#he's so down bad he can teach a course on plate tectonics. damn- let her breathe! 😭

[currymanganese]

What was Carmy gonna do

if Syd decided to eat the meal he brought her, sit and watch? 🥴

[gffa]

Star Wars - Dooku: Jedi Lost by Cavan Scot There’s a fascinating thing going on with Dooku: Jedi Lost that’s not remarked on directly, but is surprisingly consistently shown--that half-trained Force users are legitimately dangerous to themselves and others more than we might think, that exposure to the dark side of the Force (whether from within themselves or from an external source) can be disastrous if they don’t have the experience to control themselves. --> It starts when Dooku feels a tug through the Force, to find his biological sister Jenza and they tour through the Serenno Assembly Hall together, when he’s drawn to one of the sculptures, the connection he makes with it tears through his mind, the Tirra’Taka growling and he can’t look away from it, doesn’t even seem to hear Jenza when she calls for him not to touch it. But he does and the entire Assembly Hall collapses on them, trapping them underneath the rubble.  Whatever was calling to him through the Force, he wasn’t trained enough yet to deal with it and he and Jenza are both badly hurt and need to be rescued.  It tore through his head and made him scream in pain, not from the collapsing hall, but having that thing in his mind. --> Later, Dooku and Sifo-Dyas sneak into the Bogan Collection in the Jedi Temple, because they’re curious (and Lene Kostana tempted them into it, by leaving a few pages of a Sith bestiary out for them) and Dooku is drawn to a particular object, he’s fascinated by it.  Another roar starts up in his head and he sees the Tirra’Taka again, this time not just in his head, but in front of him. In panic, he flings outward with the Force, shattering every cabinet in the room and knocking Sifo-Dyas into a wall of artifacts hard enough that his arm is broken. --> After that, Dooku is convinced that Lene Kostana is actually a Sith herself and goes to confront her.  She dances around the subject, throwing out deliberate mild barbs and he can feel the dark side roiling off her.  So he rushes at her, lightsaber drawn and she continues teasing him, testing him, taunting him a little. Then his attacks turns serious, he gets swept up in the furious rush of it, and she says, okay, that’s enough, let’s calm down.  But he can’t stop, not until Yoda’s forced to intervene, and when things calm down, Dooku realizes the darkness he felt wasn’t in her, it was in him.  He'd been so turned around by that anger and darkness, so frenzied by that darkness, that he couldn’t tell what was real in those moments. --> Awhile later, after Dooku attends his biological mother’s funeral on Serenno, it basically all goes pear-shaped and he’s deeply upset by it and Jenza’s rejection of him at the time.  Because of this instability, when he and Lene and Sifo-Dyas continue their mission, he kills an entire group of smugglers in a rage, so deeply affected by the dark side on the planet that even Lene worries that he’s going to turn his blade on her, too.  Dooku, relating this in the holo-entry says, "Perhaps I would have, blinded by emotions I could barely control, emotions she had stirred by bringing me to Asusto.” --> Then they’re then trapped in a special moss that that bombards them with mental images of war and fighting and the return of the Sith, all of this done so a weird cult can use them to generate visions of the future.  This torture caused Dooku to lash out with Force lightning to kill them, which further slid him down a dark path.  Because the Jedi Council would not approve of Lene exposing the Padawans to the dark side, she insists that they keep this all a secret and instead of dealing with it properly, she teaches them an ancient ritual that uses soaked bindings to help infuse them with the light side. --> Once Sifo-Dyas is Knighted, Lene continues to work with him because his visions are so severe that he still needs help, the burden of them so great that it’s caused him to develop a stutter.  Still, Lene keeps taking him out to help her look for Sith artifacts that are out there in the galaxy that she wants to hunt down, because she’s convinced the artifacts are the key to telling if the Sith have returned or not. Ultimately, the missions that Lene was taking him on, the visions that she was encouraging behind the backs of the Council (whom she hid them from) and the missions he was in the middle of cause him to have a vision so strong that he writhes on the ground and his sanity fractures, damaging him even further beyond repair, it seems. All of these together, in just the one book, paint an incredibly clear picture of how the dark side affects Force-sensitives, how it takes so much discipline, an entire lifetime of it, to be able to handle it.  That if users aren’t properly trained and take incredible care, they can end up hurting themselves and others, sometimes in ways that can’t be fixed. The Force is vast and mysterious and brilliant and wonderful and amazing and connection, but it’s also unfathomable and endless and dangerous if you push too far or get drawn into something you don’t have a lifetime of training to handle. This is why a Jedi needs the most serious of minds to commit to this--because the Force can and will wreck you if you’re not incredibly careful.  It thoroughly wrecks Sifo-Dyas in this book.  It sinks its claws into Dooku, who cannot move beyond it and we all know his fate. This is why the Jedi are so damned careful about the dark side--not that you can’t show darker emotions, because they did that all the time, but that you cannot just let them run wild in you--because we are given an entire series of events in this book that show us exactly how much damage the dark side can do and it’s really bad.  It doesn’t mean that every single one who uses the dark side, who acts out of anger, will automatically be driven down that path, the Jedi would never have kept Anakin Skywalker around if that that were the case, because he acted out of anger a lot.  And he was told to learn to control himself better, because it’s about disciplining yourself to turn away from the dark, as George Lucas says about how the Force works.  The Jedi know that it’s part of everyone (they teach it to their children in the creche, as Qui-Gon says).  The Jedi knew that of course it was possible to come back from the dark side, that’s why they help Quinlan and Prosset. But it does mean that the Jedi are absolutely right that the dark side is dangerous and, once it starts getting its hooks in you, it’s something you have to watch out for always.  That it’s a lifelong challenge not to go down that road, to discipline yourself away from it. Not just because that’s a good lesson for all of us, according to the narrative themes of Star Wars, but because Dooku: Jedi Lost shows us multiple instances of how the danger level of that lack of control SKYROCKETS in Force-users.  It causes visions to appear before them.  It makes them doubt their psychic senses.  They can’t tell if it’s the other person’s anger or their own.  Those feelings linger with them and swoop around their heads until they’re lashing out because of the psychic empathic overload, sometimes killing people in that rage that’s shrieking in their heads.  Dooku is frequently in screaming pain from the dark side invading him, because that’s what the dark side does. TL;DR:  THE DARK SIDE IS REALLY DANGEROUS AND WILL WRECK YOU IF YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.  HALF-TRAINED FORCE USERS WHO DO NOT HAVE THE LEVEL OF MASTERY OVER THEMSELVES ARE SUPER SUSCEPTIBLE TO THIS AND CAN GET REALLY, REALLY HURT.  AND DO GET REALLY HURT. (Quotes from Dooku: Jedi Lost for context under the Keep Reading!)

Dooku and Jenza in the Serenno Assembly Hall:

     JENZA: (EMBARRASSED) We should probably get back. We’re not even supposed to be in here. (BEAT) Dooku?      DOOKU: (NARRATION) A carving had caught my attention—an immense beast, larger than any malosaur, crawling up toward the domed ceiling. The creature’s crested head was thrown back, jaw stretched wide, roaring at the stars that were painted across the apex. Spines ridged its powerful back, wings spread wide as if ready to take flight.      And then there were its eyes…eyes, though fashioned in stone, that burned with an intensity that was all too familiar…      DOOKU: What is that?      JENZA: The Tirra’Taka? Just another legend. “The dragon that holds the world together…”      DOOKU: It’s beautiful.      DOOKU: (NARRATION) I couldn’t look away, walking toward the sculpture as if in a trance. It looked so alive, so vibrant, as if any minute it could spring from the wall to crash through the columns that held the domed roof in place.      I could feel the creature’s heart beating in my own chest, its roar echoing at the back of my mind…      We also hear the roar of the Tirra’Taka. It’s distorted, low, rising in volume beneath the following exchange.      JENZA: Dooku, what are you doing? Don’t—don’t touch it, okay? It’s supposed to be bad luck.      DOOKU: So beautiful.     The ground shakes, dust falling from above.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I barely even noticed the ground shifting beneath our feet, flakes of paint falling from the ceiling high above…     JENZA: What was that?     DOOKU: (WHISPER) Tirra’Taka…     JENZA: Dooku—don’t!     DOOKU: (NARRATION) My fingers brushed the stone…and the world was torn apart…     A groundquake hits, shaking the foundations of the assembly hall.     JENZA: What did you do?     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I snapped from my reverie, cracks snaking across the polished marble before us.     DOOKU: Me? Nothing? What’s happening?     Another rumble, stronger this time.     JENZA: It’s a groundquake.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) But it wasn’t the scrape of tectonic plates that caused me to clasp my head in pain, but an impossible bellow slicing through my mind as easily as plasma carves through flesh…     The beast roars in his head.     DOOKU: (SCREAMS IN PAIN)     JENZA: Dooku!     DOOKU: So loud.     Another roar. More rumbles.     DOOKU: I can’t—(SCREAM)     The full force of the groundquake hits, the walls cracking.     JENZA:We need to get outside!     Masonry tumbles from the domed ceiling, crashing to the ground nearby. All the time, the monster bellows in Dooku’s head.     DOOKU:(PAINED) Make it stop!     JENZA: Dooku! Please. We need to move before the roof comes down! Dooku!     The assembly hall collapses on them.

Dooku and Sifo-Dyas in the Bogan Collection:

    DOOKU: Hey. Look at this.     SIFO-DYAS: Seriously. That’s what you want to look at? There’s all these…scrolls and weapons and whatever that creepy mask thing is, and you want to look at a lump of old metal?     DOOKU: There’s something about it…something I’ve felt before.     SIFO-DYAS: Doo. Look at this. I think it’s a parang. We start to hear a noise inside Dooku’s mind, a growl like he heard in the assembly hall on Serenno. Low. Ominous.     DOOKU: (WINCES)     SIFO-DYAS: Dooku?     DOOKU: Can’t you hear it?     SIFO-DYAS: Hear what?     DOOKU: The beast below.     SIFO-DYAS: Okay. Very funny. Drop the act. This place is spooky enough as it is.     The growl intensifies.     DOOKU: It’s coming.     SIFO-DYAS: What?     DOOKU: Coming for us. Coming for me.     SIFO-DYAS: Okay, now you’re freaking me out. Let’s look at something else, shall we?     The growl becomes a roar.     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) And then it was in front of me, Jenza, fangs bared, wings outstretched. The same creature you showed me in the Assembly Hall. The Tirra’Taka. I can’t explain how but I could see it, feel its breath against my skin, its spines bristling, ready to attack, ready to tear us apart.     DOOKU: (SCARED) No.     SIFO-DYAS: Doo, calm down.     DOOKU: Stay back!     SIFO-DYAS: Dooku, there’s nothing there.     DOOKU: Can’t you see it? Why can’t you see it?     Sifo-Dyas goes to grab Dooku, as—in the young Jedi’s head—the monster prepares to attack.     DOOKU: (CRIES OUT IN FEAR)     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) I pushed out with the Force, every cabinet in the Archive shattering at once. Sifo-Dyas was thrown back, smashing into a wall as artifacts tumbled to the floor.     SIFO-DYAS: (GRUNTS)      Alarms blare.     SIFO-DYAS: (GROANS) Why did you do that?     DOOKU: It’s gone. The creature.     SIFO-DYAS: What creature?     DOOKU: You couldn’t see it?     SIFO-DYAS: I don’t know what you’re talking about. (WINCES)     Dooku scrambles up, running to his friend, glass crunching beneath his feet.     DOOKU: Are you all right?     SIFO-DYAS: (WHIMPERING) My arm. I can’t move it.     DOOKU: That doesn’t look good.

Dooku and Lene Kostana’s Confrontation:

    LENE: Why would I be testing you?     DOOKU: To see if we’re like you.     LENE: Like me? What about me?     DOOKU: I can…feel it inside you. Frustration. Anger.     LENE: Is that so?     We hear the roar of the Tirra’Taka in Dooku’s mind. Distant, but insistent all the same.     DOOKU: (WINCES)     LENE: Initiate?     DOOKU: I sense the dark side.     LENE: You do?     Another roar.     DOOKU: It must be stopped.     LENE: And you’re the one to do it?     DOOKU: Yes.     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) I launched myself at Kostana, my lightsaber slashing through the air only to be blocked…     LENE: Not bad. Tera Sinube said you showed promise.     They duel more, lightsabers crackling.

[.....]     DOOKU: I knew it. [STRIKE] You are a Sith.     LENE: There haven’t been Sith [STRIKE] for a thousand years.     DOOKU: They haven’t been discovered, you mean? [STRIKE]     LENE: Ha. I like you, Dooku. A good fighter. [STRIKE] Brave. Willing to go toe-to-toe with a [STRIKE] Dark Lord. Or should that be Dark Lady? [STRIKE] I never know.     DOOKU: [STRIKE] I won’t let you win.LENE:And what exactly will you do? Summon the beast you heard in the collection? [STRIKE] The beast you hear now?     DOOKU:(SUDDENLY UNSURE) I…I didn’t hear anything.     LENE:Are you sure? [STRIKE] You’ve locked it away. [STRIKE] But it’s still in there. In your memory. I can feel it.     DOOKU:Stop it. [STRIKE] You’re evil. [STRIKE] And I will stop you.     The fight intensifies, Dooku forcing Lene back against the railing as he strikes again, and again, and again.     YOUNG DOOKU: (HOLO-NARRATION) I don’t know what came over me. I’d always been so careful to keep my emotions in check, just as I’d been taught, but…I couldn’t control myself. I hacked at her time and time again, forcing her back to the edge of the balcony. All I could feel was her anger. Her rage…at least, I thought it was her. I couldn’t think, I could only act…and all the time, her convor flapped around our heads. Cawing. Screeching. Ready to claw out my eyes, anything to protect its mistress…     LENE: (DROPPING THE ACT AS SHE REALIZES HE’S LOSING CONTROL) Okay. That’s enough, Dooku.     DOOKU:No, it isn’t.     He’s becoming frenzied.     LENE:Dooku. Stop. [STRIKE] Stop! [STRIKE]     YODA:(FIRM) Stop.     Yoda’s sudden appearance stops the fight dead. [.....]     DOOKU: She admitted it herself…She was talking…about Darth…Darth Sakia…     YODA: Sakia? There was no such Sith.     DOOKU: How do you know? We can’t have known them all.     YODA: But know Kostana we can. Reach out with your feelings.     DOOKU: I did.     YODA:  No. Reached inside you did.     DOOKU:  What?     Lene extinguishes her lightsaber.     LENE:  Go ahead. I won’t resist. Tell me…have I been touched by the dark side, Initiate?     We focus on Dooku’s still-ragged breath for a beat and then…     DOOKU: I feel…I feel nothing.     YODA: Dooku. Your lightsaber.     DOOKU: I’m sorry. I…     He extinguishes his own blade.     DOOKU: I was so sure.

Lene & Dooku on Asusto:

    DOOKU:  (UNSURE) Okay. Eyes closed, it is.     LENE:  Now reach out with your emotions. But this time, open your mind to everything, not just the light. Remember how you felt on Mantero.     DOOKU:  What?     LENE: The anger you felt. The betrayal. Remember how your sister looked at you. Remember her fear. [.....]     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I burst through the foliage, my lightsaber flashing. The Abyssin drew their pulse-blasters, but I was too fast for them, slicing through first barrels and then limbs. But then…I couldn’t stop. I don’t know what it was, my shame over what had happened on Mantero or the dark side amplifying my fury as kyber focuses plasma. By the time my companions reached the clearing, the Abyssin were dead. I’ve read that the lumbering aliens can regenerate limbs, but there was no coming back from these injuries.     Cautiously, Lene ignited her own lightsaber, as if wary of me…     LENE:  Dooku. It’s over. They’re done.     DOOKU:  No. Their evil remains.     DOOKU:  (NARRATION)I turned, slicing down the piled crates, cleaving the nerve disruptors in two.     We hear Dooku breathe hard for a few moments before extinguishing his lightsaber.     SIFO-DYAS: You feeling better now?     DOOKU: No. Not while scum like this still exists. This is what we should be doing, Sifo. Not meditating, safe within Temple walls. We should be out here, restoring balance by whatever means possible.     LENE: (WARNING) Dooku.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) It was as though she feared I would turn my ire upon her. Perhaps I would have, blinded by emotions I could barely control, emotions she had stirred by bringing me to Asusto. But I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to. None of us could. The moss Sifo-Dyas had first noticed had been slowly creeping into the glade, smothering the Abyssin’s corpses, rolling over our boots… [....]     DOOKU: (NARRATION)I could barely hear Lene screaming at me to stop, couldn’t even hear the squelch of the moss as it traveled up my legs and over my back, drawing me into a cocoon.My head was ablaze with voices, ghosts of the past and echoes of the future.     The ghostly voices assault him again, repeating, overlapping, becoming a cacophony.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (JENZA) Brother.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (YODA) Padawan.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (ARATH) Idiot.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (ANYA) Son.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (GORA) Freak.     GHOSTLY VOICE: (SAVAGE) Master.     DOOKU: (STRAINED) Stop them!     LENE: (PAINED) Padawans…this is an illusion…the dark side…     DOOKU: You can hear them, too?     SIFO-DYAS: The Force is with me. The Force is with me. (SIFO-DYAS REPEATS THIS OVER AND OVER AS A MANTRA, ADDING TO THE CACOPHONY.)     DOOKU: Lene. I can’t block them out. Help me.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (JENZA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (YODA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (ARATH) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (ANYA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (GORA) Help him.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (SIDIOUS) Help yourself.     DOOKU: Lene! I can’t block them out.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) But Lene was gone, consumed by the moss. Sifo-Dyas, too, was swallowed up, the moss pouring into his eyes, into his mouth. My lightsaber was sucked from my hands, the lichen numbing my skin. I thrashed and twisted, trying to free myself, but there was no escape…     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (JENZA) No escape.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (ARATH) No escape.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (YODA) Escape.     OVERLAPPING GHOSTLY VOICE: (GORA) No escape.     DOOKU: (CHOKING) Help me. Somebody, please. Help—(GAGS AS HE’S SMOTHERED)     The moss squelches.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t even breathe. I was completely cocooned, consciousness slipping away… [....]     Dooku’s scream dies in his throat like a man waking from a nightmare. He breathes hard as he finds himself back in the cavern. All is quiet. The chanting has stopped. Only a few of the torches are still burning, the others having gone out.Force lightning crackles over the rocks.     LENE: (COMING AROUND) Dooku? How did we get down?     DOOKU: (SHAKEN) I don’t know.     She pushes herself up.     LENE: (DISGUSTED) What’s that smell?     DOOKU: (NOT SHOCKED) The Presagers.     LENE: They’re…They’ve been burned to a crisp. But how…?     Dooku turns.     DOOKU: (SCARED) Master…I…     LENE: Dooku. Your hands.     DOOKU: (NARRATION) I looked down at the indigo light crackling around my fingers… [....]     DOOKU: But…what are we going to tell Master Yoda?     LENE: Nothing.     DOOKU: But this isn’t like Mantero. The things we saw. (ASHAMED) The things we did.     LENE: Dooku, listen to me. Yoda already has doubts about my work. He tolerates what I do, but if he found out I exposed two Padawans to the dark side…     DOOKU: He’d shut you down.     LENE: In an instant. This has to be our secret. Do you understand?     DOOKU: It doesn’t feel right. He’s my Master.     LENE: And it pains me to ask you, Dooku. But the work is too important, to the Order, to the galaxy as a whole. You see that, don’t you? Especially now. You’ve seen the dark side. You know what it’s capable of.     DOOKU: What I’m capable of, you mean.     LENE: No. No, I don’t. The visions. (DROPS HER VOICE) The lightning. That wasn’t you. It was that place. But you’re stronger.     DOOKU:“The Force is strong.”     LENE:“The Force is strong.” Don’t worry. Please. The future you saw, whatever it was, won’t come to pass. I can guarantee it. You’re a good man, Dooku. A good man.

Sifo-Dyas’ exposure to all of this causes him terrible damage:

    BRAYLON: While I cannot get involved, I have a friend who doesn’t give a damn what the Council thinks of her.     Footsteps approach.      LENE: Hello, Dooku.     DOOKU: Lene. Sifo-Dyas.     When he speaks, we realize that Sifo-Dyas has developed a slight stutter.     SIFO-DYAS: Your shuttle awaits. [....]      RAMIL: Increase the voltage!     The shocks intensify, as does Dooku’s resolve.     DOOKU: I am Jedi! And I am not alone!     The action moves back down to the ground…     JENZA: (NARRATION) Below, on the ground, Dooku’s blade buzzed in my ear, while Sifo-Dyas writhed on the ground beside me, his mind aflame…     SIFO-DYAS: It is now. Coming into focus. The future.     And then, belowground, the Tirra’Taka howling.     JENZA: (NARRATION) And beneath our feet, Lene struggled to hold Dooku’s beast in place.     LENE:No. You must remain calm.     JENZA: (NARRATION) For that was exactly what it had become. One mind.     LENE:(HORRIFIED) No.     JENZA: (NARRATION)Two bodies.     LENE: Dooku! Don’t!     The Tirra’Taka roars, louder than ever. [....]     Deep below, the Tirra’Taka erupts into the air, bellowing.     JENZA: (NARRATION) The creature burst from the shattered ground, scaled wings blocking out the sun. Sifo-Dyas laughed as he saw it, his sanity fracturing forever, as the droids looked up in confusion. But I knew what it was, a legend made terrifying flesh. Our savior. I sprang up, barging into the droid that held Dooku’s lightsaber, knocking it back.     JENZA: (SHOUTING) Attack them! Now!     JENZA: (NARRATION) The refugees snatched up the weapons we had stolen from the fleeing Abyssin, blasting the droids before they could regroup.     We hear the sounds of battle, and the roar of the monster.     SECURITY DROID: Attack the creature! Attack the—     Force lightning swamps the droid before it can finish its sentence.     JENZA: Energy burst from the Tirra’Taka’s maw, washing over the security droids. The monster swept down, snatching the melting droids from the ground, crushing their bodies between its hooked talons like magella nuts.A figure clung to its serpentine tail, fingers curled around obsidian scales. She jumped when she saw Sifo-Dyas curled in a ball in the dirt.

[murder-cate-wrote]

Something I wrote for a friend. RusPrus, part of a larger, unspecified domestic au that I haven’t quite figured out myself. 

Enjoy.

Ivan rushed through the door. He tossed his bags haphazardly into their allotted corner, just past the entrance way. He heard the awkward rattle of an unsteady object nearly toppling over; it was the coat rack, which Ivan had flung his book-laden canvas and hand stitched satchel at. Ivan froze at the sound, staring in sheer horror as the treacherously tall and clumsy coat rack almost fell like an oak felled by a storm.

However, the rack did not fall, and settled back into place with one last rattle.

As soon as Ivan knew that the rack was out of danger, he released his breath and slumped over. He half wished his body would just let his legs go limp beneath him, the fall knocking him out cold. If he could've fallen exactly as the coat rack almost had, Ivan might be happy. But some primal message in the back of his brain stopped his legs from breaking down, and some other lurking voice laughed at him for this flaw.

Of course the first thing that Ivan did upon returning home would be almost making a big, ugly mess. Naturally.

There was nothing quiet about Ivan. Not the way that his feet dragged or stomped on the laminate wood floor, nor the way that he muttered under his breath and cursed many, many undeserving things on soft bits of air. Especially not the way that he finally got fed up with it all; trying to organize his thoughts and sort out what goes where.

What book did he need to look over, what questions that went along with the section? He didn't care. What project needed his attention, what piece was next in line? He didn't care. What about himself, what to eat, drink? Maybe a shower? Pajamas even?

Ivan didn't care.

He trundled into his small, though very well kept, bedroom. The door slammed behind him, and Ivan winced as he heard the walls tremble. He casually flopped down on the bed, dragging himself towards the middle, where a slight indent in the shape of his body indicated his favorite spot to rest. The bed groaned uncomfortably under his weight. The blankets had been well made before Ivan laid down and mussed them, and were rather stunned that someone was already in bed at this hour. It wasn't even quite dinner time; the sun still above the horizon, and yet someone occupied the bed. Either way, the thick, floral blankets had little say in the goings on of life. They silently accepted the staunch, unmoving occupation.

Ivan himself was surprised as well. This morning, he had left the room in utter disarray. Now, it was spotless. Of course it was, Gilbert couldn't stand a mess. And with a free day to do as he pleased, it seemed as if nothing pleased Gilbert more than simple chores and menial tasks that most people considered torturous.

Ivan had woken up early that morning, nerves shredded to bits at the thought of the day ahead. He had spent quite some time picking out what to wear, making a fiasco out of something so trivial. That little shirt and pants parade of his left various articles of clothing strewn about the room, Ivan much too nervous to worry about putting them away. It was as if he forgot about them until he was already gone from the house, unable to go back and put them away like he should have in the first place. It wasn't just that... Ivan remembered knocking a few things off of a shelf in his panic, some little picture frame or odd trophy, neither of which belonged to him. And, no, he hadn't bothered to pick either of those up, seeing as he was much too worried about himself to bother.

The memory summoned a rather hollow, dark feeling in his chest.

Ivan had made another mess the moment he had entered his apartment that evening. A clutter which Gilbert would come home to from whatever little escapade he was out on and gladly remedy. He would never mention it to Ivan, and probably wouldn't ever think about it again himself. Perhaps it was this quiet, peaceful acceptance that drew up a deep blame in Ivan. It was like the fault lines between the tectonic plates, slowly ripping Ivan apart.

He fell asleep, draped limp across the whole bed, flat on his stomach. It was a position comparable to one that an investigator might find the victim of a murder in.

~

Gilbert frowned, the edge of a snarl curled on the edge of his frustrated huff. He switched his truck into park, and slammed his hand on the steering wheel as if to prove to himself just how irritated he was. He snatched a box of pizza from the passenger's seat, then practically kicked open his door. He didn't really care for the truck that much- it was just an old red ford, with its fair share of dents and scratches- this physical abuse didn't even begin to make him feel guilty. He'd be getting rid of it soon anyhow. Maybe his brother would like it for his apprenticing shop, use it to teach the kids a few things.

Jumping down from the cabin of his truck, Gilbert slammed the door closed, relishing the clatter of metal slapping metal. It was chaotic and mindless and beautiful.

Unlike his mother, who had just spent the better half of an hour subjecting him to her own special mix of mental torture- a creative blend of his current shortcomings mixed with those of his past, all being communicated over the phone.

Yes, Gilbert had muttered. He remembered how he always forgot to do the dishes or take out the trash and yes, he was on top of that now, no need to fuss... and what was that? His grades? Hell, how had she even gotten ahold of those? Oh, yeah, Gilbert himself had sent her a short documentation via email, as his mother had requested when he first began attending college. A monthly report so that she could keep an eye on her little boy, and make sure that he was okay.

Like hell she did. She didn't give a damn, she didn't care! She was a control freak that exploited every single one of his flaws and never acknowledged any of his successes beyond a light pat on the back. She bitched and bitched and never thought one that perhaps some of Gilbert's issues were not with him, but with his mental affliction. Then again, Gilbert's mother didn't believe that ADHD existed anyhow, so why bother hoping that she might see it one day and get off his back?

Gilbert sneered, but quickly lost the glare in his eye as he caught sight of a moth fluttering around the dully glowing scone outside his apartment door. That was on the second floor, and Gilbert hadn't even reached the stairs yet. So that was one big fucking moth.

"Damn," Gilbert muttered, utterly amazed by the size of the moth. "Mothman's cousin must be trying to move in or something."

A mew to his right caught Gilbert's attention next, and he quickly looked down to face this new creature.

"Ah!" He cried in delight. "Mothman!"

Mothman, the amber eyed black cat, blinked lazily and meowed again. He was not looking at Gilbert, but at the pizza box he carried. Gilbert snorted. "Oh, don't even try and use me, cute face. It might work on softie, but not me. Besides," Gilbert squatted down, careful to hold the pizza out of Mothman's reach. "This is the good stuff, ya know? Not to brag, but it ain't Little Ceasar's. Cost me more than a couple pennies outta my own pocket, catch my drift?"

Mothman wound around Gilbert's legs, and all at once the tension melted off of his skin. His mother could go softly fuck herself for as much as he cared. Mothman was absolutely right, Gilbert thought as he stroked the cat with his free hand. There was no reason she should get up under his skin like that. Certainly no reason that she should make him so mad that he hurt someone else, aside from the truck that was used to the odd beating.

"Ah, fine." Gilbert laughed, giving Mothman one last, good cheek scratch. "I'll see if I can sneak out some for ya. For now, I gotta get up to the room. Ciao!" The last word, a farewell in an unfamiliar language, was spat out as cooly and stupidly as Gilbert could manage. He laughed at his own tomfoolery, while Mothman seemed to roll his stunning eyes.

Up the stairs Gilbert dashed, with his keys rattling in his pocket and the pizza expertly balanced on his hand. It was not long before he had reached his respective door, although he was rather disappointed to find that the moth he had spotted was long gone. Twisting the key in the lock, Gilbert shoved the door open with a quick yell. "Dinner is here!"

Upon receiving no reply, and observing the assorted books, folders, and sketchpads scattered on the table, a small, sad frown took over Gilbert's face.

"Bad day, huh?" He asked no one in particular.

He quickly found the bags that went with the various school supplies, and put them away as best as he could. The pizza had been set on a free spot on the table, which was clear after Gilbert had finished his small task. It was long forgotten by then, as was any hunger that nagged at Gilbert. His mother, surely, would've lectured him about eating consistent meals. But her son didn't hear her voice echoing in his head that evening.

There was nothing loud about the way that Gilbert moved. Not the way that his feet silently padded across the rug, nor the way that small concerns fluttered in and out of his thoughts. Especially not the way that he entered the shadowy bedroom, kneeling down beside it and resting his chin on the edge of the mattress.

Evening had long since claimed the sky, along with soft, unimposing clouds. The light from the half shuttered window was grey and calm. Gilbert could've fallen asleep then and there. He had, several times before in similar situations. But Ivan wasn't sleeping this time. Gilbert could tell by how the other man curled into himself, and by the anxiety that poured off his skin like a river of blood from an unseen wound.

Now, all Gilbert had left to do was be patient. Ordinarily, for Gilbert, this was like asking him to hike Mount Everest in a single day.

But for Ivan? God, he'd sit still for a week. He'd meditate and make peace with his mother and any number of ungodly things that Ivan would never ask of him. Gilbert grinned, lopsided. Ivan would never ask anything like that, even though he knew that Gilbert would act upon the whim of his word. How kind of him, honestly.

No, Ivan only asked for simple things.

Usually, forgiveness.

"Sorry." Ivan croaked. His voice was strained, absolutely pitiful. Usually, it had such a clear, golden tone, which floated up to a soprano's pitch. Gilbert admired it for its irregular beauty. Now it nearly made him want to cry.

But he didn't let the grey light and soft apology ruin him. He smiled wider, creeping up a bit further onto the bed, half on-half off. With his chin perched upon his hand, Gilbert said, "what for?"

Ivan shallowly shrugged. "The mess. 'm sorry."

"Nah," Gilbert swallowed hard before going on. "That wasn't a big deal. You know that. I tell you every time you supposedly 'make a mess'. It was my day off, and I should be thanking you, rather than you coughing up this... what should we call it this time?"

"Sob story?" Ivan offered.

"Yeah, this sob story... Like I was saying, I should be thanking you. I would've gone insane today with nothing really to do, so you helped me. Honest. You kept me sane, Ivan. As usual. You don't gotta be so glum about it for my sake, okay? You're good, you're good..."

Here, Gilbert paused. His mouth was half open as his tongue tried to come up with more words to fill the empty space of the swiftly darkening room. His eyes caught sight of the dim portraits the clung to the walls of the room. Pictures that he had taken. Mostly from his trip to Europe. The Coliseum in Rome, the Brandenburg Gates in Germany, a random bridge in France, a few sheep in the U.K....

"Hey." Gilbert whispered, a new thought having come to mind. He was proud of it, in fact, seeing as it was one that contained a slim memory which he expected himself to have forgotten. Yet, there it was.

Ivan grunted, permitting him to continue.

"How was that presentation today, eh?" Gilbert raised up, excited to hear. The thought that perhaps this was what caused Ivan's off mood never occurred to him. Not until Ivan groaned and rolled over. By then, it was too late for Gilbert to take his words back and take a more sensitive approach.

"Oh, God." Ivan nearly sounded like he was in tears right then and there. He sat up, and looked far more miserable than before. Gilbert couldn't tell for the dim light, but he hoped that tears hadn't already stained his cheeks. "It was so awful, Gil. So, so bad..."

"Hey, hey...!" Gilbert nearly jumped on the bed, trying to reverse his imperceptive mistake. Now even with Ivan, he searched the other's face once again for the stains left by tears... if Ivan had cried, that meant he had also...

Relief washed over Gilbert, a wave of ease relaxing his muscles. Searching his face, searching his arms, Ivan hadn't gone and done something stupid, he hadn't hurt himself.

"You couldn't have done bad." Gilbert whispered, and took Ivan's hands in his own. Ivan turned his face away and hid behind the shadow of his hair. "You prepared for so long. I know you did well."

"No." Ivan protested. "No, I didn't. I stuttered and I froze up and I forgot half of what I was supposed to say. I forgot my own story, Gil, the story I've been working on for most of the semester."

"Yeah," Gilbert leaned over, trying to find Ivan's face and meet him with another smile. "And I forget my own first name sometimes. Trust me, Ivan, I've been watching you work. You did awesome, I know it."

"You just said you don't know your own first name. How could you know anything about how I did, huh?" Ivan frowned, turning ever so slightly only to see Gilbert's wide grin. He nearly lost the grip he had on his glower.

"I said I forgot my name sometimes, not that I didn't know it." Gilbert corrected, bringing one of Ivan's limp hands up to his lips. He planted a quick kiss on Ivan's palm, which surely tickled the skin. Ivan jerked his hand back in surprise, and even in the low light, Gilbert caught sight of the dull red color on Ivan's cheeks.

"One thing I'll never forget, though, is that you do good work, Ivan. Who gives a damn if you get nervous sometimes? It happens. Your professor wasn't looking for an intensive speech on controversial topics, she was just looking to see the progress you made on your story board over the semester. I know for a fact that she's impressed. You put your soul into that thing, it's seriously impressive. You're really, really good at putting your ideas and images on paper, seriously. You don't even need to speak! Your art has a voice of its own. Just you wait until you go in tomorrow. I bet she'll say something to you about how fantastic it was." Gilbert finished, hesitantly awaiting Ivan's reaction.

He saw no real change in expression, only a small twinkle in Ivan's eyes. "I guess she will," Ivan murmured, and Gilbert felt elation spread through his veins. Had Gilbert really, finally convinced Ivan that he was as amazing as he knew he was?

"She will because you'll slip her a twenty, or make some shady deal. Scoundrel." Ivan added, and Gilbert tilted his head back and belted out in a cackle.

"Me?" Gilbert asked, recovering from his fit. His expression mimicked absolute astonishment. "Why, I'd never!"

Ivan just shook his head. Though a soft smile lit up his lips, Gilbert wasn't quite satisfied with that temporary change. It would be gone much too soon.

He laughed softly once more, then cleared his throat. Now, his voice had a far more serious, almost stern tone, that caught Ivan's attention. "Listen, Ivan, please don't be so tough on yourself. I bet no one even noticed that you stuttered or forgot anything. When I used to play for concerts, I thought every time I messed up that everyone in the audience knew. Well, the thing is, those suckers didn't know jack. And still don't. That's just the game. I know what's going on and what's supposed to happen, and they, the audience, can only assume that what happens is what's supposed to happen. You gotta own that sometimes, you know? You gotta own your errors, even if they haunt you when you sleep. Sometimes, it's better to pretend like you have ugly little children... but you still love them, yeah? Even though they're ugly...."

Ivan stared for a moment, then broke down in his own laughing fit. He allowed himself to fall backwards, landing on his back with a soft 'oof.'

"Where do you come up with this stuff, Gil?" He asked quietly, rubbing a hand across his face.

Gilbert crawled over to meet Ivan's eyes. His own were half lidded, as if he were dreaming. And his smile had curled into more of a devious smirk, as if he knew that he had gotten his way and won the battle. "Well, my mother always told me that my mouth was like a hallway, directly connected to my ass."

Ivan snorted. "Yeah, yeah, I know all about her and what she used to say... what do you think, though?"

Gilbert tapped his chin, feigning a period of silent thought. In reality, he had his answer within a moment. "It's the combination of our unique brilliance, that's what I think."

"Maybe you're just crazy, and I really haven't been keeping you sane at all." Ivan offered, shutting his eyes.

"Maybe." Gilbert creeped a bit closer, sitting right up against Ivan's side. "Maybe I don't care."

With that, Gilbert leaned down and connected their lips in a kiss that felt like the gentlest car crash to ever take human lives. He was perhaps a bit rough and silly, but then Ivan smiled against him and this was too enticing not to treat with some amount of seriousness. Gilbert felt himself pulled by a strong arm flush to Ivan's chest, and brought his own hand up to wind his fingers through Ivan's silken hair. A warmth as sure as death shuddered through his body, but Gilbert didn't give a damn if it meant he was on the road to hell or otherwise. This, all of it, was well worth its weight in gold, and then some.

Ivan was the first to break away. He blinked a few times but didn't say a word. His eyes were as soft as his lips, calm and satiated. In and of itself, this was an expression of gratitude that simple words couldn't express.

Then, he hugged Gilbert tight, offering no hope of escape. Gilbert accepted this with a strained, amused wheeze, his face afire and tongue in awe of the Ivan's subtle taste. Settling down and tucking his head as best as he could beneath Ivan's chin, Gilbert continued to absently work the tangles out of Ivan's hair. Ivan hardly noticed the occasional tug; he was simply entranced by how delicate and sensitive Gilbert's touch was. It was a ritual, and Ivan was the fortunate victim.

"Hey." Gilbert whispered.

Ivan hummed, giving permission for Gilbert to go on.

"I just thought of something else I'll never forget. Never, ever. You ready for it?"

"What's that?"

"I'll never forget how much I love you."