and would become mandatory literature at his lab, and soon throughout the reverting world. It reflected the future, similarly to his own phone screen: masculine, virile Arab men. Hussein felt a divine sense of conformity with Islam, one all were soon destined to see.

[19burstraat]

ketterdam dashboard simulator

goedmedbridge420

who up boeking they canal

10,345 notes

drydens follow

I can't believe some of you log on here and thirstpost about barrel vagrants. it makes me so sick. these men are the very pits of society and have never honoured ghezen a day in their lives. there are so many other young men who make their living in a reverent way. have some dignity.

#ghezen #inghezenssight #ghezenhonouring #churchofghezen #handofghezen

2 notes

kooperomno1fan

lionsroar12 follow

omg HOW is kaz brekker winning this he's SO problematic he's not even good for the economy he killed members of his own gang and kidnapped councilman van eck's son

dregsundrained

cranky coz your gang fell apart aren't you

17,860 notes

oskervoexchange follow

guys is this a mandela effect or what bc I SWEAR this painting used to be in the university district art museum, I literally saw it this week??? but I went today and it was GONE?????? there wasn't even a plaque?? guys pls I'm so confused why is everyone acting like this is normal for ketterdam? do priceless antiques just VANISH? am I being gaslit?

450 notes

stadhall-clerking

guys I'm so sorry I've been MIA :( I found out that my landlord was using my rent on the staves rather than fixing my black mould problem so I pushed him out the window and told the stadwatch he must have fallen and died because he wasn't honouring ghezen and got away with it. anyway I think maybe the black mould explains the dirtyhands/sturmhond fic I was writing sorry :( but I WILL finish my fairy queen of istamere meta post once I've moved into my new lodging

670 notes

dregsconfessions follow

SUBMISSION: sometimes I lie awake thinking about the time I fell down an entire flight of stairs at the slat when kaz was at the bottom, and he just stared at me (still lying on the floor), and then asked if I'd changed the beer kegs at the silver six yet. GIRL NO?!?!?!

#submission #dregs #dirtyhands #admin comment: laughed so loud my upstairs neighbour threatened to shoot me

546 notes

dregsconfessions follow

ADMIN NOTE: if the razorgulls don't fucking stop sending anon hate to this blog we'll tell dirtyhands n he'll send you your own IP address back

#see what happens you hack job seagulls

500 notes

kerchtourismboard

it's us, the real kerch tourism board, here to tell you what we're putting in the new summer season pamphlet. we got 1) three pages all about kaz brekker that end up being more of an advertisement than a deterrent 2) list of slipperiest spots in the barrel where you will fall over and get a concussion when ur drunk 3) top 10 ways to get your wallet stolen by a child in broad daylight 4) paintings of the komedie brute 5) advert for sten's stockpot 6) map of public toilets

570 notes

kerchtourismboardreal follow

we are not affiliated with any degenerate impersonator accounts who claim to be us. we are the only real kerch tourism account.

23 notes

kerchtourismboard-real follow

grafcanal smells like piss and you should bite everyone you see wearing the mister crimson costume

450 notes

stensstockpot follow

it's all 'fuck sten's stockpot' and 'I got food poisoning from the special at sten's stockpot' until you realise you don't have the money for cilla's fry, and then you come CRAWLING back to the loving arms of sten's stockpot and our special. you fucking traitors. you'll be back! you'll all be back

canaljumpings follow

what's in the special sten's stockpot

stensstockpot follow

it's a surprise ;)

bertskerch follow

nah I thought this was the real stens lmao

stensstockpot follow

bert smit you still have 45 kruge to pay on your tab and if you don't cough up we'll send our debtors to break your legs

230 notes

exchangingbabey follow

my grisha girlfriend who still wears a kefta and says things like 'nikolai lantsov is a bastard': ugh they're still debating whether or not the council of tides should be able to control kerch shipping, I hate inter-country politics

me: I think I hauve the queen's lady

4500 notes

(insp) (insp)

[jkriordanverse]

Candy Salad trauma dumping but it's The Crows + some others

Wylan: Hi i'm Wylan and when my dad found out I was dyslexsic he tried to get me to learn how to read and when that didn't work he tried to kill me in a canal. Oh, I brought M&Ms *dumps in bowl*

Kaz: do I have to do this? This is mandatory? Okay...

Kaz: Hi i'm Kaz and when I was nine my dad died in a plough incident and my brother and I had to move onto the streets and we got scammed by this ugly, demonic, terrible-

Nina: hurry up

Kaz: who took all our money and my brother died. I brought Sour Patches. *dumps in bowl*

Nina: Hi so my name is Nina and when I was training as a Grisha i accidently wandered where i wasn't supposed to go and I was hauled onto a ship full of racist and cruel men who probably were going to kill me. I brought Trolli btwwwwwwww :D *dumps in bowl*

Inej: Hi i'm Inej and when I was fourteen I was captured by Slavers and sold into a pleasure house where I was supposed to work at the Menagerie as an "indenture" but turns out she actually charges you for food and drinks and everything so there was actually no way outttttttt unless you become rich which is also impossible because she takes that away and beats you up if you keep anything gifted away from her. I brought Skittles. *dumps in bowl*

Jesper: Hi i'm Jesper and when I was young my mother died using her Grisha powers to save a girl so my father discouraged me from using my powers and when I was fifteen I left to attend university in Ketterdam but then I got into ✨gamblinggggggg✨and joined a gang because Kaz saved me from getting beaten up. Oh, and I have ADHD. I brought Nerds. *dumps in bowl*

Matthias: Hi i'm Matthias and when I was young some Inferni killed my family so i joined the druskelle and turns out they were also really really bad and i got locked into prison for some time where I was forced to fight against a holy symbolism of my religion. I brought marshmellows. *dumps in bowl*

Kuwei: Hiii bitches I'm Kuwei and when I was 15 or so i was captured and my father was killed on the frontier and later I got taken away by Fjerdannnnnnnssssss where I was taken as prisoner and forced to pretend I had a drug to enhance and control Grisha powerssssss. I am Grisha btw LOLZ. Also I brought Haribos. Hope you like it.

Zoya: Hi my name is Zoya and when I was a kid I used to try and gain her affection by giving my shares of food to her and studying extra hard but then when I was nine she tried to sell me to a man over triple my age. I brought kit kats. *dumps in bowl*

Genya: Hi i'm Genya and this creepy weird dude called the Darkling gifted me to the queen when I was young and I caught the king's attention and i got sexually abused because turns out he was a pedophile so i started rubbing poison on my body to poison him but i was on the wrong side- I brought jellybeans. *dumps in bowl*

Bonus: Zoya: Hi my name is Zoya and when I was a kid I used to try and gain her affection by giving my shares of food to her and studying extra hard but then when I was nine she tried to sell me to a man over triple my age. I brought kit kats. *dumps in bowl* Genya: Hi i'm Genya and this creepy weird dude called the Darkling gifted me to the queen when I was young and I caught the king's attention and i got sexually abused because turns out he was a pedophile so i started rubbing poison on my body to poison him but i was on the wrong side- I brought jellybeans. *dumps in bowl*

[zentoravenvigor]

My Imperial history and lineage of Romancing Saga 2: Revenge of the Seven.

Year 1000-1001 Emperor Leon & his younger son Gerard they are always meant to be the beginning parts of my Imperial history.

Year 1050 My male Mercenary Emperor Orion he successfully prevented Cumberland from going to a state of civil war.

Year 1148 My male Crusader Emperor Peter first he solved the problem with the corsairs, then he took full control of the gemstone mine for the Empire's revenue stream, then he built the Imperial University, & he defeated Dantarg of the Seven Heroes.

Year 1262 My female Light Infantry Empress Audrey first she built Leon Bridge over the Victor Canal, then she defeated the Termite Queen beneath the Savannah, & she defeated Noel the best Swordsman of the Seven Heroes.

Year 1376 My male Ranger Emperor Philip his was short because he fell in love with a mermaid and went missing, became a subject of legend.

Year 1457 My Amazon Empress Yekaterina first she defeated Bokhohn the smartest of the Seven Heroes at the Steppe, & she defeated the leader of the Seven Heroes Wagnas at the Floating Castle.

Year 1588 At last my Final Empress Alicia first she defeated the Termite Queen beneath Avalon, then she defeated Kzinssie of the Seven Heroes once again in the Sealed Cave, then she defeated Subier of the Seven Heroes in the Frozen Sea and seized control of Longit Sea, then she defeated Noel's sister Rocbouquet who was defending the Den of Umbrage as part of the Seven Heroes' blood oath, & she successfully triumphed in battle against the Seven Heroes!

That was my Imperial history and lineage at Romancing Saga 2: Revenge of the Seven. I'm already doing a second run this time as the Final Emperor Gerard the Second.

[hummingbirdspark]

Feel free to use these ideas if you want! You do not need to credit me, but just let me know you did so I can read it.

Details for the story ideas under the cut

Kidnapped and forced to do maths

Pretty self-explanatory, they get locked in cells equipped with digital blackboards and stuff and can’t leave until they answer enough questions right. Penalties for wrong answers is death. Perhaps opportunities for teamwork?

Kipo and the age of Wonderbeasts au

Might not make sense if you haven’t seen Kipo but Carmilla uses megamute dna to try and make humans able to live on the surface, but after getting kicked out of her burrow, she has to wander the surface, looking for humans desperate enough to accept her ‘help’. I already have a bulletfic for how each of them gets found and mutated

Steven Universe au

Mechanisms as the Off-Colors. Gems thst either rebelled against or were thrown out by the diamonds. They wander the galaxy, and sometimes assist gem rebellions. The moon war was fought over earth’s moon base, between the crystal gems and those loyal to the Diamonds.

Doctor who TMA au

Jon and Jonny were brothers on Gallifrey, and while Jon excelled in timelord school and became The Archivist, Jonny was distracted by paying off his father’s debts and failed, never to receive the title of “the Captain” or 12 regenerations. He didn’t stay mortal for long, as Carmilla found him like in cannon and mechanized both of his hearts. They stole a TARDIS called Aurora and fled to the stars. Many many years later, The Archivist finds his long lost brother when taking his companions, Martin, Tim, and Sasha to the Steamworld Intergalactic Music Festival

False domestic psychological prison

An enterprising young member of an intergalactic authority comes up with a new idea for these immortal criminals’ containment: the only prison the Mechanisms can’t escape is the one they don’t know they’re in. They capture the mechanisms and through a combination of the sedative effects of the Lotus, and some memory altering microchips, they get the Mechanisms to think they are just (mostly) normal people on a normal planet. To make them less likely to escape, they gave them something they never could have had before. Jonny gets respect as the owner of a tailor shop, with workers who call him sir, and trust and obey his judgement. Brian, as a priest is listened to in all his advice and praised for his wise moral decisions. Will they realize it’s a trick? Or stay living this lie forever?

Spaceteam fic

The Aurora gets stuck in a strange wormhole (bifrost?) and she can’t operate anything but basic piloting. Suddenly strange new controls are on the bridge, as well as whole other consoles of controls. Instructions for what to do are provided on screens, but they don’t match the control each mechanism sees on their console. Luckily they’re all within shouting distance, but they will have to learn to work together… as a spaceteam. Set Sigmaclapper to 5! Soak Ferrous Holospectrum! Baste the Emergency Whittler!

Summer Camp Councilors

Human au where the mechanisms are councilors at Camp Cosmo, with wacky hijinks, camp names, and songs. Several units of cabins inspired by the 4 story albums, a great spot on a canal with sea kayaking, regular kayaking, sailing, and canoeing. A high ropes and low ropes course, an archery range, and an arts and crafts area are also present for those who aren’t water crazy. Pack up your sense of adventure and extra flashlight batteries! Hopefully the campers won’t get into any drama…

Kofi rat from Small Saga meets Marius

This is for the KofiAssam fans out there! Our very own rat-tailed rover finds themself on a massive metal god dwelling and encounters The Metal Armed God!

Or

Marius Von Raum finds a rat wearing clothing that seems to be able to play the mandolin. Good thing he learned to speak rat when he and Toy Soldier went to that candy planet where Toy Soldier somehow became a prince…

Steam Powered Giraffe roleswap

What if Doctor Carmilla lived on earth and created nine singing automatons that could self repair?

What if Colonel P. A. Walter mechanized 6 humans with blue matter to create a force of galactic heroes, that then forgot their original names?

1920s American speakeasy

Probably heavily based on Lackadaisy. Carmilla’s Speakeasy is a great place to get illegal alcohol, and its secret entrance is inside the Cafe Aurora. The owner, Carmilla herself is illusive at best, and her seeming to only show her face at night has lead to rumors of her being a vampire or witch. Rumors that are only worsened when she gave each of her employees a strange new gift: pins, that she insists are a new part of their uniform to be worn at all times. The purpose of the pins is made clear when Jonny is shot by a rival rumrunner while on a job and comes back from the dead.

SCP contains Brian and Toy Soldier

Brian was on MJE and Toy Soldier was under direct orders from a researcher to not escape. The only question is would Doctor Bright be an expert on immortality, or would letting him know about The Mechanisms be a terrible idea?

Marius backstory oneshot based on the christmas armistice

There are many things Byron Marius expected to hear in the middle of a war. The pound of bullets, the screams of other soldiers, and crash of giant robot mechas overhead. What he didn’t expect to hear was singing.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht

That’s all, folks

I have way too many ideas.

[toxinellebug]

HESPERIA/BETTERFLY kamikotized heroes Headcanons PART 3

Warning, this may make animal lovers uneasy for a bit.

This one is going to take place during the day, around Adrien and Marinette’s 2nd week of school, so they are still toying around with their Miraculous’ at night for their own personal gains, and have not yet suffered the consequences and been instructed to hunt down the Butterfly-man in order to save themselves. 

            Promise that the next one will show our fav villains in action, but for now I hope there are fans of Mr. Pigeon reading this because-

Xavier Ramier becomes……

Sauvaquateur!

(This is my attempt at combining the French words for “Savior” and “Aquatic”, into a new, superhero name. Fun fact: In 1979, the U.S. Coast Guard trained pigeons to locate people lost at sea and they had a 90% success rate!

Also remember S4, ep 4, “Mr. Pigeon 72”)

As mentioned in my post “Shadybug’s Paris Headcanons”, in this universe, pigeons are far less welcome in Paris than they are in the Good/Prime universe, so there is no need for a Pigeon-Tamer.

There IS a need for Environmental technicians though… a DIRE need.

(In this Universe, imagine the world under The Supreme’s control as slightly less extreme than North Korea under Kim Jong-un, and about as polluted as Gaya, India.)

Luckily, construction plans for “Project Oxygen”, endorsed by M. Bertrand King, have been submitted and are awaiting approval from The Supreme. In theory, once they’ve built enough towers, it should take care of the awful smog problem in Paris.

But that won’t help with toxicity in the soil and water.

Which is why M. Ramier is outside on a particularly gloomy day, in full yellow hazmat gear and neon orange rubber galoshes, attempting to collect water samples from the Saint-Martin canal.

Trash aside, people just didn’t realize how much of the poison they put out for rats (and those poor, adorable, misunderstood pigeons) ended up in the Seine, resulting in its present, disgustingly polluted state. 

Xavier can’t help but daydream of simpler times he has never known, like the ones depicted in old photographs and paintings.

In his personal collection, he has a precious family keepsake, a postcard to his great-grandfather sent by his great-uncle in 1912;

     It depicted such a happy scene of blue skies and even bluer water, and people gathered to merrily feed the pigeons with smiling faces near the Seine.

Not for the first time, he can’t help but wonder if perhaps he was simply born in the wrong decade…

Instead, here he is, collecting vial after vial of what is closer to sludge than water at different points along the canal for chemical analysis and comparison. 

It’s dull and dreary.

Or, at least it’s dreary… 

     The dullness comes to a rather abrupt end when a low bellowing sound draws his attention to a large, sludge covered something twitching near the bank beneath The Pont des Arts, (or as we know it, The Love Lock bridge, though in this universe there are no locks) a mere 4 meters away from him.

Mon Dieu!

He thought the rumors were merely that; rumors dreamt up to keep children away from the filthy water.

But blessed be; that really is a crocodile!

Where on earth did he come from?? 

(Somewhere in a shoddy apartment, Jagged, or rather, Jared, sneezes and feels a strange pang of guilt.)

The poor fellow doesn’t look too well; not that M. Ramier claimed to have any expertise in crocodilian health, but he was almost certain that the creature’s spine was not meant to be quite so prominent.

          He also could not recall ever seeing a crocodile lay on its side like that, half floating in the water, half… Hold on, was it tethered to something????

Merciful heavens! Discarded plastic Enforcer barrier tape had found its way into the canal and gotten tangled up around this poor beast’s jowls and caught upon who knows what kind of garbage submerged near the bank.

Sloshing his way over, M. Ramier had only intended to get close enough to attempt to at least cut the plastic tape where it was tethered closest to the bank in hopes the lack of tension would loosen it enough that the crocodile could free himself.

But the croc sensed his approach and grew frightened, letting out a warning growl and weakly thrashing his too thin tail, before jerking wildly and tightening the noose in the process.

     At this rate the beast would strangle himself!

This was terrible!

    Oh, that poor creature….

But, what could he do?  He was merely an Environmental Technician, trained to collect and study water samples.

      He supposed he could try contacting the ‘Ménagerie du Jardin des Plantes’ (the zoo), but  by the time they decided to send someone over, if they decided to send anyone over, it might be too late!

If only he could help… He became an Environmental Technician due to his love of animals and a desire to make the world a better place for them, and now there was a creature in desperate need of aid right in front of him and he was completely powerless…

He does not see the glowing butterfly perch upon the sample vial in his gloved hand, nor does he notice it vanish.

He’s far too preoccupied with the sudden voice in his head:

       The voice introduces himself as Betterfly, and claims that he too shares a love of animals. 

           The voice offers him the power he needs to save this suffering creature, and asks if he will accept this gift for the greater good.

M. Ramier accepts, though, he’s not really Xavier Ramier anymore…

The stained yellow of his suit melts away to a pristine white, and the neon orange of his rubber boots has given way to a striking cyan and become more fin-like in appearance.

        His rubber gloves share the same shade of blue, as does the “star of life” symbol overlaying the outline of a rescue bird on his chest.

               Somehow, his sample vial has inexplicably transformed into a rather impressive hand operated bilge pump.

       He feels stronger, more confident, more daring.

                  He is now Sauvaquateur!

Holstering the pump at his waist, he dives into the water with the grace of a tropical clawed frog, Sauvaquateur swims with amphibious ease thanks to his new, webbed gloves, and is able to take a firm hold of the weakened crocodile and bring him the the bank of the canal.

   (Another fun fact: The Seine is 9.5 metres or 31 ft. deep and you should absolutely NOT swim in it without superpowers.)

With his newfound strength, he makes quick work of tearing that horrid plastic off the poor creature, and feels satisfied that he has successfully rescued his new, scaly friend!

…..Except, the crocodiles eyes do not seem to be open.

      He’s also rather still, perhaps too still-

                       He’s not breathing!

Panic takes hold as Sauvaquateur fears he was too late after all, but the voice returns to him;

     Betterfly urges him to remain calm, hope is not lost yet, but he must come to his senses!

….That’s right, he mustn’t give up!

Sauvaquateur presses his head against the crocodile’s rough back near where he thinks a heart should be.

          Perhaps it is due to Betterfly’s “gift”, but even through his suit’s protective helmet, Sauvaquateur swears he can hear a weak thumping sound.

There is a heartbeat but no breath; what should he do? How does one go about performing rescue breathing on a crocodile?! Would that even help????

    Again, Betterfly’s soothing voice echoed in his mind, urging him to look closer…

Looking closely, the crocodile seemed to have an awfully bloated stomach yet such a thin looking back… Could it be-?

Eyeing the bilge pump holstered at his side, Sauvaquateur knew he had to try!

Using incredible strength he now unfathomably possessed, he did what should not have been humanly possible; he pried the crocodile’s mouth open and placed the hose of the pump inside.

It only takes 5 good thrusts of the plunger rod before a burst of toxic brown water and wads of plastic come spewing out of the pump’s outlet.

         Sauvaquateur shudders at the thought of all that rubbish inside that poor animal.

              It’s a feeling that Betterfly shares.

Its stomach noticeably deflated, and its scales a shade less pale than they were only a few moments prior, the crocodile takes a deep, relieving breath.

       Sauvaquateur does the same.

With the croc out of immediate danger, and now fast asleep, Betterfly praises Sauvaquateur for his valiant efforts, and suggests that now would be a good time to let someone more experienced take over.

Sauvaquateur agrees.

He can feel the “gift” leave him- like the sensation of color being gently stripped away.

    He is left in his muddy, yellow suit, and his plain orange rubber boots. His water sample vial, now empty, rests at his feet.

M. Ramier is not sure what just happened exactly; it’s a bit fuzzy, like waking up from a peculiar dream.  

      He could’ve sworn he was talking to someone just now….

             But the loud snoring from the large, slumbering reptile beside him reminds him that there are far more pressing matters at hand.

Moving to a more comfortable distance, Xavier unzips his outer suit in order to pull out his mobile phone and place a call.

He is placed on hold for frustrating amount of time before a M. Césaire answers and M. Ramier informs him of his predicament.

It’s not long after that when Enforcer sirens sound along the banks, forming a protective barrier and trying to hold back inquiring news photographers eager to get a shot of “Saint Martin’s Beast.”

M. Césaire is there as well, and he expertly secures the crocodile’s jaws shut before he and an assistant lift and haul the creature into the back of a van to transport to the zoo for examination.

M. Ramier is harshly admonished for getting so close to such a dangerous animal and is informed that it is a miracle he is unharmed.

A miracle?

Is there such a thing anymore?

….Perhaps.

PART 2    

[larimar]

neildegrassetyson

October 1, 2024 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Happy 100th Birthday, President Jimmy Carter. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Born around the same time that Edwin Hubble discovered that the Milky Way was one of countless galaxies in the known universe. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

One of the politicians I like! Here are a few facts about this incredible man!

James Earl Carter Jr. (born October 1, 1924) is an American politician and humanitarian who served as the 39th President of the United States from 1977 to 1981. A member of the Democratic Party, he was the 76th governor of Georgia from 1971 to 1975, and a Georgia state senator from 1963 to 1967. Carter is the longest-lived president in U.S. history and the first president to live to 100 years of age.

Carter was born and raised in Plains, Georgia. He graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1946 and joined the U.S. Navy's submarine service. Carter returned home after his military service and revived his family's peanut-growing business. Opposing racial segregation, Carter supported the growing civil rights movement, and became an activist within the Democratic Party. He served in the Georgia State Senate from 1963 to 1967 and then as governor of Georgia from 1971 to 1975. As a dark-horse candidate not well known outside Georgia, Carter won the Democratic nomination and narrowly defeated the incumbent Republican Party president Gerald Ford in the 1976 presidential election.

Carter pardoned all Vietnam War draft evaders on his second day in office. He created a national energy policy that included conservation, price control, and new technology. Carter successfully pursued the Camp David Accords, the Panama Canal Treaties, and the second round of Strategic Arms Limitation Talks. He also confronted stagflation. His administration established the U.S. Department of Energy and the Department of Education. The end of his presidency was marked by the Iran hostage crisis, an energy crisis, the Three Mile Island accident, the Nicaraguan Revolution, and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. In response to the invasion, Carter escalated the Cold War by ending détente, imposing a grain embargo against the Soviets, enunciating the Carter Doctrine, and leading the multinational boycott of the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow. He lost the 1980 presidential election in a landslide to Ronald Reagan, the Republican nominee.

After leaving the presidency, Carter established the Carter Centre to promote and expand human rights; in 2002 he received a Nobel Peace Prize for related work. He travelled extensively to conduct peace negotiations, monitor elections, and further the eradication of infectious diseases. Carter is a key figure in the nonprofit housing organization Habitat for Humanity. He has also written numerous books, ranging from political memoirs to poetry, while continuing to comment on global affairs, including two books on the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. Polls of historians and political scientists generally rank Carter as a below-average president, though scholars and the public more favourably view his post-presidency, the longest in U.S. history.

[leftnotright]

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win. Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus.

(Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

CHAPTER 4: I’M HERE IN SEARCH OF YOUR GLORY

Ryohei ran. 

He ran until he found the main street of the town again, his heart pounding and Sun vibrant in his veins. All that meditation out the window as he desperately tried to control his breathing, trying to get that face out of his head.

Reborn. He had seen Reborn.

Tsuna’s tutor — or at least the man who would live to be.  

Ryohei clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to squeeze out the fight or flight. To try to squeeze out the heart-wrenching relief.

He had seen Reborn. His little brother’s tutor. A man who — in the form of a child — had brought his family together, who had been the one to bring him into the fold. The man who had seen Tsuna’s potential, the potential in all of them, and had directly brought about the strongest generation of the Vongola Mafia.

He had seen Reborn. Kind of. It was a version of Reborn, one who had no idea who Ryohei was or what he meant to Ryohei. 

A man untouched by years of Arcobaleno Curse. 

Ryohei turned into a store along the strip. He could still feel eyes following his back. He was still being followed.

He needed to lose him. Ryohei still had to find a way to get in contact with the Vindice, he had no time to be dodging bullets. 

Ryohei frowned to himself as he turned over a bag of apples like he was checking for blemishes. Ryohei had no idea how to get Reborn off his tail. He knew the man was smarter than him by leagues…

He went to the counter and bought the bag, 

Well, he just had to outrun him. 

Ryohei picked up his suitcase and made sure that the clasps were all in place. The sun shone bright into the townsquare, dappled by sweeping window shades. Ryohei made his way through the crowd, listening to the snippets of conversation as he did. His pace was unhurried, leisurely. If it weren’t for his suitcase, Ryohei was sure no one would have been able to spot him out of place. 

Ryohei banked a sharp left into an alley, barely wide enough for one man. A sharp right, and then a left. Ryohei jumped over boxes and skid across dried up mud.  

He could hear him up on those rooftops. The ‘clack-clack-clack’ of shoes against terracotta tile, the clatter of windows shutters slammed open. 

And he could feel the burn. Like the hot sun beating down on his nape on a mid-Summer day, relentless and burning. 

It made Ryohei sweat, it nipped at his heels, it scratched at his nape. He ran faster, breaking out of the alleys to sprint down an unoccupied lane.

Okay, ‘running away’ plan wasn’t working as, uh, planned.  Ryohei pushed on, breaking into a full out sprint even then he saw the alley end ahead of him, the path breaking for a man-made stream.

Overhead, a shadow cut through the sunshine. 

Ryohei jumped across the canal. 

A gunshot rang out.

Ryohei hit the ground and just barely moved before a flagpole fell from a balcony. Another gunshot made a dent in the cobblestone beside Ryohei’s foot.

“You’ve got quite the stamina,” he heard a voice croon from the otherside of the canal.    

Ryohei stepped back as another shot went to his feet. Then another, and another, dancing around the bullets with an increasingly narrow margin for error.

“And quite the bit of fancy footwork,” Reborn continued, and seemed to seep out from the alley and into the light, his shirt a vibrant yellow in the sun. “That footwork technique. Boxing?”

“Yeah!” Ryohei responded before he could think better, old habits that refused to actually die. 

“Oh, excellent,” Reborn smiled, hands relaxed at his side — Ryohei didn’t find that comforting in the least. “So you’re a boxer then?”

“Extremely!” Ryohei grinned. “Boxing is extreme! You should try it, you’d do great! Maybe in the featherweight category, but you’re fast!”

Reborn seemed to twitch at ‘featherweight’. 

Ryohei beamed. 

There was a soft clatter and Ryohei looked down, a dented bullet rolled away. Right, he was being shot at. Maybe, just maybe, right now was not the best time to ask Reborn to try his hand at boxing — but damn it, Ryohei knew Reborn would be great at it and he wanted to see that! Why was everything so unfair!?

Ryohei steeled himself and ran. 

Bullets ricochet off of the walls, bits of brick and masonry spraying the back of his shirt. Gunfire let loose to the left and Ryohei ducked right, slipping between large crates and into another narrow alley. 

Ryohei ducked and dove, dodging the hot metal of fresh bullets and that burning gaze on the back of his neck. 

“Oh, shit!” Ryohei swore as he came to a halt.

A tall wall of stone stood at the end of the alley, solid and thick. A dead end; Reborn had shepherded him here. 

Ryohei turned around. 

Reborn was walking down the alley, a dark shadowy silhouette against the bright mouth. His pace was casual, unhurried. He was confident that he had won, that he had Ryohei trapped in this dead end alleyway.

“Let’s make this easy on everyone,” Reborn called out, slowly walking closer. “Just tell me what I want to know, and I just might let you live.” Then he seemed to think on it for a moment, that fedora hat tilting to the side slightly. “Or not. Depending on my mood.”

Ryohei gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, waiting. He needed Reborn to get closer.

“Quiet now are we? You were chatty just a moment ago, or are you only interested in talk of boxing?”

Closer. Closer.

Reborn shrugged, “Well, you can’t say I didn’t try—”

Closer. Now!

Ryohei spun and slammed his fist into the stone wall, feeling fire and Sun burn in his blood. Brick and mortar bit into his knuckles and gave way. He felt the wall buckle and the shadow cast over his head — Ryohei sprinted, running into that cloud of dust and stone.

Gunshots rang in the air, bullets whizzed past, and then the wall crumbled behind him with a series of cacophony crashes. 

☀

Ryohei noticed he was running a lot now.

Ryohei’s arms were over his head as his feet pounded the street. A window shattered to his right and a lamppost hissed out to his left. Overhead, the sound of a jacket billowing as a shadow jumped between balconies. 

Ryohei didn’t know what he had done, but it seemed that since that day, Reborn had put a target on his back. He’d had to punch his way out of more deadends than he could count (Hayato wouldn’t have been impressed) each one harder than the last — and he couldn’t deny it: it was fun.

Between the weeks, near months, of trying to get the Vindice’s attention, and the restless, lonely nights in that shoddy little slum house Ryohei had found for himself, Reborn’s chases were so refreshing. Freeing. Exhilarating. To the point that Ryohei found himself looking forward to them. To sprinting through the back alleys, to jumping across roofs, to punching down walls, to dodging bullets.     

The screech of metal rang out and Reborn dropped from a fire escape directly into Ryohei’s path. They stood there, high strung and anticipating.

“Do you box professionally?” Reborn asked.

“Nah, never went pro,” Ryohei shrugged, watching the way the man seemed to almost frown, disappointed.

Reborn hummed quietly, eyes going over Ryohei again. 

“But you did competitively.”

“Yeah, for a few years when I was younger. It was great!” Ryohei grinned, then took off to the right, leaping over a small garden bed and around a corner.

He had begun to look forward to the conversation. Quick and snappy, almost like a disjointed flow of thought that somehow always seemed to make sense when he was running this fast. 

“This is—” Ryohei glanced at a sign he sprinted past.

Reborn answered from overhead, not even winded from the near-hour of full-speed roof-hopping. “Via Zucchero, lovely bakery further up the street—”

“Four streets south is the doner kebab shop — I want kebabs.”

Another gunshot and Ryohei tucked into a roll.  

And always, Ryohei found himself grinning. By the time Reborn cornered him down some dead end alleyway, Ryohei would be grinning like some adrenalised loon, panting and exhilarated. 

He swore he saw Reborn smile sometimes too. 

Then Ryohei would run. 

More than once over the weeks, near months, Ryohei had debated staying. Debated leaning forward and biting Reborn’s bullets — God what an extreme fight that’d be — but Ryohei would always use that hair-thin self-restraint of his and flee just in time.

Something that thin would snap eventually. 

☀

‘BERMUDA COME OUT’ was written in big, bold letters on the side of the building, harsh and angry, each letter easily metres tall. Ryohei stood there, hands on his hips, a paintbrush in his Hawaiian shirt’s breast pocket and another clutched in his hand. 

“Bitches,” he muttered under his breath, and irritably rubbed his nose, getting more bright yellow paint on his face.

He would have rathered red, to make it all foreboding and grizzly looking. Really get the message across, you know? But he had stolen the cans from a nearby construction site, so hazard yellow would have to do. 

“Hello Ryohei.”

Ryohei blinked and then turned around. Reborn had a gun pointed at him. 

“Oh, hey Reborn!” He smiled, and tossed his paintbrushes in the half-empty tin. “How are you? How was your weekend?”

It had been, maybe, two weeks ago that Ryohei had let something slip. His name hadn’t seemed like something too sensitive, ‘Ryohei’ was a rather common name. And Ryohei had thought it was unfair that he knew so much about Reborn and that Reborn knew so little. 

‘Ryohei’ was a common name, it was okay. 

“I’m well. Finished some work,” Reborn answered amiably. 

Then he pulled the trigger. Ryohei ran.

“I see you’re dipping your feet into public art installations,” Ryohei heard as he ran deeper into the back alleys of a system of warehouses and industrial buildings. “Tell me, who is Bermuda?”

Ryohei leapt over a discarded flag pole and scrambled over a chain-link fence, landing with a crash down on the gravel on the other side. He dove into an alley and tucked into a roll under haphazardly stacked wooden pallets. The crack of metal came from overhead and Ryohei threw himself up against a wall as a metal handrail hit the ground heavily, spitting gravel and dust up into the air. 

Ryohei pushed off the wall just as it became poked with bullet holes. A left and a right, he swung through the grid-like streets, bullets holes left in dusty foot-prints. 

An almighty crash echoed off the walls of the warehouses, and Ryohei barely had time to react as the thundering of hooves came paired with the guttural, almost trumpeting sound. 

Ryohei was pretty sure this was a tech and hardware manufacturing area — but Ryohei was never one to turn down a bullfight.

Ryohei turned, planted his feet and grinned when he saw the creature of pure muscle and blind rage come barrelling down the road towards him. He lowered his centre of gravity and watched it come closer, hooves crashed against the path. 

The bull met Ryohei at the intersection, horns first. Ryohei wrapped his hands around those horns and pushed back, his feet slid across the loose dust on the road. They locked in a stalemate, hot breath fanning his face and ruffling his shirt as the bull heaved and pushed against him. 

Ryohei planted his feet and grit his teeth, feeling his heart thunder in his chest as he redoubled the grip on the horns. He grunted and took a step forward and then jumped, swinging himself up onto the hump of the bull’s back. 

“Woohoo!” Ryohei cheered as the bull bucked and rebelled, running blindly through the roads, trying to smash Ryohei into the sides of buildings.         

Ryohei laughed and hooted as he held on with his legs, one hand fisted into the short mane and other raised high above his head. He rode that bull through the street, letting it bound and break through barriers, navigating this maze for him.

Another bullet grazed Ryohei’s shoulder and he glanced behind him. He couldn’t see Reborn, but Ryohei could hear his footsteps across the rooftops, and he could feel the burn of him following close behind.

Ryohei looked down to the bull and brought down his fist, letting it slam against the back of its skull. The bull dropped in a heap, eyes unfocused, unconscious.

“Thanks for the extreme ride!” Ryohei said and with a great heave, rolled it into the shade. Then he stood back and grinned, still feeling that adrenaline pumping through his veins and so giddy. “Fuck that was extreme!”

A bullet whizzed past his cheek and Ryohei scrambled back into a sprint.

“Okay, okay I’m going!” He shouted over his shoulder, laughter in his tone. 

He turned back around and gave a yelp as he hit the ground, hands over his head as the angry, vengeful honk of geese bellowed in his ears. The flap of wings and cacophonous honks were coupled with the painful pinch of their beaks, going for his calves and the ends of his Hawaiian shirts. 

“You can handle a charging bull, but crumble at the sight of a few geese?” Came the voice from the rooftops.

“You would too!” Ryohei gasped, tucking himself into a tight ball and rolled his way out of the mass of feathers and violence. “Get off me! Get off! Off- ouch!”

Ryohei grabbed the goose by the neck and threw it back into its gaggle.

“Bastard bit my dick,” Ryohei wheezed and waddled away, clenching at the leg of his khaki shorts and breathing through his teeth. 

On the nape of his neck, Ryohei could feel that burn utterly wash across him, light and fluttering like a summer breeze. He was glad to see someone was enjoying his pain. 

Ryohei pouted but continued to run, that gut-pinching pain finally starting to wear off (but never forgotten). He dodged left as a bullet chipped a building and in the distance saw the bright yellow and black barrier of a construction sight. He jumped the barrier and kept going, seeing piles of dirt and debris, and that warning sign for a pit.

Ryohei spied the large hole in the street and workmen pottering around it, shovels in hand. 

“Coming through!” He bellowed and made the jump, flying across the pit, his shirt flapping up around him.

“What the fuck?”

“Hey, isn’t that the guy who took our paint?”

Ryohei hit the other side running. He stumbled but caught his footing on the loose dirt and sand, escaping into another alley and away from the hollering workmen. 

With heart pounding and body utterly alit with energy and adrenaline, Ryohei grinned as he dodged the hail of bullets that came. They pocked the earth in his wake and Ryohei could feel the heat on his back grow more intense, burning him left and right, bullets snatching the corners of buildings and herding Ryohei like rowdy livestock down into the day’s deadend. 

Ryohei turned around.

Reborn walked down from the mouth of the alley, a stark, distinct silhouette of a fedora and sleek, suit-clad frame. He walked leisurely, unhurried. 

Ryohei clenched his fists and watched Reborn walk closer, resisting the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. He gritted his teeth, bared in a grin. 

That hair-thin self-restraint snapped.

Ryohei wanted to fight Reborn. 

He wanted to share blows with Reborn, dodge and weave and land blow after blow. See who was faster, see who was stronger, see who could keep getting up over and over. Reborn was strong, he was fast and, God, his aim was inhuman. But Ryohei wanted to see if he could take him on, Reborn in his prime. 

That would be an extreme fight. It got his heart pounding just thinking about it.

Reborn continued to walk, his shoes made a soft ‘clack, clack’ on the road with the occasional crunch of gravel. The distance between them shrunk, one step at a time, and more and more of Reborn came into sight, the darkness almost peeling off of him.

Reborn was close. Close enough that Ryohei could see his eyes, dark as the Pit — but so bright. So full of life and light, so full of energy. 

For a moment, when he looked at those eyes — blacker than black and yet as bright as any sun — Ryohei swore he saw Reborn. 

Not the Tutor, not Tsuna’s Mentor, not that jaded, bitter and twisted Arcobaleno. Those eyes, the eyes of the Tutor were always murky, tired, worn and yet somehow burning with spite. 

In these eyes, Ryohei saw Reborn. The man who had been chasing him, playing with him, giving him an escape and laughter. Ryohei doesn’t know if it's the adrenaline in his blood, but Reborn looked — He looked so bright. Alive. Free like he had God damned wings. 

This was Reborn in his Prime. Before Tsuna, before the Curse, before it all. 

This was His Reborn.

Ryohei was elated. Ryohei was terrified. 

Ryohei needed to run. 

He spun on his heel and slammed his fist into the wall, feeling the bite of brick and braced himself for the spittle of mortar. His fist throbbed with a sharp, prickling pain. The wall stood strong. 

“Reinforced concrete with seven inches of Lightning-infused steel,” Reborn announced, the ‘clack, clack’ of his footsteps growing closer. 

Ryohei felt his heart drop. He turned again quickly and nearly choked, Reborn was so close. He back up, all the way to the wall.

Finally, finally, Reborn stopped. He watched Ryohei with those sunlit eyes. 

The sun hung directly overhead in midday, seeping into the alleyway. There was no hiding now, no shadows, no collapsing walls, no running. 

“Hello, Ryohei,” Reborn said, his voice all but a purr. A cat to the canary.

He was so close. Ryohei could smell the gunpowder and some kind of heat. 

“I think it’s time we had a good, proper chat. Sun to Sun.”

Ryohei gulped. Yeah, Reborn was definitely a Sun. He was advertising it relentlessly, at every turn, bright and vivid, huge and warm. Reborn was utterly flooding the alley with that Flame.

“What’s there to talk about?” Ryohei asked, nervous. 

He wanted to sink into the wall, through it and away from this. He didn’t know what to do, Reborn was so close. Every part of him was screaming to punch, that someone of Reborn’s skillset wouldn’t be so close without reason. He didn’t know if he was safe to push Reborn back, or if any movement would be met with a bullet.

“Oh, so many things,” Reborn continued, and took another step forward. There was a hand’s breadth between their chests. “Let’s start with who you are, Ryohei. I’ve never so much as heard of you before, and there’s no record of a ‘Ryohei’ in any boxing competitions. I should know, I’ve searched every record from Kosovo to Bhutan.”

Ryohei winced, before giving a sheepish smile.

“Well, there were no records!” He said, shrugging a bit to act cool.

“But you boxed competitively. You said so yourself, and your style is competition standard.” 

Ryohei pursed his lips a bit and slowly said, “How do you know I’m not part of some underground boxing ring?”

He wasn’t lying. Ryohei had been part of an illegal ring once. He had been fresh out of highschool and up to his eyeballs in Mafia, with too many lives in his hands but too little control of the situation. Boxing, his release, had been taken from him with graduation, and he had been too worried about leaving a paper trail in any civilian clubs. Ryohei had listened to the stories about Knuckles, his predecessor, he knew where he could go.

“Do you take me for a fool? I said, ‘no record’,” Reborn frowned.

Right, so Ryohei had just been lucky. Or maybe they did have notes on him and it just never came up — too late now, he supposed.

“Maybe they’re just really bad at keeping records? You shouldn’t be mean about it.” 

Reborn was not impressed. 

“Tell me, where did you compete, then? Perhaps I know the arena.”

Ryohei shrugged a bit and uttered a light, noncommittal, “Eh, just this little one. Well, you know, not that little — it was just a place. Kinda dark? I never really asked the name, actually.”

Ryohei blinked as it dawned on him, he didn’t actually know the name of the arena he boxed in. He could walk there, easy, but hell if he knew what they called it.

Reborn stared at him for a moment, before letting out a dissatisfied huff. Evidently, Reborn could tell that Ryohei wasn’t lying — not at hard ask, over the weeks Reborn had faced down with Ryohei’s sieve for a brain repeatedly. 

Ryohei laughed sheepishly and eyed the alley behind Reborn. 

“So you’ve fought competitively,” Reborn said slowly, and Ryohei glanced back to him. “Have you used your skills for, say, hire?”

“...For like parties?” Ryohei asked and watched Reborn’s expression twitch. “A boxer for a party? Like a boxing party — That’s an extreme idea! I gotta remember that! Oh, and those little red frankfurt sausages can be like tiny, edible boxing bags! Genius to the extreme.”

Ryohei grinned as he imagined those little cocktail sausages plated up like punching bags. If Ryohei found a club to join now that he was here — so far from everything — he was sure as hell going to put forward that idea!

Reborn’s expression was a muted mixture of exasperation and amusement. 

“I’ll make a note of that for the next time I want to see you at a sausage party,” Reborn huffed and Ryohei felt that puff of breath brush against his cheeks, reminding him just how close that hitman was standing to him.

“I was more inquiring after if you had a certain affiliation. Say, to a Famiglia?”

Ryohei gave a kind of non-commital sound as he shrugged his shoulders. His foot inched to the side, his eyes never left Reborn. 

“Famiglia? Oh yeah, my dad liked to practise with me back in the day!”

His foot slid across the gravel road, heel scraping the wall. He just needed enough room, just enough pivot, and Ryohei could get around-

The gunshot was deafening in Ryohei’s right ear. 

Ryohei took a sharp breath and gritted his teeth as the tip of Reborn’s gun touched his chin. The metal was hot against his skin, and Reborn pushed, making Ryohei tilt his head up or risk a burn.

Usually, even a round of fire would only make a pistol warm, but Reborn infused his bullets with Sun. Ryohei could feel it in the way the gun nipped at the soft skin under his chin. 

“Now, as much as I love a good chase, I think I’m due an explanation,” Reborn all but purred. 

Ryohei needed to get out of here. He couldn’t keep dodging questions like this, Reborn’s patience would run out. 

Ryohei pressed his hand to the wall behind him, reinforced masonry with Lightning-infused steel. 

Could he break through it? Not easily, but… Fuck if he didn’t want to try! An unbreakable wall?! Built specifically to block his way!? Ryohei wanted to test it so bad. How much wind up did he need? He’d need to get some Flame pumping to get through that. Maybe if he got some momentum going—

The click of a gun’s safety snapping off. Reborn’s gun pressed hard against Ryohei’s chin and tilted it higher. 

“Quite brave of you, letting your mind wander with a gun to your throat,” Reborn leaned closer, his eyes wide and bright. “What were you thinking about?”

Ryohei blinked, then he smiled and said, “I want to break the wall.”

Reborn stared with those eyes, dark as night yet brighter than any sun and Ryohei feels like he’s burning under their gaze. 

“Do you think I can do it?” Ryohei asked, hands balled into fists.

White hot, Reborn smiled with teeth.

“I want to see you do it,” Reborn said and leaned back, his gun still outstretched and aimed for a deadshot to Ryohei’s brow. 

Ryohei grinned. His heart beat was a double-time rhythm, his blood at boiling point. The barrel of the gun stared at him like a promise. The wall stood behind him like a challenge. A challenge designed for him. 

Ryohei turned and faced the wall. Seven inches of Lightning-infused steel. Reinforced masonry. All for him. Ryohei was touched. 

He sized it up, the thickness of the mortar, the weight of the stone. Ryohei fixed his stance, feet apart, centre low, Flame utterly vibrant — and eyes burning like the sun on the back of his neck. Ryohei threw his fist forward, Flame and fire alive in his blood.

His Reborn had made this challenge for him.

His fist connected. The bite of brick and mortar. The wall gave a groan, then a screech and Ryohei was swallowed by a plume of dust and Flame.

Ryohei saw the brick crumble and the warped, melted metal. Ryohei felt the heat spread across his back.

Ryohei ran.

☀

The market was quiet in the midday heat, vendors pulling shades over their wares and leaning back in chairs, riposo settling over the street. Ryohei walked about aimlessly, his hands in his pockets and his eyes to the sky. 

“Ah, little Ryo!” A voice called and Ryohei turned to see the familiar faces of the town gossips and his pseudo-informants: a trio of elderly nonnas who sat on a bench all day and somehow managed to have dirt on everyone. “Come, come, we have something to tell you!” 

Ryohei’s elbow still ached from his most recent attempt at getting the Vindice’s attention. Bringing down an old Vongola touch-stone and smearing ‘BERMUDA IS A DICK’ might not have been his most elegant of ideas but damn it, Ryohei was desperate.

“Hey nonna,” Ryohei said happily, grinning at the women over the low mood that lurched through the back of his mind. “What’s the latest?”

“Clair, from the dentist’s office?” One started immediately, like it had been bottled up for days. “She’s been having an affair! You’d think it was with Dr. Tozo, but no — with his assistant! Madeline!”

“Oh,” Ryohei blinked and winced, oh that was not going to be pretty. “Does her husband know?”

“That’s the thing,” she continued, utterly elated that he had brought it up. “He’s in on it!”

“Lower your voice,” the other hushed quickly, despite the matching grin on her own lips. 

“That’s nice! They’re having fun!” Ryohei laughed, relieved. He had had enough break-up stories for a while.

He huffed and lowered himself into a squat as he listened to the women relay to him like a disorganised news bulletin. Everything from a sudden rise in noise around the corner at night to the usual complaints about their granddaughter not getting married yet. 

“Wait, what was that?” Ryohei snapped to attention, a leaf well-shredded in his hands. 

“Isabella has been seeing this boy for years now and—”

“Not that,” Ryohei cut in, ignoring the reproachful looks he got for it. “The noise, what’s that all about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she tsked, waving her hand. “Probably just those little boys who like to play Mafia in their gangs. Honestly, they’re going to receive a rude awakening if they ever run into real Mafiosos.”

“Mm,” Ryohei hummed quietly, “Are there many around?”

The women glanced to Ryohei, “Gangs, or Mafioso?”

“Both,” he said.

“Well, yes. And don’t go looking for them, Ryo, it’ll do you no good to get tangled up in that stuff. Heavens knows better men have been lost to them before.”

Ryohei smiled and slowly got back up, discarding the leaf in his hand. “Thanks for the advice nonna. Hope Isabella’s doing well with that guy of her’s.”

The three women shared quick looks, and each gave soft goodbyes to Ryohei. 

Ryohei scratched at his nape as he walked further into the shopping district. He had wondered how he had missed gangs hanging around, especially if they were making a ruckus in the dark hours. But, he supposed, if it didn’t really matter. Some middle-class kids were playing Mafia, he wasn’t going to go out of his way to tell them to stop — Ryohei didn’t pride himself in being a hypocrite. 

“Hey, Tony!” Ryohei called out, jogging over to a man who was packing up his store for the afternoon break. 

Tony was a portly man with a voice to match his size and a head as shiny as the apples he sold by the dozen. Ryohei always knew when the man spotted him in the crowd, the grocer always rolled the ‘R’ when he bellowed Ryohei’s name like they were life-long friends. He welcomed Ryohei with open arms and Ryohei grinned at the man.

“Ryohei, where have you been?” Tony asked.

“Eh, around,” Ryohei shrugged, leaning against the lamppost outside the storefront. “So, any talk on the town recently?”

Tony grinned as he talked, relaying the juicy stories he had heard and saw both first, second and third hand from his time in the store. He handed Ryohei a pear as he spoke, and Ryohei idly munched on the crisp fruit. 

“Hawaii guy!”

Ryohei blinked at the call but continued to munch on his pear, since he was decidedly not Hawaiian. Then something collided with the back of his knees and Ryohei had to grab the post or risk buckling to the floor. 

“Hawaii guy!” That little voice called out again and Ryohei looked down to see a young girl with tears in her eyes and hair up in a ponytail — he remembered her suddenly, one of the little girls playing with a ball, near months ago. “Can you help?! Someone grabbed Jess and I—”

Her voice hitched wetly and her face went red, nails digging into the flesh of Ryohei’s knees.

Ryohei tossed his pear into Tony’s trash bag and crouched down to the girl’s height. 

“Show me.”

The girl sucked up a shaking breath and nodded. 

Ryohei grabbed the girl by her waist and threw her up onto his shoulder. She shouted guidance into his ear as Ryohei ran through the streets, little hand fisted in his hair to keep balance. 

“Here! They took her from here!” She shouted and Ryohei screeched to a halt.

The girl clambered down off Ryohei’s shoulder and pointed around, frantic and red-faced as she tried to explain everything at once. 

“I- We were just playing, and then a car! And they grabbed Jess and I didn’t, couldn’t, I- I—”

Ryohei knelt down and nodded slowly before asking, “What colour was the car?”

The girl blinked through tears and cried out, “Uh, I don’t- White! It was white!”

“Okay, white, got it. Which way did it go?”

She looked around, reorientating herself and where she had stood during the kidnaping. Then the girl pointed with such force her elbow bounced and announced, “That way!”

Ryohei looked the way she pointed, a straight and narrow lane that broke out into the splintering backstreets of a suburbia. 

“Got it. White car, going that way. Now,” Ryohei knelt down and got the girl to look to him. “I need you to go back to the place you found me, call the cops. Tell them what you’ve told me.”

“O-Okay,” she nodded, fisting her shirt in her hands. “Okay. I’ll ask the grocery man?”

“Yeah,” Ryohei nodded. “Yeah, find the grocery man. His name is Tony.” 

The girl nodded quickly, “You’re gonna find her, right?”

Ryohei smiled and reached over to ruffle the girl’s hair, the brown strands sticking to her tear-tacky cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll find Jess.”

The girl ran off, disappearing around the corner, and Ryohei straightened. He scanned the area with his eyes, taking in every detail. 

Upturned pots riddled with cracks and poured out soil: a clear sign of struggle. And tyre tracks, etched into the curb.

Ryohei spun and burst forward to chase that car. He followed the girl’s instruction and raced to the intersection, following the main, curving lane until it splintered. Ryohei spun around and bounced irritably, before he found the lines of tyres and took off-

“You’re going the wrong way.”

Ryohei halted hard and snapped to the voice. Reborn melted out of the shadows, handsome face posed with his usual drawl smile, hat obscuring his eyes. 

Ryohei looked at the man, then to the tyre tracks.

“Okay!”

Ryohei ran the other direction, sandals clapping along the path as he made it to the main street. He grasped the corner of a low wall as he came to a stop at another junction in the road. It was quiet, everyone either resting in their homes or away at school or work. 

Ryohei went right — A bullet hit the ground with the distinct, muffled sound of a silencer. 

Ryohei dodged left and immediately set into a sprint.

A line of laundry snapped in the corner and came swinging over Ryohei’s head, bedsheets and undergarments tangling up in his arms until he ripped his way out.

“Reborn! This isn’t the time!” He bellowed and threw his arms over his head as a hail of gunshots continued to rain.

Ryohei gritted his teeth and backed away into an alley and out to its opening on the other side. Then the bullet hell stopped, and Ryohei lowered his arms slowly.

A white car was parked rather neatly along the side of a building, nicely in row with three other cars. 

“Ah! White car!” Ryohei gasped and ran over, tried peering into the windows, only to find them tinted dark. “Darn it.”

A hand came and touched the car with just the tips of its fingers. 

Ryohei looked over. He hadn't noticed Reborn get so close. That was some light footwork!

Reborn hummed and crouched down beside the car, hands already wielding a lockpick set with deft skill. He peered at the lock on the car and frowned, murmuring about ‘poor workmanship’ and ‘peg grinding’.

Ryohei shifted in the spot, trying to be patient. Then he reached over, took the door in his hands and let his Sun balloon. The door peeled from the car with a screech of metal and the crack of locks breaking. He frowned down at the car’s alarm and reached in, gripped the wires and ripped them out.

“Done this before, I see,” Reborn hummed, and Ryohei just gave a sheepish shrug and smile.

Reborn stepped forward and took over the investigation as Ryohei moved aside to toss the car door into someone’s bushes. Reborn took a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, before he reached into the car.

Reborn pushed aside a box of Pueblo rolling tobacco with his finger, the corners bent and torn from frequent, careless use. An assortment of scrunched up receipts littered the floor, mostly fast food places, petrol stations and arcades. The last thing Reborn found was a green hair tie, discarded under the driver’s seat.

“Does any of this tickle your fancy?” Reborn asked as Ryohei came up behind him.

Ryohei leant over Reborn and nearly seized up at the sight of that familiar hair tie. He reached out and took the tie, “This is definitely the one I gave Jess!” Ryohei took a step back and looked to the streets, trying to find a path or hint. “We’ve gotta go! We’ve gotta find her to the extreme!”

“Why?” Reborn stood as he took off his gloves and stowed them neatly in a packet inside his jacket. “You’re certainly not going to be paid for your troubles. I assure you. Not even the police will follow this, not in this part of Sicily.” He scoffed and tilted his head, the shadow of his hat covering his eyes. “Or will you do it out of the goodness of a bleeding heart? Tens of people go missing in Italy, every day. Will you try and save all of them?”

Reborn glanced over his shoulder as a long silence filled the area. 

Ryohei blinked, snapping to attention. “Uh, sorry, kinda tuned out there. Not great with speeches. So…you comin’ or nah?”

Reborn stood there for a moment, speechless. Then he almost seemed to pout and said, “Fine.” He straightened his posture and continued, “But you’ll pay me—”

“Don’t know how to tell you this, bro, but I have no money. Like nothing,” Ryohei interrupted, stretching the hair tie across his fingers like it’d guide him like some kind of budget divining rod.

Reborn gave a huff and Ryohei yelped as the hair tie snapped back at his face.

“Then I’ll take information.”

Ryohei glanced at Reborn out of the corner of his eye, then pouted his lips and murmured, “Info on what?”

Reborn smiled and tilted his head, body leaning forward. He was almost pressing Ryohei into the side of the car behind them. 

“You, Ryohei,” Reborn said slowly, “No dodging, no lies—”

Reborn barely had time to grit his teeth as a hand grabbed him by the knot of his tie and he was slammed into the car, the two men swapping spots. Ryohei frowned something thunderous as he narrowed his eyes at Reborn.

“I never lied.”

Reborn paused; Ryohei was right. As far as Reborn was aware, Ryohei had never lied to him. 

As far as he was aware.

Reborn slowly raised a hand and laid it on the fist clenched on his collar. 

“Then you’ll have no problem answering my questions.”

Ryohei gritted his teeth and glanced to the hair tie in his free hand. He knew he wasn’t some great tracker, that had always been more up Mukuro’s alley. If he was going to find this girl, he needed help, he didn’t have time to go checking every alley and nook in a town full of them. 

Ryohei looked to Reborn, eyes dark as the Pit started back.

“Fine,” Ryohei said finally, “But there are some things I can’t answer.”

Reborn hummed a bit, and began running his thumb along the bumps of Ryohei’s knuckles in an almost absent minded manner.

“Three questions. I’ll let you veto three questions.”

Ryohei frowned. Three wasn’t a lot, and knowing Reborn, he’d ask all the right questions in just the right order. 

But — Ryohei remembered that little girl fighting with her hair. What would his Family think if he refused help from someone as capable as Reborn. He thought of that little girl, and remembered Lambo and I-Pin running around through Namimori. He thought of that little girl, and remembered how Kyoko reclined in her chair, hand on her stomach.

He got three questions.

“Fine, but,” Ryohei let go of Reborn’s collar and clenched his fist at him. “You only get three minutes.”

Three for three. The length of a boxing match. 

Ryohei could survive that. 

Reborn hummed again and tilted his head, as if regarding if the deal was worth it. Then, Reborn smiled and shrugged. 

“Very well. Three minutes. Plenty of time.”

Ryohei brought his fist and lightly knocked it against Reborn’s jaw, breaking him out of whatever master plan he had brewing in mind. His knuckles pressed into Reborn’s cheek.

“Help me find her, Reborn.”

With a fist to his jaw, Reborn stared at Ryohei, that burn back in his eyes, so hot Ryohei nearly geared for a first — Reborn grasped his wrist again and slowly, so slowly, took it from his jaw.

He squeezed it, before letting go.

“We have a deal,” Reborn said, voice pitched low. “Follow me.”

In moments, Reborn had both of them jumping roofs and clambering across balconies in a mad dash.

“Another set of tyre tracks. A hasty exit of the car, they had no tracks leading away, no time to struggle. We are following another car now.” 

Ryohei didn’t question how Reborn saw all that, nor how he could extrapolate the extra information. Ryohei believed him, and that was all he needed to know.

“Any idea what car?”

Reborn scoffed, and swung to mount a ladder. “What? Do you think I’m some kind of miracle worker?”

Ryohei didn’t miss a beat, “Kinda? Yeah?”

Reborn blinked, peering at Ryohei through the bars. Then he puffed up a bit, shoulders squared, and looked rather proud as he said, “Black car. They’re driving fast.”

Ryohei grinned at Reborn, “Knew it.”

Reborn chuffed, “Such faith.”

They hit the top of the ladder and Reborn changed directions so fast Ryohei nearly slid off the edge of a metal roof in his attempts to stop. He got back on course quickly and caught up with Reborn just in time for the hitman to grab him by the collar and drop into a crouch.

Down below them, Ryohei could hear loud voices and jeers, all of them young and male. They were shouting, cussing and laughing; well acquainted.

They moved and peered over the edge. A group of men and boys were gathered in the decrepit courtyard of an old factory. They were dressed oddly, and it made Ryohei squint in confusion. They were dressed down but everything was well kept, with polished shoes and pressed shirts. It was like they were trying to look rough, but that specific American gang type of rough. No mafioso would go around looking like some common thug.

“Oh it’s those boys,” Reborn signed, and Ryohei raised an eyebrow. “Little boys playing Mafia.”

“Oh! The ones doing the petty property damage?”

Reborn glanced to him. “I see you’ve heard of them.”

“Only a bit. Never thought they’d jump to kidnapping.”

Just as Ryohei said this, a black car rolled into the courtyard and three men stepped out. The last two were each holding one arm of a little girl, frozen stiff.

Ryohei lurched forward, but Reborn stopped him, still holding Ryohei by the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. 

“When did they get guns?” 

Ryohei looked to Reborn, then to the girl, then to the men. Then he looked back to Reborn.

“Don’t know, don’t care. I’m getting the kid out.”

It wasn’t his business where these kids got their guns. If you wanted someone to get to the root of the problem, you’d need someone as driven as Kyoya, thorough as Hayato or selfless as Tsuna. Ryohei wasn’t any of those qualities — not to the extent they would go to.

Ryohei admitted it, he was tunnel-visioned. He was only interested in what was right in front of him. 

And right in front of him was little ‘Jess’, hair a mess, too scared to shake. 

Ryohei quickly scanned the arena, maybe a dozen or more men and boys. He didn’t know how many were armed. Didn’t know what kind of weapons they had on them. 

Ryohei liked surprises. 

Ryohei must have shown his excitement on his face, because he heard Reborn sigh just before that grip on his shirt went slack. Ryohei burst from their ledge.

He hit the ground with a crash and a roll. Yells from the gang announced Ryohei’s arrival and he leapt forward, stepping and swimming and dropping those men and boys. Then he spun and surged towards those two boys holding Jess. Ryohei punched left and a quick right — a muffled gunshot and the last boy, who had appeared from behind Ryohei’s target, fell, eyes rolling back in their head.

Jess let out a tearful cry and ran to Ryohei, grabbing sticky handfuls of his Hawaiian print shirt. Ryohei knelt down as she bawled, speaking in a soft, low voice as he assured her that she was safe now.

“Hey Jess,” he greeted quietly, smiling down at the girl as she seemed to try and disappear into those neon fronds and hibiscus. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Jess took four, heaving, wet breaths and shook her head. 

“Good! That’s good,” Ryohei smiled, relieved. “Your friend sent me to come find you, she’s waiting in the townsquare with the shopkeepers. Are you able to walk?”

Again, Jess shook her head and wrapped her arms around Ryohei’s shoulders as she picked her up. 

The whole time, Ryohei could feel the heat on his name and that burn of eyes. He settled Jess on his hip and glanced at the boy who had been shot.

Non-lethal. Ryohei pushed him with his foot; the boy was just knocked out. Maybe concussed at worst. 

Ryohei looked to where Reborn stood on the building, only to find empty space. 

Jess coughed through the tears and started to hiccup against his shoulder. Ryohei rubbed his nape and started on the jog back to the square.

☀

Ryohei laid on his back, watching the shadows make shapes on the water-stained ceiling. He had gotten used to the scent of creeping damp in his apartment at this point, the near constant humidity. The sparse furniture almost reminded him of the Vongola Sun Quarters: Humble. 

Empty.

Ryohei signed and took a long breath in and out, letting his body go slack and loose on his thread-bare mattress. Then he sat up, sheets pooling in his lap.

He needed to get out. Out of the four walls and the damp and the humid and the empty. 

Ryohei grabbed a pair of sandals and the brightest shirt he had — a clash of yellows, pinks and blues — and walked out into the hot Summer night. There was no one around, even the late night drunks had gone home. Ryohei walked with his hands in his pockets and his head back, watching the stars. He walked for a while, aimless, counting stars and finding shapes in the loose, wispy clouds.

“Nice night.”

Ryohei stopped and looked to his side with his eyes. Reborn was standing beside him, head tilted back and eyes skyward, as black as the night above them. 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Good for a walk.”

Reborn glanced at Ryohei and smiled, “Nice enough for a heart-to-heart between Suns?”

Ryohei let a breath out through his nose, a long heave of defeat and anxiety. Right, he had a deal.

“Sure,” Ryohei conceded. A deal was a deal, after all, and Ryohei would be damned before he went back on his word. “Sure, what do you want to know? I’ll answer what I can.”

Reborn frowned, “That wasn’t the agreement, Ryohei.”

Ryohei winced, and gave a sheepish smile. Ah, he got caught quick,

“I said I’d answer what I can, Reborn. It’s not my choice, some answers aren’t only mine to say. That was our deal.”

Reborn pouted up at the arched ceiling, but shrugged in acceptance.

“Well then,” he said and gestured to Ryohei to lead. “Shall we sit?”

“I’d rather walk and talk.”

Reborn smiled, “Well then, would you like me to recommend a trail? Wonderful this time of night.”

Ryohei blinked and swore he could hear Hayato swearing up and down that ‘this is a trap!’ 

Maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the need to be far, far away from his one-room apartment full of mould and memories, maybe it's the naïve, sweet and muscle-headed part of Ryohei that equates this Reborn, His Reborn, to freedom, release and that muscle-straining bliss.

“Sure,” Ryohei grinned, “Lead on to the extreme!”

Ryohei could confidently say he had no idea where he was as Reborn led them through a vast clearing of trees. They had left the paved streets and cobbled paths long ago, and Ryohei’s sandals were full of rocks and leaves. 

Ryohei put his hands on his hips and leant back, taking a long breath of that fresh nighttime air. This had been good for him. Shake off the anxiety, get the body moving. No better mood stabiliser than exercise!

“Nearly there,” Reborn urged, and Ryohei didn’t need to force a smile as he quickly followed.

Ryohei looked around as they kept trudging through the growth, something nagging in the back of his mind. It wasn’t that Reborn was leading him to his death or anything — it was that as they walked, Ryohei swore that…

“Oh! I know this place!” Ryohei’s bellow was like a crack in the quiet night and before Reborn could turn Ryohei had already set off in an upward sprint. 

Vaguely, Ryohei heard Reborn chase after him, gun clicking with the safety off. Ryohei’s sandals hit worn cobble and sandstone with a succession of claps on the steps of an old, forgotten chapel, blackened with weather.

Ryohei hadn’t been here in years. There had been a time, though, that this little nowhere chapel had been a frequent touchstone. He had been advised not to get too attached to any one location for his touchstones, a mafioso with a predictable haunt, was a dead one. 

Father Knuckles’ chapel was the only expectation to this rule, as the closest thing the Vongola had to ‘holy ground’.

Ryohei smiled as he gazed upon the blackened stone and weathered bricks. Even over thirty years ago, it hadn’t changed a bit. He could almost feel the stress leaving him already.

A gunshot rang out and the chains locking the doors fell to the ground. Reborn came up beside Ryohei before gesturing to the slowly opening doors.

“Shall we?” Reborn urged. 

Ryohei all but bounced into the dark chapel and set to work. He walked the aisle until he stood at the altar and rummaged through the drawers, until he found the matches exactly where they would be nearly thirty years from now.

Reborn sat himself on the frontmost pew and watched Ryohei set the candles in their station and smooth out the tablecloth.

Ryohei struck the match. Three minutes started now.

“What is your name?”

“Ryohei.”

“Last name?” Reborn pushed.

“None that matters. Not mine anymore.”

Ryohei cupped his hand around the flaming match and slowly, almost meditatively, lit a candle on the altar. Reborn frowned and Ryohei smiled, almost sheepishly.

“It won’t mean much,” Ryohei warned gently, before he said, “Sasagawa.”

“Ryohei Sasagawa,” Reborn pieced together and Ryohei withheld a wince.

He never quite got used to it said in that order. He’d better start now.

“Why are you here?” 

Ryohei lit another candle, feeling the heat on his palms.

“My family sent me to fix some things,” Ryohei answered and watched as the candlewick caught alight.

“Fix what?” 

Ryohei flicked the burnt match until it snuffed out.

“Can’t say, sorry.”

“That’s one,” Reborn uttered, almost like a warning. 

Ryohei huffed, and gave a grimace of a smile, “Sorry, not my choice.”

Reborn hummed, unaffected.

“You said ‘Family’, who are they?” 

Ryohei lit another match against the side of the box. 

“My family is my brothers and sisters,” he answered, smiling into the fire as he remembered those faces, their history. “I have a nephew on the way.”

Far away. Ryohei will have a nephew in thirty years.

Reborn was quiet as the dead behind him. No tell or clue as to what he was feeling or thinking — all except that heat that seared itself into the centre of Ryohei’s shoulders and into the flesh of his nape.

“Where are you from?”

“Japan,” Ryohei said easily and lit another candle. “But you’ll have an extremely hard time finding me, Reborn. You’re free to try if you ever get a particularly boring day, though. There are games of that, actually: missing and unsolved cases. I think you’d have fun with that!”

“Why?” 

“People like puzzles — not really my style but, ya know—”

“I meant why do you think I’d have a hard time finding you, Ryohei,” Reborn corrected, a snort of amusement to his tone. 

And a challenge. ‘Why do you think I’d have a hard time’. 

Ryohei gave a puff of a laugh sharp enough to blow out his match. 

“I don’t exist now.”

“Why?” Reborn asked again.

Ryohei shrugged, “Same reason as you, I guess.”

“So you’re Mafia connected.”

Ryohei smiled and struck another match, gently lighting the next candle and breathing in the heat.

“Yeah, you got me. I’m Mafia connected.”

“What Family?”

The match was snuffed again.

“I can’t tell you, sorry.”

Reborn made a low noise that Ryohei couldn’t pin down, and then said, “That’s two.”

Ryohei gave a weak smile and heard Reborn settle back into the pew with the low groan of wood. He lit another match.

“Are you in Harmony?”

Ryohei’s hands flinched back and the little flame on the candlewick died out before it had a chance. Ryohei thinned his lips and said, “Not anymore.”

There was a pause. 

“I see.”

Ryohei let out a long breath and snuffed the match, too low to risk. 

“Where do you currently live? Your base of operations.”

Ryohei glanced at Reborn with a raised eyebrow, but shrugged. It wasn’t like Reborn would have a hard time figuring that out on his own. At least he was being polite and asking first.

“The red building on the corner, just a bit further than where we met earlier.”

Reborn didn’t make a sound, so Ryohei struck another match. There were getting close to the end. Reborn had already asked most of the big hitter quotations and Ryohei still had one more veto. He was feeling good about this.

“Why are you looking for Bermuda?” Reborn asked.

Ryohei felt the bite of the match on the tips of his fingers.

“I can’t—”

“Then that’s three,” Reborn said and Ryohei dropped the match.

Reborn caught it before it could land on the table cloth and, with such a gentle hand, lit the final candle and let the match burn out.

“Ryohei,” Reborn said slowly, so close to taking up Ryohei’s space. “Who is Bermuda?”

“I can’t—”

“Uh-uh, remember the rules,” Reborn tutted.

Ryohei took a deep breath to try and calm himself down, trying to take in the soft scent of burnt wood and candle wax — but found himself choking on sunlight and gunpowder. The voice was beside his ear this time, so close it was practically ringing in his head.

“Answer me, Ryohei. Who is Bermuda?”

Shit. Shit! Could Ryohei tell him that? Or — Or wait. Telling someone of Reborn’s calibre who Bermuda was would definitely bring the Vindice knocking! Surely! And, yeah, they’d probably be murderous and all that, but Ryohei had really tried to do it the nice way!

“We had a deal.”

Ryohei shifted his weight then instantly regretted it, feeling how he had pressed himself along Reborn’s front. 

“I’m not meant to tell you. Just know that,” Ryohei said slowly. 

Then Ryohei flinched. Reborn rested his sharp chin on Ryohei’s shoulder, hands resting atop the altar on either side of Ryohei. An almost oppressive heat spread all the way through Ryohei, like a sweltering Summer’s day that you just couldn’t escape. 

“But you will,” Reborn hummed, and Ryohei wondered how one man could sound so satisfied.

Ryohei stared at the lit candles in front of them, all lined up and pretty on the altar. He wasn’t getting out of this.

“Bermuda is—”

Reborn let go and stepped back as he said, “Nevermind. I don’t need to know yet.” 

Ryohei spun around, his hand cradling the shoulder Reborn had occupied like he had been burnt. 

“Why spoil the fun now? A good hitman knows when to wait,” Reborn purred, “You’ll tell me, Ryohei, in due time.” Then Reborn got close, so much distance closed in a single stride. “Even if you’re gasping it out.”

Ryohei blinked. Then he grinned, eyes bright as he vehemently agreed, “Right! Earning your answers through a fair fight is the most extreme way to get to the truth!”

Afterall, Ryohei was still hankering for that fight with Reborn. A good proper one-on-one!

There was a long pause, and then Reborn let out a quick bark of a laugh, shoulder jumping as he quieted to a chuckle. Ryohei beamed. He didn’t get to see Reborn laugh often, it felt like a reward when he managed to crack Reborn’s veneer enough to get through his suave-guy exterior. 

“You want to fight?” Reborn breathed out, calm again with a small smile playing on his lips. “We can do it like that too. I’ve never been one to turn down a bit of tasteful rough play.”

Ryohei grinned wide, unabashed with his enthusiasm.

“Oh Ryohei,” Reborn sighed almost fondly.

Then Ryohei watched as the first light of the new day fell across Reborn’s face. Stained glass windows refracted blue, red, green and yellow across the man, colouring him with every shade under the rainbow.

☀

“Boss,” a voice greeted as they walked into the office. “We have been receiving multiple reports of someone leaking intel to civilians.”

“How severe?” 

“Nothing too explicit. So far, everything they’ve said can be dismissed as rumour mongering. However…I think you should look at this.”

A picture was slid onto the desk. A man was the subject of the photo, smiling wide and bright as he spoke to someone off to the side. His hair was cropped short and he had a scar across his right brow, and wore a searingly bright Hawaiian shirt.

“I know that face…”

“Yes, he looks like—”

Timoteo, the Ninth Vongola Boss, stood from his desk and crossed the room to the legacy wall. In the centre, taking the place of honour, was a large portrait of the First Generation. He reached out, photo in hand, and lined up the two pictures.

“He looks almost exactly like Father Knuckles,” Timoteo uttered and Coyote grunted in agreement. “And he’s leaking our secrets? Where is he now?”

“Not sure, we’re tracking him. But wait, it gets better,” Coyote scoffed, taking a puff of a cigar. 

Timoteo was still gazing upon the uncanny similarity between the two men depicted before him. Like the old priest had been ripped into the modern day.

“Intel says his name is Ryohei. And he’s been sighted with Reborn.”

Timoteo turned his head, eyes wide. Then he frowned, expression set in determination as he looked at this ‘Ryohei’. 

“Find him. Bring him to me, I want to talk to our new friend.”

“Of course, Boss.”

[apoptoses]

Thoughtful ask incoming!!! It's me DA, shaking and crying and throwing up in anticipation for your big WIP. I don't think my brain can even fully grasp the 40k words thing, it's like trying to measure the universe yk. But I *am* ready to embark in what is probably bound to be one of the all time great VC fanfiction expeditions (and when I say fanfiction I mean, I'll immediately process every word as canon, such is your understanding and dissection of the characters). And YES please drop the excerpts, we're so hungry 🥺

Dungeon anon! I love that I sent up the bat signal in my tags and here you are ♥

Oh man, it was hard to pick what to share because this thing is 40% angst, 40% smut, and 20% loving moments to rot your teeth out with. We're taking that reunion in Prince Lestat and expanding it out so that Armand and Daniel can finally put all of their cards on the table and figure out how they work together in the modern day. And it all happens in the form of a road trip of all things.

But lately my favorite topic is Armand's past as Amadeo and what experiences he had that were left out of TVA (for being too racy or too dear to his heart? who can say! I think about both a lot).

(also this is the biggest section I can give you without giving anything away about what is going on between the two of them, so)

Here is a secret little story he tells Daniel:

Armand glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. A blank shell of a thing stared back, waiting to be cracked open to see what new image of himself would come through.

He drifted through his past. Inside he was like a book that had survived the flood, the ink of his memories blurred and runny with time but still legible if he squinted hard enough. Back and back and back Armand went, to old Venice with its sun warmed plaster and the tang of the sea in the air. That very first chapter in the memories of his life.

“Daniel. Would you like to hear a story?” Armand asked.

Daniel’s phone let out a click as he pressed the button on its side. The screen went black. “Sure.”

Armand took a deep breath. Set the cruise control so he would no longer have to think about the gas pedal and let himself become once more a young and mortal boy.

Amadeo and Riccardo, awash in the carnation pink blaze of the late afternoon sun. The rough hewn edge of the dock dug into the back of Amadeo’s thigh through his thin woolen hose. From his fingers a half drunk bottle of wine dangled, heavy and precarious above the lapping waters of the canal. At home they’d been reading the Romance of the Rose. An old French poem of courtly love. Lips buzzing with wine and boyish melancholy, Amadeo confessed he’d never experienced such a thing himself. Probably he never would.

What sort of thing, Riccardo asked him.

The pleasures of a first kiss. He’d been kissed before, of course. Rough and unwanted things stolen from his lips. And Master kissed him, yes. But that was a rich and heedy experience, charged with all the fear and arousal that came with doing such a thing with someone much older and more experienced than him. Amadeo had never known the innocence of a kiss with one his own age, one he’d chosen all by himself. He had no such sweet and romantic memories to carry through his life.

The tide was coming in as the sun set. The water rose toward their feet. If Riccardo stretched out his toes he could have dipped his expensive leather slippers straight into the sea.

You could kiss me if you like, Riccardo said. I’m not so much older than you. A year, perhaps. 

Amadeo looked at him. At his dark hair curling around his ears, his cheeks flushed ruddy and red from the wine and the heat of the day. Sometimes when Master painted the god Mars he came out looking rather like Riccardo, with his proud nose and shell pink lips.

Are you certain you’d want to kiss a boy like me, Amadeo asked and brought the bottle of wine to his mouth. Cheap stuff, the kind that burned the throat as it went down and left his chest on fire. Are you really sure, Riccardo?

Riccardo laughed. Of course. Amadeo was the handsomest boy in all of Venice, everyone knew that. Anyone would be lucky to kiss him.

Alright then.

Amadeo screwed up his courage. Never before had he been nervous to kiss anyone but there he was, heart fluttering in his chest. He licked his lips. Angled his head carefully and leaned in, waiting for Riccardo to meet him halfway.

Their mouths met. The bottle of wine slipped from his fingers and sank to the bottom of the sea.

The feeling of it was so sweet Amadeo forgot to breathe. It was a perfectly chaste thing. Riccardo didn’t even part his lips. Didn’t demand anything more than what Amadeo had to give and that was perhaps the most thrilling thing about it. That the warm press of someone’s mouth against his could be enough to steal his breath away and set his heart beating as rapid and desperate as the hummingbird’s wings. 

The water lapped at the pillars supporting the docks. Somewhere a gondolier called out for passengers. Amadeo broke away and then, changing his mind, darted back in for another quick taste of the wine on his best friend’s lips.

Riccardo laughed and stood. Sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, as if to savor the taste of Amadeo on his skin, and held out a hand. Come. Master will be home soon and we should not be late.

The road before Armand was black and slick as the Venetian canals at night. Daniel was silent at his side.

[newstfionline]

Thursday, November 9, 2023

October obliterated temperature records, virtually guaranteeing 2023 will be hottest year on record (AP) This October was the hottest on record globally, 1.7 degrees Celsius (3.1 degrees Fahrenheit) warmer than the pre-industrial average for the month—and the fifth straight month with such a mark in what will now almost certainly be the warmest year ever recorded. October was a whopping 0.4 degrees Celsius (0.7 degrees Fahrenheit) warmer than the previous record for the month in 2019, surprising even Samantha Burgess, deputy director of the Copernicus Climate Change Service, the European climate agency. “The amount that we’re smashing records by is shocking,” Burgess said. After the cumulative warming of these past several months, it’s virtually guaranteed that 2023 will be the hottest year on record, according to Copernicus.

U.S. service members’ data is easy and cheap to purchase online, study finds (NBC News) Duke University published a study on Monday about how easy and affordable it is to obtain personal information about active-duty U.S. service members—and the answer is “very.” Researchers bought nearly 50,000 service members’ records for a little over $10,000 throughout the course of the study. In fact, researchers say they purchased everything from names, phone numbers, and addresses to names of service members’ children, marital status, net worth, and credit ratings for as little as 12 cents per person. The study has shed light on a concern that not properly regulating data brokers has, essentially, led to a national security risk.

Panama’s deadly protests (Washington Post) On the surface, the protests that have shaken Panama the past two weeks are about a government contract that allows a Canadian company to expand its copper mining operations here. But what’s at stake, all sides say, is a much larger question: What kind of country is this Central American isthmus going to be—one that preserves its natural riches or develops them? And if the answer is development, another question: Should a country that owes its existence to U.S. exploitation—Theodore Roosevelt broke it off from Colombia in 1903 so the United States could finish and control the Panama Canal—continue in 2023 to surrender its natural advantages to foreign investors? Two more protesters were killed on Tuesday, police said, bringing the total during the demonstrations to at least four.

Portugal’s prime minister resigns as his government is involved in a corruption investigation (AP) Portuguese Prime Minister António Costa resigned Tuesday after his government was involved in a widespread corruption probe, sending a shock wave through the normally tranquil politics of the European Union member. The 62-year-old Costa, Portugal’s Socialist leader since 2015, asserted his innocence but said in a nationally televised address that “in these circumstances, obviously, I have presented my resignation to the president of the republic.” The announcement came hours after police arrested his chief of staff while raiding several public buildings and other properties as part of the probe.

In Switzerland, Most People Rent for Life (NYT) In any other country, Philip Skiba, a well-paid analyst working in the finance industry, might not hesitate to buy a home. But in the town where he lives, on the outskirts of Zurich, even the ugly houses, as he describes them, go for millions. Last year, a simple, beige stucco home in his neighborhood went up for sale. The price: 7.5 million Swiss francs, or about $8.3 million. Buying a single-family home anywhere near Zurich is not just a luxury. “It’s beyond luxury,” Mr. Skiba said. “Two kids, a house, a garden, two cars—I don’t know anybody who has that.” Switzerland’s nine million residents are some of the wealthiest people on the planet—and they are mostly renters. The average price for a studio apartment in Zurich is $1.1 million. On a square-foot basis, Zurich is about 80 percent more expensive than Paris. Switzerland offers the world a glimpse of a post-ownership society. Around 36 percent of the Swiss own their homes or apartments, the lowest rate in the West and well below the 70 percent average in the European Union, and the 67 percent in the United States. In the United States and many other countries, homeownership is generally considered a rite of passage. In Switzerland, where the terrain is 70 percent mountains and expensive real estate on limited buildable land has been the reality for generations, a lifetime of renting is not considered a personal failure or a shortcoming of the system.

What’s Up With Ukraine? (Politico/Guardian) While all eyes have been on Gaza, the war in Ukraine has heated up. Over the weekend, the two sides traded strikes, trying to eke out victories as winter threatens to slow down larger military operations. Mykola Oleshchuk, commander of the Ukrainian Air Forces, claimed that his country had destroyed a Russian Kalibr missile carrier docked at a port in Russian-held Crimea on Saturday. He hinted that Ukraine had used French SCALP cruise missiles in the attack. Russia confirmed in a statement that the carrier had been damaged, but it’s unclear if it was fully destroyed. In response, Russia attacked the Odesa region on Sunday, causing damage to an art museum and port infrastructure with a combination of suicide drones and missiles. On the diplomatic front, a Ukrainian deputy prime minister promised that the country would complete the reforms necessary for it to join the European Union within two years.

Jailed Iranian Nobel laureate begins hunger strike (BBC) Jailed Iranian human right activist Narges Mohammadi has begun a hunger strike, a month after she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, her family says. The 51-year-old is protesting against Iran’s denial of medical care to her and other inmates and its mandatory hijab law, according to a statement. She needs treatment for heart and lung conditions but a prosecutor is blocking her transfer to hospital, it says. Last week, her family said that was because she refused to cover her hair. The chairwoman of the Norwegian Nobel Committee—which awarded Ms Mohammadi the peace prize for “her fight against the oppression of women in Iran”—said it was deeply concerned. “The requirement that female inmates must wear a hijab in order to be hospitalised is inhumane and morally unacceptable.”

Under Scrutiny Over Gaza, Israel Points to Civilian Toll of U.S. Wars (NYT) Falluja. Mosul. Hiroshima. Facing global criticism over a bloody military campaign in Gaza that has killed thousands of civilians, Israeli officials have turned to history in their defense. And the names of several infamous sites of death and destruction have been on their lips. In public statements and private diplomatic conversations, the officials have cited past Western military actions in urban areas dating from World War II to the post-9/11 wars against terrorism. Their goal is to help justify a campaign against Hamas that is claiming thousands of Palestinian lives. In those earlier conflicts, innocent civilians paid the price for the defeat of enemies. In Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as many as 200,000 civilians perished after the United States dropped atomic bombs to force Japan’s surrender. In Iraq, hundreds of civilians were killed in Falluja as U.S. forces fought Iraqi insurgents, and thousands died in Mosul in Iraqi and American battles against the Islamic State. Israel insists that it is trying to limit civilian casualties in a war against a terrorist enemy, which began when Hamas killed 1,400 people on Oct. 7 in southern Israel, most of them civilians. Human rights advocates and many governments in Europe and the Middle East scoff at that. They accuse Israel of committing war crimes in the weeks of airstrikes that have leveled entire city blocks in Gaza, destroying schools, mosques and other seemingly nonmilitary targets.

Netanyahu faces rising anger from within Israel (CBS News) While Israel’s government continues to wage its war against Hamas, public support for Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu is in freefall. According to a recent poll by an Israeli news station, 76% of respondents say that Netanyahu should resign. The main cause of this backlash is his government’s failure to preemptively stop the October 7 attacks by Hamas. Officials from both the U.S. and Egypt claim that Egypt had warned Israel of the attacks before they happened, but the country ignored the warning. Israel has said that those claims are “absolutely false.” The opposition to Netanyahu is nothing new, though. Prior to the October 7 attacks, he was already facing massive political backlash for his attempts to erode the power of Israel’s Supreme Court.

Jordan’s Queen Rania says being pro-Palestinian does not equal being ‘antisemitic’ (CNN) Queen Rania Al Abdullah of Jordan has called for a ceasefire in Israel’s war against Hamas, saying that supporting the protection of Palestinian lives does not equal being antisemitic or pro-terrorism. “Let me be very, very clear. Being pro-Palestinian is not being antisemitic, being pro-Palestinian does not mean you’re pro-Hamas or pro-terrorism,” Rania told CNN’s Becky Anderson on Sunday. “What we’ve seen in recent years is the charge of antisemitism being weaponized in order to silence any criticism of Israel,” she said. “I want to absolutely and wholeheartedly condemn antisemitism and Islamophobia…but I also want to remind everyone that Israel does not represent all the Jewish people around the world. Israel is a state and it alone is responsible for its own crimes.”

Why There’s No End in Sight For the Israel-Hamas War (Slate) One month has passed since the Israel-Hamas war began, and no end seems to be in sight. There are three reasons why. First, both sides have maximalist goals: Hamas, to wipe the state of Israel off the map; Israel, to destroy Hamas as a political force that rules Gaza and as a military force that can threaten Israel ever again. Neither goal is achievable. Israel isn’t going anywhere, and even if the Israeli army kills every Hamas commander, others will rise to take their place. Second, neither side’s leaders are inclined to compromise. Israelis view Hamas as an existential threat. Its Oct. 7 attack killed 1,400 people—more Jews killed in one day than at any time since the Holocaust. Hamas’ commanders, having achieved what they see as a glorious success, which has roused global support for Palestinians on a scale never before seen, may see the conflict as the last chance to strike a big blow. Third, only outside pressure can moderate the two combatants’ goals, much less stop the fighting, but there are limits on what outsiders can—or want to—do. The United States, which is fast becoming Israel’s only powerful ally, has held back Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his unity wartime Cabinet to some degree, but just some. Meanwhile, the neighboring Arab nations make grand declarations of support for Palestinians, but they aren’t doing very much to help them, and never have. Egypt has blockaded Gaza’s southern border as fervently, and for as long, as Israel has blockaded from the north. Its leaders have no interest in hosting Gazan refugees from Israel’s bombing. Neither do the rulers of Saudi Arabia, Lebanon, Jordan, or the others.

Chaos as Optus outage disconnects half of Australia (Reuters) For millions of Australians who could not pay for goods, book rides, get medical care or even make phone calls, a nine-hour near-total service blackout from the company which provides 40% of the country's internet became a lesson in the risks of a society that has moved almost entirely online. In the three years to 2022, Australian cash transactions halved to 16% as pandemic restrictions sped up a longer-term trend toward so-called contactless payments, according to the Reserve Bank of Australia. One-quarter of the country's doctor appointments are online or by phone, government data shows. Optus gave no explanation for the outage except to say it was investigating it. Most of its services were restored by the afternoon. Until then, even taking a walk became more difficult, at least for people who needed directions. "I'm looking for a bank, and when you can't go onto your phone and Google pretty much you are lost," said Angela Ican, a security officer in Sydney's central business district.

[bobmccullochny]

History

October 1, 1908 - Henry Ford's Model T, a "universal car" designed for the masses, went on sale for the first time.

October 1, 1938 - Hitler's troops occupied the Sudetenland portion of Czechoslovakia. In an effort to avoid war, the leaders of Britain and France had agreed to cede the German-speaking area to Hitler, who later broke the agreement and occupied all of Czechoslovakia.

October 1, 1946 - Twelve Nazi leaders were sentenced to death at the International War Crimes Tribunal in Nuremberg, Germany.

October 1, 1949 - The People's Republic of China was founded with Mao Zedong as Chairman.

October 1, 1979 - After 70 years of American control, the Panama Canal Zone was formally handed over to Panama.

Birthday - Virtuoso pianist Vladimir Horowitz (1904-1989) was born in Berdichev, Russia. He made his American debut in 1928 with the New York Philharmonic and became a U.S. citizen in 1944. In 1986, after a self-imposed absence of 60 years, he performed a concert in his native Russia.

[beardedmrbean]

The Italian city of Venice is expected to approve the trial of a €5 (£4.30; $5.35) fee for daily visitors, in a bid to control tourism.

All visitors over the age of 14 will have to pay the charge and book their entry to the city in advance.

City council member for tourism Simone Venturini says the trial will run during peak tourist periods next year.

"Venice is among the most visited European cities... [and so] suffers the most from excess tourism," he said.

Over-tourism is widely recognised as an urgent issue for Venice.

The city is just 7.6 sq km (2.7 sq miles) in size, but it hosted almost 13 million tourists in 2019, according to the Italian national statistics institute. Numbers of visitors are expected to exceed pre-pandemic levels in the coming years.

"The objective is to invite daily tourists to choose [off-peak] days," Mr Venturini said. Tourists who stay overnight in the city will be exempt.

"We want to test [the fee] and, if needed, improve it. We cannot discuss for [an]other 40 years what's best to do."

Earlier this year Unesco said the city should be added to a list of world heritage sites in danger, as the impact of climate change and mass tourism threaten to cause irreversible changes to it.

In 2021, large cruise ships were banned from entering the historic centre of Venice via the Giudecca canal after a ship crashed into a harbour. Critics had also argued that the ships were causing pollution and eroding the foundations of the city, which suffers from regular flooding.

It is not clear, however, if the plan to introduce a daily charge will deter tourists.

Karina, from Germany, said she would have no problem paying the fee. "We are on holiday, €5 is not too much."

But other visitors agree something should be done.

"It's definitely crowded," said Cal, a student from Ireland. "We went to the main square and we were planning on going to St Marks, but the line was too long.

"But I suppose €5 is quite a lot to walk around for a day."

More and more residents in Venice are choosing to leave, as tourists threaten to overwhelm the historic island city.

Valentini Rizzi, a PhD student at Iuav University, has lived in Venice for five years. She struggled to find a place to live, but eventually found a landlord willing to give a long contract to a student. Others, though, have not been so lucky.

"I know students who had to leave their accommodation in May or June, because their landlord wanted to rent the house to tourists during summer, and they could go back in October. That was their deal," she said.

Citizen associations Ocio and Venissa have launched studies to monitor the number of beds for tourists and the number of beds for residents in the city.

According to the most recent update, while there are 49,693 beds for tourists, there are 49,308 for residents - meaning that beds for tourists exceed beds for residents.

Maria Fiano, a teacher who runs Ocio, said she was surprised by what the data revealed after her organisation began its study in April.

"In only five months, the number of beds for tourists increased by 1,000 units," she explained.

She said many former government buildings like the Chamber of Commerce have now been converted into hotels.

"It's a dramatic situation, because it marks the transformation from a city to a non-city, populated by temporary visitors."

Ms Fiano believes the way to tackle the issue is to limit rental accommodation for tourists. She is not convinced the daily fee will work.

"I think the measure by the town hall is smoke and mirrors," she said.

[oftatteredwings]

⸻  JOE KEERY. HE + HIM / have you ever     heard of  HEAVY by linkin park, well,     it describes ALEXANDER ‘XANDER’ TAYLOR to a tee! the 31 year old, and SALES ASSISTANT AT FORBIDDEN PLANET was spotted browsing     through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know     them? would you say  HE is  more skittish or more CONSCIENTIOUS instead?     anyway, they remind me of ink stained fingertips, constant bedhead, black square framed glasses, a wall of classic dvds and way too many throw cushions, maybe you’ll bump into     them soon! 

time in notting hill ; 12 years.

tw: anxiety

ABOUT.

Name: Alexander George Taylor Nicknames: Xander, Alex Age: Thirty-one Date of birth: 12th May 1992 Birth place: Banbury, Oxford, UK Occupation: Sales assistant at Forbidden Planet Romantic/sexual orientation: Biromantic/demisexual

Born out in Banbury in Oxfordshire, Xander’s upbringing was pretty uneventful and quiet. He enjoyed his childhood and had what most would consider an easy time of it.

At ten, however, he was diagnosed with ADHD.

It didn’t change much, but it made him suddenly realise that he was classed as different. His parents continued to tell him that he wasn’t, yet Xander found himself super aware of it.

Once things were a little more under control in his tween years, he developed a passion for drawing, distracting himself from the anxiety in the back of his mind by creating a gaggle of crazy characters —- characters that are still with him to this day.

Most of his school years were spent this way, along with hanging around by the local canal, finding himself fascinated by the boats and the lives of those who lived there. He made it a goal to eventually do the same, even though he knew it was slightly ridiculous. 

His next port of call was King’s College London to undertake Film Studies. That was where his obsession with movies really started.

The move was something he found difficult and shortly after starting university he ended up attending CBT sessions and having several visits with a doctor. The suddenly change had caused his ADHD to spiral and the anxiety he’d been attempting to ignore for years was suddenly at the forefront. It didn’t matter that he was in one of the top universities in the country, those feelings of complete hopelessness could take over entirely.

During that period of his life, he struggled to make friends, to find any true connections with anybody.

It wasn’t until he was done with university and trying to find his way in the world again that things changed... quite dramatically, too.

He found a place with a couple of friends and picked up a job at Forbidden Planet on Shaftsbury Avenue ( somewhere he’s been ever since ). Despite being in the city for years, it wasn’t until then he truly felt at home. Finding out who he really was took time.

Xander would walk the tourist spots at night, take in the lights, savour everything that theatreland had to offer.

Several years later he met Zibby and there was an instant connection; he’d never felt so comfortable around someone other than his parents.

It wasn’t surprising that eventually they ended up getting married. He’d honestly never though that would happen for him, but to finally meet the one person who truly understood him changed absolutely everything.

HEADCANONS.

Xander has dreams of becoming a comic book artist. He just needs to pluck up the courage to actually send his work out somewhere first. It doesn’t stop him from filling sketch book after sketch book with ideas though.

He’s a massive fan of classic movies and has an entire wall full of DVD's that he pretty much will watch every night. 

Following a weird childhood dream, he now owns a canal boat that’s moored up in Camden. It’s not quite living on a boat, but it’s a step in the right direction.

He’s pretty much t-total these days, finds it makes his symptoms worse, so it’s easier to simply avoid it. Special occasions are always fair game though.

Every now and again he’s been known to stream the Sims 4 on twitch.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

- spouse. ( zibby spiegel. ) - uni friends. - close friends. - d&d members. formed 8 years ago after he started working at fp. - old flatmates. from before he met zibby. - exes. they’re few and far between, not to mention short lived, but there’s been a couple.

[delicatefury]

To clarify that Wild Kratts/Animorphs comparison post:

In Wild Kratts, the animated versions of two zoologists, Chris and Martin Kratt, use advanced technological suits that transform into vaguely mechanical but otherwise fairly accurate animal costumes, (which also shrink and grow to scale). These costumes give the brothers access to all of the animal’s instincts and abilities. They use these powers to study and protect animals around the world.

Threats include: a robotics engineer who tries to mind control animals for labor or profit, a fashion designer (obvious), and a chef who likes to cook rare and endangered species. The heroes always win and the lessons learned are mostly about zoology, biology, ecology and being responsible stewards of the planet.

In Animorphs, five teenagers (later joined by a teenaged alien), use alien technology to copy animal DNA and transform into identical versions of said animals, with graphic depictions of bones, muscles, organs, and even skin changing. Their human mind is only nominally in control and they can and have been overwhelmed by animal instincts. They also have a strict two hour limit before they are trapped as the animal for the rest of their life, unable to transform again.

They use these animal forms to fight an invasion of parasitic alien slugs, who capture people, force their heads into a slime pool, and enter your body through the ear canal where they then flatten themselves over your brain, gaining access to your entire set of memories and personality so they can use your body as a puppet and perfectly mimic you to your friends and family. Due to several of the people in their lives already under said control, the teenagers are forced to fight entirely in secret.

They have lost. A lot. One kid was permanently trapped as a hawk. Another becomes increasingly sociopathic as she gets more and more traumatized. A third can never relax because the others made him the leader and his brother is one of the mind-controlled. A fourth has to wrestle with the fact that his mother didn’t abandon him or die, she’s the host of one of the top slugs and he can’t rescue her.

The alien good guys are a bunch of dicks, the Big Good is trapped in a game of inter dimensional chess with the Big Bad, where he has to routinely fuck up the kids’ lives for the greater good of the universe, with minimal rewards to the kids. (Hawk-boy regains the ability to transform, but his default body is now hawk, not human. One who dies gets comforted at the end and the knowledge they did well, at least. Another gets reassurance that the fight is necessary even if it personally destroys him and everyone he loves).

Literally the only thing these two have in common is the protagonists use animal transformation powers to fight bad guys.

So, technically correct but omg it’s so, so wrong.

[phawareglobal]

Kathy Downey - phaware® interview 492

Canadian patient, Kathy Downey, recounts her four-and-a-half-year journey with pulmonary hypertension (PH). Kathy shares the challenges of living with the condition, including reliance on high-flow oxygen and the emotional toll it has taken. Despite these obstacles, she has become a passionate advocate, educating others about PH and serving as an ambassador for PHA Canada. Throughout, Kathy highlights the crucial support from her husband and the difficulties caregivers face.

My name is Kathy Downey. I am from Calgary, Alberta. I have been a PH patient for four and a half years, and it's been a fun ride. When I first started feeling that something was wrong, I was in San Diego. I was there on a medical conference. We were at a nice little Italian restaurant and we had to climb over all those canals that San Diego is famous for. Everybody was pulling away from me. I thought, well, I didn't drink that much, I didn't eat that much, so what's the problem? I am so out of breath. So, I spent most of that conference just trying to fake it till I make it, because even though I'm with all these doctors, they're all forensic pathologists, so I don't need their help yet. I thought, okay, Kathy, when you get home, you are going on a diet. You are going to exercise until you get this fat ass in control, and there ergo, your breathing will be better. We went back home. I talked to my family doctor. Of course, she was on board with the losing weight and all that. As time progressed, things progressed even more. I got to the point I was no longer working for the medical team. I was working for the faculty of nursing at the University of Calgary. I was trying to walk from building to building as part of my position. I would be taking my phone with me, not to call an emergency, but to be able to catch my breath, and hopefully nobody would notice. One of the worst times was when we had construction going on in the little area where our buildings were, so we had to walk outside in minus thirty-something degree weather, in Celsius. The wind was blowing and it was so cold. I couldn't catch my breath for love nor money. I thought, well, I'm just going to lay down here and die. I'm done. Of course, being a woman, we also have other issues that might be a problem. I was of the age of perimenopausal. I was bleeding a lot, so the tiredness and the short of breath could be attributed to that. Finally, when I was able to find a gynecologist that would actually do surgery for me, I thought, oh, I'm going to get this out of my body and I'm going to be a-okay, I'm going to be back to the land of the living. But it didn't help. So, I went to the ER. Not multiple times, I tried not to go, but when you're not breathing and you think, well, I'm going to go to the ER and they're finally going to figure it out. But I would get doctors saying, "Yeah, you've got something, but I don't know what it is." Or before I had my hysterectomy, one doctor said, "You can't buck the system by coming into emergency and hope that we're going to pull your uterus out of your body." He didn't even attribute any of my concerns of, “I wasn't caring about this, I was caring about my breathing.” I went back to San Diego the month of February 2020. I still was having troubles. I got onto Santa Monica Beach. I got halfway across the beach and I thought, well, here we go again. I'm going to just sit down in the sand, at least it's warmer, and I'm going to die here. It kind of put a damper on that trip. I mean, anybody who's been to San Diego and seen the zoo and the hills in that zoo, let's just say I did a lot of sitting on benches while my daughter and my husband went and did all the other stuff. When I got back, I started having pains in my arms. I couldn't figure out what's that from? Is that because I flew? It's a three-hour plane ride. I got in there, I got a ER doc that actually listened. He finally did all sorts of tests on me. Meanwhile, (my husband) Don had to go back to San Diego. He was staying with our friend who's a forensic pathologist. I was writing, ask Evan, our friend, what should I be asking this ER doc, because I have his attention? Evan says, "See if you can get a copy of your medical records." I got medical records, took pictures and sent them to Don and Evan. He says, "Yeah, ask them why you have pulmonary hypertension." He's a doctor, it's great that he knows a little bit about this stuff, but I'm saying, "No Evan, it's not pulmonary. It's cardiology, because my blood pressure is bad," and everything like that. While I was waiting for Evan and Don to write me back, I was looking through my medical records and down in the corner, in 2017, and this is 2020, it says, “pulmonary hypertension?” Nobody had gone any further in the speculation that I may have had pulmonary hypertension three years prior to when I finally got diagnosed. The short end of the rest of the story is that within a week I was back to see my respirologist, who was a great person of, "Lose the weight and you'll feel better." All of a sudden, he was eating his words and he had me in the PH clinic. Within a week, I was a patient of Dr. Jason Weatherald. I just went through the system really fast. Unfortunately, by the time I had my right heart catheterization, he came in and said, "You have this. You should be in the hospital, but you can't stay in the hospital, because the world is shutting down this evening for Covid." We went back home and it's like, okay, now I've got to deal with this pulmonary hypertension thing. Don't Google it. Covid, what is this Covid? Covid wasn't even on my radar, because I was so busy working with what's going on with me, and oh, I think I see a glimmer of hope that somebody knows what's actually wrong with me. It was hard for the first few months of dealing with not being able to ask the questions that I wanted to ask, and trying to navigate both of the huge issues that were in my life at the time. But I am very grateful to PHA Canada. I've become an ambassador. The Facebook page, the Canadian PHriends Facebook page is a wonderful place to go, because you're with friends. It's private. We did a lot virtually for two or three years, which was also nice to be able to have that camaraderie. About a week after I got diagnosed, I was going back for an assessment and I said to Dr. Weatherald, "I am still finding it really hard to breathe.” I already was put on, I think, two oral medications by that time. He took me for a little walk around the office and he said, "Yeah, you are quite low." He gave me a list of oxygen providers in our city. I went home and I picked one. I phoned them and they came in, and their assessment had me on eight liters per minute already. I have been on relatively high flow since the very beginning. I just celebrated my four and a half year anniversary. I am now currently at 22 liters per minute, because my condition is steadily getting worse. The responsibility of oxygen, is knowing or being able to estimate, how long are you going to be out? How many cylinders of oxygen do you need? What will you do if you get into a snare in the traffic and you're at a standstill for… 20 minutes, could even be detrimental. All these things are going through your mind as you're going out. You're not able to totally relax. In the early days, I was able to go out and have coffee with my friends. I used to drive. I used to go to my appointments by myself. Then, as the oxygen started mounting and mounting and mounting, I found that I would get dizzy. It was a lot lugging the tank in and out of the car. Trying to do that again in -20, -40 degree weather was not fun. My husband ended up taking up that duty and he's been great. But, the one time I had to do it of late, my son and I were going to the appointment and I'm so used to Don preparing everything for me, that we took what we thought would be enough. But then, we got unsure of where the appointment was, a little lost. Then, by the time I got to the appointment, I was already half done with all the oxygen that I brought. When I was on eight, it would be scary, but I knew I could get home even if I ran out of oxygen. At 15 plus, there's no chance. I've gotten to the point now that if I'm without oxygen for even three minutes, I think I'm going to blank out. I always prided myself, they always ask in a clinic situation, "Have you ever fainted?" I say, "No, I'm not a fainter. It must take a lot to make me faint." Well, I found out five minutes without oxygen can be that level that makes me pass out. I've been blessed with the greatest caretaker in the world, and many people in the Calgary PH community know us as the couple, the powerhouse couple. Not because we'd wanted it to be, it just happened that way. I don't know how I could do it on my own, all this, with the appointments, the hospital stays, the oxygen and everything. I have needed Don along the way, mental support, emotional support. Caregivers get a bum rush in many ways that they are not supported by our government. They are only supported if they had a job and had to leave it, and can go on unemployment benefits. But when your husband, or partner, or caregiver has to start looking after you and they're self-employed, and no longer can do their job, there's diddly squat for them. Most people on PH, for me anyway, I was too far gone by the time I was diagnosed, to be able to ever work again. You feel that emotional tug of, I want you to go and work and I want me to go to work, but I want you home in case something happens. So my hat's off to the single people who have to do this by themselves and juggle everything, because he contacts my disability for me, because sometimes they just talk above me. I don't know if it's the disease. I never felt so dumb until I got this disease. The funny thing, I guess, is when I used to have to go for blood work, because I'm on such high flow and during Covid, he couldn't come with me with the extra oxygen. He would sit out in the car and if I had to wait anytime, because even though I had an appointment, I'm still waiting an hour. I would text him and say, oh, I need oxygen. He would come in and assure everybody that he was only there for a second or two. Then, I had to go in during the winter months. I said, "Let's just go in the morning when they first open up, because then it's done and we can get on with our day." They open up at 06:30 in the morning. I'm sitting in the car where it's warm, and Don's standing in the lineup with everybody else with his toque, and his mitts, and everything. This is the sort of stuff that he does for me. Now he does all the cooking and house cleaning. I'm so grateful for him. But I'm also sad for him that he's had to do this. When I was diagnosed, before that, I always wanted to be an authority on something. We'd all like to, not necessarily die the way Matthew Perry died, but he had remembrances and accolades and all that. I don't think I'm going to get that, but I wanted to be an authority on something. When I got my disease, I said, I am going to be an authority on this. I am going to learn everything I can about this. We did that. We studied, we talked to people, we read reputable articles and all that sort of stuff. My main thing was to educate. First, it was to educate family doctors, because they're the ones that see us first and they don't have a clue. It's not their fault, because they are a general doctor. They can't know everything. Even specialists don't know everything either. Throughout the last four years, I make it a point to introduce myself to newbies on the Facebook page. I host a monthly meetup that's virtual across Canada. If somebody's in the hospital, I'm going to write to them and say, "Hey, what are you doing? Everything going well?" Blah, blah blah. Then, somebody said, "Are you interested in becoming an ambassador?" I thought, oh, I don't know if I can do that. I looked at Don and I said, "Do you want to do it?" He said, "Yes, let's do it," because then we have another way of getting the education out. So, we became ambassadors two years ago. Then, we were invited to be on the CRAVE panel, which talked about patient involvement in trials of new drugs and procedures. So, we're being sought out, which is really nice. I think I'm close to being that authority in something. So, if anything else, when I'm gone, somebody can say, "Oh, that Kathy, she knew everything." I am Kathy Downey, and I am aware that I am rare.

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