#i do something rather than nothing and my life has dramatically changed since then. ive just gotten better and better.

[bulldagger-bait]

When it comes to hygiene tasks and self care with disability and chronic illness, its pretty much a constant case of: don't let perfect be the enemy of the good.

Basically: it's better to do something, than to do nothing at all.

TLDR: Just because you can't do something "properly" doesn't mean you shouldn't do it at all. Do it half-way. Do it shitty. Do it barely. Do it on a technicality. But do what you can. Just try, because doing something will help you.

If you don't have the energy to scrub your body with a sponge, just rub soap over your skin with your hands.

If you don't have the energy to wash your whole body with soap, just hit the places where sweat accumulates, or where you're smelliest.

If you don't have the energy to wash with soap AT ALL, just sitting in water is better than nothing. It will wash away dirt and oils.

If you can't bathe or shower at all, a warm wash cloth is your new best friend. If that's too much, then try bath wipes. They're a bit bigger than regular wet wipes, and a bit more heavy duty. They're designed to help keep bed ridden patients clean in hospitals.

If you don't have the energy to dry yourself after a bath or a shower, just put on a bathrobe and get into bed. If you don't have the energy to get dressed afterwards, just don't. It can wait until you can.

If you don't have energy to brush your teeth for two minutes, honestly, just a cursory scrub is better than not doing anything.

If you can't brush your teeth twice a day, brush in the evenings. It will help take away the build up of food from the day.

If you don't have the energy to brush AT ALL, honestly, just take a cloth and wipe the plaque off your teeth. Rinse with mouth wash after if you'd like. Something is always better than nothing.

If you can't floss twice a day. Try once. If that's too much, try a few times a week. If that's too much, try setting aside a day once a week as a goal. If you can't keep a schedule, do it when you're able to. Hell, I keep some floss next to my bed so that if I forget and don't have the energy to go get it, I can just reach over.

If you can't iron your clothes, don't bother. Wrinkles are fine. Wear jumpers over wrinkly t-shirts. No one will know, and honestly, most people won't even care. If it's really wrinkly and it's A Big Deal And It Needs To Be Ironed, here's my life hack. Step 1: take a spray bottle, and spritz the item of clothing (while you're wearing it is easiest) until it's lightly damp. Step 2: use a hair-dryer on the clothes until they're dry. It gets rid of creases like nobody's business, it's easier than lugging out the iron and ironing board, and you get to have nice toasty warm clothes afterwards.

If you can't fold your clothes, try just hanging them up. It's less commitment. It's quicker to do. Granted, you need to have the space in order to do this, but it is also good at helping you downsize, and lets you visualise exactly what you have.

If you can't put your clothes away, invest in a couple of laundry baskets, and then just keep your clean clothes in the baskets. You can then separate washed clothes into underwear, pants, and shirts baskets. You can just leave them like that. I'm giving you permission to never fold your laundry again if you can't. Just leave it unfolded. Who's going to care? Something is better than nothing. If you can, try to put those baskets into your closet so that you can keep the clutter out of sight, and give yourself a more restful environment.

If you can't separate your clothing out into different categories and wash them "properly" (whites, warm tones, cool tones, darks, delicates / switching between hot & cold washes / paying attention to laundry instructions on the label) then just don't worry about it. If you cold wash your clothes, colours won't bleed. Maybe gradually over the course of dozens of washes there'll be some changes in hue, but it's really not as high stakes as the One Red Sock In The Whites Turns Them Pink trope makes it out to be.

I've pretty much come to the point in my life where if a piece of clothing can't survive the washer and dryer, then it's just not meant to be. I colour separate my clothes, and if I have the energy/remember I'll take my bras and jumpers out of the washing machine to drip dry. But otherwise, I leave it to the universe.

If you can't separate out your recycling, then don't. If you have a large amount of rubbish you need to get rid of but the idea of separating it out properly is stopping you from doing so, then just don't worry about it. I know it's not ideal, but if you have garbage in your room/house and you need to get rid of it, please just get rid of it. Don't let the problem get bigger and harder to deal with. Don't let "doing something properly" get in the way of keeping your living spaces clean. Please. Give yourself understanding.

If you can't wash your dishes, get paper plates. Obviously, it's not ideal, but it is better that you eat food than skipping meals. It is better that you have a clean kitchen, rather than having dishes piling up and making it harder to look after yourself.

If you can't prepare meals for yourself keep making the tasks easier and easier. If you can't do recipes, then simplify. Use pasta sauce from the jar instead of making it. Eat canned soup. Buy food you can just stick in the oven. If you eat fish fingers and microwave veggies every night, it's better than not eating anything at all. It's better than having to fork out money on take-out. If you need ready-made meals, then get them. If you're literally just eating a raw cauliflower for dinner; 1) I see you, 2) me too, sis, 3) something is better than nothing.

These are the basic things you need to do every day to function as a person. They are your activities of daily living. Brushing your teeth. Bathing or showering. Using the bathroom. Getting dressed. Eating. Drinking. Sleeping. Keeping your environment clean. You don't need to do these things perfectly, but they need to happen in order for you to have a decent quality of life.

And it breaks my heart, because I know that so many disabled people can't do these things every day. I'm not saying this to guilt or judge, I'm saying that these are basic needs; you deserve these things. These things bring dignity. If a disabled person is unable to do these things, it diminishes their quality of life. It robs them of dignity.

If you need help to do these things, Its okay to ask for help. It's okay to need help. But if you can't get that help and you have to do these things by yourself -- or you just plain want to be independent and do it without help-- then don't hold yourself to standards you can't meet.

Don't let perfect be the enemy of the good. Doing something is always better than doing nothing. Even if it's not perfect. Even if it's not done well. Do what you can.

[khodorkovskaya]

22.12.22

im so lost about what to do with B. so far my tactic has been not messaging him first and, if he messages me, i reply. but im not gonna initiate any kind of interaction myself. it's just weird how we've been texting back and forth every day for a month and he insisted on seeing me and then poof radio silence. im confused but i do admit that i have been feeling a lot better ever since he stopped messaging me.

i saw my bestie before she left to the airport and we talked about boys and gossiped and omg her ex left to live on a farm like that's so funny to me. and i brought up B and she said i should message him on the 1st of january like "new year, new me. let's leave our relationship in 2022 and start 2023 without old baggage". and idk, it did sound tempting at first bc i am a dramatic bitch and plus i think now id be able to write a better and more heartfelt letter than last time. but... what's the point? that's just gonna lead him on even more. id much rather just keep my distance and not interact with him unless there's a real necessity. sure, there's a lot to say about this whole situation and maybe it would be good for me to write this letter just for myself and my own self reflection, but is that really useful? it's just gonna make things worse and hurt B even more.

anyway, as ive said before, i haven't really had the time to unpack everything that's happened. i feel like i need to analyse our relationship/breakup to be able to move forward. bc it's been at the back of my mind for such a long time and i need my conscience to be fully clear to be able to move on. so yesterday before bed i thought about B and reread my old diary entries on here.

and it's just so... sad how bad our relationship was. i was unhappy for five long years and for what. there was not one moment with him when i felt content and satisfied. five long years of unhappiness and frustration. and even the few fun moments that we had together were always under the shadow of this inescapable doom. it's so tragic. it's so tragic how something you believed was a pillar of your existence and your reason to live and such an integral part of you life was just... a bad relationship. not like in an abusive sense or like he was a bad person. no. it was just a mediocre relationship between two incompatible individuals. and all those dreams and hopes and tears and frustrations were just... a bad relationship.

so many years it felt like it was my destiny. i believed that B was the only one for me, that the planets had aligned when we first met. that this was it, he was going to be there forever bc he was meant to be with me. that everything in our lives had synchronised in such a perfect way and the possibility of us not being together was non existent. i believed that if we hadn't met that one night at a club in january of 2017, it would've happened either way. we would've met another time, at another club or at a park or in another country or a different year. but we would've found each other regardless bc we were meant to be together. and this belief kept me going. it kept me hoping that i just have to wait a little bit and it will all be perfect one day bc it was supposed to. but in the end, it was just a bad relationship. nothing more, nothing less. there was no magic or destiny or synchronicity. we were just in love and then it didn't work out. and that's it.

and then i thought about B's proposition of getting back together and actively working on trying to make it work, now that we both realised that our relationship was a bad one. and i actually believe that he's capable of change, despite what everyone says. (whether i want to get back together with him is a different question. and for now the answer is a definite no. but im just saying that in theory i know that he can put a lot of effort into things and change.) and i thought about some happy moments that we had together. not like extraordinary moments, but just little things that i enjoyed and wish we could've done more.

i remembered that one time when we were chilling in bed together and he went on instagram that he never used back in the day. and we looked at funny pictures of alpacas together and it made me laugh a lot. this moment lasted for maybe like 10 minutes. but if i ask myself the question "what does a perfect relationship look like" i think it's full of moments like this. just goofing around, laughing together, chilling and not thinking about anything else. and we barely had any moments like this with B, that's why that memory of us looking at alpacas on instagram stands out to me so much. i thought about how, if we do get back together, we'd make sure to have many moments like this. just cuddling in bed together and laughing. and then we'd kiss through the laughter and id feel his smile on my lips and we'd have sex and feel warm and in love. i thought about this scenario and started to touch myself. but then i remembered that ive had this fantasy scenario for years but... it never happened. this basic bare minimum scenario of cuddling with your boyfriend and smiling and having sex while being a happy and carefree couple never happened. it never happened.

it made me cry so much bc how many of what i believed were happy relationship moments were ever real? was our "insane sexual chemistry" that he'd always bring up ever real? throughout the five years of our relationship i had never ever initiated sex bc i felt so awkward about it. and so many times i just wanted it to end. i reread the stuff i posted on here throughout the years and it's just "im insecure in the bedroom", "my bf wants sex but i don't" over and over and over again.

so what does that mean? we had that one sweet moment while looking at alpacas on instagram, we went one that one cute walk in summer of 2021 that i really loved, we had a great trip to sarajevo in 2019, that at the moment was overshadowed by him trying to start a business... and that's it. that's literally it. that's the complete list of all fulfilling moments of our 5 year relationship. and yet i believed that it was written in the stars and that he was oh so perfect for me. like what was this all for? it's so astronomically absurd! all this frustration and suffering and all this never-ending hope, like what the hell was that? like it's astonishing how unhappy i was and yet it lasted for so long.

anyway, this whole thing is bothering me so much. nothing is clear, im very confused. and i just want it to be over.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? II

A/N: Answers are finally coming, a bit! Freydis has some adjustments to make, but she’s beginning to adjust, and we’ll get to learn more about what exactly is going on here... Let’s find out, yeah? Skål!

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive... she may have to learn to trust him again.

Warnings: Hospital-like environments, mad science, injections, needles, bloodwork, human experimentation, etc. Old Norse in Italics!

Masterlist

--

The Room Where It Happens

Freydis woke in yet another room, this one almost a mix of the two she’d woken in thus far. The bed she was laid on was made of a strange material, with a papery sort of material separating her from the bed itself. It was dark in the room, but not as dark as the room with the comfortable bed- this was due to the window in this room, from which light came through. However, there were still all sorts of strange things in the room, some of which had strange sounds coming from them, much like the first room.

She noticed after a moment or two that there was a hard thing covering one of her fingers, and a tube ran up to her opposite arm, ending in something sharp- a needle, it looked like- that was inserted in the crook of her arm. Some sort of liquid was being dropped into the tube, and she wanted to jump at the sight, to pull the needle out of her arm. But, however much she wanted to, she felt… too tired to really do anything about it. A small groan left her, and she turned her head to look straight up at the ceiling.

There was a vague awareness in her that she should be panicking, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to- just as she couldn’t bring herself to pull out the needle. Everything felt slow, including her movements as simple as blinking her eyes. Instead of the cry for help she wanted to let out, she started to giggle.

This whole thing was absurd actually, wasn’t it? Perhaps she had survived Ivar’s attempt on her life, and was now in a very strange dream, waiting to wake and discover she still lived. Or maybe, maybe Ivar had never tried to kill her. Perhaps everything before the birth of their little Baldur was true, and she hadn’t even had him yet. Perhaps when she woke, her belly would be swollen with child, and she would have that child, and bear a perfect son that Ivar would be proud of.

All of this, it would pass as a very strange nightmare that one day she would tell him of. And the fear at seeing his chest fill once more with breath, it was all a product of this strange dream. When she woke, she would be delighted to see that all was well, and nothing had ever gone wrong.

The thought that she was being silly to be so afraid made her begin to laugh even harder, her eyes slipping shut. “You gods…” she began, grinning. “Loki, is this you behind this dream? It must be, I cannot think of any other tricksters in all Asgard who would do such a thing.”

When the door to the room opened, the woman in the strange coat, along with the man who she understood, stepped inside, Freydis laughed more. “And now you send these beings to… It cannot be to torment me, they say they are my friends,” she mused. “To tease me? I did not know I was of such interest to you.”

The two shared a concerned look as they saw her seemingly talking to herself. “Queen Freydis..?” the man prompted tentatively. “Are you alright? Who are you talking to?”

“Shhh,” she hushed, her eyes going dramatically wide. “I am praying to Loki. He must be the one behind all this, and I would like to wake now. I want to wake and be with my baby and with Ivar.”

The man blinked a few times, before turning to speak to the woman with him. They conversed for a few moments, in a language Freydís did not know, and she frowned deeply. “It is.. it is rude to speak secretly before your Queen,” she chastised. “I demand to know what you are saying. You must be talking about me, or you would let me hear you.”

The man swallowed. “My apologies, Queen Freydis. My colleague, Dr. Schmidt, doesn’t speak Old Norse. You don’t… you don’t remember that from a few hours ago?”

Freydis huffed slightly. “Of course I remember,” she said. “But I have determined this is only a dream, and as such, I think she should be able to speak Norwegian. It is stupid that she cannot.”

“You are the one who doesn’t speak Norwegian, I’m afraid,” he said. “You speak Old Norse. Norwegian is something of an evolved form of that language.”

Freydis made a sound that indicated her attention was lost. “Loki is being very creative in this trick, I see,” she said. “Oh well. It will soon be over.”

The man exchanged a few words with the woman, who Freydis now knew was called Dr. Schmidt, and then nodded. Dr. Schmidt came closer to her and began to mess with the bag fron which the liquid dropped into the tube, which flowed into her arm. More of the liquid began to drop down, becoming a more steady stream.

“You’re right, Your Highness,” the man said. “This will all be over soon.”

Freydis gave a little giggle, and nodded. “And I will tell my husband of the strange thing Loki did to me tonight,” she said, just before drifting back into unconsciousness.

Dr. Schmidt and her professor colleague shared a look. Then, once they were certain Freydis was completely unconscious, she changed out the liquid that she was administering to Freydis. This one was of a rather golden hue, and she only put so much into her. She took the time then to start an IV in Freydis’s hand, one that would stay until they no longer needed it.

Once all the liquid had drained into the Viking, Dr. Schmidt removed the IV in her arm, and called for some of the workers in the facility to return Freydis to her ‘room’. It was truthfully more of a cell, but they wouldn’t be calling it that to her. She didn’t need to realise she was a prisoner.

It was back in that room, with the most comfortable of the beds, that Freydis woke again. Her entire body ached from the inside out, as it she had a fever, the sort that rendered large warriors unable to leave their beds. She curled in on herself, shaking slightly under the blankets that had been laid over her.

Now that she’d recovered her mind, all of her wanted to cry out, to weep for whatever she was going through, for fear of the fact Ivar lived again. If he found out where she was, no doubt he would come and try to finish what he had begun. The very idea terrified her.

But, she could show these people no fear. So she swallowed thickly, and hardened herself to whatever horrors she had yet to face. The burning in her body didn’t ease, but she still tried to make herself become more used to it. She rolled onto her back, groaned a little with the effort under her fatigue. When she laid her hand up by her head, she finally noticed a slight stinging sensation.

Freydis moved her hand to look at it. There was a little tube protruding from it, twisted around and somehow held against her hand- bandaged, from the looks of it. She frowned a little, poking at it, and the door opened. It was the man once more.

“I wouldn’t poke at it,” he told her. “It’ll only make it hurt. Trust me, I’ve made that mistake plenty of times.”

Freydis narrowed her eyes. “Trust you?” she questioned. “You have given me no reason to trust you. Why should I?”

He chuckled a little, and grimaced. “Ah, I don’t suppose I have, have I?” he asked, almost sheepishly. “My name is Professor Andersen. I’ve been studying Old Scandinavian culture for most of my adult life- specialising in the early Middle Ages- so, the 500s through the 900s. This… includes the Golden Age of the Vikings. Your people.”

“You speak as if it is many years since this time,” she said. “Is it?”

“Yes…” he answered, grimacing. “It is currently the year 2021.” Freydis looked at him as if he was insane.

“What is in you that you speak such things?” she questioned him. “This cannot be. That would be over a thousand years after I lived in Kattegat.”

“Well… it has been,” he said. “You were found dead by the Sons of Ragnar after the Siege of Kattegat. No one really… knows how you died, but it’s assumed you must have died trying to defend the Kingdom, since you were entombed as a hero. Is that true?”

Freydis swallowed hard as she recalled her death, at the hands of the husband she had once loved more than anything, the monster she created. Telling this man what really happened could end up resulting in the same fate again. If she did anything to displease them, they could use his presence against her. No, she had to behave as though nothing had happened between them. Nothing like that.

“It is,” she lied. “And I would do it again.”

Professor Andersen nodded. “That’s why we found you entombed with your husband, then. Records put his death in the Battle of Edington, documented by a man called Athelstan.”

Freydis put on a hurt face, as if hearing how Ivar had died made her chest ache. It didn’t. In reality, she didn’t feel as though she cared overly much.

“I am glad to hear he died in battle,” she said. “That is what he had always wanted.”

Professor Andersen smiled. “And now, he lives, just as you. And we’re making you both far better. I think you’ll like what we have in store for you.”

“Do you?” Freydis questioned. She barely kept herself from saying he must not have been paying much attention, if that were true.

He nodded. “You both seem to have been quite amazing warriors, to have been buried how you were. Athelstan noted your sacrifice for Kattegat, and your husband’s leadership of its military, after the death of King Harald Finehair. Apparently, he also saved the people from turning against each other.”

She decided then that this ‘Athelstan’ must have been a fanatic of Ivar’s, to hail him as such a hero.

“It makes me proud to hear his accomplishments,” she lied yet again, and Professor Andersen grinned.

“Good,” he said. “Now tell me, how do you feel, hm? Are you doing alright?”

“I feel feverish,” she confessed. May as well try and get some assistance, if he was going to offer. “My body aches with it.”

He nodded, opening a notebook and writing in it. “That is to be expected,” he told her. “Unfortunately, it will need to run its course, to have the desired effect.”

Desired effect…?

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Oh, I mentioned that we were… making you better, yes? Enhancing you?”

Freydis nodded skeptically.

“We’ve already started this with you,” he answered. “We’re going to be administering a serum once a week to you, and later that week, checking your blood to be sure it’s taking to you as it should. If it has, we’ll continue, if not, we’ll need to analyse your blood, figure out why, and try again. You received your first dose of it today.”

Freydis looked at him as if he were mad. “How can you enhance me beyond how I have been formed by the gods?” she almost demanded.

“They didn’t give you the best way to defend yourself, to help others, did they?” he pointed out. “Otherwise, you’d have survived the Siege of Kattegat. So, we’re giving you that ability. After a few doses, you should have enough that you’ll be able to see the effect of it.”

“And that will be all?” she questioned hesitantly, which made him chuckle.

“Oh, of course not,” he said. “Then we’ll be able to learn from you, so we can improve the serum, and maybe one day use it to create a better military. Don’t worry, though. This isn’t without incentive. If you go along with this willingly, we’ll… have a special surprise for you. A good one, I promise.”

“And if I don’t?” she pressed.

Professor Andersen gave a small shrug. “Then there’ll be a bad surprise. I really do suggest you comply, Freydis. It’ll be better for everyone.”

Somehow, she got the feeling he meant Ivar.

—

Weeks and weeks passed, and Freydis learned quickly indeed not to try and resist anything these people wanted to do to her. She had begun to understand more of the language- especially as many of her hours were spent with Professor Andersen, being taught to speak in Norwegian. It was easy enough for her, since it was so similar to Old Norse. But she missed the way her mother tongue sounded on her lips.

“How are you feeling today, Freydis?”

The consequences of this were that she could now understand Dr. Schmidt, who currently had a needle in her arm, taking the blood from her. She swallowed, and shrugged.

“The same as always,” she answered. “I didn’t burn as much this week.”

Dr. Schmidt smiled at this and nodded, switching out the vial so she could take another sample. “That’s good,” she said. The woman had a strangely maternal way about her, and Freydis found that she didn’t dislike her the way she had when she’d first arrived.

Once she’d taken enough blood, she shook the vials up, and told Freydis she’d return shortly. It was the same every week.

The Viking woman rubbed at the bandage now wrapped around her arm, and sighed. This was the part where Dr. Schmidt always returned, told her they weren’t quite there, and had her returned to her room, where she’d wait on Professor Andersen. Her routine had grown rather boring, if not reliable.

When the doctor returned this time, she seemed far more pleased than she’s ever seemed yet. “I need you to follow me,” she said. “We’ve finally reached the point where there should be some real change.”

She waved for Freydis to follow her, as requested, and started toward a door Freydis had not yet been allowed through. Freydis frowned slightly, but got up and followed her.

Through the door was another one of what Freydis had learned was called an ‘observation room’, and then there was an empty room that it observed.

Well, mostly empty.

There were some blocks, boxes, and various things of the sort, all that looked rather soft. She didn’t know what their purpose was, and tilted her head slightly. “Go on in there please, Freydis,” Dr. Schmidt said. Freydis nodded and again did as told.

She stood silently in the room, waiting until she would be told what to do. After a few moments, she was given directions.

“Okay, can you focus on that pile of foam bricks for me?” Dr. Schmidt requested. Freydis turned to look at them, and focused. “Really focus on them, that’s right. Put as much focus into them as you can. Focus on their size, their build, how they look, how you think they’d feel… until you can actually feel them.”

“I cannot feel them,” Freydis said. “I’m not touching them.”

“I know,” Dr. Schmidt replied. “I want you to feel them without touching them.” Freydis frowned, but did the best she could to fulfill the request made of her. “If you need to, go ahead and put out your hands. See if that helps.”

Freydis nodded and did this. She let her hands flex a bit, trying to feel the bricks as instructed. Whether it was her imagination or not, her brows creased a little. Dr. Schmidt smiled and wrote something down. “Now lift them,” she was instructed. “Feel them, and without moving toward them, lift them.”

This only brought even more confusion to the woman, but she did all she could to do as she was asked. Something began to pour out of her fingers, something that looked much like a red smoke, and her heart jumped. Not letting herself stop, Freydis moved her hands, guided it almost instinctively, until the smoke surrounded the blocks.

She lifted her hands, and one by one, the blocks moved with them. The red smoke surrounded them, bent to do what she wanted, and she finally realised this is what Professor Andersen meant when he said she’d be enhanced. Somehow, they had given her abilities she could only imagine a god having. A god or…

Or a Völva.

These people had made her a Völva, from the looks of it. The bricks were floating in the air still at her command, and she blinked a few times. The blinking broke her concentration, and they fell.

“I- I lost my focus,” she said. “Let me try-”

“Oh, no, that was incredible, Freydis,” Dr. Schmidt interrupted. “I couldn’t be happier with your progress. Go on back to your room and rest, I’ll have something sent over early for you to snack on.”

Freydis nodded a little, still slightly dazed. She didn’t know what had just happened, but she got the feeling these people were messing with things and forces they couldn’t understand.

And giving a prisoner abilities like this… that was only going to backfire.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @punkrocknpearls

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[salt-warrior]

WHEN EARTH TURNS TO ASHES

Masterlist

Chapter Eleven: Little Miss Independent

"Stop beating yourself up, Crown." Thorne shoved in another bite of waffles, boysenberry jam staining his lips purple as he did so. "It's not your fault that you're the nosiest person on the planet and she hates herself. Get over it."

Kai rolled his eyes. Thorne was a great friend; he was always there for Kai no matter what. But he was the worst at giving sane advice or motivational speeches. "It just wasn't my business."

"You really should have gone into journalism," Thorne said, his words slurred by the food in his mouth. Kai looked down, his heart heavy at the comment.

When Kai had been young, he had wanted to do nothing more than write, and his mother had encouraged that. His father had even been fine with the whole idea, even if it meant that Kai would not go into the family business. All of it had changed when Kai's mother had died. Kai stopped writing—stopped doing most things he loved. It was too painful.

"Yeah," Kai muttered. "I should have."

"Anyways," Thorne waved his fork erratically through the air, nearly spraying Kai with blue jam. "You need to just rip the bandaid off. Show her that you care— more than you should if you ask me–" Kai glared. Thorne sighed. "She really needs someone on her side, even if she thinks she's little-miss-independent."

Kai looked down into his mug, completely empty except for small flakes of chocolate. It wasn't that Kai didn't want to talk to Cinder—quite the opposite, really. He just didn't want to scare her away. He would never be able to forgive himself.

"It's just, there's something dark about her. She's hiding something," Kai remarked.

"Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious. I don't think I ever would have figured that one out on my own." Thorne threw his arms around his head in exasperation, before ticking off fingers. "I mean, she freaks every time someone calls her by her given name, she had a sister that died while they were alone together and no one will say how it happened, and everyone she once knew hated her. I wonder what that girl has to hide."

"Okay, okay!" Kai drummed his fingers anxiously across the square table. "I'm only thinking out loud, no need to go ballistic."

Scraping chunky jam out of a plastic container, Thorne rubbed it lovingly across the last of his waffles. Kai watched, nose scrunched in disgust. Kai hated berries. They were just too sour, too mushy, and left the back of your tongue scratchy. They were gross.

Thorne smothered whipped cream on top of his creation, practically drooling all over it. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Did you learn anything from the Principal or that Chris girl?"

"Cress," Kai said quickly, his palms growing sweaty.

"What?" Thorne looked up, confusion scrawled across his fair features.

"Her name is Cress, not Chris." Kai clarified, his cheeks heating up as he babbled. "And your incredible timing stopped me from learning anything really important, so thanks for that."

An impish grin came across Thorne's face, and Kai knew what he was thinking. If ultra-red was a color, then ‘Kaito Crown's face when talking about pretty girls’ could have been the crayon for it. "Yes, she was cute, but not my type, so please don't ask."

"Ah," Thorne slapped a hand dramatically across his heart. "I would never suggest anything of the sort. I know how attached you are to your hot angel." Thorne quirked an eyebrow devilishly.

"Well, what were you going to ask, then?" Kai grumbled, turning his blazing face down. He hadn't much thought about Cress, considering that she had a mysterious past with the girl he was fighting for. He didn't know if Cress had been a positive or negative factor in Cinder's life, which therefore made her hard to look at in any other way than a source of information.

Thorne played around with his fork before answering, "Well, you must have found out something new. Even the tiniest bit of news. I mean, unless you're hiding it from me." Thorne grinned wickedly, and Kai cursed himself mentally. "You're a terrible liar, Crown."

"Okay, fine. I just feel guilty about the whole thing." Kai rubbed his palms against his sleepless eyes. "When I went to talk with Cress, she told me that Selene—Cinder—kept a bunch of secrets." Kai paused, gauging Thorne's face. He looked almost bored, which send a stab of agitation through Kai.

"And?" Thorne pressed on impatiently.

Kai sighed. "And she told me that Cinder lied about what happened to her mom. Even her records don't have the truth; I would know. The nurses told me that Sel– Cinder's mother was put into prison when she was only six, but apparently that's not true."

Thorne motioned impatiently for Kai to continue, but Kai shrugged his shoulders. Thorne huffed. "What actually happened to her mother?"

"Well, I would know if it weren't for your incredible timing." Kai leaned forward in his seat, glaring at Thorne.

"Hey! You told me to call the second the girl woke up. You can't blame me for a job well done," said Thorne defensively.

Kai threw his body back in his seat, feeling exhausted. He was used to getting a solid eight hours of sleep, but that had gone out the window ever since the accident. It was starting to wear on him. "I know, Thorne. And thank you for being there, it meant a lot."

"It better have." Thorne folded his arms across his chest defensively. "That girl of yours is not an angel."

A chuckle escaped Kai, earning a glare from Thorne. "She's a piece of work!"

"She's not easy," Kai admitted, thinking back on his only encounter with a conscious Cinder. She was different than anyone Kai had ever met, one moment rageful and fiery, and in the next small and pitiable. It was hard for Kai to feel anything but compassion for someone who had clearly suffered much. She had fought her whole life, never leaving her enough time to feel peace or love.

There was something so terribly sad about the fact that Cinder couldn't understand why Kai would save her. She was just a girl—not a woman, but a girl—and she needed at least one person on her side. If that one person was Kai, then he would be one damn good cheerleader.

"Why was she so mad at you in the first place? What did you say to her?" Kai asked, recalling the phone call and Cinder's brief acknowledgment to Thorne's visit. "She seems to hate you even more than me."

Thorne waved his hand as if swatting a fly. "Oh, you know. Some women just can't take no for an answer is all."

"Carswell, please tell me you did not flirt with her the second she woke up. She nearly burned to death!" Kai exclaimed, imagining all of the terrible puns and flirtatious jokes Thorne could have made.

"Oh, don't get your panties in a wad." Thorne rolled his eyes. "I was perfectly pleasant as always."

"No wonder she hates me so much," Kai grumbled to himself. "I unleashed you on her, and now she's probably frightened to death! She's only nineteen, Thorne."

"And I'm only twenty-two." Thorne countered.

Kai put his head in his hands, his face flushing with embarrassment and... was that jealousy? How could Kai be jealous that Thorne had tormented a girl with his flirtations, or was it the fact that Thorne was able to flirt with her?

Thorne seemed to read Kai's face like a book. He leaned forward teasingly, his voice sing-songy. "Ooh, is Kaito jealous? But of what, may I wonder?" Thorne rested his cheek in his hand, looking like a gossiping school-girl. Kai had hardly ever wanted to hit him more.

"Not jealous." Kai got out through his teeth. "I just don't want you messing with her. She's been through enough."

"Sure, sure." Thorne tossed the words around teasingly. "Anyway, she's not my type. I've always had a thing for gingers. Those devil's wenches. I was thinking about asking out the other nurse."

Kai ignored this, knowing as well as anything that Thorne preferred blondes. Thorne had only ever been out with one redhead, and that date had not been his best.

"I just don't know what to do," Kai whined, getting back on track. Whenever Thorne was involved in a conversation things always got out of hand.

"Go talk to her. She's had a night to think things through and realize that she was rude and irrational. Appeal to your gentler side; women like that."

Kai wrinkled his nose, deciding that was enough advice for one day. It was true that Cinder had been given plenty of time to think things over and decide how she felt. It was unfair of Kai to shove so much information on her all at once. He would be slower, more patient and gentle this time.

"Thanks, Thorne," Kai said, standing from his seat and sliding his body into his coat.

"Anything for my brotha," Thorne winked, throwing out a fist.

Kai bumped Thorne's fist with his own, twisting it and then spinning his fingers before he walked away and out of the café.

***

"How are you doing today, Cinder?" A nurse with vibrant blue braids practically skipped into the room, carrying a tray with milk, chocolate pudding and something that resembled oatmeal. Cinder tried not to wrinkle her nose. At least this nurse had called her by her preferred name.

The first nurse that Cinder had met had been curvy and dark-haired. She had called Cinder 'Selene' so many times that Cinder had yelled for her to stop. The second nurse hadn't spoken at all to Cinder, except to ask her the rudimentary questions, though that may have been the night-shift speaking.

"Fine." Cinder commented, not in the mood for conversation. There was a TV going on in the background, but Cinder had only glanced at it for a few seconds before growing bored. She would much rather be reading a book. Those at least didn't make her eyes burn and head throb.

The room was plainly furnished, with the bed in the center of the room, the said TV across from the bed, and a small plastic chair beside the bed for visitors.

"I brought your breakfast, and your medicine. Now that you're awake, we want to start you on oral medication and ween you off your IV so you can go home." The nurse placed the tray on the over-bed table. "I'm Iko, by the way."

Cinder ignore the last part. "Wasn't I in a medically induced coma? Why didn't they just keep me awake and give me my medication like a normal person?" Cinder questioned, her words tinged with agitation.

"It's part of the treatment," Iko said, her voice cool but firm. She was not a woman to be messed with. "People heal better while sleeping, and this particular treatment can be tricky."

Iko moved around the bed to shift Cinder into an upright position. She fluffed the pillows, and smoothed down the blankets in an affectionate fashion. Cinder almost felt guilty for being so bitter toward such a kind person.

There was something reassuring about Iko's presence. Cinder relaxed her shoulders, not realizing how tense she had been. She had been putting up a mask for so many years; it was nice to let it down, even for a second.

"Take these," Iko handed Cinder a small cup with an assortment of colored pills. Cinder put them all in her mouth at once, washing them down with a chug of milk that made Cinder almost gag. She had never been fond of dairy products, but she didn't want to be a snob.

The nurse seemed to dance around Cinder's bed, fixing monitors and IV bags, changing the lighting, turning the volume down on the TV. She appeared to know exactly what Cinder needed the most to make her comfortable. It was an odd sensation, to be cared for. Cinder hadn't experienced anything of the sort in too many years.

After seeming to finish with her practicality, Iko settled down in the plastic chair next to Cinder's bed. She clasped her hands daintily in her lap and smiled at Cinder. Only then did Cinder begin to marvel at the ageless quality Iko possessed. Her dark skin was clear and unblemished, her golden eyes bright, yet wise, and her blue braids gave her spunk.

"So," Iko smiled teasingly. "You seem to have a couple of male admirers. I hope that I'm not stepping the line when I ask you which one would happen to be your lover."

That took Cinder aback. Her shoulders tensed, and while normally she would have been agitated, or even mad with such an assumption, all Cinder could manage was a laugh. And laugh she did; big, ugly, loud laughing that shook the bed and caused the heart monitor to race.

Iko stared at Cinder in astonishment, and looked nearly appalled when Cinder began to cough and choke. She stood from her seat, placing a hand over Cinder's chest and muttering about smoke inhalation.

"You thought–" Cinder coughed, unable to control her laughter, "–that I was–" A wheezing began at the back of Cinder's throat. "–with one of those stupid–"

"Hey, hey," Iko was practically yelling at Cinder. "Stop with that, or you'll stop breathing soon enough. Hey!" Iko grabbed Cinder by the shoulders, trying to calm her.

Cinder stopped laughing, though it was gradual. She coughed once more before regaining her composure and staring at her befuddled nurse. "I'm okay." Cinder wiped at her eyes, though no tears had escaped. That was odd.

"I'm sorry," Cinder whispered, her voice hoarse. "It's just, I've never met either of those men before. I only know Kai because he saved me and I'm guessing Thorne is the guy that dared him to do it."

Iko softened and looked as if she were about to say something, but someone else, hidden in the shadows, spoke before she could.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I would like to speak with Miss Linh."

[ordinaryschmuck]

Top 20 BEST Animated Series of the 2010s-1st Place!

And now. 

For real this time.

What is hands down.

The Best.

Animated series.

In the 2010s.

Is…

(Pause for dramatic affect)

#1-Adventure Time (2010-2018)

I mean...what else?

The Plot: The magical land of Ooo has many things: A kingdom made of candy, a sociopathic Ice King, and even a self-proclaimed Vampire Queen. Amongst all this chaos are two adventures: A human boy named Finn, the Human, and his magical dog/best friend/adopted brother (yes, really) named Jake, the Dog. These two then go on adventure after adventure, facing against the many oddities that the Land of Ooo offers. What type of dangers? Well...you’re just going to have to watch the show to find out.

Before I start praising the crap out of this show, there’s one thing I want to get off my chest. You see, I hate Top X lists that always end with “the one that started it all.” It comes across as lazy because there is no way the first story tops every other one after it. Case in point: when looking at the best episodes of your favorite shows, how often do you see the first episode making the top ten, hell, even the top five? Not often, I bet. And sure, you can make the argument that “Without X, there wouldn’t have been Y,” but is that even a fair comparison? Sure, Disney wouldn’t have been as big as it is now without Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs being a success, but does that make it right to ignore great movies like Beauty and the Beast (1991), Aladdin (1992), and The Lion King (1994)? Sure, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope is the reason why fans love to hate Star Wars in the first place, but how often do you hear people saying Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the franchise. And sure, the Marvel Cinematic Universe wouldn’t have existed without Iron Man being a box office hit, but with movies like Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, can you really say Iron Man is the best in the franchise anymore? To me personally, if you’re going to pick “the one that started it all,” then it better be something that can outshine “it all.” This is why I chose Adventure Time as the best-animated series of the 2010s. Not because it’s a show that practically sparked the existence of almost every show on this list, but because it really is that good of a series. Unfortunately, with a series that really is that good, there will be people who try to pick it apart. This is why I’m going to do my best to defend against some criticism that Adventure Time seems to face. 

The first criticism I want to talk about is one that hasn’t even occurred to me until I watched JelloApocalypse's video called, “So This is Basically Adventure Time.” In that video, I realized that Adventure Time doesn’t really have a proper storytelling structure. Hell, most episodes don’t even have a conclusion. They just stop almost randomly. But there’s a remedy to this problem, and it's one that I discovered somewhat effortlessly during my rewatch of the show. And that solution is to stop looking at Adventure Time as a series of episodes and more of a series of experiences. What do I mean by that? Well, while watching, you can either have a good experience or a bad experience. A fun experience, or a depressing experience. A philosophically brilliant experience or a randomly stupid experience. All of which can happen separately or conjoined in every episode. Personally, I like this style of storytelling because I’m more likely to remember the experience of watching something rather than the basics of what is being viewed. However, as JelloApocalypse has proven, not everyone is going to be ok with this style. This is fine, as everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Just remember that if it doesn’t work for you, that doesn’t mean it won't work at all. Case in point: there’s a reason that this show got ten seasons.

However, with those ten seasons come the inevitable seasonal rot. Which, in this case, can easily be explained. Halfway through season five of Adventure Time, series creator Pendelton Ward left and made Adam Muto the head showrunner. And where Ward’s style relied on being random and hilarious, Muto took the series in a more philosophical direction. Several fans were turned away from this aspect, but I like to argue that this isn’t seasonal rot and more of a series’ development. Tons of shows on this list went through their own transitions, some subtle and some drastic. Whether or not you’ll be ok with those decisions is entirely dependent on who you are. And personally, I actually enjoyed the direction that Adventure Time took. While I was entertained by how hilarious the original seasons were in Ward’s run, Muto caused me to think more intensely than any other show I have seen in my life. This is why, once again, I would like to point out that just because it didn’t work for you doesn’t mean that it won’t work at all.

But one thing that didn’t work for me, and one criticism that I’m inclined to agree with, were how some characters got treated in later seasons. Now to be fair, most of the characters actually become more interesting as the series goes on (Ice King, Marceline, BMO, Susan Strong, etc.) There are just two characters that got a little iffier compared to others: Finn and Princess Bubblegum. The main reason why Finn’s character seemed to fail is that the writers focused more on Finn's love life (or lack thereof). I genuinely believe that Adventure Time has some fantastic romantic relationships, but that aspect of Finn’s character is easily the most uninteresting. It’s even worse when an episode focuses on his armorous hangups through past...mistakes. I even heard that this decision ruined Finn as a character for some people, which I can totally see why. Luckily the show course-corrected itself, and by season six, it started focussing on an aspect of Finn’s character that is actually interesting: His family. Not to give away any spoilers, but let’s just say that Finn gets significantly more fascinating through this decision. Unfortunately, one decision that never got better was how the show treated the one and only Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum. This character started off as a gentle/playful ruler who was as sweet as her kingdom. Only to evolve into a sociopathic control freak who is obsessed with science. What went wrong is that the show goes so far as to say that she’s always been that way, even since she was a kid. I guess she just was good at hiding it in early seasons. Once again, the writers try their best to course-correct Bubblegum, but all they did was make her bearable than despicable.

But while Bonnie doesn't work for me, do you want to know what does? Literally everything else about this show. One of the reasons why Adventure Time is the best series on this list is because it has elements of every other show that has already been mentioned before it. You see, Adventure Time can have: Hilarious comedy, intense action, superb animation, creative ideas, compelling drama, catchy music, thought-provoking stories, good romantic subplots, gay romantic subplots, great lore and backstory, intriguing mysteries, and, most important of all, bacon pancakes. All of which can be handled in ten to eleven minutes, where most shows struggle within twenty-two.

But one element that stands out among the rest is Adventure Time’s serialized storytelling. You see, there are two different types of storytelling: Plotting and pantsing. Plotting is how it sounds: You come up with ideas beforehand and work your way into making them come to life. Pantsing is where the goal is to basically make things up as you go along and try to make everything connected afterward. The ladder is the route Adventure Time takes. Every single amount of lore, character development, and even surprise twists were thought up almost on the spot. And one might think that this makes things more complicated, but when I rewatched the series in 2019, a solid 99.9% of what’s written lines up. Sure, there are small things that get confusing or downright forgotten. But that’s the keyword: small. It’s the big things that the writers try their best at explaining away, which can be much appreciated. And while I can love a show for creating a well-crafted story, I got to give Adventure Time respect for doing the same thing just by improvising. But do you want to know the real reason why I stuck with this show? And why do all the elements mentioned before manage to work so well? The same reason why any show can work so well: The characters.

And yes, I know I just complained about how certain characters were nearly ruined in this series, but that doesn’t change how good they are. Almost every character that the show focuses on has a level of intrigue to them, and characters that don’t still manage to be incredibly entertaining, to the point where a worm’s butt can carry an episode by itself (Yes. Really). But nothing beats the central duo, and I’m being honest when I say they make the series enjoyable. Finn and Jake not only have such an entertaining brotherly dynamic, but the two of them are just so much fun that I can’t help but smile whenever they’re on screen. They’re easily the best thing about the show, as well as the most entertaining characters in it. This is saying something because Adventure Time has a LOT of characters. One might say too many. In fact, one could argue that Adventure Time suffers from the too-many-characters syndrome, which I can absolutely see. However, every character is so unique and creative that to this day, I still remember the Tree Witch in the episode “To Cut a Woman’s Hair.” From her voice to her design to even Tree Witch's creative and hilarious way to convince Finn to get her some princess's hair.

This brings me to another great thing about the show: Its endless amount of creativity. Everything that Adventure Time does is something you will never see anywhere else. From all the unique ways the show has Jake use his stretchy powers, to also having a vampire drink the color red instead of blood, Adventure Time is always a show that leaves me scratching my head wondering, “Why hasn’t someone else done this before?” And the best part is, no other show can do the ideas that Adventure Time has had. Because there is no way of doing it without coming across as a carbon copy. Which I can appreciate. Believe it or not, I would rather see an idea done once and never again, rather than repeated to the point where it becomes stale. Letting Adventure Time keep its creativity helps the show stand out among the rest and prevents it from being forgotten through time.

Thus, we come to the real reason why Adventure Time is the best-animated series on this list: Memorability. When doing a rewatch of the series, I was surprised by how many episodes I somehow remember. In fact, out of over two hundred episodes, I only manage to forget one (which coincidentally managed to be an episode I hate). I honestly don’t know why so many episodes managed to stick with me. Maybe because the show is so creative that it’s hard to forget. It's probably because the characters are instant icons that their impact just won’t leave me. Hell, perhaps it’s because the show is so gosh dang weird that my brain refuses to forget a second of it. No matter what the reason is, it all still stuck. And I’m not going to lie, I feel as though there are going to be a lot of shows I'll forget over the years. But ten years from now, something tells me I’m never going to forget Adventure Time.

Now that I think about it, there really have been many great cartoons over the previous decade. And we owe it all to Adventure Time. The act of being unique and creative with one’s ideas came from Adventure Time. The idea of being more mature and deciding what should and shouldn’t be for kids came from Adventure Time. The fact that a show needs well-written characters to tell a great story came from Adventure Time. Even certain shows were made because creators worked on Adventure Time (looking at you, Steven Universe). Is the show perfect? No. Far from it, even. But when looking back at the many great series we’ve gotten in the 2010s and the many great shows we’ll get in years to come, I realize that the fun will never end WITH Adventure Time.

(Especially since we’re still getting it with four hour long specials on HBOmax)

[theangriestpea]

Crowned : Six

Summary: Two blonde princesses, two dark-haired princes, and one plotting marquess. Lily is in love with a secret admirer. Shanna doesn’t want to ascend to the throne. Jughead wants to spend the day writing poetry. Sweet Pea would rather be out on his horse. And Reggie just wants to be king. <ao3> <masterlist>

Pairing: Sweet Pea x OC, Jughead Jones x OC

Word Count: 4.7k+

Warnings: Mentions of wartime and violence. 

A/N: Thank you everyone who has supported me through this series. This is the first completely fanfiction series I’ve completed in quite some time not counting one-shots. I’m pretty terrible at finishing fics because I’m HORRIBLE at endings...and middles....really I’m only good at beginnings lmao. Please enjoy the Epilogue and look for more oneshots that I’ll write for this universe periodically. More “Deleted scenes” if you will, since the last one I wrote did really well. Ao3 is currently down so I’ll updated it there as soon as it comes back up. 

Part Six: Epilogue 

The screams of the two princesses echoed down the hallway. King Owens paced frantically outside the closed door to the special room in the royal infirmary. Sweat beaded on his brow as his stomach turned as he heard his oldest cry out once again. 

He was useless. Just as useless as he was on the days they were born. He fainted when his wife was pushing out Shanna and would have passed out for Lily had he not been sitting down already at the doctor’s request. He did well under political pressure, but not under personal stress. 

Inside the room, divided by a thin curtain, Shanna and Lily were plagued with labor pains. Though their due dates were a few days apart, and still about a week away, both had started contractions heavily that morning. 

Shanna blamed her husband. Sweet Pea had seduced her into a round of wake-up sex which triggered her labor. Hearing her sister’s cries of pain caused Lily so much stress that she then went into labor. It was quite the royal disaster. 

Sweet Pea’s fingers were currently being fractured in his wife’s tight grip. “I fucking hate you!” She yelled, tears trailing down her face, “you just had to get your dick wet!” 

“That’s why this is happening?!” Lily yelled from the other side of the curtain, poised on her own bed. “Because he couldn’t take care of his morning wood himself?” 

Jughead, future king of Riverdale, was doing his best to not laugh at his brother’s misfortune of incurring the wrath of both princesses. In fact, he couldn’t keep the smile from beaming across his face as today would be the day that he’d finally meet his son. 

Sweet Pea would have been overjoyed to see his daughter in person for the first time as well if he weren’t currently being screamed at by two women in an insurmountable amount of pain. Their contractions were fairly closed together, although Lily was dilated about two inches more and was finally ready to get an epidural. 

Princess Shanna was breathing heavily between muscle contractions as she tried to rest against the bed until her next one hit in approximately two minutes. She overheard the nurse letting Lily know she could get anesthetic now and Shanna groaned with the agony of jealousy. 

Her own nurse checked her once more, head bobbing under the sheet that was tented by her knees. “Not quite yet, your highness.” She said, much to Shanna’s disdain. The nurse stood back up, putting the sheet back down. “But soon. Hopefully a few more minutes.” 

“She’s dragging this out because she’s trying to kill me!” Shanna yelled in a fit of dramatics as she noticed Lily’s own pained sobs had mostly quieted. The world was cruel and she’d love nothing more than to catapult Sweet Pea into the sun for doing this to her. 

Sweet Pea tried to soothe her by smoothing down her mussy hair, “no she’s not. She’s just not ready to come out yet…” 

“And whose fault is that?” Shanna snapped at him angrily, ready to break another one of his phalanges. He blanched, knowing that this day might end in his own death. 

Twelve laborious hours after she went into labor, Crowned Princess Lily gave birth to a healthy baby boy and newest heir to the throne. Of course, keeping with traditions, he was named Forsythe Pendleton Jones IV. Although the couple had settled on the nickname “Pax” to symbolize the peace he was to bring to their newly joined kingdoms. 

Shanna was not quite as lucky. Her own labor lasted a total of fifteen hours before the new little princess joined the world at last. Princess Dahlia, after a flower that Shanna was quite fond of and in keeping with the floral tradition of her husband’s name. 

Although no longer ascending the throne, Shanna still had to stay in the Northside castle as her husband was training the ground troops there to get them into shape. Some of his best men had come from the Southside to help him and he spent entirely too much time in his beloved war room, leaving his wife and newborn daughter to fend for themselves.

Well, as much as princesses would need to, considering the personal servants and chambermaids they both had. The king had even tried to order for a wet nurse to be available but the new mothers greatly protested as they didn’t want anyone else to be feeding their newborn children. Unfortunately for the king, he had to accept that his daughters were grown adults now and no longer needed his help with much.

Six weeks after Pax and Dahlia were born, the crowning ceremony was held for Lily and Jughead to finally become the reigning couple. King Owens stepped down from king to simply father of the queen. In truth, he was quite okay with this as ruling solo for so long had been quite tiresome. He had been looking forward to the rest greatly. Although he did stick around for a majority of the council meetings to help guide his daughter in the political processes. Afterall, Shanna had been the one trained in all of it and not Lily. It was an easy fix, however, and Lily was a natural just as her mother had been. 

With Lily and Jughead ruling as equals, most of their day was spent going over new decrees, new laws being passed, having an audience with those wanting to propose changes or new social programs, going over financing the Southside with supplies, and various odds and ends. This meant that for a majority of the day, their son was actually in the care of his aunt as she had no royal duty to do...well anything really. 

It actually caused her a great deal of distress, although feeling mostly fulfilled as a mother and aunt, she still grew depressed with the thought that this was all that was left for her while her sister and husband were off doing bigger and better things. She was left in their dust and was feeling particularly ignored and abandoned. 

She was in her favorite sunroom with the two infants one day, alone as usual, and on this particular day she was weeping silently as she rocked the bassinet Pax was currently fussing in as he was fighting sleep. Her own daughter was already passed out from a belly full of fresh breast milk. 

Duke Mantle, not the old pissant Marty but the new and improved Reginald, came across her there and noticed something wasn’t right. He came in slowly, not wanting to startle her or the little one that she was trying to get to sleep. 

“Princess…?” He asked softly as she quickly wiped the tears from her face, hoping that he hadn’t seen them. But of course, he had. That was one of the reasons why he was coming in here. “May I sit down?” 

Shanna let out a tired sigh. She didn’t sleep much, really only when both babies were asleep was she finally able to drift off into dreamlessness. “You may.” She said, her exhaustion evident in her voice. 

Reggie sat down on the couch beside her. Not too close to be inappropriate, but close enough to try and give some kind of comfort. “What’s wrong?” He asked timidly, a tone that he very rarely took. She didn’t even look at him as she continued to gently move the bassinet back and forth in a rhythm that only she could feel. 

“What do you care, Reggie?” She bit back, not understanding what he was doing here when he surely had some important things to do. Even the duke had a bigger role to play in the kingdom than she did at this point. She never thought that she would one day regret giving up the crown. 

The duke frowned, “I know I didn’t act like it, Princess Shanna, but I have always cared about you. I never stopped caring. Everything I did to hurt you, that was my father’s doing. I never once lied about my feelings for you.” 

More tears flooded her eyes as she tried to get them to stop. Hearing this from him was definitely not something she had realized that she needed. It did help heal some of her past hurts though and perhaps she felt the tiniest bit less used by him. She was quiet, still not answering his question. 

“What is wrong?” He repeated, moving just a fraction closer. “Is something wrong with the prince?” His gaze moved to Pax who was finally starting to settle down, although gave the occasional whimper of protest. 

“No, he’s fine.” She murmured, “Everything’s fine. I don’t have to be queen. I’m married to Sweet Pea. I have a beautiful daughter and nephew...everything is totally and completely fine.” 

This was an obvious lie as if that were truly the case then she wouldn’t be sitting here by herself crying. Reggie obviously knew this as it wasn’t hard to deduce. “Then why are you crying?” 

She hesitated, unsure if she should bare her soul to him once more. The last time she did it bit her on the ass. “My life has always had a purpose in regards to the kingdom. I was raised with an important role to fill. Now that I don’t have that...I feel completely useless.” 

Her shoulders trembled with the threat of another sob, however she held it in. She didn’t want anyone seeing her like this, especially not Reggie. Despite him greatly improving himself over the past few months and flourishing with his new title, she still couldn’t help but feel like he was an old enemy that she just couldn’t trust. 

Reggie put a gentle hand on her shoulder. He hesitated as he felt her stiffen beneath his touch. It was not a romantic gesture, rather a comforting one. Something to assure her that she wasn’t as alone as she felt. “Everyone else has a role to fill and you don’t.” He said, more for clarification than as a statement. Shanna nodded her head weakly. Even her husband had an incredibly important job. The once crowned princess was now nothing more than a royal nanny. 

He gently rubbed her shoulder, “I think you’re greatly minimizing your importance in the work you are doing, princess.” He said softly, hoping she would take his words to heart. “Not just anyone can be a mother. And these are just regular children you’re taking care of. The crowned prince will one day be king of all of Riverdale. To ensure he is a good one, then he must be raised right. It takes a special person to do that. Not to say that the queen isn’t special, she is. I just mean it’s not something a commoner could do.” 

Reggie paused, taking in her countenance. Shanna was still frowning, albeit not quite as deeply. “And Princess Dahlia I’m sure will one day have an important role herself. She could take over her father’s job or simply help rule the Southside for Prince Forsythe. My point is that she will also need a special upbringing as well. You should not sell yourself so short.” 

Shanna chewed on her lip in thought. She wanted to believe him but that was proving to be difficult. The duke continued, “What you’re doing is extremely important, but if you still want to do more then why don’t you think about starting new social programs for the mothers of Riverdale? Help them get the things they need to take better care of their children.” 

Finally she cracked a smile, “Reggie...that’s a wonderful idea. I could totally do that and propose it to Lily, I’m sure she’ll agree with it. Jughead will just have to sign off on the financial aid, but…” 

His face mirrored hers: happy and excited, “I could help you if you want. Give your proposal while you take care of these two. Maybe work out any of the kinks that pop up.” 

She turned to look at him fully, “Thank you, Reggie. This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me. How can I repay you?” 

“Just stop hating me.” He said softly, eyes downcast with hurt, “forgive me. I never wanted to hurt you. You know the difficult position my father put me in, and-” She cut him off with a wave of her hand. 

“If that’s all, then certainly I can do that. All is forgiven, Duke Mantle. Now, go grab a notepad and a pen and we’ll get started.” The princess declared, a smile still lighting up her face. 

Reggie nodded and quickly did as she asked before joining her back on the couch so they could get to work. 

|\/\/|

Shanna had still not been getting much sleep. Dahlia insisted on eating every two hours, even during the night. Though it relieved the fullness of her breasts, she was starting to feel utterly defeated. Sweet Pea, who slept like a sentient rock, did not wake up to his daughter’s cries. He was totally immune to her hunger pains. 

But today was different. Today Sweet Pea had taken some time off to spend with his new family, mostly his daughter who he couldn’t quite believe the amount of love he had for her. He never wanted to protect something so fiercely as her in his entire life. He didn’t get any kind of paternal leave as there was much too much work to do. Instead he was forced to take time off here and there to get any real quality time with her. 

Luckily this gave his wife some time to nap peacefully without having to worry about being woken up by a baby. Pax was with the queen today as she took her own day off to play with her little boy. Her and Jughead did this from time to time as to not miss these crucial first moments of their child’s life. 

The princess had been asleep for the past three hours, which was more consecutive time than she’d had since Dahlia was born. If she truly wanted to, she could have nannies take care of her, but Shanna was determined to do it herself. If other mother’s could then so could she. 

She was abruptly woken by the loudest burp she had ever heard. It startled her so bad that she nearly fell off the bed. She let out a groan before pulling on the robe and going into the living room of their new suite to see who the hell that came from and to promptly yell at them. 

“I swear to god, Sweet Pea, the best sleep I get in two months and you-” She walked in to find both her husband and daughter in a fit of giggles. It was the first time she had heard Dahlia do something other than cry… Her eyes teared up with joy. 

“She is definitely my daughter. Did you hear that whopper? That was her!” He was so utterly proud of his offspring in that moment that he thought he might burst. 

Shanna did not look nearly as impressed. Mostly she just looked exhausted. “Did you give her gas drops?” 

He grinned before kissing his baby on the forehead. “Of course I did. Looks like they’re working perfectly. Sleep well?” 

“I did until the princess woke me up with the loudest burp in the history of the kingdom.” She grumbled as she tried to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “Well, I guess I’m up now. I should pump since she just ate. Did she take the bottle okay?” 

“Yes. I told you she would. Just let me feed her sometimes at night. You don’t always have to do it. All you have to do is pinch me and I’ll wake up.” Sweet Pea said, a smile still on his face as he was still entirely too amused. 

She smiled before sitting down on the couch, “I guess I can. I feel bad because you have to work.” 

Sweet Pea sat down beside her. “It’s not like you do nothing all day.” He said, rolling his eyes. “How is the new proclamation going? Mantle behaving himself?” 

Her eyes lit up, “it’s going wonderfully! We’re going to give the formal proposal next Tuesday. It would help every newborn in the kingdom and make sure every new mother and father have all the tools they need to raise their babies. I’m so excited. Lily was very on board when I told her about it at lunch yesterday.” 

Dahlia was staring up at him with big hazel eyes that matched her mother’s. She cooed at him before yawning. 

“I’d be worn out too after that monstrosity you just let out.” Shanna said teasingly as she poked her little girl’s belly. Dahlia grinned a toothless smile before yawning a second time. 

“I’m proud of you, princess.” Sweet Pea said suddenly. “I didn’t know brats could make such good mothers.” His tone turned teasing at the end. 

Shanna’s eyes narrowed and she pulled on his earlobe, making him yelp in pain. “Jerk. I’m only a brat when you’re an ass. Besides, you enjoy it. Don’t try to deny it either because I’m not an idiot.” 

The dark prince just laughed lightly, knowing it was true. 

Meanwhile in what was the new wing for the King and Queen, Lily and Jughead sat with their son who had also just fallen asleep. “He’s so perfect.” Jughead said in a soft voice as to not wake the sleeping baby. “I can’t believe I helped create him.” 

Lily was smiling at the swaddled bundle in her arms. “He has your eyes.” She commented, “the Jones’ blue eyes...I hope they don’t change when he gets older.” 

Jughead grinned, “They won’t, trust me. All the men in my family have the same blue eyes...well, except for Sweet Pea but that’s because he’s adopted. Dahlia got Lav’s eyes anyway.” 

The queen giggled lightly as she got up and gently placed Pax in his bassinet. “The prince who will finally bring peace to Riverdale...Do you think we expect too much of him?” 

“Not any more than my father expected of me.” The new crowned king said honestly. “Once this war with Greendale is over then things should settle and be peaceful again. No other kingdoms are so gungho for war. The one-eyed queen is the last one trying to wreak havoc with her Gargoyles.” 

Lily shook her head, “yes but now we’ll have the best Serpent army training our troops. We are twice as strong now. She won’t be able to even touch us. Especially with Sweet Pea leading them.” 

Jughead was silent for a few moments. “I do worry what will happen when he goes into battle….” 

She ran a hand through his thick hair, “we have to trust that he’ll be smart when he goes in. And pray that he stays safe. My sister would be devastated if anything were to happen to him. Dahlia deserves a father.” 

“I know. That’s what concerns me. His temper or pride will blind him and he’ll get himself hurt or worse.” Jughead said, his face going stoic. 

The queen shook her head, not wanting to discuss something so serious on their day off. “It’s his job, Jug. None of us have a choice. He’ll want to be out there anyway. You can’t stop him from doing what he loves.” 

The king gave an exasperated sigh. “I know. He’s like a bull. At least his strategies are brilliant. Maybe that’ll be enough to keep him from getting himself killed.” 

“We can only hope….” 

Six months later the worst happened. Greendale finally made its move against Riverdale, attacking the border bases and cities. Jughead had no choice but to send Sweet Pea and his best troops to the front line. It was his duty, no matter how much Princess Shanna begged him to not make his brother go. 

Dahlia was old enough to understand that her father was gone. What she didn’t understand was why. Shanna put on a brave face for her daughter but to be honest she spent most nights crying in her large bed alone. Lily did her best to be there and comfort her sister but she was so busy with her work that she didn’t have much time. 

The unsung hero of the story was really Duke Mantle who helped Shanna immensely with both the children and keeping her head in a good place. Lily practically ordered him to keep her preoccupied so she didn’t dwell on thinking the worst. 

The prince and princess wrote to each other as much as they could. Mail was slow getting to the front lines but letters from Princess Shanna were marked as the highest importance. While some of the older generals protested this, as they saw it as a distraction, Sweet Pea assured them that it was essential to keep up morale. Letters from home was the best way to do that. 

Although, Sweet Pea quite regularly showed concern on how close Reggie and Shanna were getting. She had to keep reassuring him that it wasn’t like that in the slightest and to trust her. He’d always be her prince. She couldn’t even think of having that kind of relationship with Reggie again. The mere thought left a bad taste in her mouth. 

The following week the letters stopped coming. Shanna waited day after day for just a single update on how her husband was fairing, but so far there was no news. At least none that had been released to her. She was almost certain that Jughead knew something and just wasn’t telling her. Hermes was in the stable the night before last on a return trip. This only meant that the king had gotten word from the frontlines. 

During tea time that afternoon, Princess Shanna forced her way into the tea room with both babies in tow. “Jughead, I demand that you tell me what is going on!” The server in the room flinched at the casualness. The princess was giving orders to the king. The lack of proper etiquette was appalling. 

“I don't understand what you’re talking about, Shanna.” The king said dismissively as he took another sip of her Earl grey. 

She stomped her foot, “I know Hermes is in the stable as we speak! I know you’ve gotten news from the front. Tell me!” She demanded once more. 

King Jughead was informal for the most part. At least, in the presence of family. Her accosting him in this way did not bother him in the slightest. Mostly because he knew she was worried sick about his brother and not because she was trying to be blatantly disrespectful. “Shanna, please. Sit down.” 

Lily looked curiously between her sister and her husband, drinking a bit of her own white tea blend that was made special for the royal family. “Bring Pax here, I’ll hold him.” She said with a smile. 

Shanna went around the table and deposited the prince before walking back around to take her seat, Dahlia perched on her lap with wide and curious eyes. She blinked at the adults around her before babbling something incoherent at Pax who merely cooed back. 

Jughead took a deep breath before setting his cup down. “There was an ambush. The Gargoyles have mostly shifted to guerrilla warfare as Sweet Pea had suspected they would. Something happened about six days ago to cause the line of communication to nearly be cut.” 

Princess Shanna bit her lip in anticipation, her heart sinking down into her stomach as she knew bad news was to come. Her eyes began to water in preparation. “Sweet Pea’s unit was attacked at night. The watchers were killed before they could raise the alarm. There were some devastating losses, however we were ultimately victorious.” 

“And Pea?” She asked, growing impatient with him. He should have told her about this as soon as he found out!

“He was gravely injured. He just recently regained consciousness.” Jughead said, “but the doctors assure me he will make a full recovery. They are bringing him home now to recuperate while General Fogarty steps up to lead in his stead. I wanted it to be a surprise when he got here.” 

At first, tears did fall. Sad tears over hearing that he had been hurt badly. However, they quickly turned to happy tears instead at the knowledge that he would be home soon. “How soon? When will he be home?” 

The king smiled, “Tomorrow afternoon. I want him to get as much rest as possible and I need you to see to it that he doesn’t try to overdo it. He was very upset that he was being sent home.” 

“Thank you so much, Jug.” Shanna said, still crying as she held Dahlia close to her chest. “I’m sorry I was yelling at you.” 

Lily grinned, “it’s okay. We know how much stress you’re under. I would be lost if Jughead had to go off to war. Take all the time you need. I can keep Pax tomorrow so you can spend time with him.” 

Her tears eventually stopped as she smiled back at her sister, “you’re the best, Lily. I love you both.” 

Of course there were many, many, more tears when Sweet Pea finally arrived home the following day. Shanna nearly knocked him and his wheelchair over with excitement when she nearly jumped into his arms. The nurse pushing him had to stop her. “Princess, I’m sorry, he’s still very hurt.” 

A worried look crossed her face before she leaned in and kissed him, gently at first until he pulled her into his lap on his own to deepen it. The nurse made a disapproving face at the two of them. “Your highness…” 

“Let me kiss my wife, damn it.” He said back to the girl before hugging Shanna close to him. “Where’s my princess at?” 

“She’s taking a nap, come on.” Shanna got off of him and took the wheelchair from the nurse. “I’ll take you to her.” She pushed him, struggling a little at first, “Christ you’re heavy.” 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes, “I don’t need help, I can do it myself.” He put his hands on the wheels and began to propel himself down the hallway. 

That night, there was a family dinner in the dining hall. Sweet Pea talked about his more glorious battles, much to Shanna’s dismay. Hearing him in constant danger made her anxiety swell to an almost intolerable level. 

Lily announced that Shanna’s program to provide care packages to the new parents of Riverdale (North and Southsides) would be in full effect within the week’s end. Everyone with a child under the age of one would be receiving guidebooks, equipment, toys, and more information on resources available to them in the event that they needed help with formula, baby food, diapers, wipes, and/or medical care. The support from the kingdom over this decree had been overwhelmingly positive, especially from the Southside who didn’t always have access to the programs that had been instilled on the Northside for several years now. 

The previous king was alight with pride for his two daughters. This was the first major new social program implemented by the new regime and he couldn’t be happier. Former King Forsythe was also quite impressed with the whole thing. He knew that the families in his old kingdom would greatly benefit from this. It was nice to know that the place he strived to make a prosperous home for many was finally getting the second chance it deserved. 

The war lasted for another three years, however Sweet Pea would come home after every four months or so to visit. He would stay with his wife and daughter for a couple months before leaving again. When the war had finally ended, Riverdale proved the winner as they beat back the Greendale forces until they had no man power or supplies left to feasibly continue their tirade. There were great losses on the Riverdale side as well, but not nearly to the same degree as Greendale.

Sweet Pea and the rest of the soldiers returned home for good, much to the joy and happiness of the families that had awaited them for so long. Sweet Pea, Shanna, and Dahlia moved to live in the castle in the Southside while Jughead, Lily, and Pax stayed in the North. They visited each other often and communicated almost daily. Despite the distance, the siblings were still incredibly close with one another. 

And they all lived happily ever after. 

Tag List: @the-gargoyle-queen​, @princesweetpea​, @wayward-river​, @southside-vixen​, @redhairdontcare732​, @lilhemmo​, @iamaunicorn4704​, @jezzabelleserpent​

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 25-- Deconstruction/Reconstruction

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  With Radiant Garden under control of the resistance, it's time to rebuild. Ienzo tries to repair the damage done to his family.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

White sheets. Cool air. Color and light. He felt so heavy, and it took him a moment of grappling into consciousness to realize it was because he could barely move his legs.

“Ienzo? Love?”

Ienzo turned his head as much as he was able. He seemed to have motion in his upper body, but even that was difficult, like tugging on puppet strings. “Ev-even?” He swallowed.

“Would you like some water? I’ll get some. Don’t move.”

As if he could help it. Blurrily, he saw Even retreat to a corner of this room--the castle infirmary?--and pour water from a pitcher. He knew he should be grateful to still be sighted at all, after using so much magic. He squinted. Even handed him the cup; he could barely close his hand around it, but he managed it at last. Despite IV fluids, he was so thirsty .

“Are you in any pain? I can get you some medication if--”

“No. I’m not. But I can’t… it’s hard to move.”

“...I know.” Even smoothed some of the hair from Ienzo’s face. His own face was pale, pinched, a large bruise along his throat yellowing. “From the magic use. Breaking down a limiter of that strength… then triggering what you did… frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“Will I be like this… always?”

“I’m optimistic you’ll recover yet, but… there may be some lingering effects.”

“What’s happened? How long have I been out? Where’s Amalia? Where’s--?”

“One thing at a time, child. It’s imperative you remain calm.”

Ienzo tried to center himself, tried to take deep breaths. Even took his hand and rubbed it, gently.

“Amalia is safe and well. I suspect Ansem is enjoying having time with her. Once he received some blood replacement, Demyx was fine too. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled you’re awake. It was all rather… dramatic, how it went down. You’ve been unconscious close to three weeks.”

“Aeleus? ...Isa? What of… everything else? Xehanort’s forces? The son who called himself Ansem? He wasn’t in the throne room that day--”

Even’s eyes went blank, and he turned towards the window. “I’m afraid when I… felt your burst of magic--it was felt everywhere, Ienzo, I don’t think you understand--I assumed the worst and I--I did something reckless. He was our jailer, in my old labs, something he no doubt had great pleasure in. For the first time in my life… I acted on impulse.” He looked at his free hand, which was trembling. “I knew you were in trouble, and I--”

Ienzo had never heard Even sound so shaky. He choked down guilt. “You killed him.”

“...He was the gatekeeper.” He’d turned faintly green.

“Was that the first time you took a life?”

“It does not matter. It needed to happen either way.” He swallowed. “I made my way there, with ease. You killed every Heartless in the vicinity. Those that were human were knocked unconscious, or fled.”

“I… I did?”

“...Quite. The initial scouting indicates that… you may have slain every one in the city.”

“It was not conscious,” he admitted. “All I saw was that Demyx was bleeding out and the soulbinding reacted to all that--”

“--and the rush of emotions triggered magic. Of course it did.”

Ienzo lay back a little. “So without the three of them… and no Heartless…”

“The capital city’s under the control of the resistance.” But there was no happiness in his expression.

“Shouldn’t we be… glad? This is among the best case scenarios--”

“The sudden death of Xehanort and two of his sons has caused something like a power vacuum. The people don’t know how to react. There’s still darkness and various devotees of it spread throughout the country. Some states have turned over towards us, but others are… hesitant. Waiting to see might happen. And there are those who are outright fighting. Aeleus and Isa are among the front line, trying to see what can be done to restore order without worsening things. Meanwhile your father is trying to pursue international aid… and research better ways to defeat the darkness.”

“And of you?”

A pause. “I’ve been taking care of you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be relieved to go back to research, then.”

Even reached forward to smooth Ienzo’s hair. “To be truthful, it has been nice, to have this space to think. To consider.”

Ienzo understood. “...It’s alright if you’re upset, Even.”

“It is so silly , that I feel such guilt for killing one who’s killed thousands with his actions--but my feelings are not important.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” Ienzo struggled to sit up; Even adjusted the pillows under him. “So much for fighting back.”

“I think you’ve done enough. You must recover for what comes next.”

“Amalia. I need to see her.”

He hesitated.

“Please, Even.”

“...Quite.” He seemed to go a little deeper into himself. “Perhaps there will be one day when I’m not constantly in fear of your life.”

“I sincerely hope so.”

Ienzo watched him leave the room. He’d never seen Even so scattered before, so almost… unsure . Had something else happened he was not telling Ienzo, about the man calling himself Ansem? That bruise…

He hadn’t been conscious long, but he was already exhausted. He could still feel his legs, but moving was the problem. Perhaps he could get a wheelchair, and get around that way? He couldn’t seriously sit around and do nothing while all this fighting happened--

The door opened. In came Demyx, carrying their daughter. She’d gotten even bigger since Ienzo last saw her--another month he’d missed--and she was chewing on a teething ring. “Hey,” he said, softly. Like Even, his eyes were closed off.

“How do you feel?” Ienzo asked.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Ugly scar, but oh well, right? How are… you?” Amalia was staring at him, not with fear like before, but perhaps curiosity. Ienzo tried to reach out to her with his magic, but it was like swatting wet laundry; it didn’t come instantly to his call. So instead he reached out one trembling hand. She smiled and handed him the slimy teething ring. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sure daddy doesn’t want that.”

“Could I…” He wasn’t sure he was physically strong enough to hold her.

“Ah… sure.” Demyx pulled the chair closer to the bed and plopped her onto the mattress. “I’ve been… bringing her in here for a while every day. While daddy takes his long nap, right?”

She made a sound like “boo.”

“She talks.” Tears rose to his eyes.

“Well. Vocalizes.”

She clapped her hands together.

“And she can hold herself up.”

“She crawls, too. Ah--like that.” She had dragged herself almost across Ienzo’s lap. “I have a feeling she’ll be running before long.”

Amalia looked up at him and made a noise that could only be expressed as “?”

“Daddy,” Demyx said to her helpfully. “You remember now, yeah.”

“Baba.”

“Daddy. Good.” He smoothed the curls off her forehead.

Ienzo felt a rush of affection which was almost painful. “Look at you, big girl.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. She tugged at the sleeve of his robe. “Can you help me?” he asked Demyx.

“Sure.” He eased her into his lap. Amalia pressed her cheek against his chest. “See? Crisis averted.”

“I’m guessing the curls came from you.”

“The only time my hair was long enough to tell was when I was underwater, so.” He shrugged. Amalia gave him a toothless smile. “Look at you, happy girl.”

Ienzo noticed the difference in his voice when he spoke to the two of them. “Are you comfortable? Here?”

“Oh, yeah. Ansem set us up nice in your old room. If you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?”

Another shrug. “Oof, drool patrol.” He grabbed a tissue and dabbed at it. “She’s teething something wicked.”

“Maybe the next time you come you could bring me a book, so I could read to her.”

“She’d probably like that.”

Ienzo wrapped his arms loosely around her, and she let him. Feeling the warmth and weight of her--the subtle twitch of her limbs-- and hearing her little babbling eased this awful ache he’d had for so long. “I missed you,” he said to her. He kissed her head. “I missed you so much. I just… hope we can be a family now.”

“That would be nice,” he said softly. “Wouldn’t it?” The last part he repeated in a goofy voice, and Amalia laughed. “You think you’ll be okay?”

“Even’s optimistic. And I trust him.”

“He’s been up here almost constantly.”

“But the castle is… safe, for you two?”

“Oh, yeah. Magic users crawling out of the woodwork to help. I've still got some fight in me."

“I hope that soon I can be back on my feet, and start being a bigger part of her life.”

“One thing at a time.” Ienzo wondered if he was imagining the flatness in his eyes. “Isn’t that right, Li-li?”

---

It took Ienzo weeks to start feeling something resembling “normal.” For several nights the pain of his healing nerves kept him awake, but at least once it was through with he could limp around a little. He could play with Amalia a little more actively. Physical therapy made him somewhat stronger, and while he had to use a cane to walk more than a few steps, Even believed it would be gone before long.

Members of his family and the resistance ducked in and out. Ansem brought him books, briefed him on the situation as it developed. “Almost feels as though my skills to rule have grown rusty,” he admitted. “It is difficult to tell… which members of parliament left are lying, when they say they did not hold any allegiance towards Xehanort. I’m tempted to dissolve the whole thing and hold elections, but we simply can’t do so at the moment. Making sure our people are fed and safe and cared for is more important than politics at the moment. Thankfully the bordering nations have been kind enough to send along resources and medics.”

“I wish I could help,” Ienzo said. “Being here, waylaid and helpless --”

Ansem just patted his hand. “You jumpstarted a revolution, Ienzo,” he said.

“So I’m told, but I wonder if you all are exaggerating to salve my ego.”

The pat became more of a squeeze. “Control of Radiant Garden was crucial,” he said. “And you achieved that.”

“Only because Xehanort mortally wounded Demyx, and I reacted instinctively--were it not for that my whole plan would’ve collapsed--”

“Ienzo. Why are you being hard on yourself?”

He felt tears in his eyes. “These past six months… I’ve been sitting here in luxury playing silly mind games while my daughter grew up without me, while the rest of you suffered. ”

“You did the best you could with what you had--and you did pretty damn well. This guilt is pointless, Ienzo.”

“I… I know.”

“We are together now. We will rebuild. And I hope things will be better than they were before.”

He sniffled. “Is it over? Can it just be over?”

Ansem drew him into an embrace.

---

Spring began in earnest. Ienzo realized one morning as he woke in the infirmary that the lingering smell of darkness that had hung over Radiant Garden was gone, and a fresh rain brought in the sea air. He no longer needed the cane, but he tired easily, and his legs still ached tremendously. Once he was well enough, he insisted that he be more involved in the reconstruction, insofar as he could.

There was the reality of Xehanort’s youngest son’s experiments. Ienzo had purged the Heartless, but the poor people who had not been transformed were instead traumatized and in some cases catatonic. While there were doctors and psychologists willing to help them, it was hard to tell if they could be helped. Ansem organized national days of mourning for those who had been lost, and released the lists of names so families could have closure. The youngest son had kept meticulous records.

He asked community leaders to come forward with ideas as to help their nation move on. Darkness still existed; but now that people had hope, they were more willing to fight. That, and with the darkness easing, they were getting early signs that the planet could still heal. Ienzo swore he could feel its pulse, its life reaching up to his magic. He wished he did not feel so powerless.

“We don’t want things to go back to the way they were,” Ansem said in a broadcast. “Clearly, “normal” meant “suffering” for some. Darkness… only made that pain more obvious. If we wish to maintain the light, we must heal one another.”

Finally, Ienzo was well enough to go back to his rooms, and begin repairing his family… because it was going to take a lot of work. Amalia was more familiar with him, more comfortable, but still she always looked towards Demyx when she needed something.

And there was the matter of… Demyx.

At first Ienzo thought the distance between them was all paranoia on his part, but it became clear in the way Demyx spoke to him, especially when it came to their daughter. “You dressed her in that? She hates that one, it’s itchy against her scales.” “Sure. You can do that. I guess.” “Look, I know you’re trying, but strawberries give her gas .” “You let her nap too long. Now she’s not going to sleep through the night.” That, and the flatness in his eyes. It wasn’t openly unfriendly, but it lacked the warmth that they’d had before.

More straining than this, in some ways, was sharing a bed. Ienzo had honestly been looking forward to reconnecting on a physical level--he hoped it would help him sleep the deep way he had when they lived together--but that first night Demyx just rolled onto his side and fell asleep. He let it go a few nights, wondering if it were just a pain of readjustment, if he were just used to sleeping alone. Finally, he just got fed up and crawled over to spoon him, jerking him out of his sleep. “What are you--?”

“Trying to touch you?”

“Well could you please not?”

For a moment there was just silence.

Demyx exhaled heavily and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, I… I’m sorry for snapping. But I… I’m not comfortable .”

Ienzo swallowed and felt a lump in his throat. “Would you prefer I slept elsewhere?”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.”

Ienzo eased back to his side of the bed. He knew he would not be able to sleep. As it was, he was struggling not to cry.

The next day they behaved as normally as they could in front of their daughter, but when Ansem came and asked if he could spend some time with her, Ienzo agreed before Demyx could get a word in edgewise. “We need to talk,” Ienzo said.

Demyx wrinkled his nose. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. We do.” Ienzo was surprised to feel his temper flare, but he kept it in check. “Look, we’re… we’re parents, and we’re soulmates . A lot has happened, and you have a right to feel the way you do. But that can’t begin to heal if we keep ignoring it.”

He seemed to not know what to say.

“How do you feel, Demyx?” Ienzo asked.

He rubbed at his arm. “I feel like… I feel…” He swallowed. “Something’s just wrong ? With me?”

“You’re processing.”

“Not that. I don’t know. For a long time I just missed you so much it hurt, and I didn’t know how I was going to do any of it, be her dad, or…” He trailed off, a flush darkening his face. “And then I saw you again, and you were alive, and I was so happy and so relieved and I don’t know what happened since then. Something’s wrong.”

A suspicion slid into place, and Ienzo’s voice shook when he asked, “wrong how ?”

Tears flooded his eyes. “I don’t feel anything. When I look at you. You’re the father of my child. But it’s just… I feel like… I was meant to be her dad, but… I don’t know if I’m meant to be with you?” His voice quivered and broke. “I want to. I want to be in love with you again. But I…”

“I think I understand,” Ienzo said woodenly.

Demyx hesitated. He stared at Ienzo for a moment, and then he took a few steps forward and kissed him, hard.

And it was different.

Physically, it felt the same, the way they moved together. But it was just a nice kiss, without the heavy reassurance that yes , this is part of you, everything is safe, everything is okay.

In his mind’s eye, Ienzo saw Xehanort gouging him below the heart. “Oh,” he said softly.

“What’s wrong with me, Ienzo? Am I just depressed?”

“No,” he said. Numbly, he pulled away.

“...What?”

And then he started laughing.

“ What ?”

Once he began, he couldn’t stop, until tears were running down his face, and he couldn’t breathe, and somewhere the gasps of laughter became sobs, and he was curled in a ball on the floor. He felt Demyx’s hand on his back, warm but the touch was so wrong .

“Ienzo. What is it?”

He looked up. “Xehanort broke the soulbound.”

[jewpacabruhs]

bruv im still jus. wow. theres so much to say but. do u kno how good it feels... to be jewish, to accidentally fixate on one eric cartman & love him more than any other fictional character for almost seven years now, and then to see him in a little yarmulke, standing at kyle's side while he recites from the torah? do you know how validating that is?

i gotta get personal for a second here. idk how, but in the last few yrs my relationship with my own jewishness has been deeply influenced and intertwined with south park, as ironic and ridiculous as that sounds. i grew up secular, completely nonpracticing; as a child, i was only ethnically jewish, and saw jews as strictly an ethnicity, and a popularly hated one to boot. and it scared me. ive talked about it before, but as a child hearing about the shoah and about antisemitism, i couldn't understand. i thought it was looks for a while, which confused me, because ive got blonde hair and blue eyes and all my family that got caught up in nazi europe did/do too. i remember thinking as a second grader that i would've been spared for that reason; why didn't a good chunk of my family? but i grew up in a mormon neighborhood, with plenty of other blonde kids, and they stayed away from me like i had a disease. this was before puberty, before my hair got a little frizzier and my nose got a little bigger, when i looked just like any of them. but already, at age 8, i was an outsider. i wasn't one of them and i never would be, and they wanted me to know that.

and then i started to get it. it clicked even more once i got to high school and got called a kike every other day - but prior to high school, you know what i found, and you know what really pushed me towards understanding what being a secular jew in america meant? south park. and as a dumb little sixth grader with no critical thinking skills, you know what shaped my opinions on my own people? south park.

and that's good and bad. good because i do sincerely think kyle broflovski is excellent fictional representation for jewish people, maybe one of the top few ever shown on television. he gets on my nerves at times, but he's good through and through, he's well written and multi-dimensional, he's not a walking stereotype but he still has prominent jewish features that jewish viewers can look at and see in themselves, his morals and viewpoints and beliefs are obviously deeply influenced by judaism, hes deeply proud of his heritage and culture... and that all means a lot to me. and by the amount of jewish sp fans that adore kyle, it means a lot to them too.

the bad thing is, yeah, i can't deny it, during older seasons, cartman's treatment of kyle probably taught a lot of young and dumb viewers how to view jews in real life. have i, as a kyman shipper and cartman stan, justified that within a fictional and narrative context? yes. but it doesn't change the real-world effect; south park, but specifically cartman, since he's the mouthpiece, likely did cause some easily-influenced people to pick up antisemitic beliefs. did this contribute to the rise of the alt-right? debatable, but to some extent, possibly. was that m&t's intention and should south park be canceled and denounced? fuck no, i'll always love it lol, and fuck censorship. but it is something that should be taken into account.

matt and trey clearly regret that, and understand that it's no longer acceptable or fitting or needed in today's sociopolitical climate - or, okay, maybe they don't even regret it; they just understand that when fiction becomes reality, the fictional jackass isn't necessary when there's one right there in real life, sitting in the oval office, yeah? old cartman doesn't deserve or need a voice, not when real, awful people actually have one right now. and m&t are actively trying to change cartman for the better and really, really backpedal on his bigotry, while still doing it in a way that makes sense from a story-telling perspective. it's not a complete uncharacteristic change of character; it's shifting with the times and writing it into the character's arc so that it's a logical and plausible development in cartman's story.

cartman's behavior in the last few seasons is consistent character development. m&t themselves are pushing it, and clearly it's sincere; cartman's not faking. unless they're building up a surprise twist over the last, what, three to four seasons, that he was faking the whole time! woah! if so it better be a damn good pay off, because that's a lot of time invested. though that seems more forward-thinking than sp tends to be. they're intentionally stuck in the short-term, aren't they? plot-wise. but their character development is pretty long-term, and right now, cartman is consistently decent, and if it comes across as faking, it's because cartman's over-dramatic in how he speaks, and trey does that intentionally.

that's a tonal thing, and it's hard to say in a fictional character, but as someone who struggles with empathy myself, empathy and sincerity don't go hand in hand. you can lack empathy while still caring enough to sincerely and wholeheartedly apologize for something and mean that apology. not feeling remorse doesn't mean you can't apologize genuinely; the two don't go hand in hand. you can be mentally ill in any capacity, even a psychopath, and still deeply care about things or people, just not in the way someone else might. so you can headcanon that cartman's still a psycho/sociopath, though right now that's actually kinda going against canon, but don't rain on other's parades if they're happy he's exhibiting healthy growth. besides, and i repeat: what could cartman exploit out of faking sincerity for several seasons? nothing, so why bother? he wouldn't, unless it's literal in-show subconscious growth.

does that mean he's magically developed empathy? no. is it becoming less probable he's a legitimate sociopath/psychopath (while still possibly having better-disguised antisocial tendencies)? yes. does he seem to have better coping or anger management skills? somehow, yes! he seems to be legitimately healthier. does this mean he's no longer accountable for his past misdeeds, and even his present, less-severe ones? of course not! and you can still hate him all you want, but modern cartman is not the same as older cartman, and shouldn't be treated as such. because is this growth? absolutely.

he's clearly healthier, even happier. he's less angry, he's still a little shit but he no longer relies on bigotry or cruelty or anger to get the negative attention he thrives off, rather he gravitates towards being simply annoying. you know why he called ice? pettiness, immaturity, a little bit of spite, and a need for silly revenge. he's being intentionally petty, but going about it in a sly but no longer psychopathic way. less hannibal lector and more, idk, regina george, lol. extremely different on the antagonist scale. and cartman's been both.

and maybe it's personal bias on what type of human is worse within fiction, someone unstable and bizarre with violent tendencies (which is how he's come to be viewed in pop culture & some of the fandom, as a result of eps like scott tenorman must die), versus someone inclined towards pettiness and more silent and, i dunno, social-status-and-pride-driven types of revenge (cartman in general when he's not being particularly awful, tbh)... but i think it'd be pretty universally agreed that the latter is at the very least more tolerable, manageable, and even likeable - and certainly more redeemable. let's put it this way; if cartman continued on the path he was on, he'd be one of those tiki holding fucks, wearing a confederate flag hat, and he'd treat kyle soooo much worse. instead, m&t have turned him into a hypocritical false-woke ignorant dumbass - but that's strongly less problematique than it's counterpart, and it works.

because cartman simply serves a different narrative purpose now. and that's not sloppy writing; it's well-timed evolution of a character that stepped into a pre-9/11, pre-trump, pre-social media world! so much has changed, and south park is reflecting that in its characters, most notably in a character who was stuck in the, what, 1960s with his beliefs? that was fine way back when, but matt&trey are smart dudes - they understand that sometimes things have to change. besides, they love cartman, too. he's their favorite. but they understand that when real people act like him, it's not so comedic or satirical or funny, & they don't want to look at cartman, at their creation who they've invested twenty-two years in, and see the all-too-real hate of modern radical white america.

i think we know enough about matt&trey's social stances these days, and the empathy they've seemed to develop after having kids, to understand that they're no longer in their "apathy is best, everyone is stupid" phase. current south park is left-leaning and admittedly preachy at times, but i wouldn't want it any other way. g-d knows it's better this way than if they'd embraced and decided to appeal to their right-libertarian following instead. cartman's evolved in a progressive and positive way, and it's fucking dope, especially to us cartman stans who so badly want him to be good. and he is good right! he's doing so good!

and i know im up my own ass rn but yall know how much i myself have campaigned for jewish kyman/cartman and how much i just deeply and truly adore it, and to see it actualized in a canon episode to some extent? that meant the world to me. i couldn't believe my eyes. i was tellin lai - that's the most genuine, pure, almost violent happiness ive felt in my soul in years. that was like a straight shot of serotonin to the heart. that simple little scene made me so fucken happy yall dont even know. & theres a lot to be said about the political commentary and plenty of other people are analyzing that, but im a simple jewish kyman & cartman stan and boy ive been fed good fjskfkdkdkfk!!!

[luxusnoname]

A Long Forgotten Ache, Pt.1 (Xigbar/Vexen)

Summary: Being a Nobody is easy without all of those messy emotions weighing you down. Still, Xigbar gets to thinking and maybe he misses it a little. Or, rather, he misses someone. But he never goes about things in a straightforward way. The first half of a two part fic.

Characters/Pairings: Xigbar/Vexen

Rating: T (swears, fighting & some blood, nbd)

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Part two is technically done, but I definitely want to do some quality edits before posting. Both parts were actually written last year with inktober prompts, but ended up fitting together nicely as one story. I made a lot of improvements to this portion and want the continuation to be on that same level. So in the meantime… Happy 2/4 ^^

~~~

A Long Forgotten Ache

When Xemnas asked Xigbar who he wanted with him on a recon mission in a world with no magic, the freeshooter was perhaps too quick to volunteer Vexen. He could tell that answer wasn’t exactly what the Superior expected.

“Are you… Quite sure? You wouldn’t rather have Xaldin or Lexaeus accompany you?”

“Look, I know he’s the resident egghead and not exactly our best fighter, but he’s the only one around here with an eye as sharp as mine. Well, almost.” Xigbar grinned and pointed to his good eye to reinforce the point. “Yeah the other two have brute strength, but I could really use his intuition on this one.”

That, of course, was only part of the reason. Vexen was also incredibly fun to agitate. The rise he could get out of him wasn’t the same as it used to be, but it was better than anyone else in the Organization. Plus, they hadn’t spent much time together since becoming Nobodies. He would lie if he wasn’t a little curious as to how much of Even was still left. But personal curiosity and entertainment didn’t make for a good argument, so he said nothing more.

Xemnas hummed to himself, considering. “I suppose that would work. But see to it that he’s capable of defending himself without his magic, should there be any difficulties on the mission. You’ll depart at the end of the week.”

Xigbar gave a flippant salute as he summoned a corridor to the academic’s lab. “You got it, boss.”

As expected, Vexen was less than pleased with Xigbar’s request. Something about his talents being best utilized for research, having no interest in a fruitless recon mission, and honestly Xigbar kinda stopped listening at that point because it turned into a full on laundry list of reasons why he had better things to do and he would not be wasting his time with this.

“See, but here’s the thing,” Xigbar cut in a few minutes into the scientist’s rant, knowing full well he’d be there all day otherwise.  “I’m not just asking you politely. These are orders straight from the top.”

Vexen sputtered, nearly dropping his beaker full of who knows what chemical. “Lord Xemnas himself picked me for this assignment?”

“Well, I made a case for you but yeah, boss man’s orders.”

Vexen finally turned from his experiment and narrowed his eyes at the freeshooter. “If you made a case for me, then I suppose my only way of getting out of this is to make a case against myself. Provided, of course, that’s an option.”

“Heh, you’re welcome to give it a shot,” Xigbar shrugged, “be my guest. But I really doubt he’s gonna budge on this one. I was pretty convincing.”

“We’ll see about that…”

In the next morning’s meeting, Vexen made his case. Or, rather, he tried to make his case. It had only been five minutes and most of the Organization was tuning out. Luxord shuffled and cut his deck, starting up another game of solitaire. Xaldin leaned back in his seat, appearing to nap with his eyes closed. Zexion rolled his eyes as the others quietly chatted amongst themselves. Eventually Xemnas cleared his throat, interrupting the academic and regaining the attention of the meeting.

“While your research is of remarkable importance to the Organization, so is this mission and every other mission we undertake. Do you mean to suggest that the orders I give are frivolous?”

“Of course not, but Lord Xemnas-”

The Superior shot him a withering glare that silenced him once and for all. “My word is final, Number IV. You are going on this mission and I’d rather be certain that you’re prepared for it. Whatever form that preparation takes is up to Xigbar.”

As Xemnas disappeared from the room, uncomfortable glances were exchanged among the remaining members before leaving to begin their own missions. Xigbar shot Vexen a smug grin, receiving an irritated huff in return.

After the meeting, the scientist pulled him aside in the Grey Area. He was slightly subdued after Xemnas’ scolding, but Xigbar could tell if he had emotions that he’d be fuming inside.

“While I believe our Superior has far too much confidence in you, I have no other choice but to comply. So how would you like to do this?”

His lips curled into a cheshire grin. “Meet me back here later tonight and I’ll brief you on the mission. Tomorrow morning, we’ll spar so I can test your readiness.”

Vexen gave no indication that he would comply as he stomped off into a corridor, but Xigbar knew he would show. He may grump and argue until he’s blue in the face, but he followed orders. That was one thing that hadn’t changed about him. About Even.

Xigbar caught himself smirking - no, smiling - at the thought of the academic’s Somebody name. Huh. Despite it all, maybe he hadn’t changed much himself.

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

The next morning found Xigbar waiting for Vexen in the Hall of Empty Melodies. It was his favored room for training because of all the different ways he could manipulate it with his spatial powers, but he also found himself going there to organize his thoughts when his own room became too stifling. He perched himself on the balcony, one knee drawn nearly up to his chest and the other dangling over the edge.

It wasn’t often that Xigbar found himself pondering his past life. He was essentially still Braig, after all, just without all of those messy emotions. And boy had Braig been a mess. Drifting through life and never getting too attached to any person or place for long, bonds weren’t really his thing. It was strange when he found himself becoming one of the Apprentices. 

Ansem was never much more than his employer, to be honest. The man had taken him in, sure, but the guy was the king of Radiant Garden. To consider him a colleague would have been laughable. Really, he spent the most time with Dilan and Aeleus. They were two of the only people he’d ever considered friends. He got on their nerves and he knew it, but he never pushed it too far (though they might argue with that.) But they never got seriously upset with him. Not like Even.

Even. The academic was skeptical when Braig showed up. Understandably so, but did the cold shoulder really have to be so cold? It was no surprise that the man was a master of ice magic; everything about him was frigid, from his stuffy posture to the very air around him. But it only made Braig want to get closer, to get past the ice and warm him up… 

Heh, now those were some thoughts he hadn’t had in a while. All in all, it hadn’t been too bad there at the end. He had coworkers and a routine and a life. A place to call home, despite never having asked for any of it.

And then he gave it all up.

Did he regret it? Sometimes.

There were moments, when they began falling to darkness, when he considered the consequences of his actions. He hadn’t meant for them to be caught up in everything, but then again, how could it have been avoided? He never once went back on his word to the old man, but he’d be lying if he said there were never nights where the guilt gnawed at him, moments he looked at Ienzo and saw a boy that would never truly grow up because of him.

But that was the old life. He stirred out of his thoughts and assessed the room below him. Vexen wasn’t there yet, but would be showing up soon. Xigbar dropped down onto the main platform. He wasn’t sure what to expect from this fight, but he was hoping to be surprised. 

Even had never been the physical type, relying on his magic for self defense. But there was a noticeable difference between Even and Vexen. Despite lacking emotion, there was something about him that suggested fire beneath the Nobody’s icy surface. Or so Xigbar hoped.

“Apologies for being late, I didn’t want to be here.”

Xigbar smirked at the approaching scientist. “About time. I was starting to think you got cold feet and stood me up. You ready?”

“If I have to be,” he grumbled.

With a nod, Xigbar unzipped and shrugged off his coat. The freeshooter still had the standard uniform of black shirt and pants on underneath, but made a show of dramatically rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He snuck a look at Vexen, who was watching with no expression save for a raised eyebrow.

“You failed to mention we’d be disrobing for this,” he muttered, his eyes drifting up and down Xigbar’s form. The freeshooter wondered if he was conscious of it or not.

“C’mon, you call this disrobing?” Xigbar barked out a laugh, peeling off his gloves and throwing them down. “Don’t tell me you’re going commando under there.”

“Well of course not, but-”

“It does wonders for mobility, trust me.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Vexen grumbled to himself as he shed his own jacket. Xigbar couldn’t recall ever having seen the man’s arms bared before - well, mostly bared. His broad shoulders had always been obvious, so it shouldn’t have been too surprising when the scientist wasn’t as scrawny as he’d imagined. Of course, Xigbar couldn’t really talk because apart from Zexion, he was definitely the smallest of the Apprentices in both stature and mass. He gave an appreciative nod before getting into a fighting stance.

Vexen copied the motion as best he could. His form was a little loose, suggesting the lack of experience that Xigbar had expected. But that’s why they were there, right?

He knew the answer before he even asked, but gave Vexen the benefit of the doubt anyway. “You ever done this before, Snowflake?”

“No,” he admitted, “but I don’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter, now do I?”

“Damn straight. After I’m through with you though? You’ll be more than ready for the mission.”

At Vexen’s nod, Xigbar gave a silent countdown. Three. Two. One. Without giving Vexen a moment to think, he lunged and closed the distance between them, hoping to catch him off guard with a swift uppercut. To his surprise, the blow was deflected with relative ease. He took a step back to reassess his opponent.

“Well well well,” he huffed, “I should’ve known the nerd could block a punch. I was gonna take it easy on ya, but now…”

Trailing off, he moved back in and followed up with a series of hooks and jabs, all of which Vexen managed to block. And with each passing second, each failed attempt, the scientist was looking more and more smug. He knew the freeshooter had underestimated him.

As they circled each other, the room silent save for their labored breaths and footfalls, Xigbar grew impatient. He hadn’t managed to land a single hit yet. It wasn’t as if he’d gone into the sparring match with the express purpose of beating on the academic, but he just didn’t understand how he was doing so well. Sure, Vexen wasn’t exactly firing back, instead focusing all of his efforts on defense, but Xigbar was no stranger to a fist fight. So what gives?

And it was then that he remembered Vexen’s signature wasn’t a weapon at all, but a shield. Well, he’d just have to give him something he couldn’t block that easily. He locked eyes with the academic before lunging again.

As expected, Vexen was ready for the attack, dodging the first hit and continuing to deflect the rest. After a few more unsuccessful blows, Xigbar saw his opening and took it. The freeshooter threw all of his weight into a tackle, grabbing the man’s wrists as they both went down.

He sat up, slightly dazed and his own body sore from the fall, but kept the scientist’s arms pinned to the ground. And the momentary look of shock on Vexen’s face - if he could feel shock, anyway - was well worth it. The scientist looked down to see Xigbar straddling his waist and shot him a sneer.

“I didn’t realize this was a grappling match as well,” he hissed between shallow breaths.

Xigbar gave a toothy grin. “Can’t have you being the only one full of surprises, now can I?”

He kept Vexen pinned a few seconds longer, looking down at him. The academic was a mess of blonde hair and faux anger, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm as he caught his breath. He glared at Xigbar, waiting for him to say or do something. Daring him to make a move. And so without a second thought, Xigbar dipped his head and pressed his lips to Vexen’s in a fleeting kiss.

Or, what was meant to be fleeting. The kiss was unexpectedly returned, Vexen’s mouth parting with a quiet ‘mmph’ before falling into sync with Xigbar’s. Something sparked in the sharpshooter’s chest - a long forgotten ache, right where his non existent heart should be. He pulled back, unable to keep his jaw from going slack as he stared down at Vexen. The man’s face was a mirror of his own, almost as if he was equally surprised at the reciprocation. Unless… he felt it too? Xigbar almost thought he saw color beginning to tinge the man’s cheeks when-

CRACK.

In his moment of distraction, Vexen had freed his right hand and swung with all of his remaining strength, landing a solid blow against the freeshooter’s face and effectively knocking him off.

Xigbar clutched at his bleeding and likely broken nose, eye wide with shock. His breath came in gasps as he stared at Vexen. “… the fuck?”

Vexen stood up and grabbed his jacket, furiously brushing his hair back into place. His face was definitely turning red and for a moment Xigbar could swear he was looking at a flustered Even, not the heartless Nobody that had just decked him.

“I’ll see you on the day of the mission, and not a moment before.” He gave the sharpshooter one last glare before disappearing into a dark corridor.

Xigbar couldn’t even think straight as he tried to process everything that just happened. The fight was over quicker than expected. Shit, had he technically lost? Did he just get his ass handed to him by Vexen? All because of some… stupid tingling in his chest that shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. Or at least, it hadn’t been in a long time. Why had he done that?

He laid down, head thunking against the floor as he clutched at his still bleeding nose. Well, maybe it wasn’t all bad. Vexen wouldn’t be telling anyone about their little match after that stunt, so at least his dignity was spared. But that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

In private, Xermnas had confided in him that regrowth of one’s heart was theoretically possible. It was gone now, but he still felt the ghost sensations of a pulse, the flickering of a flame that had long gone out. Maybe there was something to that theory after all. Not that he’d be reporting this back to their Superior any time soon. Or ever.

Instead, it might be worth it to look into the phenomenon on his own. And if he played his cards right, Vexen might willingly help him. He allowed himself a chuckle before closing his eye. After all, research was easier with a partner.

[living-on-the-virge]

Delphiniums & Desire [CH 1]

Summary: Remy Savidge is just a broke 22 year old guy. His life is going terribly wrong and at this point he has nothing to lose, so with encouragement from his best friend Roman... He finds a sugar daddy. Except falling in love wasn't quite part of the plan. Pairing: Remile (Remy x Emile) Warnings: Sugar Daddy stuff. Note: Nope. [AO3 LINK]

Remy’s grip on the letter tightened, crumpling the sheets between his fingers. He groaned and threw the letter down onto his small kitchen table before turning to kick his wall. His neighbour’s dog barked, and he glared at the peeling wallpaper as if that would shut the dog up. It didn’t. Obviously. His stomach growled and he opened his fridge, finding nothing but a half empty bottle of some weird smoothie (Something Remus had left behind. Remy hated the stuff.).

Remy grabbed his jacket – Black leather, a gift he’d gotten from Roman – and headed out the door, pushing up his sunglasses as he moved. It wasn’t warm out, the crisp October air bit at his skin and orange leaves crunched under his boots, but the glasses were more of a comfort item than protection from the sun anyway. He made his way to the closest Starbucks and pulled out his wallet groaning when he only managed to pull out a few coins. He replaced his wallet and took out his phone instead.

It didn’t take long for Roman to pick up the call.

“Roman, honey, so you know I’m like, the bestest friend ever-“

Roman laughed. “Want a coffee?”

Remy looked around, squinting through his glasses. “Yeah, of course. How’d you-“

“I’m inside of Starbucks and I can see you, idiot. Come inside.”

Remy chuckled quietly as he hung up the phone, walking inside and seeing a flash of red in the corner. Roman. Perfect. He walked over and fell, rather dramatically, into the seat opposite Roman.

“Alright, spill,” Roman demanded, sitting forward in his seat. He cupped his face with his own hands, watching Remy.

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Spill what?”

“Something’s bothering you. My best friend senses are tingling. What’s up?”

Remy’s face dropped and his entire body seemed to mirror that. He crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them. “My landlord is threatening to kick me out. Work is barely getting me any decent money. I have no food at my house and I’m broke.”

Roman’s expression softened and he reached over the table, taking hold of the hand closest to him. “Hey, Rems?” He said quietly.

“Mm.”

“You know you can stay with me and Remus, yeah? I know Remus is a lot to deal with-“

“He ate my fish.”

“Yeah, ok, ok. I know, trust me. He’s wild and it can be tiring, but he cares about you just as much as I do. The couch isn’t super comfortable but you’re free to crash with us for as long as you need.”

The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He sat back up and Roman squeezed his hand before pulling back.

“Or you could get a sugar daddy,” Roman shrugged as he took a sip of his drink.

Remy laughed, but the idea stayed in his mind for the rest of the meeting.

The two sat in the Starbucks for another hour, talking about whatever came to mind. Remy’s worries, while still definitely tugging at him, were pushed back in his head for a while as Roman talked about some new chaotic mixture Remus had created at home. When they finally parted Remy felt better. Not great, but anything was an improvement from his earlier mood.

‘Or you could get a sugar daddy.’

Remy took out his phone and scrolled through the app store, trying to find an app that didn’t seem so shady. He found one with good reviews and ratings and sighed. It’s not like he had anything to lose. Maybe if his ‘sugar daddy’ tried to rob him they’d feel bad at how shitty his living situation was and they’d leave him alone. He chuckled at the thought as he downloaded the app and set up a profile.

He spent the next hour looking through profiles, sending his favourites to Roman for his opinions. Some of the bios made him laugh. His eyes caught a flash of pink and blue and he clicked.

‘Emile Picani, 32’

Fun, Remy thought. That was only a ten-year difference. Much smaller than the difference between some of his other options. The profile looked a lot more casual than the others – A softer tone, multiple cartoon references. Remy smiled as he screenshotted the profile and sent it to Roman. He got an immediate reply.

‘Princey: look if you don’t fuck him, I will :P’

He took that as a good sign and clicked the ‘Start Talking’ button. His fingers froze over the keyboard as it opened. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to act? How did sugar babies do this?

“Just be like, casual. Be calm. What do you have to lose?” He muttered to himself as he started typing.

‘Remy Savidge: uhhhHHHH’

‘Remy Savidge: damn, you’re so pretty I forgot what I wanted to say’

Remy groaned to himself and threw himself down onto his bed. There was no way this would work, this was stupid. He couldn’t even send a normal, human sounding message to the guy. How was he going to convince a stranger to pay his bills? How-

His phone buzzed in his hand.

‘Emile Picani: Cute first move, sugar. You made me blush! Nobody on this app has managed that yet.’

Remy instantly messaged Roman. How the fuck was he supposed to reply? How the fuck did he actually get a response. What the fuck was happening. He was going to kill Roman for ever suggesting this-

Bzzz.

‘Emile Picani: Your profile says you’re new to this. I’d be glad to help you out. If you wanna keep talking, here’s my number!’

Remy saved the number without thinking and instantly texted it.

‘Remy: is it usually this easy to get a number? damn, ive been doing it wrong all these years’

‘Emile: Aww, sugar. You caught my eye more than everyone else. You wouldn’t believe the amount of people that start conversations with ‘Give me money’. It’s crazy.’

Remy smiled and instantly found himself sucked into the conversation. The two talked back and forth for the remainder of the night, and Remy found himself laughing multiple times. It was nearing 1am when Emile finally said goodnight.

‘Emile: Sorry to end things here. I need to get to sleep, I have work tomorrow morning. Maybe we could arrange a meeting on Wednesday? There’s a nice little café not too far from my office and I’m friends with the owner.’

Remy stared down at his screen. Already meeting? Did Emile want to talk about Remy actually being a sugar baby?

‘Emile: Unless I’m being too fast, or I misunderstood your mood. We could wait a little longer?’

‘Remy: no, no, just didn’t expect things to work like this. wednesday works. Some time in the afternoon? i like to sleep in’

‘Emile: Of course, sugar. I’ll see you then.’

Remy smiled as he turned off his phone and lay down. Now he just had to hope that this Emile guy was as friendly as he seemed. He closed his eyes and sighed. Now he just had to wait for Wednesday to roll around.

The café that Emile had chosen was nice. Not quite as busy as the Starbucks that Remy had gotten used to, but he appreciated the change. A friendly guy had greeted him as he walked in, all warm smiles and round-framed glasses and soft words. After learning he was waiting for Emile, the guy lead Remy to a table near a window and sat him down.

“Now, what can I getcha? Anythin’ catching your eye?” He asked, motioning towards the menu on the table.

Remy shook his head. “I don’t have any like, money right now. I’m good.”

The grinning man just laughed. “Oh, honey no. You’re waiting for Emmie, aren’t ya? You can order anything you’d like, that man is a softie and he’d’ve brought you something anyway.”

Remy felt his face grow slightly warmer as he looked down at the menu. “Uh- Black coffee and a blueberry muffin, please?”

He received a nod in return. “Of course. I’ll be right back!”

Remy felt the need to shrink back in his seat. Or run. What if this Emile guy didn’t actually arrive, or what if he did but he wasn’t nice, or what if Remy had to pay for himself, or what if this was all just some trap to harvest his organs for pie-

He hid his face in his hands. He’d been around Remus too much.

He heard footsteps and looked up, expecting to see a bright smile and a coffee, instead being greeted by one Emile Picani. Remy’s eyes widened behind his glasses. Emile was tall – Roughly somewhere around 6 feet tall if Remy had to guess, but either way he towered over the table. His hair was light brown and slightly curled at the ends, light freckles dotted over his cheeks and nose, and his eyes behind his glasses looked to be roughly the same light brown as his hair. He smiled and sat down opposite Remy.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for too long,” He said. “Traffic was terrible today.”

Remy shook his head and shifted in his seat, kinda glad that his shades mostly hid his staring. “I haven’t like, been here for too long.”

It was then that the friendly man from before walked back out, carrying a tray with coffee and a muffin. His eyes lit up when he saw Emile, but he held back his excitement until after he’d given Remy his items.

“Emmie!”

Emile grinned. “Hey Patton! Hope you didn’t scare Remy too much while I was gone.”

Patton pulled a face of mock-offence hand over his chest. “I would never. Dee would for sure, but he’s not in today. Family emergency.”

“Shame,” Emile said, frowning slightly. “I was hoping to set up another session with him. Oh, well- I’ll take the usual please?”

Patton nodded and walked off again. Emile turned his attention back to Remy. “Sorry about all of that, I haven’t been in here for a couple of weeks.”

Remy shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s fine. I get it. I like, do that with my friends too.”

Emile sat back in his seat and rested his arms on the table. “So, lets talk about this. Since you showed up, I’m assuming you haven’t changed your mind about being a sugar baby?”

“No.”

“Good,” Emile smiled, and Remy felt Emile’s eyes burn through his shades. “So, lets set up a few ground rules before we discuss allowances. Is that ok?”

Remy nodded.

“Alright! So, since this isn’t a fully committed romantic relationship, I’m not going to be bothered if you… Hook up with other people when we aren’t together, or even find a partner. That isn’t any of my business and I won’t stop you from doing that.” Emile nodded his head in thanks as Patton put down a plate with a sandwich and a cup of tea. “I don’t work on Wednesdays or most Sundays, so I’m available to meet with you at least once and sometimes twice a week, and if you decide you want to meet more, you’re allowed to ask.”

Remy nodded along quietly as Emile spoke. Sure, he was listening, but he couldn’t help but pay attention to the small details in the older man. The way his hands twitched slightly as he picked up his cup, or the light freckles that ran down his neck.

“Anyway, for your allowance – Is there an amount you’d like to offer up before I say what I was thinking?”

Remy was pulled back out of his thoughts. He blinked a few times as he tried to come up with a number. “Uhhh. $300?”

“A week?”

“Y…Yeah? Is that too much?” Remy asked.

Emile paused for a second before laughing. “Oh, sugar… You really are new to this, huh? You’re precious. Alright, alright, my offer is $800 a week, as well as some gifts when I find something, I think you’ll like.”

Remy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Of course. Is that ok? We can discuss raising it once we’re both more comfortable with everything and if both of our wants in the relationship change.”

Remy nodded and grinned as he finished his muffin. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds great.”

Emile’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked it. “Oh dear.”

He stood up, dropping a few notes onto the table. “Sorry, sugar. I’m needed back at the office for something. I’ll text you later? We’ll finish up all the final details of the arrangement and hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

Remy made a noise of agreement and Emile rushed out of the door. He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. This was definitely a story to tell Roman.

[the--sad--hatter]

Game Of Survival - 4 (Bucky x Reader)

 FANDOM - MARVEL

PAIRING - BUCKY X FEM!READER

WARNINGS - SMUT, VIOLENCE, ANGST, VERY GRAPHIC BLOOD AND GORE, SWEARING, DRUGS AND ALCOHOL

DESCRIPTION -

The Executioner - Killer of Killers, the monster that hunts monsters, the bad-guys bogeyman.

It’s a title you earned and one that you cherish. Your goals are justified, your methods are not. But when a simple murder turns into a suicide and you are left clutching a flash drive with a terrible secret on it, you find yourself caught up in a mystery that you can’t solve alone. You turn to the professionals, the experts, the heroes. The Avengers.

With the lives of everyone in the world suddenly at stake, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes have no choice but accept your help and Bucky Barnes quickly finds himself drawn in by you. He never much believed in love, let alone love at first sight so it figures he’d be proven wrong in such a spectacular way.

Masterlist

“Do you need some help with that?” The infamously angry Avenger asked you timidly.

 “I’ve got it doc.” You assured, using your teeth to bite through the end of the stitch.

 “Are you sure?” Bruce pressed, looking a little unsure about your unsanitary methods.

 “If I let you do it will you stop hovering like a concerned mother hen?” You asked, smirking.

 “I’ll sew like a concerned mother hen?” He offered.

“Have at it.” You said, waving at the wound.

 He made quick work of fixing your torn stitches, tutting at you all the while.

 “Try not to mess these ones up.” He scolded when he was finished.

 “If I promise, would you believe me?” You asked, pulling your coat back on.

 “Yes.” He shrugged, like it was a simple answer.

 You paused in semi-amused surprise.

 “I won’t promise then.” You said.

 “Come on, the team are waiting.” He said, gesturing for you to follow him.

 “You went through the info?” You asked, walking behind him.

 “I did.” He confirmed and that was the extent of the information he gave you until you arrived at the meeting room.

 “Ex, Bruce. What are we looking at then?” Clint asked.

 “Well, it’s difficult to say. There were a lot of holes in the data.” Bruce said, fiddling with his glasses.

 “But were you able to decipher any of it?” Steve pressed.

 “It’s a virus, that’s certain. Whether it’s lethal or even dangerous, I can’t say yet. I need more data. But, it does look potentially dangerous. There were also partial plans for a dispersal system, it appears to be an synthesized airborne virus. “Bruce explained.

 “So you need the rest of the data, is there another flashdrive somewhere then?” Natasha said to the room at large.

 “There are five more.” You announced.

 “Say Ex, any information you want to share?” Tony asked sarcastically.

 “The six will be five but they will continue. Those were Sora Kawashima’s dying words, right before he flung himself and that flashdrive off a skyscraper.” You said, nodding to the drive in question.

 “So the guy swandived off a building rather than deal with you? Does that prove a damn thing?” Sam asked.

 “Maybe, maybe not. The fact that I walked away from the building without a bullet wound but arrived here half dead, that proves something.” You responded.

 “That you have a lot of enemies?” Sam rebutted.

 “Get your head out of the clouds Tweetie Pie, people have hated me for years and not one has ever caught me. I get that drive and in a matter of hours I’m being hunted down by a dozen highly trained assassins? You really think that’s a coincidence?” You asked.

 “It might be, we don’t know.”

 “You willing to risk the entire world on that chance?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, challenging him.

 “No. I’m not.” He sighed.

 “Me either. I risked my life and my freedom to bring that thing here, the least you could do is consider the possibility that I’m not an idiot.” You quipped.

 “That was almost heroic of you.” Bucky whispered in your ear.

 “So there’s possibly five more flashdrives out there, all holding part of the puzzle. Let’s consider this a potential threat. How do we get the other five?” Steve asked.

 “Any ideas?” Natasha asked, turning to you.

 You made sure you held Bucky’s gaze while you answered.

 “Well, since you asked… I do have one of my attackers hanging off a meat hook in a storage unit in the city.”

 There was an awkward silence after your declaration.

 “Ex… You’ve been here a whole damn day. This entire time, you’ve had someone ‘hanging out’ who might know more?” Steve clarified.

 “Relax, I put her on a IV drip so she didn’t you know, die.” You said casually.

 “And you didn’t mention this sooner, why?” Tony asked, looking concerned about your mental state.

 “Leverage.” You said like it was obvious.

 “Address?” Steve sighed.

 “I’ll text you it when I’m a few miles away.” You told them.

 “Miles away from where?” Sam asked.

 “From us. She stuck around to make sure we were going to handle this, now she’s going to cut and run before we arrest her. Her victim is her leverage against being taken in.” Natasha explained nonchalantly.

 “You’re leaving us to handle this? You aren’t sticking around?” Steve asked, sounding almost disappointed.

 “Sorry Cap, I’m just not that heroic.” You said, winking at Bucky.

 “You aren’t leaving.” Bucky stated calmly.

 “Well actually, I am. And none of you will stop me, because even if the threat isn’t real, IV drips don’t last forever and if you don’t get to that woman soon she will die.” You said equally as calm.

 “I’m sorry, at what point did any of us act like we were remotely interested in arresting you?” Tony asked, looking around the room for dramatic effect.

 “You won’t leave, because if you do you won’t know if we actually handled it. The world might be in danger and you can’t just walk away and trust someone else to save it.” Bucky continued, like Tony hadn’t spoken.

 In fact, the way Bucky was looking at you was like there was nobody else in the room.

 “If you can’t rely on The Avengers to save the world, who can you rely on?” You asked him with a mocking grin.

 “Yourself.” He shot back.

 “I have complete faith in you soldier. You’ve got this, you don’t need me.” You assured him, backing away towards the door.

 “You’ll be back.” He said, sounding absolutely certain.

 “Leave the porch light on for me.” You told them, waving sarcastically as you left.

 “I’m changing all the locks. In fact, lets just move.” Tony joked in the silence you left behind.

 “She’s coming back.” Bucky repeated, unable to hold back the smirk as he left the room.

 “SerialWinter… WinterDeath…. OH KillerFrost!” Clint proclaimed.

 “What?” Sam asked.

 “Ship names? For those two.” Clint explained, waving towards the door.

 “Bucky and Ex? No way, even Barnes isn’t that desperate.” Sam scoffed.

 “Hate to say it but Clint’s right. You could cut that sexual tension with a knife. One of the many knives they have between them.” Tony snorted.

   Bucky had forcing himself to walk towards his room, even though every cell in his body had begged him to go after you. He couldn’t make you stay though, it would be impossible. And strange. Because why would you stick around for someone you’d know for less than a day? The better question was, why did he want… no, need you to stay? The second he’d heard your voice he had been drawn to you but finding out who you were should have knocked some sense into him. So why was he still pining after a virtual stranger?

 He'd been certain you would come back but what if you didn’t? What if he never saw you again? Would that be best? Would he be able to just forget about you?

 Yes, he decided. You were a beautiful woman and he’d responded to that but it was meaningless.

 Except it wasn’t meaningless. He knew who and what you were but a killer wasn’t such a bad thing, especially one who only killed bad guys. You weren’t as different to The Avengers as you seemed to think. You all had the same goals, your personal methodology was just a little more violent. So knowing you were The Executioner changed nothing for him.

  He had believed in love at first sight when he was young but life had beaten all romantic notions out of him and he knew there was no such thing now. Lust at first sight, yes, but not love. After one conversation with you though? He could admit that there was at least more than superficial desire there. So if he was wrong and you didn’t come back then it wouldn’t be as simple as just forgetting you.

 He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts he barely paid attention to the trip into the city after you had sent Friday the coordinates, spending the journey deep in thought.

 “Do you trust her?” He asked Steve as they approached the abandoned factory.

 Either you’d lied about the storage facility as a precaution or they were walking into a trap. It might have been stupid but Bucky  wasn’t worried, lying was surprisingly not something you had done a lot.

 “She’s a serial killer, I’m Captain America. I know I’m supposed to say I don’t trust her but…” Steve sighed.

 “You do.” Bucky deduced.

 “I dunno Buck, I know she bloodthirsty but from where I’m standing it just seems like she really doesn’t like bullies. We don’t know why she is the way she is but maybe she doesn’t have to be this way if somebody can actually trust her and show her another way.” Steve said.

 It was like being smacked in the face and he knew why he had been more drawn to her after finding out more about her. She was like the best of Steve and the worst of him, rolled into one. She had the morality and righteousness of Captain America  and the cold methodology and skill of The Winter Soldier. There might have been some truth to her claim about him seeing redeeming her as another step to his own redemption after all. It made him nervous that she had read him so well, as well as he had read her.

 “One faint life signal inside, no booby traps. So far looks like our stray serial killer was telling the truth.” Tony said over the comms.

 Steve nodded and waved Bucky forwards. Hawkeye and The Black Widow were the first to make it inside from the back entrance and were already waiting by the strung up body with expression of morbid amusement.

 “Well… She did say she had her attacker strung up on a meat hook.” Natasha said with a shrug.

 The woman was dressed in some kind of dark stealth suit and looked dead but the faint rise and fall of her chest proved that she was remarkably alive. Remarkable because as Bucky walked around the room he saw what Natasha’s comment had meant. There was a metal butchers hook firmly wedged into the skin and muscle of your victims back, and the position and depth of the injury, Bucky would be surprised if the woman would ever walk again.

 “Guess she didn’t want her attacker waking up and trying to run away.” Bucky remarked coldly.

 “Man, how are any of you ok with this?” Sam yelped.

 Bucky, Clint and Natasha shrugged and Sam turned to Steve for backup with an almost desperate expression.

 “Ex did warn us, it’s on us for assuming she would just tie up somebody who shot her.” Steve said heavily.

 “Medics are on the way, I don’t think we’ll be getting anything out of her soon.” Tony said.

 “That’s what we get for trusting a psychopath I guess.” Sam said snappily.

 “You act like she’s the only psychopath we know.” Tony snorted.

 “Yeah Wilson, this your way of saying you don’t want to be friends anymore?” Natasha asked coolly, the smirk in her face the only sign she was teasing.

 “You are all insane.” Sam grumbled.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Bucky was well tuned to his surroundings so as soon as he walked into his room upon his return to the compound, he knew something was wrong. There was a sliver of light in the dark room, coming from the bathroom. He silently unholstered his gun and crept towards the en-suite, smirking when he saw the discarded coat strewn across his bed and putting the gun down.

 “I told you you’d be back.” He said, leaning against the bathroom doorframe.

 “Well, you said you knew how to stitch up bullet holes.” You called back.  

 He pushed the door open, brow furrowed in concern that was only amplified when he saw what awaited him.

 “Brought you a gift.” You said proudly, gesturing to the half dead guy in the bathtub.

A/N - 

Bucky: I need help. I have a stray cat that keeps bringing me dead things. Steve: Try spritzing it with a water bottle? Bucky: *Imagining it* I don't see that going well. Sam: Catnip? Bucky: *Briefly considers it* I could try but I have doubts. Tony: Buy a dog? Bucky: It's Ex, ok? She keeps bringing me bodies. Clint: Aww, she likes you!

@keepcalmandsosayweall @shirukitsune @alina-barnes@musingpredilection @sexyvixen7 @dropthepizza346  @nighmxre @chook007 @dragonrosegardens @brazen88brat @clockworkherondale @demonlover87 @life-wanderer @joe-mazzello-is-my-dad @sireennotsiren @rootbeerboogy @spnrvt @musingsofafangirlblog 

[clownbeep]

This is gonna be kinda brutal. But I want to put it into writing

Big vent/whats been going on

Hah... I guess this is like my life story or some shit...

Trigger warning ahead.. Depression and a bit of gore/suicide talk so if you are sensitive to that please, for your own sake and mental state you might not want to continue.

For those who dont want to hear a pretty dark vent, I understand.

And those who are just scrolling by feel free to scroll past. I just personally want to get this out.

If you have dealt with emotional neglect/abuse and need to know it isnt in your head this might be the post.

By writing this it feels like hopefully someone else will read this and realise certain things are NOT healthy.

If you are questioning if you are being emotionally neglected/abused (im speaking in a parental sense but even romantically or sexually) im not someone to give you answers, but the fact you are questioning it raises some red flags. In a healthy relationship you dont wonder those things.

Sorry for the long prelude but heres what I wanted to say

.

.

.

.

.

.

Ever since I was young, ive had bad ADHD, manic bipolar/depression, and sensory issues.

I was diagnosed around 13 I believe. My family (I didnt realise it then) always showed pity. Like I was some wild animal that couldnt be tamed and there was nothing they could do. Id do and say stupid attention seeking things just to try and get a shred of empathy.

My family didnt care.

When I was in the hospital for a suicide attempt regaurding pills and my liver had a chance of failing.. None of my family members cried over me. But a family friend. Someone not. Even. Related. Wept over me.

My family didnt care.

I cant say they never cared. They give me food water and luxuries like internet and a phone. For that I am grateful.

But in many other ways they have hurt me faar more than helped.

Once I got out of a short term stay in an inpatient mental facility I desperately needed contact with anyone who would care for me.

I have a younger sister, quite young probably around 7 at the time. She was a close friend of mine for that time. Id hang out with her so often to fill the gap in love it felt my family didnt give. One day I walked into the dining room and overheard my mother and father talking to my little sister. They told her to keep away because I wasnt "stable" because I was "dangerous" and could give her bad Ideas. And with one single action my only friend at the time and way to find happiness was taken away.

My family did not care.

When I stay in bed every day for months on end not knowing which day ill snap and end it all.... I get called lazy.

My family did not care

When I beg for medication to make me a functional human being they brush me off for years on end. Im losing my grip. I can barely remember things that have happened last week because I try so hard to forget everything its my automatic response to everything.

When I cant get to sleep because all of the memories come flooding back and im hit by wave after wave of horrific memories and the feeling if worthlessness... When I cant watch any videos or read posts about families because it brings on unwanted memories and emotions....

Is it me being dramatic then?

When you hear your family openly mocking and laughing about how stupid and dramatic and fake trans people are... How weird and unnatural and mentally insane these people are not knowing they are the very reason grsm and trans suicides are so high...

Am I a liar now? Am I insane?

When I tried to talk to them about my mental health issues. They took my only way of contact and made me feel like it was my own fault.

My family didnt care.

When I was nearly passed out shaking in a bathtub covered in wounds and blood all over... They showed pity, then lectured me for an hour for not telling them or for being impulsive and basically cleaned my wounds and sent me into my room.

My family didnt care.

Yes. I do agree, they cleaned my wounds, the physical side of showing care. However emotionally they were not there.

When my father drinks so heavilly every day he is home from work that he forgets half the things he tells you and can barely function.. They lecture my older sister for having a glass of wine (legal age)

They did not care.

My sister (23) tried for so many years to cling to what little attention she would get by getting good grades and going to college... She realised that it changed nothing about how my family felt toward her.... She snapped.

My family did not care.

She starves herself for a disease she does not have, she uses religion as an exuse to be one of the biggest christian extremists I personally know. Half the days she doesnt eat... Other days she burns book and gets rid of items for being demonic.

My lovely sister used to be kind and quite normal. However she couldnt find comfort in what little live her family gave. Starved for care she turned to religion to un unhealthy degree. Finding any way to keep her mind busy. Now I worry she will end up in the hospital for weighing so little.

My family did not care.

My oldest sister (27) Is married to a continuously cheating husband who she keeps letting back into her life. She was raised with a failing marrige and doesnt seem to see when she should call it quits.

Not to mention her husband has touched someone legally under the age of concent. Did she report him to the authorities? No.

All of these horrific things stemming from bad parenting. Unhealthy relationships and neglect.

Neglect emotionally can cause just as bad things as physical neglect. They are both horrifically dangerous in different ways.

These are the only big things I can remember... Basically age 15 and below are a complete blur to me and I cant remember much of it without thinking for a looong time. Even then I cant remember a lot of it... I feel like ive lost my whole damn childhood. And it hurts more than if they had just hit me or physically harmed me.

Im not underplaying physically harm. But in my personaly opinion I would rather my family have beaten me badly because at least then id have an easier way to prove to people how severe the abuse was. You can see bruises and confirm broken bones... But years of feeling completely useless and being shut off from most of the world other than the internet... It fucks you up in a way I dont think can be healed.

I dont know if I can ever love myself or... Remember things. Its terrifying to think Ill post this and a few weeks later probably not even rememner unless its brought up. Or meeting people and having conversations... And they are just... Gone.

Gone.

I suppose the biggest reason im writing this is well... In the future I dont want to forget in some ways.. I want like to be 100× as awesome knowing itll start as soon as im out of here..

If I dont have anything to compare it too then what is the point?

Ive layed out basically most of what I remember

A large amount of time I look around and nothing registers... Everything is familiar but I cant remember anything for a moment or two.. I feel like my memory is slipping so fast and im terrified.. I cant do anything to stop it and I cant make my mood be stable without the medication my family cant be bothered to get ...

I suppose this is a bit of a vent. I know its kind of everywhere and unorganized..

If im honest.. Tumblr is the only place where people have given me a home I wish I had..

I came out as trans here... Everyone was so damn supportive.. I didnt say anything but I cried hard and the kindness.. It was amazing.. It was such a jarring difference to how I feel when I say anything in real life.

Ive met friends here and ive had some much fun here. If youve stuck around this far thank you so much.. If you didnt I dont blame you.

I just wanted to share what has been flashing in my head these past few days.. It hurts a lot and ive even considered suicide recently..

Im trying hard. As hard as I can.. I have no escape though.

I cannot leave home. I cannot escape. Im not being dramatic.

I

CANT

LEAVE

And its terrifying because I know without medication or at least being somewhere AWAY from family.... I feel like im going to break soon.

I dont want to do anything stupid.. But some days I cant think straight and do things that harm myself and its not good. Its not okay. Im aware that I need help but I have no idea where to go/turn.. I have no ID or drivers liscence.. I have no transportation to and from a job to get money so I can leave... I live in the middle of nowhere.... I just..

I dont want to lose touch. I dont want to do anything bad.. I want to be functional.. I want to do more than eat and sleep my life away because I have nothing else to do..

Im so damn sick and tired of this all.. And at times I really do feel like there is only one way out.

Its always there and I just feel like one of these days im gonna be pushed over the edge and not be thinking clearly enough to stop it.

Im thinking semi clearly right now which is my im posting this.. Because im afraid and alone.

I have nowhere to go irl I have no friends Irl i just have tumblr and media and thats it. I dont expect anyone to be able to help I just wanted to write this so anyone knows what happens if I leave media..

If I tell my family my issues they will blow me off again for the 11th time or so (not exaggerated)

And if I do something to get sent to the hospital and get the help I need the cycle will continue with them being pissed and me getting sent home in a month or less anly for my family relationships to get worse..

Im spiraling fuether and further and I cant keep up the facade of being fine. I need help. And i have no way to get it. Ive just been suffering for years...

Sitting around and doing nothing but using your phone or drawing or whatever sound fun in theory... But if thats all youve been able to do for years with little to no real life social contact its gonna mess with your head... I dont want to be a shut in... I just

I dont know what to do.

Im sorry for rambling. I will most likely delete this later feeling embarrassed I posted this...

Im just tired..

[mossflowermouse]

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve been reading ‘When Christ and His Saints Slept’ by Sharon Penman, writing my thoughts down as I went. Currently writing a proper review of the book as a whole, but for now I’m posting those original bullet-point reactions. It got kind of long so this is part one of three. I’ve also gone back through and divided things up by chapter, because otherwise it’ll get really confusing. 

Below the cut, the civil war begins, everyone is picking sides (but not necessarily staying where they first choose), and I am emotional about the mess this has very quickly become for everyone involved.

Did a bit of reading up on this period – for historical fiction, I like to know more or less what will be covered, especially for Penman books since there's such close attention to detail (also because it can lead to some lovely dramatic irony, knowing how things will play out, and I don’t think of it as spoilers in the same way as other fiction). I’m now aware of the broad strokes – bits of the family tree, the ship sinking, some of the key events during the Anarchy. Also thanks to that one Horrible Histories song, I know Stephen becomes king but Maude is never crowned queen, and her son Henry succeeds Stephen.

I’ve read one other book by this author, ‘The Sunne in Splendour’, but fully expect this to be a completely different experience – I’d spent months studying and reading up on the Wars of the Roses before that, whereas here all the knowledge I have is from like half an hour of Googling, the family tree in the front of the book, things from a few Tumblr posts, and some other faintly-remembered facts about the earliest Plantagenets. I’m really looking forward to it, though, and fully expect to be destroyed with family drama, incredible historical accuracy, and the heartbreak of getting attached to these people while knowing the inevitable conclusion. Here goes.

Chapter I:

Oh no Stephen's got so many relatives on the White Ship 

William’s giving me Edmund of Rutland déjà vu – there seems to be a running theme of Penman’s books opening with the death of a 17-year-old noble sibling of one of the main characters. 

Oh no I got attached to William 

(HOW did I get attached to William, he was alive for like five pages)

Just finished reading the sinking of the White Ship, decided to research it a bit more. I really ought to stop being surprised by how much of the stuff in Penman's novels is real – in this case, Berold as the sole survivor and William's attempt to go back for his sister were the details I'd wondered about. In conclusion: already hooked.

[then I forgot to write anything for a while because the book was too gripping]

Chapter IV:

Ranulf is fairly prominent in these chapters - according to the character list, he seems to be the only notable fictional character. When reading The Sunne in Splendour, I didn't find out Veronique was made up until the author's note at the end, so comparing the experience of reading about those two will be interesting. I like him though. 

Note to self: look into William Rufus' death - Stephen and Ranulf's conversation about how Ranulf’s father took the throne has me intrigued.

Chapter V:

First impression of Geoffrey was that he was awful; a hundred pages in and he's done nothing to really change that. Currently resisting the temptation to Google and find out how much longer the characters and I have to deal with him.

I know Maude's not going to get the throne and it's making me sad because of her line about freedom. 

And then listing the people she trusts and Stephen's one of them...oh you poor dysfunctional family. And the worst part is, it really doesn't seem like he's going to take the throne for his own gain - he's going to think it's for the best for all of them and he cares about Maude and all their siblings and cousins will have to choose sides :(

And there it is.

Chapters VI and VII:

Stephen: what other choice does Maude have but to accept my kingship? ...well, according to Wikipedia, wage war against you for twenty years, Stephen.

Oh god even Robert's accepted Stephen as king, I was expecting him to side with Maude. He doesn't seem happy with it, though - maybe a change of heart later on? 

Ranulf's the only one so far who definitely seems to be on Maude's side.

Okay, yeah, less than half a page later and Robert's already explaining that his loyalty to Stephen is largely a waiting game.

Ranulf's going to get himself killed with his recklessness and open loyalty to Maude isn't he. And I can't even look him up to know for sure and prepare myself because he's fictional. Why. 

Oh no and Amabel just mentioned he's seventeen, that's absolutely a death flag as far as Penman characters are concerned (William in this one, Edmund of Rutland and Edouard of Westminster in TSiS come to mind).

Amabel's like "well what does Ranulf have to lose by supporting Maude" and while Robert replies by talking about his betrothal, I'm suddenly very worried that the real answer is "his life"

(Also, I appreciate that much of the book up to this point has been dedicated to the bonds between family members who will soon be on opposite sides of a civil war. This is going to hurt, but I do like being invested in characters.)

Annora :(

Awww, Maude and Ranulf (and poor Ranulf's looking back on his memories of Stephen)

First mention of Eleanor of Aquitaine!

Ugh, Geoffrey.

UGH, GEOFFREY

And first mention of William de Ypres!

Ranulf is still so optimistic and he's going to get his heart broken. 

And Ancel says Annora's married. Yup, I suspected she might not be as willing to wait as Ranulf, given the circumstances.

Hmm, Stephen's having difficulty with his court. 

Any reference to Robert as 'Gloucester' is making me instinctively like him more after TSiS. (Also, even besides that, the king's relative Gloucester being one of the most powerful nobles is something that keeps cropping up in medieval England. Although Robert's the Earl rather than Duke like later ones)

Chapters VIII and IX:

Robert and Amabel have decided to support Maude! Yes! Now I'm wondering if this will be permanent, though, because there's still 750 pages and like fifteen years of civil war to go. Something other than Geoffrey is going to have to go wrong for Maude for the war to continue that long, because Stephen's really not doing well here.

More traitors in Stephen's court (Miles and Brien) - I wasn't sure at first if it was just unfounded suspicion from Stephen and the other barons, but yeah, it seems they're loyal to Maude.

Matilda's taking a much more active role in the war - first the Dover siege, now the treaty with David of Scotland. I'm enjoying seeing her grow in confidence and discover what she’s able to achieve. Maybe it's not that things will go wrong for Maude, but instead a case of things starting to go right for Stephen and Matilda's side.

Meanwhile, Stephen's being peer pressured into becoming a harsher ruler (well, it's more that several of the nobles are pretty much ruling though him. And the Beaumonts aren't happy about Matilda's influence. Please give me all the court drama, this is good.)

(Also I keep reading Beaumont as Beaufort. The vague similarities between them don’t help. Noble family with even more questionable ambitions than the average noble family and whatnot)

u g h 

Poor Henry's having quite the turbulent childhood (though both Maude and Geoffrey love him, so at least there's that. Honestly wasn’t sure what to expect from Geoffrey, relieved he’s apparently a decent father. But considering everything else, the bar really is on the floor here.)

Maude, Robert, Ranulf and Rainald are so good. I've always got a soft spot for siblings who band together in a crisis (and because of TSIS, can't help but draw vague parallels between this lot and the later Plantagenet siblings)

Awww, Uncle Ranulf with Maude's kids 

Adeliza's offering to let them land at Arundel Castle - based on what's been said about the situation in England (and Maude's main difficulty being the crossing from Normandy, with nowhere to land safely), this could really be a turning point!

Chapter X:

Just met Adeliza and I like her already.

Robert and Amabel's farewell has me concerned that something's going to happen to one of them

Well that went wrong quickly (they arrived at Arundel Castle a week ago and Stephen's already besieging it)

...wait, how did Stephen find out they're here so quickly? (Possibilities I can think of: Robert was discovered en route to Bristol (please no), there's a spy somewhere in the castle, Adeliza and Stephen had this planned all along (would also be upsetting, I like the glimpse we've had of her friendship with Maude))

Okay, so it's not Adeliza. That's good. I'm worried about Robert though.

"His barons seemed to take turns standing as sentinels between Stephen and his better instincts." This is such a good line and it really sums up my thoughts on Stephen's position right now.

Aw, Stephen's still fond of Maude. I can't decide whether this is more heartwarming or tragic.

“...it was only when he was on his way back to the castle that the significance of the Bishop’s words penetrated. Stephen’s allies made a point of referring to Maude by the title she herself detested: Countess of Anjou. Her own supporters accorded her the rank she much preferred, that of empress. And so, Ranulf finally realized, had the Bishop.” wait what

So does this mean Henry's going to defect or????

I knew he was angry with Stephen about not becoming Archbishop but still. Maybe he's just being petty and this isn't a sign of an actual betrayal.

Robert :)

And Miles and Brien are openly supporting Maude!

...aaand time for war. And there's the chronicle the title's from!

[abripikuunah]

Thalassophile

Pairing: Odazai (Oda Sakunosuke x Dazai Osamu) || Word Count: 5201 || Rating: Teen and Up (Imply Suicide, Light Angst, Fluff)

A/N: My first submission for Odazai Week! Day 3 ( Gakuen Au ) !!!!This has illustations so I hope you would like this gift of mine!  Comments and Criticism is very much appreciated and I want to here your thoughts! I hope you have enjoyed this fic <3.

Summary:

The footprints in the sand carries the existence of our adored past, but the waves full of painful memories has swept it all away...

Only the moon and the starless sky was present that time.

It was cold, so cold that the temperature feel like it was squeezing him, from his flesh reaching through his nerves and bones, leaving him breathless, but it felt right.

Water fills his insides as he let himself drown in the salty water. His hazy eyes watched the light of the moonlight reflect on the sea, imitating a barrier between his pathetic life and the afterlife he desired. He's so close to it, as he could feel the corner of his sight blurring. His insides are screaming in the burning sensation as they're about to be filled with ice prickling water.

So cold, very cold.

Just how it should be.

He closes his eyes, and let the flash of white overcome him and his senses.

But before that happens, a certain red stained all of it.

 “Oh…”

.

.

.

THUD!

That’s the last thing he heard before his vision was turned into complete darkness. He didn't know what happened after that. There's nothing to see, nothing to hear, just blankness. Had death finally consumed him whole, and threw him away from his miserable life?

No… that felt too cheap.

He isn’t sure where he is today, but the next thing he knew, he was staring upward at a white ceiling with a fan rotating to circulate fresh air.

‘I’m not dead.’

“Hey.” A voice calls from behind him.

He looks at the corner of his eye to see his company, just to make sure his guess was right. Red eyes that resembled the warm hues of the sunset in some sky; it felt so warm and comforting. Its radiance was soft, as if those eyes could relax Dazai just by looking at him. The two kept staring at each other, as Dazai smiles while turning his head, twisting his body for a bit before greeting back, “Hey-” Only to feel a sharp pain pricked somewhere in his brain  “Ow, ow it hurts…” The brunet mumbled, massaging his temples.

“Careful. What happened almost caused you to get paralyzed.” The other man sighs as he inserts a bookmark in the book and scooted closer to inspect the injured man. Dazai gave out a chuckle and was about to retort to assure the man he's alright, but his breath was caught in the air when he felt a thumb caressing his unbandaged cheek. He bit his lower lip before they hesitantly turned upward into a faint smile. “I'm fine, Odasaku. Of all people, you should be the one who knows that a mere slip wouldn't kill me.”

The red head looks at him with disbelief, “You never know Dazai.“ he says, his voice bold and strict. The younger man frowned at him, much like a toddler whose toy was taken. But can you blame Oda? Dazai might have survived all the punishments of his past mishaps or attempts, but in the end Dazai is still a human, born with flesh and bones just like the rest of them. Not immortal nor a being that could regenerate his wounds quickly. Granted, his body does have an impressive remark on healing himself for such a surprising speed but there would always be the time Dazai won't be so lucky.

“Geez Odasaku, I told you, I’m fine and as you can see, I'm well.” he opened his arms widely for emphasis, but was only given a raise of a brow in reply. “Though my heads hurts a little- but my body can manage.” A grin was etched on his face to assure his companion, and Dazai quickly changed the subject. “Getting gloomy when I just woke up, no? Let talk about something else shall we?” He then points at the hardcover book Oda was holding, “All those books that you've been reading, are they for your upcoming program?” He inspects the title as the red head nods. “My, you seemed excited to become a teacher~”

“Student teacher.” He corrects the brunet who sits up, “It'll just last two months. Starting from the second half of the semester until the last week of your third quarter. After that I'll go back to college and finish my degree.” Oda adds.

“Wahh!” Dazai immediately twisted away to raise his arm to cover his eyelids and make a dramatic fuss, ”Odasaku will leave me alone and rot at campus all by myself. So heartless and cruel of you, leaving your dear friend and lover like this.This pain is much worse than being tortured to sweet, blissful death-”

And he let out another exaggerated cry when a throb pulsed through his head.

The older could only watch the younger complain about his concussion without giving any help - until he decided to hold on Dazai's chin so he could reprimand him with a stern glare, “Maybe if you didn't keep yourself getting injured. We’re both college students attending the same campus now.”

Dazai opened his mouth, ready to protest, but when no words are able to form to escape his mouth, he immediately closes it before puffing his cheeks and shot back, “So mean,  Odasaku-sensei.”

That phrase causes butterflies in Oda’s stomach, but he doesn't want to cater to those thoughts for now. He gently pinches Dazai's cheek, who whines in protest. “Don't call me like that when we're both alone.” Despite the warning, Dazai gripped Oda's hand and smirked mischievously, “What was that, Odasaku- sen~sei~?”

Oda pinches a bit harder and Dazai yelps, “What am I gonna do with you?” the older sighs.

When he stops pinching, they stare into each other’s eyes. Dazai's pupils traced every feature of his partners face looking for slightest bits of changes other than the heavy eyebags that took toll on his skin - probably for staying up to check on him, Dazai deducts. But that mere thought gave a fluttering feeling in Dazai's chest.

At the same time, Oda just gazed at him tenderly, but noticed a little bit of redness in younger man’s cheek. Oda takes the initiative and leans towards Dazai's face to give a chaste peck on his crimson skin as an apology. When he pulls away, Dazai sits up properly and snakes his arms around Oda's neck while the latter placed the book on the nearest coffee table and lets the brunet take the initiative. Dazai then tries to catch his lips and soon after, their lips connect and share a innocent kiss, hopefully to express the words ‘I miss you’ and ‘I'm so worried’ through the contact. Dazai tilts his head to coax himself closer -

That is, until another pulse from his migraine hit him. He quickly pulled away, yelping a little while massaging the sides of his temples to relieve the pressure a little. “Rest for a bit, Dazai.” Oda instructs as he let out a deep exhale, “I'll let the doctor know you're awake.” He stands up, only for a hand to grab his wrist.

“Stay for a bit will you? “ the brunet pouts. “I don't know how long I was unconscious and I don't want to see the doctors immediately after I just woke up from that cold, soundless sleep.” He gently adjusted himself to the side, careful not to trigger anymore pain and extended his arm out, “Come here and snuggle with me, Sensei!”

“Stop that.”

“Never~” Dazai continued to tease.

Then Oda gave another glare down at the floor and was silent, but Dazai shyly looked up at him like a stray kitten.

“Please?”

Oda huffs in amusement as he shook his head. Honestly speaking, Oda doesn't have the will to refuse his lover, even if he didn't have to put up that adorable act. “Fine.” he declares as he walks back towards the brunet who smiles in victory.

“Okay but after ten minutes, I'll call the doctor.”

“An hour!”

“Dazai… Twenty minutes or I won’t make curry for you.” Oda argues.

“Ehhhh?! Fine.” He scoffs childishly.

When he walked towards the brunet, Dazai asks “That look on your face… Did I worry you too much?” he smiled as he watched Oda sit on the bed, the bedframe underneath squeaking in protest. When Oda’s weight sinks in the mattress, he helped Dazai settle in next to him, careful not to bump the syringes and pads connecting Dazai to the heart monitor and IV tube. Lanky arms wrap around Oda’s chest while the redhead gripped Dazai’s hips and pulled his body closer. Dazai sighed with bliss as he let his head rest on Oda’s chest. “See? I'm still warm Odasaku. I'm still breathing, alive. You don't have to worry.”

“Well you did fell on the stairs four steps away from the ground.” His companion says in defense, resting his cheek on Dazai's hair. “That alone is concerning and you can risk yourself bumping your head pretty hard and having an internal hemorrhage. Thankfully you didn’t break your spine either, since-”

“Odasaku,” the brunet stops him, “How many times do I need to tell you that I won't die that easily? Geez, a mere trip down the stairs is an embarrassing death after all. I don't want the neighbors to brand me, Dazai Osamu, the bandaged man that died because he fell of the stairs. I would be the laughing stock of the century if that happens!” He huffs, grimacing at the thought. “I would rather have a sweet romantic suicide with a beautiful lady. That alone is poetic.”

Dazai really likes to slip words in his tounge like water without thinking any consideration, Oda thought with a grimace on his face. Despite Oda getting used to hear his whims about suicide and tantalized about death accepting him from this ‘miserable cruel’ world, Oda can't shake off the thought of seeing Dazai in his deathbed. Even with spending much of his time lecturing the young man, the words coming from the third year’s mouth stings painfully in Oda’s chest.

But despite it all, he still continues to be with him, willingly to check up on him and make sure he's not alone because-

Because he loves Dazai.

“I'm just scared to lose you…” he finally admits under his breath.

“Not like last time...”

None of them uttered out a word after, Oda was only waiting for Dazai's reply, wanting to know how he would react, but knowing Dazai, he won't show anything at all. Dazai's breath was stuck in the air, unable to reply to his confession. He's glad that Oda cannot see his expression at this angle or he would probably jerk away from him if this man had witnessed the redness of his ashamed face. When he felt the grip on his waist tighten, he scooted closer and hid his face in Oda’s chest. “Heh, silly Odasaku…”

They continued to stay like that for minutes, Oda keeps stroking the fringes of his hair, Dazai keep listening to Oda's heartbeats pounding, thump thumping in his ears. They chatted about him being unconscious for two days, then onto the news that's happening in their neighborhood. The middle school graduates, including Nakajima and Tanizaki, were becoming first years and they would soon be Dazai's schoolmates. The other piece of news they discussed is that Kunikida, one of Dazai's ex-classmates, was offered a student teacher position at Dazai’s school by none other than Fukuzawa himself. But the big news they talked about was-

“What?!” Dazai exclaimed.

Oda had to live at his university for a whole semester - and to make matters worse, he was going to be leaving tomorrow. “Just how? The semester doesn’t start for another week or so, right? I thought you're okay with commuting?”

“It was sudden, but Natsume-sensei offered me to stay at his place for the time being since he thinks it'll be more practical and I would lose a lot of opportunities just by traveling everyday for a long period of time.” he kissed Dazai's cheek to lighten up his mood and assure him. “I'll be back next month. Don't worry.”

“Hmph, fine. But you better bring me something when you return back home.”

Home…

Those words make Oda chuckle as adoration bubbled up his chest, “Will do, Dazai.” As his lips pressed against his forehead.

This continued on until Dazai looks out the window and sees the view of the ocean from afar. A thought came into his mind, but Dazai hesitates if he should even mention it. But then again, this would be the last day the two of them would see each other until three whole months passed.

“Odasaku.”

So it doesn't hurt to try.

“You know, I made you worry for no good reason.” He starts, shifting from his position to meet his lover’s gaze. Oda looks at him with a brow raised. He smirks, “As an apology, I'll be doing you the favor of going to the beach with me. I think I’ll get discharged today anyway, since I think I'm a good shape now. It's been a while since we visited there together, what do you think?”

The older blinks at his partner’s invitation and looks at the ceiling to ponder. “Well…”

“Beside, I won't see you in months.” He adds, hoping to finally be able to convince the man besides him.

The redhead took a deep breath. He seems to be contemplating with his thoughts while Dazai waited for a reply, but then he felt Oda pulling away from his grasp. Oda stands up and fixes the collar of his shirt, “I'll go fetch the doctor then. I'll be back quick.” he turns around and gave a small tilt to check on Dazai, who just smiles.

“Hurry up then, while the sun is still up.”

----

Only the moon and the starless sky was present that time.

It was cold, so cold that the temperature feel like it was squeezing him, from his flesh reaching through his nerves and bones, leaving him breathless, but it felt right.

Water fills his insides as he let himself drown in the salty water. His hazy eyes watched the light of the moonlight reflect on the sea, imitating a barrier between his pathetic life and the afterlife he desired. He's so close to it, as he could feel the corner of his sight blurring. His insides are screaming in the burning sensation as they're about to be filled with ice prickling water.

So cold, very cold.

Just how it should be.

He closes his eyes, and let the flash of white overcome him and his senses.

But before that happens, a certain red stained all of it.

---

Scarlet eyes worriedly trailed behind the lean figure as Oda watched the boy excitedly take of his shoes while examining the beach. Fortunately, the doctor said Dazai was free to leave, but has to be cautious, not move his head so much, and not perform any heavy activities for quite awhile. “Be careful.“ he reminded the exuberant Dazai.

But his words seems to be ignored in the playful breeze as Dazai turns around, waving at Oda and shouting “Odasakuuuu!” before running back to him and yanking his arm to invite themselves closer to the sea. “Come on! You can't have me just enjoying the sea by myself! I would look stupid.”

“But the doctors said that you're not allowed to move your head too much-” he was interrupted when a finger was pressed against his lips.

“Oh hush and do me a favor by not reminding me about those cruel instructions by that doctor, and let me enjoy this last day of summer with you for a bit, okay?” Dazai fumed, but when he notice the darkness of Oda’s expression, his face shifted into worry.

Oda… Oda wanted to say no, the anxiety that's pounding inside his chest was demanding for him to decline and be strict. He wished to say he's already being considerate, escorting him to the beach despite these disturbing emotions that crawling up his spine. Yet he doesn't want Dazai to be upset, but in the end, he was afraid of both outcomes. He thought of himself as nothing but a coward.

A coward that let those horrible memories of the two of them being wrapped by the ocean’s deadly embrace be the sole reason behind why he’s scared to visit the place they used to favor so dearly.

Dazai, the genius that he is, seems to read the toll on his mind. So his expression softened, “Hey.” He calls out to Oda, who blinks and then stares toward him in acknowledgement. “I told you, this is my apology for falling down the stairs, so I promise I won't do anything stupid or do things that will make you even more worried, alright?” He smiles, brown eyes softly gazing at his partner.

The older man studies Dazai before he finally tilts his head down in defeat just by seeing those big eyes, as stubborn as they were soft. “Fine.” He saids before adding, “But if I see any small signs that you’re getting worse, we'll go home immediately.”

Dazai's mouth forms a grin of agreement and continues to drag his boyfriend along the shore. Oda watched Dazai - his face beams in delight, so bright and cheerful, but is he feeling happiness in his heart right now? Is he truly happy? He doesn't want to ask, but he wants to believe it. And if it was reality, then Oda wishes for him to hold unto those emotions till the very end.

The shore is where they're free, like the birds that flew away from the depressing earth and bathed in the warm glow of the radiant sun. This feeling of warmth and freedom is what he missed years ago.

Until that tale of a boy whose blood spilled over the shore would never leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried. In the end, those tales would only lead him to break.

But he wants to throw it all over the edge of the horizon and let him forget the uneasiness in his chest. The echoing reverie to see Dazai smiling again caused determination to well up inside him. If he could treasure and let that smile last, where his skin radiates brighter than the sun, those chocolate eyes that twinkled like the liquid gems of the sea, then Oda would do his damndest to suppress the dark memories and his overall agitation that has been mocking him.

A quiet smile etched up in Oda's usual expressionless face as he cherished the moment.

When they're close to the ocean water, the brunet lets go of Oda's arm, scoops a handful of water and throws it towards his companion.

“H-hey!”

Dazai lets out a childish giggle from seeing Oda glare at him.  Rolling his eyes, he starts to take off his shoes and decides to play along with the younger’s antics. “So you want to play it that way, huh?” He lets his voice sound murky and dark, like an overly dramatic villain.

“Uh oh. Sensei’s getting mad.” Dazai teased as he moved away urgently from Oda’s impending wrath. When Oda finally placed his shoes and socks on the beach, along with Dazai’s necessities, away from the ocean’s reach, he followed his partner with a smirk on his face. “Are you testing me?”

“And what if I am?” Dazai grinned, “Bring me your best shot Odasaku!”

Then Oda rushed towards Dazai, pulling him close in a tight embrace as their laughs echoed across the neverending sea.

------

His throat hurt, desperate as he gasped for air…

It feels so hard to breathe, his lungs are burning, it all felt dry.

He hears someone screaming, shouting, calling, its voice clawing deep in the night, but he doesn't realize who and why.

But when scarlet red was stained in his palm that has slowly been seeping away towards the water, a sign of a promising fate that would end in tragedy, he knew why.

It was his own bruised throat and no one else but himself who has been screaming underneath the dark night.

And the whole village were able hear the mournful screams of Oda Sakunosuke as he desperately tried to save Dazai Osamu, the boy whose blood was spilled in the never ending sea.

------

Eventually, darkness came and the moon has replaced the sun, soft light reflecting off the sparkling water of the ocean. The breeze was chilly as it softly caressed their skin that was still damp with the ocean water. Their fingers are laced while their bare feet sink into the sand as they walked around the shore.

They quietly talked about small things, between hushed voices and whispers, their fingers playing with each other as their conversation leads them nowhere in particular. They let themselves be steered away from the cruel reminder of time’s existence, away from reality, just away from everything to forget the burden in their outside worlds. They revelled in the normalcy as young adults who just wanted to be together, and enjoy each other’s presence.

But now that it's dark, it feels like they're slowly breaking away from their own illusions.

So they talked and talked as if tomorrow would never come.

Until they finally have nothing to say to each other anymore, and only the rushing water singing a soft melody to accompany the evening air could be heard. Their arms are close as if they could feel each other's pulse, both are alive and well. Dazai watches the waves reaching towards them, occasionally kicking the salty liquid half-heartedly for amusement, while Oda's eyes travels at him. Both men are buried their own thoughts.

If Oda wants to guess what's going inside Dazai's mind, it would probably be about his fascination about suicide.

Drowning is the method he always favored, Oda know this, it pains him to say it but he has witnessed it many times before. Dazai told him that whenever he sees the beach, it feels like an open gate for him to escape his way to escape reality. The place where he looks upon to to let his thoughts be free within the wind and a place where he can enjoy himself.

A place where he would marry death.

Oda blinks for a moment as they halt their movements, none of them utter a single word but Oda stared at Dazai expectantly. The brunet eyes however, despite uninterested, traveled towards the cliff making Oda followed his direction of sight.

Oda would admit that there was something that always worried him about Dazai. Dazai’s mind was so sharp and intelligent, far more than was good for his sake, and it reminded him of a cliff towering over the sea, enticing humans to explore it but like a promising death and despair should they make one false move, even if it was to turn back and flee. Breaking the wild silence, Dazai finally mutters, "It's been eight years since we both visited here, no?" Oda was only able to hum in reply. "Eight years..." He repeats, as if he trying to properly taste of those words in his mouth. Before the older has the chance to interrupt, the other continues to speak, "Since then, everyone treated me differently. People started to be distant. They're always worried, they think that I could blame them. Though I'm not sorry, either. After all, even I wanted to be distant away from myself." 'Away from this world...' It was unspoken but nevertheless, Oda can hear it out loud in the heavy air. "Dazai-"

He interjects with a small voice, "But you..." He pauses, biting his lip until he was able to form the proper words , "You treated me the same. You always gave me normalcy, no matter what." “Despite this disturbing tendencies of mine, you still accept me as who I am.” But then, Dazai turned his head and faced him as he gave an unpleasant stare, almost starring past Oda. "If I wanted to be honest Odasaku, I want to read all the pages of your book to understand." Oda felt his fingers were gripped tightly as if they would slip in mere seconds away in his grasp the moment it loosens.

“What don't you understand?” He asked, rubbing his calloused thumb at Dazai's to provide comfort, gesturing him to tell his thoughts out and not to be afraid to speak the truth.

“I…” His voice trails off. Eyes watching their laced fingers for an encouragement.

“You still kept seeing it right? That moment where I almost died.” he breathed out.

Oda will always remember, he will never forget how terrified he is to see Dazai in the bed, heart weakly beating, skin colder and whiter than the snow of winter. How everyday it pains him to see that time, when his life was held by a single thread, ready to snap both Dazai's life and Oda's sanity.

Dazai's eyes looked deeply into his, searching for a sign if he should stop or not. Oda doesn't speak but he nod to beckon the younger to continue.

“Since then, you hated going here because you always remembered, and despite knowing that, I was still selfish and asked you to go with the beach with me. And you made an effort to grant this wish of mine and went along.” He breathed out as he finally asks.

“How do you do it?”

He was gazing so deep into Oda's eyes, that he flinched for a bit when he felt a warm hand stroke his cheek and brush the hair on his face. He really doesn't understand why; it was so foreign, so new no matter how many time he did that. Regardless, it was still comforting and serene.

Oda glances down before he looks back at him again and gave out a small smile. “We are all humans. All born with our own flaws and our selfishness. I don't want to sound like a hypocrite, but whatever selfishness and flaws you have, it still adds the fact that it made you the Dazai Osamu I fell in love with.” He admits.

Dazai pretended not to be flustered but the redness of his cheeks betrayed him until Oda casually added, “For me, one of my selfish desires is to see you smile and grant the promise I made.”

His eyes widen, mouth hanging, If the brunet's face was dusted with red before, then his face right now is almost at a tint of a tomato.

“Seeing you happy today is enough for me.” Oda continues, leaving Dazai breathless. It wasn’t the first not going to be the last, but...

Never once can a person leave the garrulous Dazai hanging wordless. He cannot think of any befitting words to shoot back at his lover. But he still felt obligated to continue the conversation. In the end, after what felt like an eternity, he was only able to say

“Thank you.”

The voice was low and faint but the wind managed to carry it to Oda’s ears.

“I had fun today.” Dazai murmured, after having the courage met those scarlet eyes once more with his, a sincere smile etched in his face as the dimples pops out of his cheek to signify how genuine his expression is. “And I'm glad you have as well.”

Oda can can feel the tip of his ears burning and was only able to pat Dazai in the head. “I'm glad. After all, anything we do together is fun.”

Dazai huffed out a breath and forged a knowing smirk, “Not as fun as yourself.” He reciprocated.

Oda was only able to raise a brow out of confusion, not knowing what he meant as the other could only laugh in delight. Dazai pinched Oda's nose while the latter grunted in protest.

After rubbing his nose, Oda noticed the full moon staring up at the sky. Dazai followed his gaze and mumbled, “Time really flies fast, huh. It feels like yesterday we were just kids playing here with Ango, and I just woke up a minute ago from being unconscious. But the reality is, many years have already passed since then.”

Oda can only hums in concordance. “It's getting late.” He finally reminds Dazai and himself about the unfortunate reality of the world they live in. “It's time to go home.” He sighs as he watched Dazai groaning in disapproval.

“I don't wannaaa.” He whined, eyes begging for consideration from Oda. He clings on the Oda’s arm and continues protesting. “Besides, where Oda is is my home.” He declares but after a few seconds of a starting match with his boyfriend, he finally, reluctantly, agrees.

“Come on. Let's go at your place and get you showered.” Oda then walks, escorting Dazai towards the exit where the main street is. The prodigy walks in tow, a mischievous smile on his face.  “Aww, then why not we shower together so you can warm me up?” His voice tingles with a certain promise.

Oda, however, chuckles at the sly suggestion, “That is nice, but I have something else in mind”

“Oh?” Dazai eyes glistened with curiosity. He leans toward Oda's shoulder and pressed his cheek against it affectionately, “This better be interesting since you're able to turn down such an offer. Tell me about it then.”

“Well.“ he paused, and looked around the beach so he could let the revelation of the surprise be dragged on longer. The brunet still saw through his own antics and kept nudging him to go on. Finally, Oda said, “While you're taking a shower, I would prepare a dish I just learned how to make a while ago.”

Dazai tilts his head for emphasis, “Oda will cook something for me! Does it have crab?”

“Crabmeat and Zucchini with Kofuki and homemade mochi.” He announced.

Excitement flashes on Dazai's face as he then took the lead, dragging Oda hurriedly behind him like a child, “Let's hurry then, I’m hungry - and snuggling can come after!”

Those words sowed warmth in Oda's chest.

To see Dazai's heart right now set in the right place, his mind not hidden away in the shadows where his demons kept whispering to him. To be able to witness his genuine smile and hold his now warm hand. It's enough to Oda. Even though he rarely, if ever, displays this sincerity to anyone else, if he kept holding his hand and let him know his presence will always remain there, to encourage him and support him, then maybe he would finally fully open up to them.

They might be back to reality now, where the complicated system of life and all its problems would never change. But there would be a time where they have nowhere else to go but wander aimlessly. Regardless of what life brought them, they will face it nonetheless and survive through the cruel seasons. They will hold each other close and take each other's hand and never let go.

After all, that's their oath towards each other.

--

‘Even if you will drown in your own abyss that will consume you alive… take my hand’

In a small little ward, a young boy vowed a pledge to a dear friend of his, who looks at him with hollow eyes.

‘But what if I don't take it? What if it's all too late?’ He asked, studying his redhead companion carefully. The redhead suddenly grabs his hands, and without hesitation he declared-

‘Then I'll catch you in my arms and won't let you go.’

…

It was a memory that they would forever hold.

For once, light was evident to the young patient’s eyes. For once, he didn't feel alone. For once, he had seen the faint ray of the light . For once, the boy who accepted that he would never be loved believed a promise.

A promise to hold him .

And Oda will stay true to his words, and he will never let go.

Not now...

Not ever.

.

.

.

Sadly though, their paths followed the unpredictable ebb and flow of the stormy waves of life.  

And the only certain things within life is the bittersweet endings and broken promises.

-THE END-

[marcellaisnotme]

to everyone.

to all the amazing people that light up my 2019, let's continue our journey to 2020. 2019 has been pretty amazing to me than last year and i'm rather excited for what's going to come on 2020. its a bit frightening but at the same time i'm ready to face it.

i'm dedicating each of you who got this page a personal message <3

let me start it with my loving Ren ♡ we met not that long ago but long enough for me to call you a special friend. i love hanging out with you, i love ranting everything to you cause you're a really good listener, advisor and most importantly a really great sidekick. okno. you know what to say to make me feel better and i admire that you can think of so much in a short amount of time. the way you handle everything is very responsible and careful, i look up to you alot. let's be more closer and share more stupid shitposts (RED VELVET PLSSS). i love you!!

Jason ♡ we known each other for a very long time but we always been pretty close to each other, but sometimes we don't talk and we argue that one time. and you went missing too but when you came back i was really excited. you were really funny and entertaining. just what i need, just what i wanted. we have a love hate relationship and we never get tired of each other and buuuu-ing each other everytime. okno. you are special to me and i cant find another jason to replace. thanks for being such a great friend. i love you!!

Juan ♡ my favorite movie partner and cuddle buddy <3 the one that would always tell stupid jokes which myself find it really funny even when it's pretty dumb. the one who never get tired of me punching you in the arm. okno. i wanna spend more time watching movies with you cause i personally hate watching movies cause i'm a book person. but when i watch it with you and hear you explaining to me everything made me love movies. pstt. only when i watch it with you <3 HAHAHA let's do more movie dates next time juan, because movies are not watch worthy without you. okno. i love you!!!

bwi ♡ as much as i find you pretty annoying and such a coward but i really know how it takes courage to do something. i know how does it feel when you feel like doing something. but it's find. i dont judge you for it ok? i was just messing around with you cause your reaction is always funny i dont wanna miss it. OKNO. if you havent moved on completely, it's fine. it takes time to heal and takes time to grow. i hope you have a better life and be happy in 2020. i love you!!

Belle ♡ SINCE YOU'RE A GIRL NOW IMMA CALL YOU BELLE. okno you were a guy when we first met and first dated. okno. i can't believe we made it till today even when we dont talk that much these days. i just want you to know even when i'm very very very annoying and stoopid but i am really thankful that you were always there listening to my probs and teas :(( i'm so dramatic. wipes non existent tears. okno. be less busy so that i can kacau you more :(( i love you!!

Kitty Kou ♡ my wife :(( my husband soulmate boyfriend girlfriend my everything :(( screams i miss you so much we're not talking much this days are you THAT busy gimme attention bich :(( okno. i'm glad that you are fine now (i can see and feel it) also i dont want you to be sad no more cause you dont deserve to be :(( i'll karate anyone that tries to mess with you i swear >:( i love you soooo much you're my fav bestie ever you listen to me and play along with me cause thats what soulmates do :(( dont ever leave my side or i'm gonna tie u to me so that you wont escape HAH take that :(( i love you bb♡

Qhal ♡ you stick up to me since day-1 and thats what i love about you. you grew into a better person, you were so much braver and bolder plus happier these days and i've never been so proud of you. i hope your happiness last till next year and the following and forever. every day is a new day. you dont have to close old books and open new ones. you dont have to be someone you're not and importantly, you dont have to do things for anyone else. yourself is your top priority and always remember that you're just as important. seeing you happy makes me happy. we've been friends for god knows how long and you never left my side, ever. you're always a special friend to me. you're always in my heart. i love you!!

Irwin ♡ not gonna deny you're always there for me when i'm in an existential crisis. okno. you're such a fun and funny person to talk with. i always enjoyed talking to you because you could make and awkward situation lively with your randomness. you radiate great and positive energy that anyone around you feel better. you make me feel better when i'm sad. i hope you and jade last looooooooooong enough just like how long we've known each other. i love you!!

Tian ♡ i love talking to you and randomly being stupid with you and jason. i love how we click with each other that much it's like we're siblings. rough things happened but let's all forget about it. i hope for you happiness as you were always sad about a certain someone. it's fine to think about it. it's fine to hold onto it. cause the longer you hold on, the easier it will go away when it gets old. you should really reveal your cute daughter to everyone. cause i miss her and everyone needs to see her <3 she's amazing just like you. i love you!!

Cosmo ♡ as long as we known each other, you were the brightest person and the easiest to get along with. you always know what to do and put your heart in everything you do. i dont like seeing you being sad or depressed anymore because you weren't like that when we first met. always surround yourself with happy stuff >> me. and do things you wanna do that makes you happy. you will always be my cosmo, and i'll always be your wanda♡. i love you!!

Junguan ♡ hi bestie how u doin. okno. i am glad that you're always happy, always problem free. thanks for listening to my problems, thanks for being a great friend. i have a great laugh and a great time with you always. your reaction to my stupidness and sarcasm was always funny i'm not gonna lie. you're always the one that i believe would keep everything i tell you a secret. you're such an awesome person and a great friend. i love you !!

Xie/ Axel ♡ you're a really interesting person to talk to. aside from our past relationship. you're a really strong and a great person. you're someone that doesn't give up on anything you do and i really adore you for that. you make everything seem so funny to me idk why oKNO. but except for our snapstreak, we dont really talk mUCH. did you moveD or are you just busY cause u krik krik im thinking twice about softblocking you. okno. talk to me bitch. i love you!!

marcell/shaq ♡ you change your name to match mine cause you like me eh?? buuu. okno. you were always someone i trusted because you're responsible of doing your job and you're someone nice to talk to i mean not nice nice because you're mean but nice by i can have a conversation with you and talk about random stuff without letting it die because i'm funny and you're lame okno. let other judge your outer and let yourself know your inner. jangan jadi noob for 2020. okno. i love you!!

Eric ♡ my stupid bun. my ride or die. ew. these two years 18/19 has been pretty rough for the both of us and i think it's just a step and a lesson to grow into a better person. you helped me alot through this year and i'm never less thankful for that. the loving things you do for me, the things you would let it slide when it comes to me. your soft spot for me never goes away huh HAH and i'm taking advantage of that. okno i'm kidding. you are a big help for me and for what i went through. you never said no. you always agree on everything and i really appreciate it. when we broke up last year, you still insisted to talk to me. which i find out really annoying. just kidding. i'll let everything slide since you do that to me too. you're a really great person, amazing let me tell you. thanks for being a great friend to me. thanks for helping me out with almost everything. i owe you big time. i love you!!

harry ♡ first of all,  thank you for being a great bestie, we would always talk to each other everyday but you got busy these days :(( but yey, its almost a decade since ive known you, kyak. we met when we were in kbb. you were d__, kyak, smpipol 💕 i feel so giddy giddy all of a sudden lololol. and then we started exchanging contacts, you were first harry, on fl.  and then we had this, nOOt squad gTG. im nunmul-ing.  why is this suddenly a throwback session.  and and and then theres trisha gosh i love trisha and you too. i adore you for being such an honest person, when it comes to telling your problems to us, which is something i cant really do. if you have problems, dont hesitate to tell us, though i dont really help much eheh. but sometimes there are things that arent meant to be said. its okay, theres nothing wrong feeling sad, feeling all those negative feelings. we are human too, we have feelings. it is okay to sometimes not be okay, it is okay. but other than that, be happy with those you are surrounded with. youre someone that worth a big hug.  i hope you spent your day with those you love 💕 i hope youre having a good day. youre an amazingly talented person. i hope youd achieve your dream soon, i pray for your health, and for you to surrounded by lovely people. you're such a talented person and gosh, your drawings for the fashion week, cries. chef kisses momma!!! you should update me on your life more because i wanna know what you do and support you on everything you do. don't forget me anyways :(( because you're the only realest annoying brutally honest bitch i love :(( i love you!! 

thanks for an amazing 2019, lets get closer in 2020. i love you guys. ♡

[terresdebrumestories]

Clark Kent, of Krypton - 2/4: Shadow

FANDOM: DC’s cinematic universe. RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 20 640 (Fic total: ~98k words) PAIRING(S): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (main focus is on Clark, though). CHARACTER(S): Kal-El | Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jor-El, Lara Lor-Van, Kara Zor-El, Zor-El, Martha Kent, Alfred Pennyworth, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, Victor Stone, John Stewart, J’onn J’onzz, plus a quick cameo by Lois Lane. GENRE: Alternate Universe (canon divergence), transition fic with romance. TRIGGER WARNING(S): A great deal of anxiety and self loathing, especially in parts one and two. Some descriptions are heavily inspired by my experience of dysphoria-induced dissociation. SUMMARY: Batman crashes on Krypton a few days before the Turn of the Year celebrations and Kal-El's life takes a sharp turn to the left, on a path that will ultimately lead him to becoming Clark Kent.

OTHER CHAPTERS: [I. Kal-El] [III. Superman] [IV. Clark Kent] ALSO AVAILABLE: [On AO3] [On Dreamwidth]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you, still, to @stuvyx for the wonderful illustrations and to @susiecarter for the beta :D

“Can you see him?”

Shadow leans a little harder on his hands, peering over the curve of the Citadel dome to survey one of several guest quarters’ balconies. In the sky, Krypton’s moons shine crimson over the lands, their light like blood spread over the planes of the jagged mountains and the pale stone of the Citadel, the balconies below painted in a burgundy darker than even Shadow’s suit.

“Not yet,” he tells Support, his own voice too loud in the confines of his helmet. “Maybe he’s just not in the mood to come out tonight.”

“You would know better than me,” Kara replies, slipping out of her more professional tones. “I am not his friend.”

The truth is, neither is Shadow. He may have brought Batman out of his destroyed spacecraft and into the Els’ residence, but they have not talked to one another—nor, indeed had any contact at all—since that fateful winter day. It is easy for Shadow to remember it: the bitter cold biting at the tips of his fingers after the suit had to divert power away from temperature regulation for a while. The ache in his limbs even as he set dreams of his bed aside and decided to push himself through another rescue. The burning heat of flames licking at his face once he pulled Batman out of his destroyed spacecraft and willed his helmet off to examine the man’s wounds. Batman, on the other hand, was unconscious for the whole process, and kept under for over a day after his rescue. What little connection exists between him and Shadow is one-sided, at best.

Not that Shadow has not been paying attention to the shipwrecked man. He has kept a close ear to the gossip spread about him, just in case curiosity should have turned into resentment. In the end, though, the ever-faster advance of the Melokariel Proposition has kept most of El—and Shadow—far too busy to worry about a lone alien who does not even have the decency to look different from regular Kryptonians. This, of course, proved to be an oversight once Batman, smarter than most Kryptonians and in a far better position to notice the abnormalities in the Principality’s political proceedings, started noticing something was amiss and taking an interest in the situation.

As it is, though, there is nothing Shadow can do about it but be wary of Batman’s involvement. It is rumored that Pol Vea-Ry, the Wise Queen of Warriors, will call for another vote on the matter soon; and, like Kara, Shadow is inclined to agree with those who speculate that Tsiahm-Lo will vote with her...and with two Council members out of five in favor, it is likely that those in El who would rather not see the project come to fruition will continue on the same road they were already taking, only at a harder pace than before. There will be many families reaching for the colonies in the months to come, and more militia—Ellon or otherwise—doing everything they can to prevent that. There is blood on the walls of the Citadel. Some of it, Shadow helped put there. More often than not, though, he failed to save those who spilled it, and in the urgency of the situation, Batman, like many of the pettier offenders Shadow used to worry about in the beginning, had to fall low on the list of priorities.

Until, that is, it was discovered that the alien has had dealings with the Green Lanterns.

“There he comes,” Shadow says.

Not a moment too soon, either. The suit is strong enough to help with most physical tasks Shadow has to perform, but sticking to the wall like an overgrown spider requires a lot of muscle control, and the effort never fails to leave Shadow stiff and uncomfortable.

“Is he alone?”

Shadow waits until Batman crosses the balcony and braces his arms against the railing, gazing over the outer city and the mountains beyond, before he answers in the affirmative.

“Good,” Kara says. Then, in a grumble: “I wish the repairs on my handscreen weren't taking so long. I hate being unable to see what is going on on your end.”

“I’d offer to describe everything,” Shadow retorts as he braces himself for a jump, “but I’m afraid that would make me sound a tad more insane than I’d like to appear.”

He smirks when Kara snorts. Then he pushes against the Citadel wall and, in a small shower of everlasting concrete, drops a dozen feet downwards. He can almost hear Kara’s eyes roll when he puts the elasticity of his suit to good use and sticks the landing with very little impact to his joints. Vain, he realizes, but still much faster than crawling downward—and much more dignified too.

“I was wondering if you’d show yourself,” Batman says, quiet and unsurprised, as Shadow rises to his feet.

And here Kara thought Shadow enjoyed dramatics.

He takes a step closer to Batman, careful to remain in the part of the balcony that can’t be seen from the inside, and does not put much effort in disguising his amusement when he speaks.

“You could have said something,” he replies, adopting the grammatical forms of a middle-class man addressing an equal.

He rolls his eyes when Batman chooses stony silence over even a simple shrug. Part of Shadow wants to wait the man out, but he decides to be the bigger masked creature and ask:

“Do you know who I am?”

“I’ve heard of you.”

Batman falls into silence again. Under his helmet, Shadow's mouth opens in disbelief. Theatrics can be useful, he will admit to that much, especially where civilians are concerned. That Batman would use the same tactics on him, though? It rankles more than Shadow would have anticipated, and his shoulders stiffen in response. He manages to suppress a scoff at the last second, and then goes to stand at the railing, careful to stay out of view from the room, just in case.

Kal-El, of course, would shrink from such a chilly welcome and sink into himself. Shadow knows he cannot afford to let himself be defeated so easily, though, and so he ignores both Batman’s reservation and Kara’s comment—“How in Rao’s name did you of all people manage to draw this man into a conversation?”—before he reaches into his pocket and produces the Green Lanterns’ bracelet.

“I think this is yours,” he tells Batman.

He does not change his tone—casual, but polite. A simple conversation between strangers of equal ranking, though technically it is something of a demotion for Batman; but the other man still gives him a sharp look before he takes his bracelet back. His expression, mostly unchanged, seems grimmer than usual but not outright hostile, and Shadow waits the silence out, solid as a stone and patient as the sun. Shadow is not a petty creature—cannot afford to be—but he cannot be the only one to make a move here.

“The Els say you brought me here.”

This is not the reaction Shadow was hoping for, but it is not rejection, either, and so he shrugs as he says, “I thought this would be where you’d have the best chance of survival...if any. Would you rather I’d left you where I found you?”

“How did you know they would take me in?”

“Gods, he is starting to remind me of Queen Ra-Ul,” Kara sighs in Shadow’s ears.

It is not a compliment.

“The Prince and his wife are well known for their devotion to Rao,” Shadow says, ignoring Kara's comment. “Assuming they would help you didn’t seem like that big a leap of faith.”

It is difficult to say whether Batman means for his scoff to go unnoticed or not, but Shadow hears it either way. He knows better than to react to it, though, and says instead:

“I would have had more reservations, if I’d known you were working with one of Krypton’s oldest and most prominent enemies.”

The only entities Krypton—especially its upper classes—resents more than the Green Lanterns are Feyar, Paom, and Koahu: three planets who formed an alliance to fight their way free of Kryptonian dominion long before the Lanterns were ever a dream. Still, fourth on the list of mortal enemies of your host planet is nothing to scoff at, and Shadow knows for a fact that Batman is smart enough to realize that.

“I knew some people would be unhappy about the connection,” Batman says. “I did not expect you to be one of them.”

“Do you always evade questions, or are you just giving me special treatment?”

“I like to keep my options open.”

On the other end of the line, Kara groans. Shadow does not react in any way that will be obvious to Batman, but he is rather inclined to agree. He rolls his eyes again, but does not quite manage to prevent his shoulders from tightening a fraction. He had been expecting some evasion on Batman’s part. He would have attempted the same if their positions were reversed. But what Batman is doing now is starting to verge on sabotage, and neither Shadow nor Kara—nor, he suspects, Batman himself—have time to waste on this particular dance.

“I’m not here to antagonize you,” he tells Batman, pausing to give him the time to absorb the new word. “You’re right, I work with the Lanterns too. Or I work with people who work with them, to be precise. I do still need to know what you’re doing here.”

“I’m not a spy,” Batman says.

“’That’s what a spy’d say’,” Kara says in an exaggerated version of Shadow’s more casual grammar, her voice dropping a half-octave at least.

Under the helmet, Shadow rolls his eyes.

“That, I can believe,” he says, ignoring the slap of what he assumes is Kara’s hand hitting her forehead. “You have still been asking too many questions about the Melokariel Proposition, and you've been seen in places you shouldn’t have been visiting.”

Batman has also been seen leaving his rooms at night, via this very balcony. Sending Kryo to spy on him was not an easy decision to make, and a sliver of Kal’s shame pricks at Shadow’s conscience, but he pushes it aside. The literary association between him and The Shadow may not have been his choice, but he does take the role seriously, and one whose mission it is to protect an entire realm cannot afford to let even friendship stop them.

“Maybe you don’t care about the consequences that could have for the House of El—”

“No one would suspect them of colluding with me,” Batman cuts in with a slight snap to his voice. “Everyone at court knows the only one of them who will spend any time with me is a timid simpleton. They will assume he couldn’t have guessed anything, and they will be right.”

Batman has gone back to higher-class inflections for this last sentence, the sudden distance he puts between himself and Shadow a stark reminder of Kal’s experiences at court, and it takes more effort than it usually would to ignore the wound and remain Shadow.

“Be that as it may,” Shadow says, relieved to hear no tightness in his voice, “I need—”

“Kal!” Kara all but shouts at him, “say something, for Vohc’s sake! You are not a simpleton!”

“The Els have been helpful, in their way,” Shadow tells Batman without acknowledging his cousin, “and considering their potential replacements, it’s in the Principality’s best interest that they stay in power, at least for the moment.”

“If you say so,” Batman says.

His face has not changed, but Shadow has heard Batman’s voice enough to recognize the smirk in his tone. It gives the impression of something more behind the word, some sort of double meaning, almost suggestive. Shadow’s face heats up beneath his helmet, and he finds himself abruptly glad that Batman cannot see him. Not that it does him any good, as his blush is perfectly audible when he answers:

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not what’s happening here.”

“If you say so,” Batman repeats, mild and unconcerned.

“That,” Kara sighs into her communicator, “was pathetic.”

Shadow is not the type of creature whose shoulders hunch at the slightest provocation, but that does not mean he disagrees with his cousin’s words. It is hardly a surprise that he lost the upper hand several questions ago. He knew, after all, that this was Batman’s aim, and allowed the conversation to progress anyway because he felt cooperation would be a better way to proceed...and also, in large part, because he thought Batman would reciprocate. He did not, though, and now Shadow realizes he will need to pry if he wants to leave this conversation with any clear information.

The problem being, of course, that he has no idea how to do that.

Shadow was never meant to interrogate anyone, especially not someone who evidently knows his way around inconvenient questions. Militia men, for the most part, expect brute force, because this is what they were trained against, which makes it easy to trick them with more subtle tactics. And in any case, half of the time either Kara or Kal can glean more precise information through their superiors, anyway. Interrogating Batman, though, let alone in a meaningful way? Shadow never learned how to do that. At first, it was naivety. Shadow once thought the Militia members who hurt citizens during arrests, or were unnecessarily violent with them, were rogue elements, and that bringing them to justice with sufficiently obvious proof would be enough to shatter what he believed was inertia on their superiors’ parts. This happened often in the beginning, hope holding out against all else, even proof at times. But as time went on, it became apparent El’s police forces—and, later, the Council’s Militia—did not focus on criminals with nearly as much zeal as they did on reminding the whole of El that the Wise Council loved them, protected them, and deserved nothing less than their utter respect and total obedience. Eventually, Shadow saw enough of these visits—often reasonably scheduled, but just as often happening late at night, or other times when citizens would not have expected to be visited.

One day, one such house call ended with the police dragging an entire family away from their home in the middle of the night, pushing them all into an aircraft, and spiriting them away over the mountains. Shadow stood and watched as it happened, a weight like stones in his guts telling him he ought to intervene. The younger, more hopeful part of him—the one that still believed the way the members of the court rejected the lower classes’ grammatical forms of Ellon so completely as to make them almost into a foreign language had to be a bug rather than a feature—told him to wait. Wait, make sure. Trust that things would turn out all right. But then a week passed. The family did not come back. One week became two, became three, and if would have taken many more to convince Shadow if Queen Oa Ni-Col—Kara’s mother, whose independence of thought and outspoken nature had always been noted at court—had not made the unexpected decision to overcome a debilitating fear of heights in order to fling herself off her bedroom balcony into the mountains, hundreds of feet below.

“Batman,” Shadow tries again, “I realize you don’t care about the Els. That’s your right. But your actions will have an impact on more than just them if you’re not careful, and I won’t be able to mitigate the consequences of you being caught if I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Shadow’s voice is pitched lower than Kal’s. It rings clearer, too. This time it rises on the last few words though, pleading bleeding in at the edges, and for a moment Shadow almost fears he is about to be unmasked. What happens instead is a long silence before Batman eventually nods. Shadow has practice hiding his relief by now, and so his body language does not change. But the rush is still there, and it takes him a moment to realize Batman is staring at his helmet with almost frightening intensity.

He has rarely been this glad for the two-way mirror effect of his visor.

“I am not here to hurt anyone,” Batman says, sounding as if it is costing him some effort to reveal even that much. “But there is something strange about the Melokariel Proposition.” He pauses and then, even more reluctantly than before, finishes: “Whatever it is about.”

“He’s been investigating all this time and he does not know what it would do?” Kara exclaims on her end of the line. “What a—Kal, you have to keep him off the field!”

Shadow tends to agree, but to tell her so would be to reveal her to Batman, and he would rather avoid that as long as possible. The fewer people who know Shadow does not work alone, the safer Kara will stay.

“There is,” Shadow tells Batman, “and I’ll explain as soon as I can. I don’t have the time for it tonight—there are other things I need to do—but I’ll explain. All I ask in exchange is that you stay inside tonight, and wait for my instructions.”

“Does he look like he intends to cooperate?”

Batman’s shoulders have tightened. His neck stiffens and, by his side, the fingers of his right hand clench together. Shadow can’t tell Kara as much, but he suspects she has a fairly good idea as to the answer anyway. It is not, after all, that surprising. Batman has been too invested in this research, is too strong-willed to give up when someone asks him to. And if these were not indications enough, there is the matter of his obvious disdain for and disappointment with Kal-El’s lack of interest in politics. None of that speaks of Batman being able to let go of the topic.

Besides, Shadow thinks in a surprisingly detached, distant way, if even Batman does not think twice about Kal-El’s lack of knowledge after spending such an extended amount of time with him, no one else will. It is reassuring information to have, even if it will do nothing but fan the flames of Kal’s shame.

None of that, of course, makes the matter of Batman’s involvement with Krypton’s political issues any less of a problem...or a mystery.

“I mean it,” Shadow insists, hoping despite an increasingly loud sense of resignation that Batman will decide to surprise everyone and actually cooperate. “You don’t know enough about Krypton or the Proposition for this to end with anything other than you dead in a ditch.”

That is, after all, where Shadow would have ended up more than once, if not for the suit and Kara’s support. Batman, however, does not seem all that disposed to see it, and Shadow restrains himself from sighing. He steps onto the balcony railing instead, orders the suit to shift into its gliding form and, as soon as the batons on his back have melted into wings, jumps down and to the right, as if aiming for the more populous areas of the outer city.

“It is a good thing we never made you into a politician,” Kara says. “That went terribly.”

“I noticed, thank you,” Shadow says, the part of him that still belongs to Kal even while in the suit shriveling with humiliation.

“You are welcome. There is no improvement without feedback.”

Kal does not reply to that, too focused on his second-least-favorite part of gliding in the suit: the landing. The maneuver is tricky enough when he aims for a horizontal surface and has enough room to use a proper parachute—to land on the Citadel’s outer wall, with its near verticality and smooth surface is another exercise altogether, and he is never as grateful for the suit’s gripping claws as when he has to perform this specific operation.

“Almost no roll this time,” Kara teases, more good-natured than dismayed now. “You are getting good with this thing.”

“And here I thought not dying in it on the first try was already a sign of competence,” Shadow retorts.

Kara snorts at the quip and, Shadow is pretty sure, mutters something about him needing to be like this more often. He ignores it, used to that sort of remark by now, and makes his way back toward Batman’s balcony.

“You are panicking again.”

“I’m not.”

“Kal, this suit monitors your heartbeat.”

“I know,” Shadow retorts, “and I know I’m scared, but this is still not me panicking.”

Shadow, unlike Kal, does not panic. It would be a lie to say he is unaffected, of course, especially when the smallest slip could easily mean a death as gruesome as his aunt’s—and as Shadow, he has a better understanding of what that would be like than most. Nevertheless, he is not only still moving, but also in full possession of his wits. This is nothing close to panic.

“All right, then,” Kara concedes. “Are you nearly there? Distances are harder to judge on two dimensional displays.”

“I am,” Shadow says.

Down below, to Shadow’s complete lack of surprise, Batman is still standing on his balcony...or, more precisely, on the balcony’s railing. The moons shine overhead, irregular shadows casting Batman in dramatic shades of crimson and black as his cape flares out in the wind, jagged ends like daggers slicing the air. Kal watches the man’s ramrod-straight posture, the set of his shoulders, the angle of his neck as he surveys the western half of the outer city, and sighs.

“Is something the matter?” Kara asks.

“Nothing,” Shadow says.

Part of him wants to tell her she is not allowed to call him overdramatic again, but the thought feels bizarrely like a betrayal, and so he keeps it to himself. Besides, to speak his mind here would do nothing but spark a discussion they have already had a thousand times between them. No, it is not his fault Zod’s engineers conceived the suit as a body-tight armor. No, it is not his fault crimson is the best camouflage in El’s particularly clear nights, and no, it is not his fault the shape of his helmet—the only one he has found that allows for a clear panel of display beads while still protecting him—makes Shadow look like a vengeful bug. He knows it, and he knows Kara knows it. It prevents neither Kara teasing him about it every chance she gets, nor Kal feeling irrationally insecure about it. Deciding that silence is the better part of honor, Shadow keeps his mouth shut and focuses on not losing his grip on the wall instead.

“Does it look like he is about to leave?” Kara asks after a short pause. “Did he bring some sort of rope?”

“Nothing I can see, but he does seem to be bracing for a jump.”

“You can’t be serious,” Kara exclaims, her breathing disrupting the connection for one uncomfortable moment. “There is at least six thousand feet between that balcony and the city! He can’t possibly make that jump!”

“I’ve made it before,” Shadow points out, and is not surprised when Kara hisses:

“Against my advice! And you are wearing the best armor Krypton has to offer—what does Batman even have? A fancy cape.”

“I don’t know how he plans to survive the drop either. I mean, the nearest rooftops are only about two thousand feet away but—”

“That does not make the situation any better!”

Kara is making a fair point, here, but before Shadow can concede it, Batman takes a deep breath and, with one powerful push of his thighs, throws himself off the balcony. Shadow, heart rising in his throat, forces air back into his lungs even as he jumps off the wall, letting the suit rearrange the material of his wing to absorb the worst of the impact. He rolls to his feet in the same movement and runs up to the railing just in time to see Batman, cape extended into a makeshift glider that slows his descent, shoot some kind of line at a decorative beam below and a few feet in front of him.

A moment later, the line tenses. Batman’s entire silhouette—clearly meant to evoke a particular image—glides into a curved trajectory like a bird turning in the sky. From Shadow's vantage point, there is no sign Batman even considered the possibility of failure. He must have, just as he must have carefully considered the precise trajectory needed for this specific jump. Yet not an ounce of fear, or even hesitation, shows through in him, as if the men of Batman’s planet were always meant to move this way. Batman’s line shortens as he goes, bringing him into a curve short enough that it is easy—or looks easy—for him to let go of his handle on his line, flip in the air and, catching the beam with his gloved hand, right himself upon it as if on any regular floor.

The technique in itself is actually similar to Shadow’s own mode of travel in the city, though with very different tools. The elegance of it, however, the complete confidence Batman has in his own body and proprioception—Shadow, mouth and throat abruptly dry, swallows hard.

“He took the jump,” Kara says with a sigh, “didn’t he?”

“He did,” Shadow says, not surprised in the least by the way awe tinges his tone. “He looks fine.”

Better than fine, even, but Shadow doesn’t quite know how to describe the feeling that seized his heart and squeezed at his chest at the sight, has no idea what contracted his stomach in such a way. He takes a silent, fortifying breath rather than attempt the exercise and announces:

“I’ll follow him tonight. Let the Dark Sun know I won’t be able to make the run.”

“That’ll push the next ship back three days, at least,” Kara says, the frown easy to hear in her voice.

“I know, and I’m not happy about it either, but we need to know what his intentions are. I don’t think we’ll get a much better opportunity than this.”

“Fine,” Kara replies with an explosive sigh. “I will let them know. Switching to one way audio, now.”

Shadow thanks her for the courtesy even as his audio input clicks off. It is a silly superstition—or an impractical hangup, depending on the nature of his mood at the moment of description—of his that he cannot take complicated jumps while he can hear Kara talk, or breathe, or indeed make any noise at all. It is not her fault and, though Shadow knows the habit displeases her, it is not a true choice on his part, either.

Eight years he has been Shadow now, six with this suit, and even before that—when he had to climb down the entire service elevator shaft and then climb back up the roofs of the outer city—the slightest diversion of his attention would halt his first jump. There comes a point during the night, when he is focused enough—when he is Shadow enough—that silence is not such an absolute prerequisite. A point where he loses himself in his suit and his self-imposed mission, so deeply that he can ignore the distraction. But never for the first jump. Not while he steps away from the balcony railing, not when he briefly asks Rao not to let him fall. Not when he takes off at a running start, jumps up to the railing, and, using his momentum to add to the force of his jumps, gives a great push against the balcony railing, throwing himself into empty air and the sickening lurch of freefall.

It is not possible to shut off natural audio feedback from the helmet—not with the way Shadow programmed the suit, in any case—and so despite the slowing mechanism, similar in effect to Batman’s glider cape, the wind screams past his ears as the glittering lights of the outer city hurl themselves at him. There is just enough time for him to wonder if Batman, too, has to fight the gut-clenching fear that this time will be the one he misses and does not come back.

Then the moment to catch himself comes, and Shadow sets all thoughts of Batman aside. The extra material of his suit shoots forward, nanobots so attuned to Shadow’s needs they almost feel like a living thing, and with a similar curve to the one that caught Batman, Shadow lands hard on the decorative beam.

Now, to find Batman. The man is at least as comfortable swinging from roof to roof as Shadow is. It is also quite possible—almost certain, really, judging from what Shadow has seen—that Batman is much more at ease than he is with this exercise...which means the technical difficulty of any given path won’t be any help in determining whether Batman went that way or not.

Shadow allows himself a small sigh, surprised when Kara does not immediately ask what is wrong, and forces himself to think. There are two obvious routes from where Shadow stands: straight forward, going away from the Citadel wall and into the wealthier areas of the outer city; or backward, closer to the more impoverished neighborhoods. Going forward would be easier, for decorative cornices and railings become more numerous as the city goes on, and the lodgings there are easier to climb. At the very least, the risk of having those crumble underfoot is much lower than in the inner circle of the city, especially this far away from the Citadel’s main gates. Batman, however, has been researching the Melokariel Proposition for far too long to forget it now, and since as far as Shadow knows the project is almost exclusively discussed in terms of what it will do for noble families and noble pockets….Shadow starts toward the wall.

“Shad—damn it—Shadow do you hear me?”

Shadow grunts as he pulls himself on a curved roof, scanning his surroundings with one practiced sweep of his gaze. No trace of Batman, and now this.

“That’s the third time we've lost contact this week.”

“I am aware,” Kara sighs. “The vote has yet to be called, but Zor-El has allowed three different soundings already. Your installation is functional enough, but it cannot compete against that.”

Behind her, there is the low, regular buzz of a mechanical fan, and Shadow sighs. He does not have the technical skills to compete with his uncle’s police, let alone the Council’s Militia. He is...not quite incompetent, but he does not have it in him to make technological miracles. What he did have however, especially back when he first prepared himself to become Shadow, was a lot of time and unlimited access to ancient tomes on primitive technologies such as radio waves and binary coding. It took him quite a while and even more trial and error, but he did manage to build himself a central database no one on El would ever think to scan for, its near-prehistoric workings the very source of its secrecy. Later on, when Kara joined him as Support, she positively laughed at the setup, though Shadow could never quite figure out why she did.

In any case, the installation has worked well for them so far. There is no way to secure it against official forces’ technology, of course, but that is almost a non-problem in the sense that Shadow’s entire existence hinges on absolute secrecy and everything turning out as well as possible each and every night. Were he someone else—an independent Lord, perhaps, or a more ordinary citizen—there might be ways to justify the scrapes and bruises that come with his nocturnal life...but how do you explain serious injuries on someone who, like Kal-El, barely ever sets foot outside of his parents’ extremely secure residence, and even then almost exclusively to visit the extremely secure Stateroom of Peace? You do not. If Shadow makes one wrong move, every scrap of what little help he can bring to the citizens of El will be lost.

“I’ll look into alternative solutions,” he tells Kara. “Radio waves, maybe.”

Kara mutters something about sticks and stones, but Shadow ignores her. There, barely a dozen feet away from him, is Batman.

“I found him.”

The man has perched at the crumbling edge of a crumbling house’s domed roof, precariously balanced with a foot against the wall while the other rests on the rusted remains of an escape ladder that must have been abandoned for quite a while now. Batman seems unused to the architectural configuration, positioned in a way that will leave him much sorer than necessary come morning, but he seems steady enough all the same. Which explains why Shadow, seeing no reason to hurry, is only about halfway to Batman when they both hear the scream.

Altering his course, Shadow reaches the source of it a fraction of second before Batman does. A woman on the ground, a soldier’s gloved hand in her hair. Behind, three men: two armored, one screaming but otherwise paralyzed. In the distance, a window closes.

“Please, don’t take her!” shouts the man.

There is a wet crunch. He falls to the ground, clutching his nose. One of the armored men raises his weapon in the direction of the fallen man's head, aims—Batman falls on him from above, like Vohc himself descending from the stars. He is practiced, that much is clear. No hesitation. Not a single wasted move. He would win the fight in seconds if Ellon soldiers didn’t operate in groups of five.

Shadow jumps from his perch a second before the first soldier releases the woman and raises her rifle at Batman’s back. He runs. Jumps, suit extending on either side of him. Throws Batman to the ground when the impact shoves him backward.

“What was that?” Kara asks on her end of the line.

The suit must have fully reconnected, then.

Shadow does not answer her, though. He rolls to his feet—ducks a hit to the head, punches a second armored woman in the gut. Swords come out, and part of the suit turns into a familiar pair of batons. The blades shine and sing—miss Batman by inches in one corner of Shadow’s vision, spark against his suit in another. Shadow parries, ducks, strikes back. Rao, please let him get out of this alive. He is not good enough for this. There is a reason he prefers stealth, and—another duck. Close call, this time. He holds his ground, but only by virtue of having an extremely smart suit and very flexible weapons he has been using for the past eight years. Duck, duck, parry—shout in pain when a quicker sword strike catches him before he can have the suit rearrange itself, and slices his arm underneath. Parry again. One last strike, a solid kick in the shins—four soldiers leave in a profusion of curses, the fifth one unconscious on a comrade’s back.

Shadow allows himself three heaving breaths before he turns back to the people they just rescued. They have fallen to the ground, Batman standing guard while the man clings to his wife and babbles about someone left inside—children, Shadow realizes. He means children. Batman, much quicker on the uptake, is about halfway to the door when Shadow catches his wrist.

“We don’t have time—”

“You’re the better fighter,” Shadow hastens to explain. “If they come back before we can leave, you’ll be more useful here. Besides, the kids will know who I am.”

A small part of Shadow wants to grin when Batman’s impatient snarl turns to surprise, but the man was right. They do not have time for frivolity. Ignoring some pleased surprise of his own—he was halfway expecting Batman to argue against a plan that wasn’t his own—Shadow rushes inside. It is a mess, of course. The house was clearly ransacked for evidence. Broken furniture, papers strewn about with almost methodical madness. Nothing out of the ordinary, here. The soldiers made no mention of children, though, which means they must have hidden somewhere the police did not think to look at first glance. Either somewhere creative and complicated, or...Shadow crouches in front of the cabinet under the sink, and gives a soft greeting to the two little girls he finds there.

They have the same green eyes, the same wide rings under those eyes. The oldest one slaps his wrist when he reaches for them, and Shadow praises her for her bravery. Said bravery becomes a little less practical when he reaches for her and she tries to bite him, but these are harsh times for El, and so Shadow does not reprimand her.

“I’m not an enemy,” he says instead. “I am the Shadow of El. Your parents are waiting outside, and we need to go now, quietly.”

Miraculously, the children stay quiet as Shadow carries them outside. They all but fall over themselves when their father comes within reach, one of the girls almost falling to the ground in her hurry to reach familiar arms.

“Thank you,” the man tells Shadow between kisses to his daughters’ heads, “thank you so much!”

“Please, don’t. You’re not out of trouble yet.”

A few feet to the side, the woman looks between Batman and Shadow with a stony gaze, no trace of tears or fear on her face. She gives Batman a short, stoic nod before she goes to gather her family and tells them to brace themselves.

“The Shadow is right. We are still in danger, here. We need to leave.”

“I can help you with that,” Shadow says. “I know a place where people will help you.”

There is no scheduled convoy tonight but the Dark Sun, Shadow has learned, keeps shelters ready for families in transit, and these people will be safer there than anywhere else in the city. They can stay there and wait for the next departure to the deserted borders with Ul, and from there, to the stars and the safety of the Green Lanterns’ space territory. It is a good plan, but Shadow is not surprised to find both the woman and her companion eyeing Batman with undisguised wariness. Shadow cannot blame them. The citizens of El have learned to be wary of outsiders in recent years and a family suspected of treason—rightfully so, judging from their expressions and the traditional printing material Shadow saw inside—would be even warier.

Shadow cannot make a pleading face through his helmet, but Batman must pick something up from his body language because he nods, walks to the nearest rain pipe, and starts climbing. Shadow sighs.

“At least he is being cooperative,” Kara says, almost making him jump.

She was so quiet throughout the fight, he somehow managed to forget she was there at all. Or perhaps he simply didn’t hear her. Either way, her voice is a comfort, and Shadow feels his shoulders unwind a little as he tells Batman, “I’ll see you where we first met.”

He waits for Batman to turn around and look at him before he jerks his head to the left, away from the Citadel dome. Batman’s answering nod is curt and small, but it is a sufficiently explicit agreement for Shadow to settle further. He listens to the click of Batman’s boots on the rain pipe for a while, giving the family some space to organize themselves. Then, once the man has gone back inside for what looks like a long-ready travel bag, Shadow leads them to one of the Dark Sun’s safe houses.

“Is there any sign that they intend to pursue you?” Kara asks a few hours later when Shadow comes back to the house.

The place is buzzing with activity, but there is no sense of victory in the air, no feeling of a pack on the hunt.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “It doesn’t seem like they found anything on the Dark Sun, either. We got lucky.”

“That you were,” Kara replies hotly. “I don’t know how we missed that raid—”

“I’ll go by our informant’s house before I come back,” Shadow promises.

They are supposed to have this neighborhood covered, after all. This did not feel like a scheduled raid—not enough coordination for the soldiers to be an official team-up—but if there are overzealous rogue elements in the city’s police, their contact will need to know about them. And if, for some unfathomable reason, the authorities decided to send a newly minted team on a scheduled raid—improbable, but still not to be discounted—it is vital for Shadow and the Dark Sun to figure out how that could have passed them by.

“I will contact whoever I can,” Kara says. “In the meantime, you should go and give your friend a good telling-off.”

Shadow, already on his way over the rooftops, does not answer...but he does not miss the frown in Kara’s voice when she speaks again.

“Kal—”

“I’m glad to know the line is uncompromised.”

Not that it would do them much good, should anyone start scanning for audio frequencies, but it is always reassuring to know they are not being listened to.

“Kal,” Kara insists, “you are going to tell him off, aren’t you?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Shadow hedges. Kara’s grunt is more than enough to let him know what she thinks of that. “I know what he did was risky—”

“Risky? If anyone recognizes him—”

“He was trying to save those people!” Shadow protests, feeling his voice rise into a more Kal-esque register despite himself. “You can’t blame him for that!”

“I recognize that he had noble intentions,” Kara says, “but that does not excuse his recklessness. You have got to talk to him, Kal.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Shadow repeats.

Kara does much more grumbling than usual when she signs out.

Once Shadow finds Batman again, he wastes neither time nor words and strides toward the mountains with Batman close on his heels. The alien is physically fit, impressively so by Ellon standards, but Shadow is surprised to hear his breathing grow heavier after the first half hour. Whatever Batman does on his planet must not include much trekking, then. He does not complain, however, and about half an hour later they are both standing at the darkened mouth of a narrow crevice of jagged rocks. To the left, the Citadel glows a pale red in the moonlight, the outer city swallowing its feet in a mass of inky darkness that not even the light of the moons, so bright in the mountains, can penetrate.

Shadows orders the suit to rearrange one of his gloves into a flashlight and, once Batman has caught his breath—a short process, despite his insistence on maintaining proper posture and sacrificing practicality for dignity—he steps inside the crevice. Inside, it gets narrower for a while, the stone above low enough to force him to duck. At one point, he hears Batman’s head hit the stone and smirks. When they reach the first chamber—quite small, compared to what comes after, but still just wide enough for two adults to camp in—Shadow stops.

“Where are we?” Batman asks, sitting down while Shadow detaches the flashlight from his suit and settles it on the ground. “Your base of operations?”

“I wish,” Kara mutters, the connection clicking back to life in Shadow’s ears.

“One day, it might be,” Shadow tells Batman, perhaps more of a smile in his voice than he meant to put there. “For now, it’s just a cave I found when I was a kid.”

It would be a lie to say that he was less timid back then, but his parents had insisted he see the outside world, and later on his martial arts instructors had declared it good for his health to run around the mountains. In between, Kal explored. And scared a few adults in the process, but that is hardly the point.

“It’s not very interesting, geologically speaking, but it does offer some privacy.”

Batman hums, and Kara clicks her tongue.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Right,” Shadow says, and winces internally when Batman cocks his head at him. “I almost forgot,” he covers, “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank him?”

“Thank me?”

“For stepping in, earlier. You didn’t have to.”

“Kal, this is not what we said—”

“It was reckless,” Batman says before Shadow can debate whether he should ask Kara to let him speak. “But armed men dragging a woman by the hair in the middle of the night is not a good sign, back on Earth.”

“It isn’t a good sign here either,” Shadow sighs, “but this isn’t your planet. No one would have resented you for staying out of this.”

“I would have.”

The words carry a kind of life-defining finality that makes Kara hum and Shadow bow his head. They both know the feeling, after all. It would be hypocritical of them to contradict Batman on that point, even should they want to.

“Well,” Shadow says at last, “thank you anyway. If you hadn’t helped—”

“I am usually more on the punitive side of things,” Batman says.

It is not hurried, not urgent...and yet Shadow cannot help the feeling it is meant as a dismissal somehow. Specifically timed to make sure Shadow could not finish his sentence.

“In that case,” he says rather than force his way through the rest of his intended words, “you did well, for someone outside of their comfort zone.”

Shadow grins under his helmet, unable to help himself. His only responses are the warmth of his own breath on his face and Batman’s expression remaining so immobile as to make Shadow doubt the exchange even happened, but he is glad he said it all the same. Shadow’s belief in telling people when they've done well might be primarily a result of Kal’s needs, but that does not make it any less strong, nor is it dependent on Batman acknowledging the compliment. Not that Shadow would have complained if he had, but to each their own.

“Though to be honest, sometimes I wonder if a punitive figure wouldn’t be more useful around here.”

Shadow...tries to be one, sometimes. Well. He tried. Nothing short of a solid beating seems to deter militia members, though, and that is simply not something Shadow is truly capable of delivering. It is not a matter of training, although he is definitely lacking in that area. No; the truth is, for all that Shadow plays at being strong it is just that: a play. An illusion cast on the people who meet him to help things go the way he wants them to. But in his heart of hearts, Shadow, much like Kal, does not have it in himself to rise to the level of violence the militia is ready to use. He does become violent, sometimes, when no other options remain. He does. He also spends a significant amount of time retching, afterwards, and so he avoids physical confrontation as much as he can.

Batman’s gaze on him pulls Shadow off that particular train of thought. The blank whited-out lenses of the man’s cowl have fixed on his face—or his helmet, rather—as if they can somehow divine his secrets through the power of staring alone. Shadow is not sure what it says about him that he finds himself fearing they might succeed.

The silence stretches between them, darkness shivering with the faint echo of their voices. There is a sense of anticipation in the air. Not quite an antsy silence—although Shadow is definitely getting there—but somehow expectant, all the same. It is as though Batman, immobile as he is, manages to project the sense of waiting for more. Of waiting out someone’s nerve, to discover what they want, and Shadow….

“You are about to cave in, aren’t you?” Kara sighs in his ears.

He ignores her, out of necessity as much as personal preference.

“They want to mine the planet’s core,” he tells Batman. “That’s what the Melokariel Proposition is about. The expectation is that this will revive the entire planetary economy and bring some life back into what’s essentially—”

“A decaying former colonial power incapable of accepting its lack of relevance in the modern universe.”

Well. So much for thinking Batman would be delicate about this.

“It is,” Shadow admits nonetheless. “The Independence War’s been over for more than seven hundred years now, yet most of our nobility still acts like that was yesterday. The Wise Council is even worse. There are even people who hope the Melokariel Proposition will help Krypton reestablish its dominion over the galaxy.”

“Only because they have no more sense than tchkay plant,” Kara mutters.

“It may not sound like it,” Shadow tells Batman, trying not to let his helpless grin bleed into his tone, “but El is actually one of the more moderate Principalities.”

“And yet your king is accepting quite a lot of bribes, in the form of gifts.”

“On behalf of his father,” Shadow says. “Kor-El is the Wise King of Thinkers, and he tends to vote with Tsiahm-Lo because they are old friends. People think winning one of their votes means winning the other...but you can’t gift anything to the Wise Kings and Queens directly. It’s against the Council laws. So people work around it. There’s been an increase in the number of gifts Tsiahm-Lo’s family receives, too.”

It took quite a while, confirming that last information. Kor-El lives primarily in Kandor and is hard to meet, even for his closest relative. As for Tsiahm-Lo, he lives on the other side of the planet. Kara has contacts in many places, however, and Kal’s clumsiness is often more helpful than one might think, genuine though it is. The proof, when it came, was a hard blow for Shadow and Support both. Batman, however, takes the news quite well. He has, of course, proven his ability to remain stoic in most circumstances several times over, by now, but the demonstration is no less impressive for it, and Shadow holds in a sigh. What he would not give, for that kind of mastery of himself!

He wondered, once, whether Earthlings were simply much less emotional creatures than Kryptonians. Not every sentient species is created equal where sentiment is concerned, after all. Batman was too kind to Kal, though, and for too long, for it to be faked. Mastery it must be, then, and Shadow can only admire it, knowing he will never be able to grasp it for himself.

“That explains Zor’s remarks,” Batman mutters to himself. Then, a little louder: “What about the Green Lanterns? Why do they have that kind of reputation?”

“You said it yourself,” Shadow explains with a shrug. “Krypton is a decaying ex-colonizer that can’t accept times have changed, and the Lanterns were the ones who beat them. That would be bad enough by itself, but now they’re taking Kryptonian refugees under their protection….”

“And Krypton does not pursue?”

The way Batman asks the question makes it feel like he might already know—or strongly suspect—what the answer is, but Shadow answers anyway:

“The Peace Treaty we signed after the war doesn’t allow them to. Once the refugees are within the Lanterns’ space territory, they’re out of reach.”

“If I did not know you so well,” Kara remarks in Shadow’s ears, “I might believe this history lesson will finish with ‘and that is why you must remain uninvolved’. But you are going to let him keep going with his investigation, aren’t you?”

“I would say you are putting too much faith in that treaty,” Batman says, voice overlapping with Kara’s, “but if your government is already too proud to increase commerce with its ex-colonies when the planet is literally dying, assuming they will be too proud to ask for permission to go and catch their own traitors does not seem that far-fetched.”

Shadow nods. The words are not quite those he would have chosen to explain the situation, but they are accurate enough. It would be futile to dispute them.

“Our main difficulty here is to help those who need to flee to join the escape networks. After that, I’m told things become easier.”

“I take it you are not privy to that part of the operation.”

Shadow shakes his head. “It’s safer if we don’t know too much about the things we’re not directly involved in,” he says. “Besides, the Shadow of El is more useful in the city.”

Batman does not ask any questions, but Shadow knows what he said calls for an explanation all the same...and even if it did not, he is not hoping for Batman to remain uninvolved anymore. This means he will need information, and, well. The story of the Dark Sun and its Shadow is nothing the general public does not know. Even Kara does not protest the decision, though she does remind Shadow he only has about three hours left until the sun rises.

“So what I hear,” Batman says once Shadow is done with this retelling, “is that you are alone in ensuring those who need the Dark Sun can find them safely.”

“Yes,” Shadow says, and winces when Kara yelps in protest. “More or less.”

“Thank you,” Kara says. “’Alone’...what am I, chopped silten?”

Batman seems to ponder the answer for a moment, head bowed over Shadow’s makeshift flashlight. At the mouth of their hiding place, the sky is still dark, but it will not remain so for much longer. Shadow breaks the silence:

“To tell you the truth...I could use your help.”

Batman looks up, sharp and fast, and Shadow makes himself keep his shoulders straight. If nothing else, he will at least be able to tell Kara, truthfully, that he offered a partnership rather than begging for help.

“It seems pretty clear you won’t let go of your investigation, but you know nothing about Krypton—”

“Almost nothing,” Batman corrects. “Kal-El is a fool, but he is not entirely incompetent.”

“You really are not going to defend yourself at all, are you?” Kara sighs, but Shadow only swallows.

It is, he tells himself again, a good thing that Batman thinks so little of Kal. Less risk of discovery, this way. With that in mind, Shadow nods, conceding.

“My point is, you could work on your own, but that would take more time than you’d like. And besides, it would be a waste of energy when we could just as well pool our resources.”

“It sounds to me like I would be the one with the most to gain from that,” Batman says. “More information, more material, a better knowledge of the local culture...what do you get from it?”

“You’re a better fighter than me,” Shadow says, matter-of-fact. “And clearly you’re a skilled detective, or you wouldn’t have progressed as far as you have with a limited Ellon vocabulary. Clearly, there’s a lot you could teach me...and when this is done, the Dark Sun will help you leave.”

Batman and Kara hum at the same time, although not for the same reasons at all.

“I need time to think this over,” Batman says at last, and Shadow nods.

“Fine. But not tonight—dawn’s coming, and there’s something else I have to do before then. Let’s meet here tomorrow night. Two hours after sundown.”

“Very well.”

Together, they walk back to the entrance of the cave, where the crimson glow of the moons is paling, slowly bleeding out of the sky to give way to the orange copper of daylight. Shadow pauses to admire the sight of the mountains to the east, and when he turns back, Batman is gone.

With a grin at the alien’s flair for the dramatic, Shadow shakes his head and strides back toward the city. He does, after all, have a militia lieutenant to call on.

The next night, Shadow arrives at the crevice in the mountain only to find Batman already there, standing at the entrance with his head raised to the sky, the dim light of the moons turning his mouth and chin almost copper. He does not flinch, or indeed react in any way when Shadow steps up beside him, except to say:

“There is conflict between two of your neighboring planets. Leaark and Axor. They wanted an impartial judge, so they asked for our help. I was on my way back when I crashed on Krypton.”

“’Our’ help?” Shadow asks, puzzled. “Is your planet known for its good judgment?”

Kal knows that it is not. Shadow, however, has heard nothing of this place, and must therefore show interest in Batman’s past if he wishes to make use of that knowledge.

“No. Earth does not have political representatives in space. We do have….” Batman’s voice trails off for a moment, as if he were hesitating. The thought is incongruous, knowing what Shadow knows about him, but hesitation it must be, because Batman sounds rather reluctant when he says: “We have a group of superheroes whose reputation reaches beyond the borders of Earth. They are called the Justice League.”

Shadow blinks.

“Isn’t that a good thing? To have so many heroes dedicated to the protection of your people and the defense of justice among them?”

“There are only seven of us, actually. And the name sounds—ridiculous.”

‘Ridiculous’ is, most likely, not what Batman would have said in his mother tongue. Something worse, perhaps? Either way, the sentence leaves him frustrated, the slant of his shoulders familiar from many a language lesson. Shadow smiles at the sight, but takes care to push it out of his voice before he says, “A lot of people here would find it ridiculous, too. I think it sounds quite noble. I’d be glad if Krypton could have something like that.”

Batman looks at him again, lips pinched tightly together, but Shadow does not move. Shadow and Kal-El are very different—for all that they share a body and a mind—but their values are the same, and neither one would be ashamed to admit as much. Batman may find the concept, in its nakedness, to be ridiculous, but Shadow would argue perhaps the problem lies in him rather than in his League’s name itself.

“Mm,” Batman says, rather than answer Shadow’s question. As deflections go, it is far from his best; strangely, Shadow appreciates it all the more for that. “I have given some thought to your offer.”

Now Shadow’s heart picks up, anticipation tingling in the creases of his palms as he waits out Batman’s dramatic pause with bated breath. Eventually, just as Shadow is considering breaking the silence himself, Batman says:

“I find it acceptable. I will help you train and deal with the Melokariel Proposition. And when I ask you to, you will help me leave Krypton, whether this business is finished or not.”

“Of course,” Shadow says.

Kara, he suspects, will strongly disapprove. What good is it, to involve a man who might choose to leave next week? But Batman could have demanded to be let off Krypton right away, and he has not. He would have had every right to it, after more than three months so far from his home. Yet, despite that, he chose to stay on and help. It would be more than unfair for Shadow to ask more of him than that, and so what he does instead is bow his head and say:

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to our cooperation.”

“You might yet live to regret it,” Batman says. “Do you have somewhere we can use to train you?”

“Yes, actually,” Shadow says with a grin. “It’s the reason why I wanted us to meet here. Come with me.”

They make their way back inside the crevice and then further into the mountain, until they reach the first truly significant cave. Their footsteps echo there, every noise magnified until even the small drizzle of water at the back sounds like a river. The space is quite wide, almost large enough to contain Kal-El’s bedroom—far more than they will need to setup sparring mats and physical training equipment. The ceiling is not very high, but it is comfortable enough, and when Shadow’s flashlight touches it the crystals embedded there come alive with cold white flashes.

“This seems acceptable,” Batman says. “From what little I can see.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Shadow replies with a smile. “Just a moment, please.”

It was, perhaps, a tad overdramatic of him to hide the fire figs under a blanket. The effect when he uncovers their glass cases is so magnificent, though, that he feels no guilt about it. He brought only four bushes, but their light is enough to reflect and refract in the overhead crystals and fill the cave with multicolored beams of light, along with a softer and more natural orange glow. White lights will have to be brought in later on, as supplements, but for now this light is enough, and Shadow smiles when he realizes even Batman’s jaw has gone a little slack.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Batman swallows.

“It is...adequate,” he says.

Shadow chuckles.

“Well. Let’s get started, then.”

“If you feel ready.”

All jokes about Batman’s flair for the dramatic aside, he does display a level of intensity even Shadow was wholly unprepared for. For the three hours following his and Batman’s agreement, Shadow does nothing but jump, run, crouch, and crawl all over the floor. Sweat pours out of every pore he has, chafes at his skin under the suit, and by the time Batman is done with him, his limbs feel ready to drop him to the ground at any moment. When he requests a break, he barely even waits for Batman’s permission before he kneels next to the thin stream at the back of the cave and lets the bottom half of his helmet melt away into the rest of the suit, drinking his fill and then some without, somehow, managing to feel like his thirst is quenched.

“I thought you were ready,” Batman says when Shadow is done drinking and back to panting.

There is no apology in the man’s voice, not even an ounce of regret, but Shadow hears the disappointment loud and clear. His fists clench.

“Clearly,” he says, struggling to keep his voice even, “I miscalculated.”

He shouldn’t have. He has seen enough of Batman, by now, to know better. He should have anticipated the hard work, and more—and to tell the truth, he should have been better prepared regardless. The Shadow of El should not let itself be stopped by something so mundane as lack of endurance, and in the privacy of his own mind, Shadow resolves to do better next time. After all, if Batman can do it, why should Shadow not even attempt it?

“How have you even survived all this time?” Batman asks.

The disappointment is gone from his tone now, his voice back to perfect neutrality. Shadow, who has not been naive enough to imagine a neutral tone meant neutral feeling for a long time, asks himself the same question. The suit is many things, after all, but magic is not one of them, and if this training session has proven anything, it is that Shadow must have been much luckier than he had ever thought...that, and that he was right in deciding never to discard the suit for his patrols.

“I’m usually more of a spy than a vigilante,” he tells Batman, breathing still ragged.

He manages, just barely, to keep the apology out of his voice. It does not do much for the blooming sense of inadequacy at the pit of his stomach, but it does preserve the dignity of the Shadow of El. Besides, he is starting to suspect that to apologize for his shortcomings, at this point, would accomplish nothing but driving Batman to push him even harder. Not that it would not be useful! There is, after all, a reason Shadow suggested this partnership in the first place, and contrary to what Batman seems to think, Shadow is fully convinced he is the one who has the most to gain from this endeavor. Batman has full access to the royal library, after all, and Shadow is starting to suspect he could have found his own way back to Earth, given enough time.

Fighting is simply not something one can properly learn on their own.

“Focusing on information-gathering,” Batman is saying, as Shadow returns to his feet, nanobots reshaping into his helmet just in time to hide the last of his chin as he turns back around, “does not mean you can afford to be useless in a fight. Your suit may do a number of amazing things, but it is still nothing but a suit, and you cannot afford to rely on it. You must be able to defend yourself, even if you are caught without it.”

Shadow, feeling like a child scolded for failing to put enough effort into his homework, resists both the urge to protest that he is always wearing his suit—as it is both beside the point and a piece of information best kept between Kara and himself—and the urge to bow his head. There is no time to be self-pitying. He is here to learn, after all. That means taking whatever Batman has to throw at him, and using it to grow. If it also means Shadow must go through more physical drills in the upcoming weeks than he has in his entire life up until now, then so be it.

“Just be careful who you share this with,” Kara teases when Shadow recounts his first training session later in the night, on his way to pick a family up from their home and lead them to the nearest safehouse. “There would be no explanation for your sudden transformation into a high-level athlete.”

Not, of course, that she truly has to worry about that. The only person Kal-El could ever talk to about his progress in martial arts would be Batman, and Batman does not want anything to do with him. Shadow bites down on a peevish retort anyway.

Shadow...keeps up, somehow. He trains with Batman for three hours every evening and emerges from the cave, exhausted and drenched in his own sweat, only to go around the city, gathering intelligence on the militia’s movements, interrogating whoever he can with Batman’s help—and oh, how these conversations go faster with someone who is actually skilled at drawing answers out of reluctant participants!—and leading more and more prospective refugees to the Dark Sun’s safe houses. The Melokariel Proposition was voted into effect three weeks ago, precisely three and a half months after Batman’s arrival on Krypton, and Batman's failure to publicly involve himself one way or the other in that controversy has mostly silenced those at court who whispered that he might be an envoy of Vohc. He almost snorted, when Kal related this news, and chuckled when he shared that tidbit with Shadow later the same day.

Of all the things collaborating with Batman has changed in Shadow's life, receiving regular updates on his own life from an external perspective is, without contest, the strangest. He knows how to deal with being interrogated, both as Shadow and as Kal. Hearing himself described on a semi-regular basis is another thing entirely.

Mostly, though, Shadow struggles. He gains muscle, but loses weight. He fights better, stands straighter in the night. But when daylight comes and he turns the suit back into Kal-El’s lab coats and refined fabrics, his shoulders slouch further than they ever have in his life. It is...fine, at first. Exhausting, yes, but important, and Shadow—he keeps up. He manages. Not brilliantly, maybe, but efficiently, and who cares if Kal suffers for it? Certainly not Batman, and certainly not Shadow. For the first six weeks after Batman started to train him, Shadow manages.

After that, though, the training starts to take its toll. Shadow feels it in his bones, perceives it in the tightness around Batman’s mouth, a sense of defeat hovering around the alien in a way it never has before, in all four and a half months he has been on Krypton. For a while, Shadow tries to believe Kara and entertain the thought that Batman might, perhaps, simply be homesick...but if it were only that, then why not simply ask to go? Or, at the very least, go to Kal, whose eagerness to learn more about Batman’s home planet could not be more pathetically obvious if he tried? No, all the evidence points to Shadow himself being the source of Batman's displeasure.

Gradually, the giddiness he had felt over this arrangement—the beauty of all the things he would learn to do, and do better—fades. Shadow goes through the motions of his and Kal-El’s lives on autopilot, faced with the bitter realization that even he is not enough. There is nothing there—a sham, at the most; an illusion the people of El cling to well past the time it should have been cast aside, merely because there is nothing else to count on. Because they have put too much faith in it, by now, to turn back without consigning themselves to a life of shame. There is nothing there except the thin ghost of a wish, an ideal that could be put to better use by better hands.

Batman could do it. He does not say as much, and speaks little of his own work on Earth to Shadow—but Kal is a timid fool, and there is no danger in sharing secrets with him. Batman could do it; but Shadow cannot, and so he applies himself to helping Batman as best as he can...or, failing that, to making sure he does not hinder the man’s work, at least.

Together, they infiltrate houses and places Shadow would never have dared to take on alone. They scare Kara half to death—or rather, Shadow does. He has yet to reveal her existence to Batman; part of him is still wary of the consequences should someone else find out about her, and another part is disturbingly unwilling to let Batman know he is being observed, when Shadow knows the alien would retreat even more than he already does if he were aware of it. Shadow is unpracticed, at first, and then he is tired and stumbles where he needs to be sure-footed. He muddles through the thick fog of his brain, when he should be sharp and alert, and blinks himself from the brink during patrol.

They are few, these moments, and far between at first. It is like...like Shadow detaches from himself, somehow. Like his soul remains trapped in his head, while the rest of his body moves on with life, a puppet made of empty, mechanical parts, until these divided pieces of him finally reunite in the sweetness of oblivion. These moments, few and far between—until, somehow, they aren’t.

Time numbs Shadow to his own purpose. Caring becomes harder. It takes more effort than it used to, to fear for the people he helps, to mourn for those he loses. It is not so much that they are not important, but rather—rather that everything is important. Stopping the violent expulsion of citizens is important. Gathering evidence of the corruption that led to this predicament is important. Helping those willing to do the work to inform the rest of El of the dangers of mining Krypton’s core is important. Everything is important; everything claws at Shadow’s attention, pulling at his soul until it all blurs into a thick feeling of guilt for his inability to care more...and then Shadow shuts down.

He does not mean to do it. Does not plan to sit at his desk, and blink so slowly two hours have gone by before he opens his eyes again and picks up his pen. He does not mean for Kal to lie on his bed in the morning and think he should go and wash himself, feed himself, read—turn his head away from the ceiling, at the very least, but even that proves beyond his strength, and so Kal-and-Shadow both remain where they are and let time pass them by. Neither part of him means for that to happen, the space where they meet horrified and desperate to stop it, to move, to do anything but—anything at all. But that space where Shadow and Kal-El meet is a sad thing, shriveled and pitiful, and while the days it manages to take over do not, at least, feel like they are spent watching fresh paint dry, they are the kind of days that make both Kal and Shadow regret the numbness.

That part of Shadow—that small, terrified part of him that makes even Kal sound...functional, somehow—wonders with despair how far it will all go. What it will take to wake him up, even just a part of him. It watches as Shadow-and-Kal go through the motions, present but not. He-they go through the motions—must perform with some success, seeing as no one thinks to ask what is wrong with them. Him. Inside, though, it feels more and more like Shadow—like Kal, like both of him—is trying and failing to pry a locked door open with his bare hands. He sleeps. He does what he must at night and during the day, protecting those who count on him and attending what official occasions he is expected to. He does forget to eat, now and then, if nothing pressing requires him to make sure he has some sustenance. It is not a problem.

Or, to be precise: it is not a problem, until Kal faints in the royal family’s private library. He does not mean to faint, much like he has not meant to do many other things. One minute he is looking for a book, somewhat lightheaded, and telling himself he will go lie down as soon as he finds what he needs to prepare for Batman’s Ellon lessons, and the next something deep and dark opens behind his eyes, pulls him down—he blinks, and has to think hard for a minute or two before he realizes the reason that particular green velvet loveseat looks so strange is because it is not meant to be seen with one’s head lying on the ground.

There is a low sound in Shadow—no, Kal. There is no red at his wrist, no warm moisture on his face. He is meant to be Kal. It is just as well. He pushes himself up on his wrists nonetheless, surprised when something on his shoulder forces him back to the ground.

“Stop trying to get up, you imbecile,” a low, rough voice is saying, close to his head, when he manages to recognize words again. “Lie down.”

Kal blinks, head spinning again even as he tries to figure out whether anyone else was present when he—blinked? Fell? It is hard to tell. He remembers where he was before, but it is difficult to understand how he came to be where he is now...wherever that is, exactly. To make sense of what he hears, right now, is beyond his ability. Not that it truly matters, in the end, for before Kal can truly understand what he is being told, a strong pair of arms seizes him under the armpits, lifts him up off the ground—Kal is on a sofa. The green loveseat is nearby, cozy but too small to lie down on in full. Kal closes his eyes, opens them again and focuses on the ceiling when the abyss inside him turns out to be much closer than he thought it would be. He does not try to sit up.

“I called for honeyed tea,” Batman-in-his-Nightwing-suit says when Kal finally manages to find his face. “You need sugar.”

It is quite probable Kal actually does need that. From the feel of things, though, he also needs some ice for his head and a thousand years of sleep. Better yet: he needs to go to bed, and never wake up at all. It is a tempting thought. Burying himself under the covers, forgetting there is a world outside...but that would not be acceptable, of course, for a prince of El. Not even for the pathetic offspring of a lower branch. So what Kal does instead is apologize, squinting when it becomes clear Batman did not understand him.

“I am so sorry,” Kal repeats, to no better result. “Your lesson….”

It takes Kal tremendous effort, to seize control of his own mouth again and force the words into some semblance of shape, but he manages. This time, Batman understands. He does not...scoff. Not truly. He does not roll his eyes either, although a part of Kal is acutely aware that the cowl makes it terribly hard to be certain of that. Besides, the man’s stoic silence gives the strong impression that, though he considers himself too dignified to roll his eyes, a significant part of him wants to. That prompts Kal to apologize again, only for Batman’s mouth to pull downward.

“Do not apologize,” he says, laying a gloved hand on Kal’s clammy forehead. “These lessons are not life-or-death anymore.”

Kal, whose throat and chest feel like someone is trying to squeeze them into some terribly undersized container, manages to keep a hold of himself long enough to say:

“You are right. I suppose you do not need me anymore.”

He remains conscious just long enough to take his tea before sinking into a long-needed nap. In his dreams, Batman stays by his side—brings him water when he wakes up, and pushes the hair out of his eyes as he sinks back into sleep—but when he wakes up, this time in his bedroom, there is no sign that he has been anything but alone.

Shadow groans when Batman pulls him, none too gently, to his feet. He is not, thankfully, dizzy enough to have trouble standing, although it certainly did not help him during the fight. Part of it might be that Shadow has yet to grow used to how much fighting they have to do, these days. It has been six weeks, now, since the Melokariel Proposition was adopted. Five months, almost to the day, since Batman landed on Krypton. Why he remains, Kal has no idea, but he does carry the knowledge of how invaluable Batman’s help is on his shoulders and in his guts, every day.

Barely a night passes, now, without them having to put themselves between people who refused to sell their homes to the first mining companies and those who would intimidate them into leaving. Desperate men and women left everything they had in poorer Principalities to come and work in El, where, they were told, life would be easy and plentiful—and where they are instead welcomed with insults, closed doors, and employers who could not care less what happens to the lowest layers of Krypton’s social strata. Farmers on the outskirts of the city are losing cattle, the noise and dust of the first mining shafts stressing the animals too much for them to remain productive; not to mention the sudden influx of Ellon citizens who can no longer live around the Citadel but still can’t, or won’t, attempt to make their way in exile. All around the Principality, the consequences of the Melokariel Proposition are already proving disastrous, and the only people who seem to care are either unable to act directly, like Kara, or pathetically, impossibly outnumbered, like Shadow and Batman.

Every morning, Shadow comes home with new bruises, new cramps. He sinks into exhaustion and numbness for the rest of the day, and struggles harder and harder to exit itwith every night that passes...he is, overall, not very surprised that the intimidating line of Batman’s mouth seems distinctly chilly tonight. He did not wait to see as much before beginning a familiar litany of self-recriminations, of course. He is, after all, perfectly aware of all that he is doing wrong—perfectly aware of what would have become of that woman, if he’d failed to keep the Kandori soldiers away from her. He is also perfectly aware of what would happen to him, should he fall into their hands, although that at least he could live with. Metaphorically speaking.

The overarching point of all of this is: Batman is unhappy. So is Shadow. How could he not be? He sees what he is doing wrong—how woefully short he falls of upholding the simple standard of making himself useful to the people around him. What is the point of there even being a Shadow, if all he does is add to the mess? What is the point of pretending, of forcing Kal into an ever deeper isolation, if Shadow cannot even accomplish the one thing he has ever truly tried do for his people?

“What in the — is wrong with you?” Batman hisses as he all but drags Shadow away from the safe house they left their rescue in, the foreign word strange and yet perfectly understandable to Shadow’s mind.

Shadow could give Batman a long list, a very long list, of the things that are wrong with him. Long enough to fill the whole trek to their cave in the mountains, and then the rest of the night after that, but they do not have that kind of time. To be honest, Shadow does not have that kind of strength, either. The honest, ugly truth of it is: he is barely even surprised. There had to come a time when he couldn’t fool himself anymore, let alone the people around him. The thought bows his head even as he follows Batman out of the city and into the jagged mountains around them, half his energy focused on putting one foot in front of the other and the other half spent on keeping his spine straight enough to avoid tipping his red suit over the line from majestic to clownlike.

“Shadow,” Batman says again, sterner this time.

Shadow draws a breath in.

“I think I was right, you know. That first night. You’re much better suited for this than I am.”

They have reached the outskirts of the city by now, sharp boulders surrounding them in ever closer ranks as they stride through the mountains. Batman has grown used to the trek in the past few weeks, and he does not trail behind like he did on that first night; but he does leave a step or two between Shadow and himself, and that is something for Shadow to be grateful for. The peace does nothing to soften the silence, though, and with silence comes an ever-lengthening list of things Shadow should have learned by now—should know how to do better, faster. It is a list Kal has been very familiar with for many years, but it is the first time Shadow has had to go through this painful a reading of it, and so he tries to keep it at bay by saying:

“Perhaps Kal-El was right in his description of you. You do seem like you could be Nightwing come again.”

Batman snorts, but there is no humor in it, and he does not wait for the palm of Shadow’s suit to turn into a flashlight before he steps into the crevice under the mountain.

“I know,” Shadow says as he hurries to keep up, “Kal-El is an imbecile, but—”

“Kal-El is looking for meaning where there is none,” Batman interrupts. “He thinks if I am Nightwing come again, I will lead him out of his miserable existence somehow. He is wrong, and you need to get a hold of yourself now, before you start believing the same things.”

He steps into the cave with an angry gesture, the curtain they installed to keep the light in rattling in protest at his abruptness.

“I didn’t mean—“ Shadow starts, but Batman cuts him off in a hiss.

“You nearly destroyed that operation. You cannot slip up like that again.”

It takes a few seconds before Shadow finds it in himself to nod, chastised. He has no excuse for it, he knows, no way to explain his actions except sheer incompetence. He knows—has known since he saw Batman leap off the Citadel—what a true hero should look like. What standards Shadow must be held to, before he can be said to fulfill his purpose. He has tried to meet those standards—he has. But he has fallen woefully short, and it is, perhaps, time he faced the facts and did the last helpful thing he can think of: retire.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

The words sound strange in Shadow’s lower, harsher register. Apologizing does not fit the image of him any more than it would fit Batman. Who would fear someone who apologizes, after all? And isn’t that what Shadow is meant to do? Strike fear into the hearts of those who would harm the people Shadow is meant to protect?

No. It never truly worked like that. No one ever flinched from him the way they flinch from Batman—or Nightwing, as some have called him, no matter how much he dislikes the connection. There was a time when Shadow—when Kal himself, hidden far inside his own heart—could pretend that it worked. Could tell himself he was doing what he was meant to...but perhaps it is best, now, that he finally let go of his illusions. That he start making his decisions with a clearer head. A sounder mind. It is what is best, for everyone.

“Don’t be sorry,” Batman tells him from where he went to crouch beside the little stream, tone far gentler than Shadow deserves. “Be better.”

“But how?”

That...was not meant to come out of Shadow’s mouth. Not where anyone could hear it, at the very least. It is one thing, after all, to know that he is a failure, but it is quite another to beg for Batman’s pity. As if the man did not have far better things to do than to indulge Shadow’s weaknesses in both aspects of his life! But the question did come out, and Shadow cannot take it back. He breathes in, deep and unsubtle, and does not allow his neck to bend, even though his gaze plunges low enough that the tip of his nose and the inside of his helmet are the only things he can see.

Batman, for his part, has frozen. Stunned, probably, that Shadow has the audacity to ask that sort of question. To be that pathetic. It would make sense. Probably.

“I do what has to be done,” Batman says at last. “And if something is a problem, I work at it until it is not one anymore.”

Shadow nods. That makes—a lot of sense, actually. And if he is honest, he knows it would be best for him to leave his whining behind and work on the things that are problems, but...well, the thing is, everything seems to be a problem these days, for Shadow and Kal both. Eating is a problem. Showering is a problem. It is not that he does not do these things anymore. He does. But where such tasks used to be perfunctory, so automatic as to go unnoticed, it sometimes takes him hours to brace himself for the journey from labs to shower, from shower to bed. In the morning, the journey back is just as hard. Neither Shadow nor Kal—to say nothing of the creature in between—has enjoyed a meal in weeks, let alone any kind of activity beside that.

If Shadow were a better man—a stronger man—he would get a hold of himself and pull himself back into working order, but he is not. He is not, and he cannot. He has disappointed Batman tonight, and he will disappoint him again, that much is easy to see. And...it would not be so bad if Sh—if he had known better than to allow his hopes to grow in the first place. It would not have hurt so much if he had remembered that the truth of him lies not in Kal, not in Shadow, but in that dark and shriveled space inside. If he had known better than to let himself think this part of him could possibly hope to rise from the mediocrity clinging to its bones, even to fulfill the only purpose he thought he had. If he had been smart enough not to expect anything more than passable performances, then failing would not have been so painful.

But he did not know better, and the bitterness of reality burns at the corners of his eyes, the edges of his cheeks. It slides down the bridge of his nose and onto his neck without his permission, even as he struggles to keep his breathing even, his voice controlled. There is a cold, grim pride in realizing there is no trace of tears in his voice when he says, “You’re right. I have to—I’ll do better.”

He has no idea how, yet, but he will figure it out. After all, he can hardly do worse.

It takes Shadow more time than usual to climb up the disused elevator shaft, but he does manage it eventually. He collapses at the foot of it with a relieved sigh, thankful for once that Kryo’s security protocols mean he is to survey the top of the stairs and is, therefore, nowhere to be seen. There is too much of a mess in Shadow’s head to bear the thought of a witness. He does not have the strength to deal with it and with his hunit at the same time. Showering, in itself, is an ordeal. He goes through it with mechanical gestures, wiping the snot from his upper lip and the blood from his knee, where the suit’s rearranging circuitry cut him during a false move. When he emerges, he is...slightly less of a walking piece of waste, perhaps. It is a good thing, and, clinging to that, Shadow mostly settles himself down into the hunch of Kal’s shoulders, his more timid intonations. Kal is still unable to stomach the thought of walking as far as his rooms, though, and so once Shadow’s suit has shifted into more princely garments, he alters his course and goes to collapse in the nearest library.

They have entered the small hours of the night, now. Everyone, even Batman will be asleep—or at the very least pretending to sleep. There is little risk of being disturbed, or even found before the household wakes. It leaves more than enough time for Kal to dismiss Kryo and let the suit’s sleeve rearrange into a communication screen to type a quick message saying he is home, safe and sound. The rest of the night hardly matters, and Kal is not planning to discuss it until Kara writes:

What’s wrong?

Kal blinks, display beads blurring in front of him as exhaustion takes over and makes him slouch even further, and raises his knees to his chest until only half of him is even taking any space at all.

Nothing, he types.

You have not been punctuating.

Kal’s nose itches. He sniffles a little, just enough to dislodge the dust stuffing his nostrils. Just enough to try and swallow around the knot in his throat.

I’m fine

Kal. What is it?

Just tired

There is no way to know whether Kara is even looking at her handscreen anymore. She might have gone to sleep, for all Kal knows. She would be right to, even. But much as Kal dreads the turn their conversation has taken, he can’t quite help himself from feeling like a drowning man clutching at a buoy when the material of his sleeve forms into a new line of text:

You have been tired for months, now. Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself some rest.

From what? There is little enough for me to do, here

From your projects. You have been doing nothing but that for weeks on end. Perhaps it is time you stopped following my advice and found something else to do. It would do you good to spend a little more time with Batman.

He has no interest in me

Gods, the self-pity, even in the written words, is unbearable. Kal grits his teeth just seeing it on the screen. Has he not had enough? Has he not shown how pitiful he is often enough already? He should stop here, and he knows it. But instead of bidding his cousin goodbye and going to bed, Kal watches with some horror as his fingers keep typing as if on their own:

He has no interest in shadow either

he is right

Where in the Sixth Heaven is that even coming from? Kara sends back, almost instantly.

Nowhere, Kal tells her. I suppose I am a little

tired

I almost caused our doom tonight

one day, I actually will

I suppose I am tired of wondering if today will be the day

You must be exhausted indeed to say that sort of nonsense, Kara sends after a long pause. You need to take time to rest, Kal. Everyone has their ups and downs, you simply need to pull yourself together.

Kal gapes as the screen, shocked as if by a slap. There are—he does not know that there are words to describe the hollowness gaping in his chest, the pressure around his throat. His eyes burn again, hotter than before. When he breathes in, it sounds ragged. Painful and laborious, like a wounded animal. He forces himself through it—then through another, and another, until he feels composed again, and can...until he is somewhat composed again. Held together as if with gossamer, but composed nonetheless. Adult. Mature. Rational.

He has every intention of being exactly that: of thanking Kara for the advice and going to heed it as soon as possible. But then his eyes catch the words again, and nothing in the world can stop the tears from spilling.

It takes Kal a while to realize he is not alone, caught up as he is in the aching burn of tears down his face. It is as if the world vanished in his sobs, somehow, swallowed whole by a thing Kal should have known better than to let grow so vast—should have known better than to succumb to. He cries, and cries, and cries, and does not notice there is anyone there until a hand settles on his shoulder, light and too tight at the same time as if its owner couldn’t quite tell what sort of pressure would provide the most comfort. Kal shrinks away, at first. He buries his face deeper in the hollow between his knees, arms coming up to cover his head and shield the burning heat of his neck from the rest of the world.

Eventually, though, the tears run out. They leave him empty, wrung out, as if after two days without sleep. In his chest, Kal’s lungs echo with cold wind, a wet and pale feeling where there should be warmth and sun. Despair left with the tears, though, and Kal may be cold but he is also settled, somewhat, mind cleared just enough to make him feel almost coherent as he runs a hand across his face and turns to whoever decided to stay with him. He is perhaps more surprised than he should be, caught somewhere between gratitude and mortification, as he discovers Batman’s cowled face looking down at him with a frown. It seems the Gods have decided today will not be his day.

“Do you feel better?” Batman asks before Kal can think of anything to say, proper grammar still firmly in place.

The shift from talking to Kal like an equal to talking to him with the respect due to a prince greatly improved Batman’s quality of life in the palace, but Kal’s stomach has yet to learn not to drop with disappointment every time it happens. It makes him ache for the night, and the way Batman at least sees Shadow as an equal, if one of little use.

Kal nods, unable to make himself speak. He wants to stay the way he is—to coil tighter and tighter until he disappears and people forget he ever existed at all. To vanish into the night and become...the wind, maybe, or something equally untouchable. His parents would disapprove, though, and the weight of their gazes is on his mind as he gathers what little dignity he has left and forces himself to uncurl. Bit by bit, Kal straightens up, bare feet resting on the plush carpeting, toes digging into the fibers as if he can find strength down there. He is acutely aware of the itch in his face, the splotchy heat in his cheeks. How ridiculous does he look? There is nothing here he can use to fix his appearance, but he cannot help but wonder. At least if he could see himself, he would be able to assess just how disappointed Batman must be in him. Assuming he can still be disappointed in Kal, that is—assuming there is a greater depth to which his opinion of Kal could possibly sink.

There is no point in dwelling on the topic, however, and Kal makes himself take a breath. Batman is going out of his way to give Kal some attention when he cannot possibly want to be doing that. The least Kal can do is to make this encounter as short as possible, and let Batman be on his way.

“Thank you,” he tells the man, relieved when the tremor of his voice does not grow to a full tremble. “I am fine now.”

He cannot possibly look fine. Even without the tears—and those, Batman cannot miss—the lack of sleep must be easy to read in the hollows of his face by now. Kara, he knows, would be marching him to bed at this point, pulling promises of sleep from him before they even reached his bedchambers. Kara has long been familiar with short nights herself, before she even discovered Kal and Shadow were one and the same, but she has always been adamant about sleeping for a six-hour stretch every night, and has never hesitated to bully Kal into following the same rules.

Batman is not Kara, however, and where she would be sending him to sleep, he stands by Kal’s side without a word, solid and surreal in the darkness of the library. The top of his head, silhouetted against the ocher light of the moons, looks like stone, and it seems like he could wait forever for Kal to speak. Perhaps it is the comfort—or threat—of it that makes Kal blurt out:

“Truly, I am fine. Sometimes things are—I am fine. I will take care of this.”

“If that is what you want,” Batman says, voice entirely neutral, hand immobile. “We could also talk, if you would prefer. It does not have to be about...this.”

The carefully nonspecific phrasing makes Kal snort, as he wipes the last of his tears on the heels of his hands and resists the urge to lean into Batman like a tired child. He should be better at this. Batman, he is sure, would never be caught in this sort of state. He is too professional—too controlled—for it.

He did offer, though, and it might be that he is only acting out of pity—a part of Kal thinks, perversely, that Batman might be hoping to have the library to himself, but he shuts it down. It feels somehow ungrateful to listen to that voice for too long. Out of pity or not, however, Batman did offer to listen, and where else is Kal going to find someone to confide in? The only one who would be willing to listen is Kara, but she is busy, and does not seem to realize her advice of pushing through the pain and being normal again will not work for Kal. And, in all honesty, what harm could possibly come of confessing to someone who considers him uninteresting already? If worst comes to worst and the conversation proves unhelpful, well. Kal has learned to deal with that.

“It is nothing,” he says with a small shrug. “It is—I suppose I am...frustrated, sometimes. That I am not—”

It does not feel right to say ‘good enough’. Too self-pitying, too overt a demand for attention. Too desperate a plea for an absolution Kal does not deserve. He changes tack:

“That I do not have a Guild.”

There is a pause, heavy and cold, and Kal bites his lip. Why did he have to say that, and why did he have to say it to Batman, of all people? Crying about his Guildlessness is not going to make Kal sound any less pathetic; quite the opposite. Besides, he chose it, did he not? He could have followed Kara and his parents’ advice and dedicated himself to the learning of a Guild of his choice, and then perhaps...oh, but who is he trying to fool? No amount of work would ever have compensated for an absence of genetic markers, and while Kal might have spared himself some suffering if he had chosen that path, he might as easily have made his life worse. There is no real way for him to know, and, from what he knows, no basis of comparison in Batman’s culture, so what is the point?

“I apologize,” he tells Batman. “I know you do not care for that system.”

The alien has been discreet about this in public, but there was a time when he did not shy away from sharing his opinions with Kal. Even now, as he smiles—or gives the impression of a smile—Batman does not seem overly invested in the topic.

“Evidently, you do,” he says anyway.

There is a short pause, as if Batman were chewing on his words before he adds:

“So does the rest of Krypton. A great deal, from what I understand.”

“They do,” Kal admits, head bowed almost without his consent. “I know I should heed Kara’s advice and ignore them. I know I am too sensitive, but—”

“With...all due respect to your cousin,” Batman says, slipping out of his more formal grammar and into the familiar forms he used to use to talk to Kal, “it seems to me like it is quite flippant of her to call this easy to ignore when she has a Guild to belong to.”

Kal blinks, raising his head to look at Batman again, jaw slack with surprise. Never, in his entire life, has he been told anything like this, and in less than a second his throat clenches again. He breathes through it, and swallows hard.

“I do not—I have no idea what it is like not to have a Guild on Krypton. But I do know how it feels when everyone you meet has been convinced you were an idiot long before they ever met you.”

This time, when Kal blinks, there is a distinctly deprecating grimace on Batman’s lips, as if he has just swallowed something incredibly bitter. Kal understands the sentiment, of course. Of course he does. But the thought of Batman—quite possibly the smartest, most competent person Kal has ever met—being regarded with anything but awe and respect? Let alone the same sort of disdain the rest of Krypton has for Kal? Impossible.

“Please,” Kal says, voice smaller than he likes, “do not feel like you must pretend on my behalf. You—”

“I’m not—” Batman breathes in, deep and long, and when he speaks again his tone is entirely stable: neutral to the point of blankness. “I am not pretending.”

He is controlled, the emotion gone from his voice, and a part of Kal admires that. The rest of him, though, focuses on the tightness of Batman’s jaw. On the way his fingers dug—briefly, but hard enough to bruise—into the meat of Kal’s shoulder. On the way his other hand has clenched into a tight fist. Kal sees all of this and realizes with a dismayed sort of awe, that Batman is, indeed, telling the truth.

“On Earth, I—most people do not...see me as a very smart person. You could say I am something of an idiot.”

“You are not!” Kal protests, more vigorous than he would have anticipated. “I may not have known you long, but—”

“I know,” Batman says, not an ounce of arrogance in the tone. “My point is—just because a group of people deems you useless does not mean you are. Sometimes people are wrong, even as a group.”

Kal’s mouth opens and closes before he can even figure out what he wants to say. It seems, however, that Batman sees something in his expression, because the next time he speaks—quiet, collected, but with what sounds a little like regret in his tone—he says:

“I can be wrong, too.”

Kal clamps his mouth shut at that, teeth clicking together as he lowers his head again. It takes longer to get himself under control this time, more effort to push the words aside and keep them for later examination. Some words—some gifts—cannot possibly be appraised at a glance.

“Thank you,” Kal manages anyway, the words all the fainter for having to squeeze their way through the tightness of his throat.

He gets to his feet, then, breathing fast, eyes burning. He may be able to set Batman’s words aside, but his heart cannot, and despite Batman’s noise of protest—or what Kal thinks, hopes, is a noise of protest—he bows in gratitude.

“It is late, and I do not wish to impose on you any further,” he says. “Thank you for your kind words. Good night, Batman.”

This time, the alien does not try to stop him. Kal makes his way back to his apartments on quiet feet, one hand pressed over his mouth, and cannot quite tell what sort of tears he spills as he cries himself to sleep.

Batman spends more time with Kal, after that night in the library. It is...awkward, in a way their language lessons never were. Part of it is that it is impossible to disentangle the sudden resurgence of interest from what felt like one of the most humiliating encounters of Kal’s life; but another, not insignificant part is also that Batman himself does not quite seem to know what he is trying to do. Or rather it feels like he is trying to help, but does not quite know how to go about it, as if his kindness were a long-unused muscle he has not yet figured out how to train. The thought is touching, and Kal knows to appreciate the sentiment—he does! But there is a sense of purpose in these encounters, a feeling of reaching for a definitive goal, that wasn’t there back when they simply exchanged ideas and asked questions about each other’s culture.

Kal is grateful for Batman’s help. He is. But quite aside from the fact that every one of their conversations makes it more obvious that Batman is better suited to leadership positions—much as the Nightwing associations continue to chafe at him—there is also a part of him that misses the days when Batman treated him not as a mission, not as someone to fix, but as a friend.

Still, they continue on, and it is soothing to have someone to talk to again. Not as much as it used to be—not nearly enough to compensate for all of Kal’s shortcomings, both in and out of Shadow’s costume—but enough at least to lull him into a sense of—of misplaced optimism. Just enough for Kal to think that maybe, if he gives himself enough time, he will manage to fix his flaws. To stop being sorry, and start being better.

Life, as it is wont to do, proves him wrong less than two weeks after the incident in the library, the night before his thirtieth birthday.

He knew—from the very start, he knew his poor sleeping habits would become a major problem, given time. He knew this, and still he refused to do what needed to be done, too worried about the dangers of sleeping medicines to accept that they were the only solution to his problem.

Now Shadow is running after a group of Kandori soldiers, the data sticks in their pockets containing enough information to bring down a significant portion—if not all—of the Dark Sun’s escape routes, and he is losing ground. His lungs burn with the effort of keeping up with Batman, or at the very least keeping the alien in his line of sight; his legs scream in protest with every movement. By his sides, his arms pull at his shoulder blades as if to split him in half. He is drenched with sweat under the suit, panting for breath even as he calls out Kara’s directions as to where to find the people they pursue, grateful that she is here to keep track of his suit’s readings when he is too exhausted to focus on anything but the chase.

Several feet ahead, Batman is all but flying. Every line of his body screams competence, confidence. Earlier, when the Kandori soldiers split up—two leaving, while the other three remained to take care of the so-called terrorists—Batman was the only reason Shadow got out of the fight at all, let alone unscathed. Even now, when the soldiers make a wrong turn and shove themselves into a dead end, it is Batman who catches up with them first, all but gliding into immobility. What his uniform is supposed to represent, Shadow does not know; but he cannot blame the two Kandori for recoiling from it, both the color and the shape far too reminiscent of Nightwing—and, by extension, the wrath of Vohc—to leave any Kryptonian indifferent. Even Shadow shivers as he takes his place by Batman’s side.

“Kal, you have to sit this one out,” Kara warns in his helmet. “Your readings—”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Shadow mutters between two heaving breaths.

To his left, Batman gives him a sharp look, but does not speak. Shadow allows himself two more lungfuls of air before he speaks in Kandori:

“Give us the data. We will let you go unharmed.”

Neither of the soldiers answer, but one of them spits on the ground. No need to translate that. On Shadow’s left, Batman stiffens.

“Kal, please,” Kara insists, just as Batman says:

“Fine.”

Batman jumps into the fight without hesitation. Behind him, Shadow scrambles—grapples with one of the soldiers to pull her off Batman’s back. Lands in a puddle with a hiss. Rolls back to his feet. When he raises his head, the soldier—a captain, her uniform says—is smirking at him. Why shouldn’t she? Batman is busy, and Shadow has already demonstrated he is not up for this fight. He braces himself when she comes for him. Dispatches the material of one baton to reinforce the suit. He ducks a punch. Catches another in the shoulder; the suit absorbs it. But not the third, or the fourth. He falls to his knees.

“Kal!” Kara calls out in his ears.

He shakes his head.

“Kal, get up!”

He tries to obey. Under him, his knees refuse to move. When the electrified knife comes for him, he does not know how he dodges it. A roll of his shoulder, a ripple of his suit. A lucky swing. The soldier falls to the ground with a cry. Shadow drags himself to his knees. Strikes her in the stomach with a baton while her partner passes overhead and crashes into the nearest wall. He is wearing a corporal’s uniform.

“Nightwing,” he tells Batman, gesturing to the woman even as he tries to hold her to the ground, “the data—”

“You have a bigger problem,” Kara warns.

Inside the helmet, the bead display morphs into an arrow and the words ‘danger, multiple unknowns’.

“Shadow!” Batman barks as he catches the soldier’s electrified knife seconds before it hits Shadow in the face. “Pay attention!”

“There’s more coming,” Shadow gasps in return, head turning to the right again. “We need to go.”

“I have the sticks.”

Batman pulls the woman’s handcuffs off her belt and forces her wrists into them. The man, still struggling to even sit up, they leave alone as they hurry out of the dead end, only for a loud, angry cry to echo through the streets.

“Shit,” Batman hisses.

From the corners of his eyes, Shadow counts six soldiers—three Ellons, three Kandori—and swears in turn before he catches Batman’s cape and they take off into a mad dash through the streets.

“We have to get to the roofs,” Batman yells.

Shadow does not answer. There is not enough breath left in him for it. He runs, lungs burning, legs aching, arms screaming, and prays to Rao to send something, anything to help them—prays to Vohc to spare Batman, at least, to leave El and Krypton a fighting chance in the near future. What he gets instead is a long series of bright blue riffle lights, and a piece of stone crashing into his helmet as he drags Batman into the nearest side street, relief coursing through him when he spots an emergency ladder, eight feet up in the air.

“Support,” he gasps as he steps into Batman’s hands to reach the bottom of the ladder, “we’re going to need extraction!”

“You had reinforcement this whole time?” Batman exclaims under him.

“I have your position,” Kara retorts, a rustling sound echoing behind her, “but you need to get to the mountains!”

“On the way,” Shadow manages.

Every inch of him protests when he jumps from the roof he and Batman emerged on to the next, muscles straining past what he ever thought was possible; but they have no other choice. He has no other choice. Every gap between houses is too wide, every roof too slick—but still he jumps, and catches himself, and scrambles up because if he does not, he will die. Roofs explode around them, the militia’s rifles blasting ancient walls into rubble, and with every one of them Shadow’s panic rises, his heart beats faster, his jumps grow messier.

“Nearly there,” Batman shouts.

He must have guessed where they are going. Shadow nods under his helmet. Pants, gasps, scrambles to the very last roof, and, without hesitation, dives into the air. The suit rearranges around him, carries him farther than he could ever have hoped to go on his own. Shadow shouts in joy when a bug lands less than a yard away from them, the bright blue of its engines shining like a small sun in the night.

“Shadow, get down!”

There is the dull sound of a body throwing itself to the ground. A bright blue flash, from behind. Shadow falls, the breath stolen from his lungs. Behind him, a cry of triumph, and then the shrill scream of sound cannons echoing over the mountains. Shadow gasps, tries to breathe, to shield his ears, to move, but he can’t, he can’t, it hurts too much, he can’t—

He cries out again when Batman seizes him. The world falls away, the loud, harsh sound of his ragged breathing filling his helmet until he can’t hear anything else. His vision goes gray, then black, then gray again. By the time he manages to focus on anything else, he is lying on the ground at the back of the bug, wind screaming past him through the open doors. Overhead, Batman is pawing at his shoulders, his neck.

“Come on,” he growls, something odd in his tone, “there has to be a way—”

“Excuse me,” Kal says, forgetting to adopt Shadow’s lower timbre, “may I help you?”

Batman freezes. Stares at Kal’s helmet through the cowl, hands and mouth gone slack. Kal coughs, and orders the suit to initiate its wound management protocol. He yelps when the first nanobots gather on the burnt flesh itself, hissing and biting his lip as the pilot tells them they are only five minutes away from their departure point.

“Departure point?” Batman asks.

Kal barely hears him through the rush of his blood in his ears. Half his skin crawls with the rippling movement of the suit, nanobots pulling away from unnecessary areas—his batons, first, then his helmet—to put pressure on the wound and reinforce the armature around Kal’s legs, his lower back. His head falls back and hits the ground when he loses support to his neck.

“No—ow—no material in—”

“But the Palace!” Batman shouts—Kal think he hears their pilot gasp. “There must be a doctor, a—anyone! You cannot have been working without some kind of safety—”

“Support—on the way,” Kal manages, struggling to keep his eyes open now that the blood loss is making itself known. “Not a doctor.”

“Then someone else!” Batman hisses.

Again, that tension in his words. Something in his voice...if Kal did not know better, he would be tempted to call it anguish. On Kal’s behalf. How unexpected.

“It’s okay,” Kal says, distantly relieved when his voice remains steady.

He knew this could happen. From the very first day, he knew. There is no surprise, here, except the absence of tears in his voice, the utter dryness at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps it is the pain that swallows them. Perhaps his body, trying so hard to pull him into oblivion, does not have the strength for them. Regardless, his voice is steady, and it remains steady when he says:

“I’ve been curious about Earth for a long while now.”

A short silence, while Batman absorbs Kal’s words and then, in English:

“You utter reckless idiot!”

“Batman—”

“Do not ‘Batman’ me!” Batman almost shouts, back to Ellon now. “What kind of stupid idea—”

The bug lands, lurching to a stop with a hiss as its grips anchor it to the mountainside. Inside the suit, Kal’s entire left side throbs, and he loses himself in the pain.

He opens his eyes to a higher ceiling and no wind, no smell of grass, no red moonlight around him. There is the soft feeling of a mattress under him and, to the right, someone tall and blonde working the controls of a healing pod. The suit still presses down on the wound, but even with it Kal’s vision remains frightfully gray. With a terrible effort, he gasps, and Kara turns—she pushes one last lever and, in a hiss of machinery, strides toward Kal and stands by his bedside. Her cheeks glisten.

“I was afraid you would leave without saying goodbye,” she says with a shiver in her voice. “Not that they should be very long—you have lost rather a lot of blood.”

There is a loud click, and the cot under Kal buzzes to life, the vibration strong enough to make him wince—to make him gasp, grasping for a breath that isn’t there, that won’t come, and his eyes widen with fear. Kara’s hand on his brow feels warm, almost too warm, and Kal leans into the touch with a sigh. He wants to stroke Kara’s hand—to hold her fingers one last time, but when he tries it feels like his arm has turned into a mix of lead and rubber, and all he succeeds in doing is making his hand flop out of the bed. He heaves a breath in.

“Kara….”

Kara’s face, haloed in golden blond in a sea of dark greens and near-black grays, squeezes tight, her eyes shining. Her hand leaves a burning trail from Kal’s forehead to his cheek.

“Oh, Kal,” she says, and breathes in hard.

Under him, the cot vibrates harder, and someone moans. It takes Kal a moment to realize that it is him.

“Batman is starting the ship, now,” Kara says the effort she makes to keep her voice steady pitching it much higher than normal. “Kryo will help him pilot. You will only have to say in the pod and heal.”

There will be no last look at Krypton, then. No sight of the mountains from above; no image of the Citadel, red against the darkness of El’s mountains, to treasure in Kal’s exile. Kal tries to take a breath—it feels like swallowing seawater and makes his throat tight, makes his eyes hurt. For the first time tonight, tears come to him, unbidden.

“You will be fine,” Kara says above him. “You will survive, and you will heal. And you will write to me.”

“Kara,” Kal manages.

It is more whine than word and it hurts—it hurts so much, tearing at the back of his throat, squeezing his lungs. Tears burn at his temples, tracing a searing path from his eyes to his hairline, and when Batman and the anonymous pilot come to move Kal’s bed toward the pod, panic seizes every last inch of him.

“Kara,” he repeats, “please, I don’t—”

His throat closes before he can finish his sentence, but she understands, Kal is sure of it. For years, Kal has told himself leaving Krypton would be a boon, his one chance at building a better life for himself. The only way for him to find a place he could fit and belong in. Now that moment is here and his heart recoils—clings to the steep slopes and the sharp edges of El’s mountains, the red light of the two moons. The northern winds, cold and deadly, and the smell of elderfir on the warm air of summer nights. Countless days spent sitting on a balcony, looking at El from above and pretending he could see Ul, far in the South. There will be no more of that for Kal, no more of anything; and here, at last, at the edge of leaving, he finds himself sobbing for a loss he never truly believed would pain him.

“Be safe now,” Kara tells him as the two men transfer Kal onto the pod’s bed. “Be happy, if you can.”

She presses a bruising kiss to Kal’s forehead, and he wants to answer—wants to look at her one last time and keep this, at least, in his heart. There are too many tears in his eyes now, fear gripping his heart too tight to leave room for anything else, and he squeezes his eyelids shut against the bright white light of the pod.

The last he sees of Kara is barely more than a small blonde dot in his peripheral vision.