#i feel like the flash fandom is the only one i can cope with because i only go in the cisco tag which is very sparsly populated

[nhasablogg]

Are you falling in love? I've a feeling you are

Fandom: Red, White and Royal Blue

Characters: Shaan, Henry

Summary: Once Shaan notices Henry's crush on Alex he can't not notice it.

Words: 1.1k

Shaan, despite what people might think, doesn’t spend his days watching Henry. Helping Henry, yes. Being close by and attentive and adapting to what is needed of him from both a professional and a personal standpoint, yes, but he knows the prince needs his space and therefore doesn’t linger unless he needs to. This means it takes him a while longer than he’s willing to admit to realize Henry has a crush on Alex, who always seems to sneer whenever Henry is near. Shaan thinks it might be a problem for only a second before he starts feeling sorry for him instead.

Once he sees it he can’t unsee it. Henry forcing himself to look into Alex’s eyes. Henry fidgeting with his shirtsleeves whenever Alex is near when he thinks no one is looking. Shaan knows that Henry’s gay - got to witness him coming out to him during a very low point when he thought nothing was worth it after his father’s passing. Shaan knows he’s gay and he knows why Henry can’t let it show that he might be falling for the First Son of The United States, but it doesn’t mean that behind the scenes, when he squints and pretends Henry is just a normal 20-something-year-old, it’s not strangely cute how flustered he gets about it. How he seems perfectly fine to never interact with Alex ever again while simultaneously doing everything but somersaults whenever they do.

“Alex is coming, right?”

Shaan looks up from his crossword. Henry’s sitting across from him on the jet, his own face stuck in a book, as if his question was simply a passing thought he’s nearly forgotten about already. But Shaan can see the tint of pink on his cheeks. Can see the way his knee is bouncing.

“I would assume so.” They’re alone in this part of the plane, so neither of them bother with titles or formalities. “I’m sure he will be delighted seeing us there.”

Henry cracks a smile, which makes him look so much younger than he is. Shaan sometimes sees flashes of Henry as a teen, especially when he’s being vulnerable or relaxed. Before the tragedies, when he had an easier time smiling.

“He’s a pain in the arse,” Henry says fondly. They are still teetering on the line between acquaintances and friends, but Shaan expects them to tilt over soon. Expects being dragged to the States more often than not in only a few weeks, which, secretly, he’s quite happy about.

“He can certainly be quite an interesting character.”

Henry snorts and puts his book down. “Tell me about it. The other day he insulted me by calling me pretty. Isn’t that strange?”

Shaan leans back and watches the blush spread over Henry’s face and tries not to smile. “How exactly did he turn it into an insult?”

“He said something along the lines of my face being so pretty he wants to punch it.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“But then he started laughing.”

“Ah.”

Henry ducks his head, maybe realizing he’s treading dangerous waters. “Maybe it was just an insult.”

“Did you think it was a compliment?”

“No-”

“Did you want it to be a compliment?” Shaan has never tried to approach Henry about his feelings like this before. Not because he thinks he will be overstepping - Henry has spent many drunken nights describing certain activities with slightly too much details to him and Bea - but because he’s not certain if Henry’s coping with this crush by pretending it’s not happening at all. Shaan thinks, rightfully so, that he has enough on his plate already for him to be forcing confessions out of him as well.

But he doesn’t regret what he said, he realizes as Henry snaps his mouth shut. He has a feeling they’re about to see much more of Alex Claremont-Diaz soon, and he needs them both to be prepared for it.

“I, uh.” Henry twists his head to the side, but no one else is around them, and so he turns back to him with a hushed, “Maybe?”

Shaan does smile then. Can’t help it when the prince is sitting bright red in front of him, squirming like a teenager. “Good to know.”

Henry’s laugh is nervous, high pitched and giddy. “God, I’m so fucked, aren’t I?”

Shaan pats his knee. “We’ll figure it out.”

*

Shaan does watch him now, wondering if Henry will be able to handle the blooming friendship. He admitted to how long he’d been crushing on Alex and Shaan mentally facepalmed at not having caught it.

“It’s okay,” Henry said with a laugh. “I was very good at hiding it. I do admit it was easier when we only saw each other twice a year though.”

So Shaan now watches him to make sure his feelings are hidden well enough and hates himself for it.

It’s different when they’re alone and Shaan can hear their laughter through closed doors, sometimes with Nora and June and Pez and Bea. Whatever Henry chooses to display then is up to him, though Shaan has a theory that Henry would rather die than confess to having feelings for Alex. It’s a bit of a shame, because Shaan is pretty certain Alex has a crush on him too, but doesn’t really know it yet himself. But the times he gets to watch them, whether they’re in a booth or walking through corridors, and Alex goes out of his way to touch Henry (which Henry will be freaking out over later, he’s sure), he notices how Henry leaning into the touch doesn’t deter Alex at all. On the contrary he seems to start touching him even more, all arms slung over shoulders and knees knocking into knees and squeezes to sides and thighs once he realizes Henry’s ticklish. Shaan watches his prince giggle under Alex’s hands and is struck with such sadness that he has to keep this hidden.

*

Shaan keeps watching them, mostly to make sure no one catches them. Seeing Henry happy and in love is just a bonus. Because he is 99% sure Henry’s in love with Alex and that their friends with benefits situation is going to ruin him if it ends badly. He watches them and tries to determine if this is simply a good time for Alex, and he feels it isn’t. He feels he’s just as into it, just as invested, and then Henry of course starts pulling back because he can’t for the life of him figure out how he will be able to keep this up while living the type of life he’s living. Shaan hates that he can’t blame him for it.

For a while, before Henry tries to end things, it’s all hotel rooms and secret meetings and flying across the ocean too many times than he can count. It becomes a bit tedious, but Shaan never complains. Not when Henry all but glows every time he sees Alex.

“I’m not glowing,” he protests when Shaan brings it up, and Shaan doesn’t say anything about the way he smiles when he says it.

[pillowspace]

hi! hope ur doing well! out of curiosity, do you have an ISAT playlist? and if so, would you be cool with sharing it? I’ve been trying to find some good songs related to the game and i’m familiar with a lot of the artists you listen to so i figured i’d ask :)

I only just recently joined the In Stars and Time fandom, so I don't have many songs yet, but yeah!

I also started typing out notes under the readmore for (most of) the songs because I thought I'd only have a few, but then I... kept thinking of more songs, so the notes section got bigger? So uh...!! Feel free to read that or not. Up to you, shrug

I actually had not heard this song until my Spotify started randomly playing recommended songs while I was in the middle of drawing Siffrin, and the second I started processing the lyrics about familiarity and time travel, I did a startled glance over like "wh... what's playing??" This song plagues my ISAT visions

---

Genuinely been wanting to make an animatic out of the first minute but I don't know if I have it in me. Just saying, the "smi-i-i-ile" has enough in it to fit every different photo from the mirror

---

FLASHING COLOURS AT THE 3 MINUTE MARK:

One specific thing I have to note with this song is that I like to envision Siffrin waking up in the meadow on the line "the day I wake up naked in the dirt."

---

"The million what if Is between your ears. The feelings of regret, and now I'm running to forget. But know, the consequence of imagination's fear" thinks about Siffrin and Bonnie, thinks about Siffrin and Bonnie, thinks ab-- oh yeah, and the bit about ruby eyes reminds me of 2hats

---

FLASHING AT THE 3 MINUTE MARK AND LOUD POTENTIALLY OVERWHELMING SOUNDS AT THE END:

A song about feeling hurt and giving all that you've gone for an acting performance?? Back to the stage, Siffrin

---

There's some lines that aren't too too fitting for ISAT, but I'm fond of this song, so I can spin a meaning onto them with enough thinking power. Nonetheless, there still are plenty of fitting parts. Post-canon Siffrin coping after the loops :)

---

Interestingly, I've actually had this song associated with going mad from time loops since ages before I played In Stars and Time. "Maddening. It's a regular bad thing" and "nothing's really happening." Plus "I'm afraid to lose you" ties into ISAT pretty well

---

Specifically Loop tends to cross my mind whenever this comes on lately

---

I like to imagine this being about Siffrin as a child on their island being a little wanderer before that meant something else, then it slowly leading into Siffrin's adulthood (bend gravity and space being about the loops)

---

I'll never hear the sound of someone calling me home... I was the beast all alone in my hell........

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper gets a surprise visit from Christian... but are his intentions sincere?

Word Count: 2,800 (short for me, I know enjoy it while you can 😆)

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: I know it's been more than a hot minute since I've updated this series! 😅 This is in part because I got sidetracked by Sleepless in New York also on my list to finish, I know, and then I took most of the summer off from writing. But also in part because I kinda got stuck on how to actually continue with this series... but, I now have a plan! *rubs hands together gleefully* and you ain't gonna like it, sorry, not sorry. So, with this long-awaited installment, I hope to be back in my usual groove and will be posting with some semblance of regularity again. Thanks so much for bearing with me!

A/N2: This is also my submission for @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 Day 25 Prompt - Secret, Surprise I’m only 2 days late

Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Making my way back to my room, I try to push down the conflicting emotions that are roiling inside of me.

On one hand, I get where Drake is coming from, and why he shut the door in my face. We are no longer alone in Applewood and even the faintest whiff of impropriety could implode the carefully strategised work that the royal PR team has put in to try and resuscitate my public image.

And me getting caught outside of the room of a guy who not only is not Christian, but who I have no justifiable reason for seeking out at the butt-crack of dawn in the first place, would definitely scupper the assertion that I'm not a two-timing hussy. Especially since I rushed out of my room earlier wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and panties.

Mitigating factors, they are not.

But while the rational part of my brain knows that Drake is only trying to look out for me, I can't help but feel a pang of dejection at the abruptness with which he — very literally — shut me out, even though he promised yesterday that he wouldn't do something like that to me again.

Because God knows that it had been hard enough to get him to open up the first time!

And even though I'm not expecting him to have completely reversed his habitudes overnight, I guess I'd been hoping that our conversation in the barn would've prompted some kind of step in the desired direction.

Because it's clear that the bruises on my neck unnerved him. The turmoil on his face had made that clear. As the marks are not just some haphazard side-effect of our frantic love-making. They are a very real and visible reminder of the tangible strength of his feelings — and the fact that he lost control of them.

And as much as I understand the knee-jerk cause of his reaction, the last thing I want — or need — right now is for Drake to distance himself from me because he's scared of hurting me again.

That, I could not cope with.

"Demoiselle," nods Allard as I arrive back at my room.

I flash him a distracted smile on auto-pilot. He saw and heard what happened. There is no point rehashing anything. Especially since this isn't something he or Schweitzer can help with.

The weight of my Guard's concerned gaze flick over me as I shuffle past, but they both remain silent, no doubt sensing that I'm not in the mood for conversation.

Shutting the door behind me, I close my eyes as I lean back against the solidness of the wood.

Why are things never simple 'round here?

I really wish Drake and I could've taken a moment to talk things through. Because today's Apple Harvest Festival is expected to see hundreds of people descend onto Applewood to not only celebrate this year's bountiful crop of Cordonian Rubies, but to also catch a glimpse of the new King and his future Queen.

And if I thought that cornering Drake at the apple pick had been hard, the chances of being able to do so today are going to be slim to none.

But the rest of the week doesn't offer any better options because tomorrow we're off to Italy, where we'll likely have even less opportunity for privacy given the high-profile and international nature of the coming engagements.

My eyes snap open. I have to talk to him now.

As much as Drake may be concerned about protecting what's left of my image, I'm not going to let him use the inconvenience of our circumstances as an excuse to hide behind his insecurities or erect walls between us. Because the hard truth is that there's never going to be a good time to talk unless we make time.

Which is exactly what I am going to do, possible scandal be damned. I cannot let a tenuous fear borne out of a possible public backlash hold me back. My relationship with Drake is worth infinitely more to me than whatever garbage the paps may decide to print because some aristo decided to tattle on me if I get caught sneaking back into his room.

Because, let's face it. Even if I do end up on the front pages tomorrow (for all the wrong reasons), the fact of the matter is that any photo, any situation — no matter how sordid or innocent — can be spun any which way.

I've learnt that the hard way. So, I may as well use it to my own advantage for once.

Pushing myself away from the door, I march into my walk-in closet with renewed determination. Pulling the t-shirt that I'd slept in over my head, I quickly throw on a bra, some jean shorts and a black tank top.

Slotting my bare feet into my well-worn Sketchers, I make my way over to the French doors that lead out onto balcony so I can try to figure out the best way to scamper over to Drake's room without killing myself, given that I stand a better chance of slipping under the aristo's nosy radar via the balcony than going back through the corridor.

Hopefully, I can—

Tap, tap tap.

I stop mid-stride at the sound of knocking coming from the other side of my door.

Turning around, I contemplate whether I should respond, or pretend that I hadn't heard.

I have precious little time if I want to catch Drake before he disappears on me to do... whatever it is that he does in the mornings before the start of a royal event.

So, if I want to make it to his room, I need to go now before he finishes getting dressed.

But, then again, there is only a very small number of people at court who'd come directly to my room to talk to me. Especially at this time in the morning.

So, it could be important. It could be about Tariq...

...it could be Drake.

The latch clicks open.

I glance anxiously back towards the balcony, trying to decide if I should—

"May I come in?"

I whirl around in surprise at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

He pokes his head 'round the door. "I... I didn't catch you in a state of undress, did I?"

"No! No... I was already dressed," I admit, trying to be as casual as possible as I quickly brush my hair over my shoulders in a haphazard attempt to try and cover up the bruises, given that I hadn't thought to slather any cover-up over myself yet.

Christian definitely doesn’t need to be asking questions about those!

"Ah, good!" he responds, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. "You're an early riser, like myself."

"You can thank the Beaumonts," I mutter under my breath, glancing guiltily back toward the balcony.

So much for stealing a much-needed moment with Drake...

"I apologise for the intrusion," Christian continues, crossing the space between us, "especially at such an early hour. But I was hoping to catch you alone before the start of the Apple Harvest Festival."

One word catches my attention. "A-Alone...?"

He comes to a stop in front of me. "Very much so."

Anxiety flares in the pit of my stomach as Drake's words from yesterday swirl through my mind.

...he's trying to win you back.

And it suddenly hits me that I haven't been alone — truly alone — with Christian since the day of the Jamboree. When he took me into the hedge maze and offered me a duchy.

My mind starts to whirl.

Had that been the start of this... crusade? The fact that I turned him down? Does he still think he can change my mind? Is he simply incapable of accepting 'no' as an answer?

I force my gaze up to meet his.

His emerald green eyes behold me calmly, with maybe a hint of excitement. But I cannot read his intention.

"Wh-why?" I finally blurt out.

A smile spreads across his face. "To bestow upon you your letters patent, of course!"

I gape at him. "My letters of what?"

He chuckles good-naturedly at my evident confusion. "Letters patent. Itis a type of royal decree that formally confers some manner of privilege onto the names designee — an office of state, a coat of arms, a commercial monopoly... or, in this case, your new title as Duchess of Valtoria."

With a flourish, he pulls out a small, leather-bound box that he's been hiding behind his back.

I stare at it mutely.

"It won't bite, I promise," he assures me wryly.

Reaching up with a tepid smile, I accept the box, which is a lot heavier than it looks.

Opening it up, I find a medieval-looking document nestled in the lid, complete with densely-packed Chancery script and and a historiated initial C embossed with the stylised image of the Cordonian royal crest.

Peering at the text — which I can only assume is an archaic form of French — I can just about make out the odd word, like my name, Christian's name, and Valtoria. But the rest remains completely incomprehensible.

Presumably some grand declarations about the bestowal...

In the bottom part of the box rests a cream-coloured envelope also bearing the Cordonian royal crest, along with my name, though this time written in delicate cursive lettering.

"What's this?" I ask Christian, lifting the letter up.

"Your papers of naturalisation," he informs me. "Along with your new passport and ID card."

I glance up at him in surprise. "I am now a Cordonian citizen?"

"It would not have been possible to issue the letters patent otherwise," he says. "Even a king must abide by the diktats of the law."

"I... don't need to sign anything?"

"The US Consulate was very accommodating, given the unique nature of the circumstances."

My stomach twists unexpectedly. "Oh..."

Dual citizenship is a good thing, right?

Returning my attention to the box, I see that the envelope has been concealing a large, intricate-looking seal bearing what appears to be the stylised outline of a rampant phoenix, next to which sits a signet ring with the same image.

"Does it meet expectations?" asks Christian.

"I'm not sure I know what I'd been expecting..." I admit, running a finger over the lines of the mythical bird, marvelling at the level of detail that's been put into creating such a realistic rendering, complete with individual licks of flame spouting from the tail feathers.

"Any egregious spelling errors?"

"Not that I can see," I admit, glancing up at him. "But—"

"Excellent!" he declares, reaching over the lid of the box to deftly pluck the signet ring out from its nest of blue silk.

Before I have a chance to react, he's clasped my hand in his to poise the heavy circlet of gold at the tip of my ring finger.

"Wait!" I gasp in the face of the unexpectedly intimate turn of events. "What are you—?"

"It would be remiss of me if I did not verify the correctness of the sizing," he advises, meeting my panicked gaze calmly.

"You don't need t—"

"It would be my pleasure," he insists, slipping the ring onto the digit before I can protest further.

As he withdraws his hand, my eyes fall onto the spot where the cool metal's unfamiliar weight now encircles the base of my finger.

"Perfect," Christian declares with a satisfied smile, brushing his thumb over the phoenix insignia.

I stare at the band with an uneasily mix of feelings swirling in my chest. "Christian, I—"

"Let's celebrate, shall we?" he announces, pulling back to click his fingers with a decisive snap.

On cue, the door behind Christian swings open to admit a veritable procession of servants bearing ice buckets, champagne, crystal flutes and tiny servings of finger food.

"Wait..." I stammer in the face of organised onslaught. "They were waiting outside this whole time?"

"I may have take a page out of your party planning book," he admits with a grin while the industrious staff set about transforming my bedroom into a first-class tea room. "Seeing the success you had with Drake on his birthday, I thought I would try my hand at surprising you on this important day."

"And that's great, but I never agreed—"

"Didn't you?" Christian asks with a level look as he nabs a miniature scone from the tray of a passing server.

I shake my head. "No, I—"

"Because I specifically recall you giving your unambiguous consent at yesterday's apple pick to proceed with finalising your new status," he states, taking a bite out of the pastry.

I open my mouth, but promptly shut it as the conversation from the orchard floats back into my consciousness.

"...having the paperwork squared away before our departure would grant significant boon for your image."

"Oh. Okay..."

"Oh, fuck..." I mutter as the cold hand of hindsight clamps down on the nape of my neck.

Christian had obviously mischaracterised my somewhat dazed reaction as some kind of explicit affirmation.

And since Drake's appearance yesterday had interrupted the conversation at that key moment, I never had a chance to correct the misunderstanding.

But I need to. Because once again, Christian has taken matters into his own hands and acted without my my prior agreement or approval t. Just like he had done when he decided to send me away during the Coronation Ball, only to then bring me back to court as his mistress, not to mention spring an actual duchy on me without any warning.

And while his heart's probably been in the right place each and every time, I'm not sure that I can cope with any more bolts from the blue.

Especially when they so drastically upend my life.

Heaving a breath, I look back up at the King of Cordonia again. "Look, Christian, I really appreciate all of this, but I think there's been a major—"

The loud bang! of the champagne bottle shooting its cork across the room makes me jump.

Turning around, I can see that the gold-coloured liquid is already in the process of being dispensed into a pair of waiting crystal flutes.

"I hope you like this Moët & Chandon Imperial Vintage 1946 that I had picked out," Christian murmurs, brushing a hand over the small of my back. "It is an exceptional cuvée with notes of citrus, apple and pear — an apt combination, I thought, given the occasion."

"Because of the pear trees in Valtoria..." I surmise heavily, watching a footman bring over a pair of freshly-filled champagne flutes with a foreboding note of finality.

"Exactly," confirms Christian, grabbing a glass from the tray. "A beautifully complimentary pairing. One that hope we can both enjoy for many years to come."

"Yes, but—"

"Let's toast, shall we?" prompts Christian, cutting me off yet again as the footman proffers me the other serving of expensive bubbly.

I stare at it like a poison pill.

This is what Drake had warned me about, isn't it? That Christian would seek to manoeuvre me into a corner like a chess piece... By giving with one hand, only to take with the other when the time came for the chips to fall due. Because what better way to create an unimpeachable sense of obligation than by making me into a duchess? A literal vassal to the Crown? Required to do the King's bidding, no matter the cost?

And if that really is his aim, then he has certainly been succeeding.

But at the same time, I am not sure I can trust my assessment. Christian has given no indication, one way or another, as to where his goals lay. And even if the misunderstanding had been genuine, to turn him down now would not only be inexplicably rude, but maybe also dangerous?

Would I be jeopardising Christian's support in the hunt for Tariq and my quest to set the record straight if I offend him by throwing all his heartfelt effort back in his face? Especially when I don't know for certain what Christian's motives are?

Because what if Drake is wrong? What if there is no hidden agenda and I'm just massively overthinking this entire thing because I've been burned once already and now everyone looks suspect... Even — and especially — when I'm being offered help?

"Harper?" queries Christian. "Everything alright?"

I shake myself out of my stupor and grab the crystal flute. "I'm fine. Just... Trying to come to grips with it all."

"There will be plenty of time for that," he assures me with a grin, raising his glass. "To the new Duchess of Valtoria!"

I clink the delicate crystal in my hand against his with a leaden feeling in my stomach.

There's no going back now...

For better or for worse, I have just become an aristo.

The story continues in Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[potatoesandsunshine]

hello! for the fic asks, this part from "like a wolf in the doorway":

 Percy takes a breath, looking at the inked veins and the scribbled notes in the margins, thinking of blood flow. “Oliver liked to climb trees.”

   Just saying it leaves him breathless. He can summon up the image clearly now, untainted by the dark cloud he now thinks was the demon, and it somehow hurts all the more to picture Ollie and Whitney running across the castle grounds, play-fighting in the spring air. There is no rage to catch him and put him back into motion; only a deep, aching emptiness remains.

   He drags in air, but he’s drowning.

   Pike isn’t in armor today. She moves carefully into his space—she does everything carefully—and catches his good hand in hers. Her skin is warm. When did he get so cold?

   “Thank you for telling me,” is all she says, and then she starts a long story about Grog, her great-great-grandfather, and a herd of perilously stubborn goats. By the time she reaches the punchline, he’s well enough to laugh.

   “We can do this today,” he says, looking at the parts and looking at her, a wild rush buoying him. “It’ll work, I know it.”

   And Pike, probably realizing that he’ll do it alone if she refuses, says yes.

    He comes to on the floor of the workshop with the soft golden veil of the Everlight’s power over his mind, dulling the memory—the length of soiled bandages peeled back, Pike holding his wrist down with furious strength as he tried to fit everything together, nothing to numb him and it was so, so bad, he’d shouted—it’s all fading quickly, and he doesn’t want to drag it back up. He can leave this pain here in this room. 

   His throat aches and Pike is inspecting his left hand, bending the fingers one by one to touch the smooth metal that sits where his palm used to be. There’s an empty socket there, but she doesn’t ask what he’s going to put in it.

   Percy smiles, a bright flash of teeth.

hi!!!!!!! thank you so much!!! i love talking about my fic and the tlovm oneshots project as a whole was a really fun experiment to do. i wanted to be a little more involved in the fandom as the show was coming out, and i set the ‘just try to write 1k about each episode’ bar intentionally low so that it couldn’t intimidate me. this was a pretty big success - i didn’t really manage to keep current with the release of the show, but it did keep me writing all through 2023 :) now about this passage specifically!!

“Oliver liked to climb trees.”

the older i get the sadder i get about the de rolo children. genuinely it is so so so sad.

There is no rage to catch him and put him back into motion; only a deep, aching emptiness remains.

i wanted this moment of really abrupt and painful vulnerability for percy - i feel like tlovm!percy is even worse at dealing with his emotions than campaign!percy, mostly due to the compressed nature of the adaptation - and what i want most with this character is to turn the rock over and see all of his metaphorical bugs wriggling around underneath. a huge part of this fic was me wanting to address the demon as a coping mechanism; i wanted it to feel worse to remember the good times once he could remember them clearly, because it comes with the pain of knowing he’ll never have those days again. sometimes smiling because it happened brings no comfort at all.

Pike isn’t in armor today. She moves carefully into his space—she does everything carefully—and catches his good hand in hers.

it was also a big priority for me that the characters sometimes get things wrong about each other in these oneshots! pike does not do everything carefully - but percy needs to think she does. it’s not that she’s being dishonest or anything, but he’s encountering her in an extremely specific context in this scene and he’s choosing to read that as a blanket statement about her personality. we’re pre-sunken tomb in this scene, but he’s already looking to put people on pedestals around himself; if he’s looking up, he doesn’t have to face the huge pit of grief inside. wow this fic is a downer!

“We can do this today,” he says, looking at the parts and looking at her, a wild rush buoying him.

THAT’S MY KING OF MOOD SWINGS!!!!! YOU CAN INVENT YOUR WAY OUT OF ANY TRAUMA IF YOU JUST INVENT HARD ENOUGH!

He comes to on the floor ... He can leave this pain here in this room.

it’s genuinely a minor miracle from pike that allowed this surgery to happen - a fun bit of irony, since percy really doesn’t put much stock in the divine. and i’m not being subtle in this paragraph; he can leave this pain here, but he’s carrying the rest of it with him forever. this whole pike scene is kind of... the relief of ripping off the scab if that makes sense? it might not be a good move in the long run, but at least you’ve done something with all of it in the moment.

Percy smiles, a bright flash of teeth.

this is a triumphant moment for him. i wanted to turn Diplomacy into a collaborative piece, to reflect the combo-move it was with vax later on in the show & because i love putting pike and percy in a room together. i wish it had happened more during the campaign, and i’m desperate for it in tlovm (though i don’t really expect to get it, there’s just not time). so he’s smiling, and he won, but he’s also always picking at scabs and becoming the architect of his own destruction. that’s the secret sauce for percy imo. he should always be building the next thing that ruins him, especially if that thing is himself.

[divinekangaroo]

While "patiently" waiting for fic updates :) , was wondering what other stories you're working/will be working on? Will you be writing still when you go back to work?

No pressure btw, this is me trying to manage my expectations XD

lol, yeah -> my 8 hours of blissful 'do nothing but write idly' day has dropped to about 2 hrs in the evening. the increasing arc of life resuming. The writing is still ok in these 2hr bursts but getting it to a readable standard is agony. The one benefit is that these 2 hours are probably going to be the same 2 hours I'll have once back at work.

My past fandom experience is that I usually mono-play in a fandom for around 5 years -- but I've never had kids+work+other family commitments when writing before.

I do hope I still have the drive to keep writing once am back at work. I can already feel that anxious itch of pressure, though, and my way of coping with pressure is to aggressively prune everything (friends, family, hobbies, chores, self) that causes the slightest bit of peripheral friction so I can concentrate on the thing that I can't prune (work, money, survival). BUT, this time, I go back to a new area-director role rather than my past project-director role, which should have less crazy deadline pressure/inconsistent hours than most construction work, so I'm just not sure what to expect. It'll be the first time in my life when I actually have a desk job with consistent hours.

Of my current Last Second Ending arc, I really want to finish the Holford fic, the Diana fic, and the Charlie fic (the 'Churchill' vehicle, although I'm so many chapters away from Churchill it's nuts!), which are all the live and incomplete multi-parters-- but as multiparts they are more challenging to do. I have several other ideas/snips scattered through the timeline, but they're fairly short as drabbles, flash-fic or circa 10k standalones, so they will be less heavy to complete and easier to do around work hours -- but they do tempt me now because they're more easy and fun to produce. This timeline's list of ideas has stayed stable for a couple of months now, so at least I know what 'finished' looks like for this arc, even if I don't quite get there.

I do have two firm AUs which itch at me wildly (timeline arcs again). I'm desperate to write the first piece of both as an anchor/test, but keep deferring because I know I'll have to sanity-check my motivation after finishing (or hitting a motivational brick wall with) Last Second Ending.

The 'easy' AU is the 1990s AU which is Tommy x Lizzie, set broadly post S3 and to the end of S4 as an AU S4. It's easy because there's only a few scenes in my head but they're all pretty heavy/hardcore and I can't find an 'in' for framing them yet.

But the second is that weird-arse Dragon Age II fusion AU which is less pairing focused and more family focused, albeit a great deal of pairings and sex within - but it could be a fascinating little monster of a thing, so I'm letting that simmer in back of mind until well after I get back to work to see if there's sufficient motivational drive. It's likely to become a 'what if the PB version of the Real World also had five millennia of Blights, mages, the Fade and Circles as part of Real World history/currency?' idea (alternatively: magic is real but it's pretty fucking ugly what humans do with it).

I also have about five loose BUF-Britain AU list of flashfic sketch ideas, which are generally 'things and scenes that might happen if Mosley was voted into power and took over england', which is primarily Tommy and Alfie.

And I have one solitary sort-of crackfic sort-of-not-crackfic -- S5 from the 'My Property' scene onwards but with the addition of a male chastity device -- which despite the crack premise will actually be really difficult to write compelllingly with the amount of scene checking and chronology I'd need, and accordingly is so low on the list I only think about it in idle moments to amuse myself.

There were a range of other ideas (like a 28 Days Later AU, or a Butcher x Baker AU, or why can I not have these endlessly magnificent threesomes I desperately want to read) but mostly they were isolated 'wouldn't that be cool' scenes without any sustained continuity or theme, so with time limits, they've sort of withered away.

[ladylilithprime]

We Can Be Your Sword And Shield

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General to Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Half-Fae Dean Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Overprotective Asshole Dean, Dragon Balthazar, Brief Mentions of Canon-Typical Violence, Alicorns Are Evil Flesh-Eating Unicorns, Hurt/Comfort, Never Insist An Employee Smile At You

Summary: The aftermath of a traumatic event is often difficult for everyone involved. Routines can help... most of the time.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 8: Smile

Read on AO3

IT WAS ALMOST like those first five days, back when he and Jimmy had been working off their debt to Sam for the spell that cemented their existence as twins firmly in reality. There was even a similar underlying tension of feeling the need to do a perfect job that his efforts would balance the scales for the service Sam had done them, only somehow worse because this time it wasn't a spell that drained the half-faerie's magical energy, but actual blood and pain and injury sustained saving his and Jimmy's lives and protecting them from physical harm! He knew Jimmy felt similarly, even though it had been Cas who had been in most immediate danger of impalement by the attacking alicorn until Sam had intervened his body between them.

It made Cas grateful that he was usually allowed to hide in the kitchen as whenever the memories of that night pushed to the fore of his mind and his throat closed up he could take his helpless aggression out on a batch of bread dough or a bowl of cookie batter. Baking didn't require him to force words out, even properly scripted ones like he had practiced for general social interaction and basic customer service. Baking did require enough precision of measurement and repetitive motion that he could remain somewhat calm and focused on something other than trumpeting equine bellows, the sharp scents of blood, the flash of a glowing silver-blue blade, the squelch of metal against flesh, or the still-healing wound under the heavy dressing front and back on Sam's right side...

His fault. Dean had said so, barked it sharply and loudly before Sam had snapped at him to mind his tongue or get the hell out before he left his bed to kick Dean's ass. Dean had left then, storming out with a slam of the door that rattled the windows and made Jack flinch and burrow tighter into where he was sitting on Cas's lap and clinging to him and Jimmy with both hands. The hard anger in Sam's face had slid away and he had sighed heavily, wincing in pain.

"It is regrettably the case that Dean has always been prone to lashing out in anger when he is afraid," he had said, slowly easing himself back into the pillow nest on the large, deep couch. "He takes after our father that way, more than he usually likes to admit. I promise you, John Castiel, James Constantine... my injury is not your fault."

Despite knowing that faeries couldn't lie, and so therefore Sam truly did not blame him or Jimmy for the injury, Cas still carried the weight of blame in his heart. Logically he knew that it was a perfectly normal reaction to the shock of sudden combat against a foe he was unprepared to face, plus a facet of survivor's guilt, the lingering fear over his own near-death, and the possibility that Sam could have died instead of merely being injured, which would have left Jack an orphan. As with most emotion-driven difficulties he encountered, logic brought him very little comfort.

Nor did having Sam back in the cafe at work only a week after the alicorn invasion, though he quite understood the half-faerie's discontent with being bedridden. Cas coped much the way he had during the previous week, by mixing up and baking mainly those breads and cookies that Sam had shown a preference for the most. Jimmy found Cas for the usual check-in, but spent most of his time carefully not hovering around their boyfriend and boss, trading off with Charlie to cover when Sam needed to sit down as his energy flagged. At one point, Jimmy even passed along a story Charlie had apparently told about Sam getting injured fighting a manticore and being back at work three days later, which did make Cas feel a little more secure in Sam's estimation of his own healing.

It was closing in on six when the alarm on Sam's phone reminded them that Jack was due at his karate lesson. Since Sam still wasn't cleared to drive yet, Cas and Jimmy held a quick but silent debate, and then Jimmy grabbed the car keys while Cas washed flour off his hands and changed into a clean apron.

"You up for this?" Charlie asked in an undertone when she saw him come out of the back. Cas held up his right hand, displaying the leather and beaded cuff bracelet there.

"I have an interaction script, and the bracelet you made is operating within the expected parameters," he assured her. "I can play Jimmy while Jimmy plays chauffeur for Jack."

He could, and the act of pretending to be his more socially competent twin also helped him focus more on the present than on the last week. His attempts at a pleasant and friendly expression were perhaps not as naturally open and engaging as Jimmy's, but Charlie assured him that so long as he wasn't scowling or using his "resting murder face" then he was fine. Sam jokingly informed him that his "resting murder face" was cute and kissed his cheek, which also improved his mood and ability to be visibly pleasant.

It was somewhat exhausting to try and maintain, however, and about forty-five minutes into his "playing Jimmy" shift Cas realized that Sam was wincing and listing more than usual.

"You promised Jimmy that you would take breaks when you need them," he reminded Sam in an undertone, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We have a line," Sam protested, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I didn't want to leave you and Charlie to handle the rush alone."

"Your health is more important than our discomfort, and most of our regular customers would agree," Cas argued. "Go take a break. If we really need you to come and curse someone, we will call you, and anyone looking for a blessing will be willing to wait."

"Go on, boss," Charlie chimed in, handing Sam a red bean cake and a mug that Cas suspected had peppermint and willow bark tea with honey in it. "Take a break, take your meds, we got this."

"We got this," Cas echoed firmly when Sam looked at him. "Go."

Sam went, and Cas and Charlie slotted into a rotation of taking and making orders. Several of their customers had heard about Sam's injury and were sympathetic and correspondingly patient. Balt came through looking for his usual and any updates on Sam's condition, and gave them a thumbs up when informed that Sam was on break.

The foreboding started when Charlie needed to duck into the back to restock the berry puree, leaving Cas to handle the front himself. He finished making a Raspberry Red Cap Mocha and called it out, handing it over to its recipient before stepping up to the register. "Welcome to Lighthouse CommodiTeas, what can I get started for you?"

The customer, a plump woman in a fussy pink blouse under her gray jacket and pencil skirt, looked up at him and frowned.

"Smile!" she said, sharp and demanding. For a moment, Cas wondered if there was a new special listed on the chalkboard that Charlie had snuck on as a joke, but a quick glance proved that to be incorrect. Which meant that the woman was saying "smile" at him as a directive.

"I am smiling," he told her. He wondered a little if his efforts at a pleasant expression like Jimmy usually had were falling somewhat short of the mark at the moment, but he was not going to say so to a customer. Especially not one who was pinging his "trouble radar".

"You're at work in a job that deals with the public!" the woman snapped with a disapproving frown. "You need to actually smile, not... this!"

Definitely short of the mark, then, but somehow Cas found it very difficult to care.

"Ma'am," he began with his best effort at patience. "My job is to bake the cookies, muffins and scones we sell here so that we can offer food without risking the safety of our human customers, and I have been here since four o'clock this morning. I am currently filling in at the front for the owner who was gored by an alicorn last week and needed to take a break after being on his feet too long. This is as much of a smile as I am capable of." He paused, assessing the expression on the customer's face, which had been getting steadily paler as he spoke, then added, "Do you have a drink order you would like to place?"

The customer floundered a little, opening and closing her mouth, and then finally just muttered, "Medium Siren Song blackberry tea."

"Six dollars," he informed her, ringing up the drink.

"Nicely done," Charlie whispered as she passed to call out the now-completed Unicorn Berry Latte before swapping places with him again.

Cas took a deep breath, let it out, and then went to make the Siren Song blackberry tea.

[yyxandere]

・✶ ｡ﾟ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒

✧.* gender/pronouns ─ “You” pronouns

✧.* prompt ─ “Type of Kisses they give” [ACE ATTORNEY PROSECUTOR.]

✩.* note ─ This was supposed to be a Valentines Fic but I decided to make it a series for all the fandoms I write for :3! Yakuza characters are next!! Hope you guys liked this!! Reader’s height isn’t written but I had tall Reader in mind when doing so!!

✩.* TRIGGER WARNINGS ─ SUGGESTIVE THEMES [MADE BY A MINOR!], Unhealthy Coping Mechanism, Abusement of Power, and Unhealthy Thinking

[♡]ー ꒱・！demon prosecutor himself with a strong sense of justice - MILES EDGWORTH.

Miles kisses are forward yet slow. Miles wants to be the one leading about almost everything, like in court or in investigations yet when it comes to leading for your love he’s an absolutely flustered man. Yet he can’t resist you the many years devoid of love from Miles made him yearn something that you have managed to fill in for him, but that story if for another time. His kisses are deep but quick so nobody would notice, but in his private chambers such indulges will be much more longer, lingering touch on your face as his lips complete yours his hands hold you tightly not wanting to let you go. Such a beautiful love story but only if anyone can see the cold chains he has on you.

[♡]ー ꒱・！the prosecutor prodigy herself with her signature whip - FRANZISKA VON KARMA.

For a prodigy lady herself—Franziska-too like her brother doesn’t know how to initiate such contact and the turmoil she has with herself will reflect when it comes to you. Franziska’s kisses are quick and rough like her whip. Her feelings towards you cause some sort of concoction inside of herself, she’s angry at herself for falling in-love when she want to reach her highest, angry at herself because she knows that this isn’t what love is. So please don’t be alarmed when you suddenly got grabbed by your collar by Franziska for a kiss, she’s not angry at you, she angry at herself after she wrongly prosecuted someone who did you wrong yet. . .she felt like she was “correct” when doing so. . .

[♡]ー ꒱・！the well disciplined head chief prosecutor and a mature lady - LANA SKYE.

Lana Skye what a woman indeed but for a lover is what you may not need. Her clacking heels will be put on a stop to reach your height for a quick but meaningful kiss, a kiss that will leave a pink lip mark on your cheek. Lana never tells her relationship out loud she knows her position but whenever another prosecutor tries to hit on you whenever you visit her, Lana has to stop herself from deeply clawing her fist up hands until blood starts leaking of of her tense clench. What can we say about Lana, she’s the mature one in the relationship so why can’t you just trust her with everything in your life?

[♡]ー ꒱・！the mysterious coffee-loving prosecutor with a deep grudge - “GODOT.”

The aroma from his green vest, and the aftertaste of the strong coffee on his lips yet your lips are the most addicting then the most strongest coffee he had ever taste in his life and “after”-life. Godot’s kisses are slow, sensual and teasing yet like the coffee he makes there’s always something deeper and complex than what it seems. Godot’s kisses are teasing alright, but there’s a possessive grip on your waist when he does, his touches are always like he doesn’t want to let go of you, each exploration of your lips for him makes him more addicted more then ever. Instead of a caffeine overdose he’ll be craving for your lips, with his hands wandering around you, he would gladly kiss your poisoned lips even if he knows what’s in it.

[♡]ー ꒱・！the flamboyant rockstar prosecutor who sticks to his morals - KLAVIER GAVIN.

The flashing lights in his concert that goes on par with the neon colours, yet not even with all of lights flashing in his eyes and music blasting through his ears and eyes could distract him—Klavier has eyes only for you. Teasing and quick are Klavier’s kiss for you, as a pop star and a prosecutor he doesn’t really have much free time, but to make up for it he would always invite you at his concert at the backstage, once he’s done preforming he would kiss your euphony lips, as his strong cologne and his sweat fills your senses, as his arms wraps around your skin wanting to preserve the moment, may it be the adrenaline in his veins but he’d pull you into the second phase of the concert and proudly proclaim your status of being his significant other, as he deepen the kiss again. Such action would make sure that you won’t leave him especially when you have the prying eyes of the public.

[♡]ー ꒱・！the intimidating black and white twisted samurai - SIMON BLACKQUILL.

His rough and calloused hands gently holds your bottom lips for permission, as his lips moves towards your, his muscular build leans towards yours like you’re his only pillar in life. Simon knows that his hands aren’t made for loving, there were made only for protecting and yet a different kind of story unfolds when you’re both in alone with silence, his lips chapped yet his kisses are slow and rough, like an inmate ravaging his last meal but in fact he’s just not experienced at this—you’re his first and last when it comes to these parts in life. His kisses are meant to show love but his hands are meant to have crimson seeping blood on it but only just for you.

[♡]ー ꒱・！holy and enchanting yet sharp in his own ways - NAHYUTA SAHDMADHI.

Elegant and grace but like a midnight wave one mistake shall send someone to the grave. A motto that embodies the ‘Khura'in Prince’ Nahyuta. His pious nature makes every head turn towards him yet when it comes to you-it’s you who are his deity. The softness of the silk robe that Nahyuta wears is nothing compared to his lips, oh how plum and luscious it is, his words towards you are sweet like cake but like cake it has layers, the layers you may ask? Layers of manipulation spewing out of his butterfly lips. That’s why his kisses are soft and velvety that hides a sinister intend. May the Holy Mother help you . . .

[♡]ー ꒱・！the wussy and crying but growing young prosecutor - SEBASTIAN DEBESTE/EUSTACE WINNER.

The soft sob that resonates with the room as his salty tears run down his cheeks. Sebastian is an absolute mess to everything in his life but an absolute disaster when he sees you looking at him. Soft kisses are a need for Sebastian after the lack of love and validation he desperately wanted from other people, that’s why slowly caress his coffee-coloured hair as he gently weeps on your lap. The salty tears staining your clothes, please forgive him! He didn’t mean to yell at your best friend just because they needed you for a while!

[♡]ー ꒱・！the boot-rising, lip service, deadly prosecutor - BAROK VAN ZIEKS.

London’s harsh winter and the warmest season has none in common but for Barok it’s the same when he pulls you for a deep and deprived kiss. His gloves are always on proper place when it comes to you, he desperately needs your touch, a deprived man till his core, his cold hands even near a fireplace wanders your collars and many more. His lips is as cold for how he kiss death, he knows that but when he kisses you your lips is as warm and divine as the sun it self, it warms the aching desire he has but only temporary. After you pull back he is wanting more from you. . .

[♡]ー ꒱・！the head of labyrinthia's order of knights - ZACHARIAS BARNHAM.

His firey hair is as matching as his passionate and deep kisses. Zacharias Barnham himself is a man of words and action, when he says he’d love you till the whole city is in blaze he means it. He is passionate about everything he cares about but you bring a different kind of passion inside him. His kisses is passionate and tender, as it is meant to be with you. His arms are warm and strong around an intention of never letting you go. He will give you everything that he is because he feels like his heart was carved out for you from the very beginning and nothing is going to ever take that away from him ever.

[♡]ー ꒱・！high inquisitor of labyrinthia with a firey ambition - “DARKLAW”

Her cold, gold, clawed hand holds your cheeks as Darklaw softly slammed her lips upon yours. Her role as the inquisitor means she only have few moments with you “few” because whenever she’s with you it feels like time is nothing for her, that’s why her kisses are quick but un intentionally rough. Those witch trails do take a huge toll on her, so forgive her for accidentally bruising your lips after she just sent one of your friends into the infamous fire of Labyrinthia. That doesn’t matter now though, when her body still tenses from kissing and her heart thumps wildly within her chest, the way she leans into your warmth while her other hand slides up your arm and then cups your jaw in her palms, it doesn’t matter at all. You were always meant to be hers. She loves you so much, even if she was never supposed to fall for you. . .

[starkidlabs]

Being a casual fan of something is nice, I don't necessarily mean that in the sense of no creating art or no reading fanfics but more like not going into tags and basically avoiding every non mutual fan of the thing.

[cuubism]

Could I request a mission gone wrong or Alec feeling guilty about his job but Magnus coming in to talk him down and hold him until Alec feels better? thank you so much, you’re a gift to this fandom <3

hello anon from november 2020. idk if you're still here, but here's the prompt 😂😂

---

Magnus still doesn’t know how to deal with this. Alec drinking. It’s been happening more and more lately, Alec coming home late, passing out on the couch. Magnus isn’t… worried, per se. Well, he’s not really worried about the drinking aspect of it. Alec has never been much one for alcohol, so drinking for him usually means one of Magnus’s stronger cocktails. Magnus isn’t too worried about it. If anything, he slightly prefers the drinking to other coping mechanisms Alec’s used in the past. Well. Slightly.

But he is worried about the causes behind it.

Magnus sits down across from his husband on the cold floor of his office. He gingerly pries the bottle of scotch—gifted to Alec from Luke in celebration of his appointment to Consul—out of his hands. It’s barely touched, thankfully, more a physical crutch and option than something to actually be consumed.

“Hey now. Drowning sorrows in alcohol is my schtick,” he teases, quiet as the dust settling in the corners of the room. Alec’s office in the Gard is… not like his one in the Institute. It’s cold, walls of ancient stone and adamas, bay windows looking out on Idris’s distant snowcapped mountains. No wood paneling, no warming fireplace. Magnus has brainstormed décor ideas, has put warming charm after warming charm in the desk, chairs, floor… but he can’t quite manage to banish the chill. Perhaps the place is simply resistant to his magic after so long harboring minds so hostile to warlocks entirely.

“I know,” Alec mumbles, ignoring the teasing of his tone. His eyes are downcast, fixated on his empty hands. “’m sorry.”

Magnus sets the bottle aside and takes his hands, pushing a warm burst of magic into them. “No, darling. I’m only worried about you. I know what my mind gets like when I’m driven to drink; I don’t want to think about you suffering in that way.”

“Don’t think about it, then,” Alec says flatly, and Lilith, this is going to take even more delicacy than Magnus thought.

“I always think about it,” he says, and Alec looks up at him, guilt flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t,” Magnus says, before he can speak, cradling his face in a hand. “Don’t.”

“I don’t like being here,” Alec admits. His face is set in a deep, furrowed frown. “I just don’t know what to do. I know you don’t like it when I work out too much.”

“I don’t like it when you hurt yourself at all.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Alec insists, and Magnus sees, again, the invisible walls he’d seen around him when they first met. The years of living with no options that had convinced him options didn’t exist at all.

“For now?” Magnus lets out a long breath. He still hasn’t figured out a long-term plan to help, especially as so much of the source of the issue falls on the shoulders of others—the Clave, mainly. But immediate triage. That he can do. “Come take a walk with me. This stone floor is turning my ass into an ice sculpture.”

Alec finally laughs, though there’s a crack through it. “It’s your fault for wearing fishnet tights in winter.”

“The weather should bow to my fashion sense,” Magnus declares, and Alec laughs again, and Magnus’s heart warms to hear it.

He takes Alec’s hands and pulls him to his feet. “Come along. Grab your coat.”

“You should grab some pants,” Alec grumbles, but he does get his coat. It’s such a nice coat, too, if Magnus does say so. A navy wool peacoat, much more expensive than Alec would ever have chosen for himself. Magnus is quite proud of that gift, especially because Alec has a tendency to tuck it over his shoulders whenever he sees Magnus wearing a weather-inappropriate outfit.

“What, you don’t want to see my sexy legs?” Magnus asks, feigning affront.

Alec scowls, but it’s his oh my god Magnus you are being ridiculous scowl, not a real one. “I don’t want to see your sexy legs turning blue.”

Magnus ignores this. High fashion is far more important than a little discomfort. He takes Alec’s arm and leads him from his office. “Would you like to hear what escapades Chairman got up to today?” Magnus still wants to know what had Alec so upset, but he thinks it’s better to give him some breathing room first. A distraction.

“Yeah. Though I’m not sure he can top the time he turned himself into an aardvark.”

“That was awful,” Magnus moans. “I had no idea an aardvark could cause such destruction.”

“Why did you even have a potion that could turn something into an aardvark in the first place?”

“Well, that wasn’t its intended purpose, Alexander!” Magnus yells, just as they’re heading through the entry hall, causing several guards to turn to them with raised eyebrows. Alec leans against his side, giggling. “Anyway, what he got up to today was worse. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get pink fabric dye out of cat fur?”

Alec chokes on a laugh. “I mean, I’d have thought you’d think it was couture.”

“His feet were hot pink!” Magnus pushes open the door, letting in a gust of frigid air. “He looked like an eighties home workout trainer wearing leg warmers!”

Alec tugs him close in the cold night. His breath fogs as he says, “I don’t know what that means. Is he still pink?”

Magnus sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his admittedly subpar jacket. “Regrettably, yes.”

They walk through the Alicante streets in silence for a while after that. The city is nearly empty this late at night, at the height of the freezing Idris winter. It’s just them, the stray cats, and the few flurries of snow that are falling. They catch in Alec’s hair as he stops on the street corner, shrugging out of his coat and laying it over Magnus’s shoulders, predictably. Magnus summons him a scarf for his trouble, but not another coat because he feels it might ruin the deliberateness of Alec’s care.

He wraps the scarf around Alec’s neck and ears, draping the ends over his shoulders. Alec rests his hands on Magnus’s hips under the coat, and Magnus flattens his hands on Alec’s shoulders, and finally asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The gentle smile Alec had previously been wearing for him fades. “Not… really,” he says, “to be honest. You can probably infer anyway.”

And the thing is, Magnus can, because it’s usually the same issues recurring over and over, mostly out of Alec’s control. Which is what makes it so hard for Magnus to help. “I suppose I can,” he says, “but I’m always willing to hear about it anyway.”

The snow is falling faster now, creating a hush in the world around them. Alec’s lips twist. “Maybe later,” he finally says. “For now, I just want to spend time with you. Without any strife, or anything.”

“Alright.” Magnus settles in against his side, and Alec wraps an arm around his waist as they begin walking again. “Careful what you say, though. Ask for no strife, and you’ll jinx us with a demon invasion.”

“We get demon invasions either way,” Alec grumbles, sounding put out. “They never give it a rest.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering if instead of killing demons, we could just distract them by putting something more interesting down in hell,” Magnus muses.

“More interesting than killing people? Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Build-A-Bear. Froyo with fifty toppings. Truly demons just haven’t been exposed to all the joys life has to offer—”

Alec laughs, knocking his head against Magnus’s. “Alright, Magnus. Demon enrichment. I’ll bring it before the Council.”

“I’m sure my genius will be recognized,” Magnus says with satisfaction.

Alec keeps his head pressed against his, and Magnus keeps their arms locked, and the snow falls on the dark street. And Magnus knows that, as long as they can keep finding these moments, everything will end up okay.

[huskymaine]

For favorite character ask- kakashi

Thanks for the ask anon!

Favorite thing about them

There are many things that I admire from Kakashi, by my favorite is his kindness. Many people wonder why Kakashi didn’t turn evil after everything he went through, but I think the answer is simple. He has no malice bone in his body. No matter what circumstance, he bore no hatred and genuinely tries to make everyone around him feel better. I spoke about it more on this post.

Least favorite thing about them

His self-deprecation, seriously Kakashi, stop blaming yourself on things outside your control. Also sometimes he was too apathetic to handle things that need his utmost concern. Although I understand why he’s like that.

Favorite line

"I will never let my comrades die." This line is so cool on our first watch, but so painful on our second watch. 

brOTP

I love both KakaGai and KakaYama, but can't choose one of them because they have different dynamic. KakaGai is like twin brothers whom equal in power and relationship, they genuinely like each other presence and mutually support each other. Also seems like they can feel when the other party is in distress and immediately rush to help. In KakaYama, I can find older sibling/younger sibling relationship in my family, with fondly teasing older sibling and exasperated but admiration from younger sibling. Tenzo’s status post-war made me bitter about this pairing for a while though (seriously why the fuck Tenzo got Orochimaru monitoring task?).

OTP

I don’t really like shipping in fandom (especially Naruto fandom), and I don’t see Kakashi as a type of person who have romantic relationship with anyone. I think Kakashi is asexual or at least demisexual. Maybe I’ll elaborate more about it on future post.

However *look at my ObiKaka fics subcription* I -ahem- really love their angst. And they're so messed up to the point of hilarity. It’s unhealthy at all and I will not wish it happen on canon, but it can’t be denied that Kakashi has intense feeling for Obito and vice versa. In fact, I enjoy so much the segment when Kakashi discovered that Tobi is Obito because it’s the first time the cool calm Kakashi getting completely thrown out and let out extreme emotion. Although Kakashi definitely didn’t have good time at all. I am quite a sadist haha.

(Note : in Boruto, Kakashi and Gai are married and I approve so much. It’s hard for me to imagine things like kiss or romantic gesture between them, though).

nOTP

I'm not fond of teacher/student relationship in general, but sometimes at least I can handle them in AU setting, kinda. Maybe. But, I can't handle MinaKaka at all in fics or explicit romance arts. Maybe because in my mind Minato is default Kushina's malewife, haha.

(Turns out I indeed can't handle Minato being paired with anyone except Kushina)

random headcanon

Kakashi found his deceased father’s body with lightning flash in his eyes and thunder roar ringing in his ears. He wouldn’t admit it even to Gai and Minato, but every time he sees lightning he remembers Sakumo’s suicide. Then he found out that his elemental affinity is lightning and he handled it just like Kakashi handles using Chidori post-Rin's suicide, a.k.a continuous trauma exposure. Btw Kakashi, your coping mechanism is the worst.

I sent it to @depressedhatakekakashi and it was made to an amazing short fic.

Unpopular opinion

Looks like this is unpopular opinion among Naruto fandom, which sadden me so much, but guys, Kakashi loves all of his students equally. When they are together, he paid attention to all of them and told them his observation. But Humain, why Kakashi only taught Sasuke pre-final Chuunin exam although Naruto also passed? Why Kakashi only taught Naruto in Shippuden and didn’t also teach Sakura? 

Because not only Kakashi is incapable of multitasking, both Sasuke and Naruto’s training require his utmost focused monitoring. Please remember that in Chidori training Sasuke had Curse Seal and in Rasenshuriken Naruto had Kyuubi Chakra. Both things are dangerous and undoubtedly will take over their bodies the minute those impatient hotheaded boys pushed themselves past their limit. With such a great risk, sadly Kakashi can’t afford to get his focus divided.

Song I associate with them

Uma to Shika by Yonezu Kenshi (I swear this song is like made for Kakashi).

Favorite picture of them

My fav picture of Kakashi is his crescent smile, but I dunno which one to choose and not turn this ask into full-blown compilation. So not picture, but this GIF is my fav Kakashi GIF. The maximum brat energy he emitted... *ruffles his hair fondly*

(Kishimoto-sensei, look at him. Look at the preciousness of him. Do you really capable to see this bouncy boy and then dumped all of the world's suffering on him? Smh)

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 13

WC: 1200

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: angst, anxiety, truth hurts, jealousy, hints at infidelity, mildly suggestive dialogue?, laszlo still doesn’t understand women

🧠

He wasn't sure where to go after he left you in his parlor. Laszlo never had a history of the best coping mechanisms, which is how he found himself meeting Karen, the last person he should've been seeing given the situation, at a bar downtown. But he would admit that he felt much calmer than earlier.

Laszlo was grateful that Karen had agreed to meet him on short notice. Not much was said in the first fifteen minutes or so. Eventually Laszlo broke the silence. “Karen,” his head cocks to the left, “might I ask you a question? Regarding my aide, since you appear to know her well.” He took a sip of the burning whisky.

Karen looks up at him where he sits next to her, “yes.” She hides her displeasure well.

“Recently, she has been acting strange. More melancholic and aggressive than is usual. She-” he searches for a way to mask the truth enough but still convey his question “-mentioned having relationship troubles. She expressed that she believed her significant other to be unfaithful. I was hoping that, as a woman yourself, you might have insight to this that I could offer her.” A beat passes. “To assuage her anxieties and improve her work ethic back to its full potential, of course,” he adds to appear pragmatic. He was hesitant to admit that he was really asking for himself.

“Oh I’m sure she will be fine, Laszlo,” she curls her fingers around his upper arm as a caring gesture. “Young women often deal with these things as they attempt to figure out what they want in life. At her age they are always so emotionally back-and-forth. She is likely trying to make decisions between her love life and her future as a career woman. To really find and establish her identity. In all honesty I have always seen her as too independent to settle down seriously with a partner. I would not find it a shock if she was considering breaking the relationship off. Time will tell.” Her answer is easy, almost practiced.

He gives a small grunt at her advice. He sincerely hoped that you weren’t reconsidering your relationship with him. Laszlo knew that he shouldn’t be asking Karen about you, but who else could he trust? She had always given him sound professional advice in the past. Seeing that Karen was waiting for a response he diplomatically states “I’m not sure that will be sufficient advice to offer her, let alone coming from me. Perhaps you are right in that time will be what is required.” He works to keep his fear from showing in his features.

“Since we are on the topic,” Karen turns to face him. “Laszlo, I must admit I haven’t been entirely truthful with you the last few weeks.”

He looked up to meet her eyes across the bar. “How so?” Had you confided in Karen about something? It wouldn’t make sense, seeing as you held an unfounded grudge currently.

“When you left Munich I had told you that I agreed that a long-distance relationship of that sort wouldn’t be fruitful for either of us. At the time I believed it.”

Laszlo shifted back in his chair. His brow furrowed as his thoughts raced to make sense of what Karen was telling him. Had her beliefs changed? Had she regretted agreeing to end the relationship? At the time it had been a very civil, and frankly easy, conversation. Not wanting to misinterpret his own conclusions, he asks “and now?” He doesn’t notice her fingers still on his bicep.

Her head cocks to the side. “When you first left I had hoped you would ask me to join you. I also understood that it wasn’t of your nature to do so, and I couldn’t hold that against you. So when I was given the chance to bring my research back to the city I realized that it would bring me close to you. I thought that perhaps we could try again; pick up where we left off before you moved. Maybe I even stay.”

His expression remains unchanged as he mulls over her confession. She had regretted the mutual split. Laszlo can feel the annoyance bubble in him instantly. He feels regret at shutting you down earlier when you had been correct all along. He knows his first words should be to defend you, to defend your relationship. What instead leaves him is “why did you not bring this to my attention sooner? Had I known then things might have been different. And yet you waited years to tell me.”

“I wasn’t sure it was a commitment you were prepared for. With time it became harder to admit.”

“Says you, the woman who knows no boundary to what is or is not appropriate to confess. You’ve made your life’s work on asking about and admitting the taboos of our human existence. I hardly think that your desire to remain coupled would be that difficult to explain to me.” His raising voice attracts the attention of some patrons nearby. He pays no mind to their curious glances.

Karen sighs. “Laszlo, please. We both know how fickle you were with these things back then. We only ever saw each other on weekends because of the distance to start with. I once suggested that you come to work at the institute so that we could be closer and you dismissed the idea. I'm sure even you can imagine that in hindsight as enough to deter me.”

His jaw clenches; he knows that she has a valid point. He was not the most pleasant or sociable at times. In truth he isn’t sure what he would have said if she had been honest from the start. “I suppose,” he breathes in deeply to calm himself, “that you had good reason to be cautious regarding this. But it has been years, Karen. You must be made aware that I have met someone; I am engaged in a serious relationship. I am happy.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that new development.” She looks away for a second, a flash of bitter in her eyes before it quickly vanishes. Laszlo is confused as to how she would know, as he had never disclosed having a significant other explicitly in her presence. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Her hand moves down to cover his own on the bar’s surface. “But my dear, we have such a history together. Think of how good things were between us. She is too young for you. A student no less! I know you, surely, better than she ever could. I know the things you need. I can give that to you and more.” Her whispered words are impassioned. He jerks back at the feel of her palm meeting his cheek.

Laszlo carefully and quickly retreats his hand from under her grasp. “I can assure you that I only view our relationship now as one between colleagues. Nothing more. I apologize if I gave you the impression otherwise. Have a good evening, Dr. Stratton.” With that he steps out of the bar and into the cold night air. He needed to find you.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s

[outrunningthedark]

Hey!!!! I've been thinking this over for a while now, just a fearful doubt, but do you think maybe buck is so helpful with Chris precisely because it's not his responsibility? like, he's not actually expected to take care of him or be as helpful as he is, so any extra effort he makes is seen as something huge when it's not? and maybe if he was his actual parent and was obliged to do the things he already does by choice, he'd have a harder time with it? I don't know if this makes sense sorry

Based on the trajectory of Buck and Eddie's relationship in canon, I can say with confidence that the only ones who still believe Buck is "not actually expected to take care of [Christopher] or be as helpful as he is" are members of our fandom that do not appreciate when we refer to Buck as Christopher's "other dad"- those legal rights only matter if Eddie dies, don't forget! You could argue in that Buck felt a connection to Eddie and Christopher in season two because of his (lack of a) relationship with his own father. Eddie was (and is) the anti-Phillip Buckley. He never complains about Christopher being difficult, he doesn't think of him as a burden, and he has no qualms about showing love and affection. Buck saw this man who openly cherished his child and wanted to make things easier in whatever way he could. Good parenting should be rewarded, right? Having said that, Buck *made* Christopher his responsibility without being asked immediately after finding out he existed: - Researched the safety of LA schools during an earthquake WHILE IN THE FIRETRUCK just to ease Eddie's concerns. - Told Eddie when cell service was activated so Eddie could get in contact with Christopher's school - Was the one behind the wheel when Eddie and Christopher reunited - Accompanied Eddie to the hospital because there was a possibility Christopher was sick or hurt - Engaged in conversation with Pepa about how hard Eddie's worked to provide for Christopher ... and somehow ended up finding out what happened when Christopher was born... - Told Bobby Christopher was going to be at the 118 without Eddie's knowledge - Based on the conversation with Maddie, we know Buck and Eddie had at least one conversation about trying to navigate "giant bureaucracies" - Recruited Carla to assist Eddie in getting Christopher whatever he needed to make the move to LA easier Sure, none of that was expected from him, but there's "being nice" and there's going above and beyond because someone matters to you. Buck has always been the latter when it comes to Eddie and Christopher. I can see how Buck's importance/intentions got a bit muddled later in season two with the arrival of Shannon. But! THAT should tell you Eddie was already viewing Buck as a partner, not just a coworker or close friend. Shannon's back, and suddenly Eddie doesn't *need* Buck around as much. He's got his wife to help him out again. By season three, Shannon has passed away. Eddie wants Christopher to spend time with his Buck (*whispers* Eddie's Buck) while he's working. The Buckley-Diaz family is back where they belong - with each other. Post-tsunami, Eddie tells Buck, "I love [Christopher] enough to never stop trying. And I know you do, too." This is not the type of statement you make if you don't "expect" that person to care for your son like he was their own. Buck had "proven himself" to Eddie, proven just how serious he is about providing for Christopher and doing everything he can to keep him safe. Flash forward to the lawsuit arc, and... this is where the dichotomy between how Buck and Eddie view their partnership comes into play. Eddie is furious because Buck abandoned him to stick it to Bobby. Christopher is not coping well without him. Buck... didn't even consider that he would be missed. Christopher already has his father, what does he need Buck for? It wasn't until they reconciled that Buck FINALLY realized he has a place in the Diaz family. If Buck didn't feel responsible for two of the most important people in his life, he would not have said "You and Chris needed me...I should have been there." Skipping ahead to season four (because I've said enough, lbr) ... we need to remember that Buck confirming he wasn't ever leaving Christopher if he could help it, and taking care of Christopher while Eddie was in the hospital are things he did without knowing about the change in legal guardianship. When Eddie isn't available to give Christopher the time and attention he wants/requires, Buck will make damn sure HE is the one Christopher can count on. (Eddie agrees.)

[allisondraste]

Death and Other Things That Should Have Been Fatal

Fandom: Mass Effect

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4715

Summary: A follow up to Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep Living, Shepard wakes up after destroying the Reapers and copes with the fallout. Thankfully, she doesn't have to do so alone.

[Click Here for AO3]

“Shepard?”

The voice was little more than static in her ear, jarring her back into excruciating consciousness, head throbbing, extremities numb.  Spears of pain coursed through her chest with each and every breath, and she didn’t know whether it was the several broken ribs or the sight of Anderson's lifeless body slouched next to her.  She tore her gaze away from the closest thing she’d ever had to a good father figure, eyes fluttering closed as she attempted to focus only on the person speaking to her.

“Garrus?”  His was the first name that rolled off her tongue, the only person in the galaxy she wanted that disembodied voice to be.

“No.” Came the stern reply.  There was a long pause as any hope for comfort in her final moments came crashing down around her.  Then the voice spoke again. “It’s Hackett.”

A jolt of resentment toward the Admiral coursed through her at his introduction.  What more could he possibly want from her?  Had she not already done enough, sacrificed enough for just a ghost of a chance to stop the reapers.  Surely someone else could take it from there.  Why did everything fall on her?

Because someone else would have gotten it wrong.

She shook herself out of her head and back to the present. She would have been mortified under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn now. “I apologize sir, I’m— What do you need me to do?”

“The Crucible is docked, but is not activated,” he explained, “We think there’s something that needs to be done on your end.  Is there a trigger? Some sort of terminal?”

His words clung to the air around her, and her eyes locked onto the terminal the Illusive Man had used earlier.  It was just a few feet in front of her and still so far away. She tried and failed to bring herself to her feet, legs buckling beneath her and sending her plummeting to the floor.  Hot tears burned in her eyes as a new array of pain shot through her body, and she groaned in agony.

“Shepard?”

“I’m here, sir,” she growled, forcing herself up onto an elbow and dragging her body to the terminal, vision beginning to blur at the corners.. Not yet , she pleaded with her consciousness as she reached up toward the terminal, hand sweeping clumsily across the haptic display. Not. Yet.   “I’m at the terminal but I… I don’t— I can’t find—”

Her vision went dark, supporting arm trembling and giving out as her consciousness faded.  Hackett’s voice called out to her repeatedly, further and further away until it was gone entirely.

She awoke to bright, burning light, buzzing in her ears, sensations anyone else would have associated with death.  But Shepard had been dead before, and this was nothing like the last time.  She’d never forget that dark, quiet empty.

“Shepard,” shouted a voice, both familiar and foreign, “Wake up.”

“What?” Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound she couldn’t feel. “Where am I?”

She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, blinking until her vision cleared.  Her body screamed in protest as she rose to her knees, louder still as she brought herself to her feet and searched for who—or what— had spoken to her.

“The Citadel,” came the reply, “It is my home.”

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, it’s owner a glowing, translucent entity in the shape of a ghost.  Her heart slammed against her aching ribs, and a name rushed to her mouth before she could stop it. “Kaidan?”

The entity examined her for a moment that felt more like an eternity, long enough for her initial relief to fade, consumed by dread as she awaited its answer.

“No,” it stated in a cold, matter-of-fact way Kaidan could never have managed, “I am the Catalyst.”

Rage ignited in her stomach and chest at the sound of him twisted and distorted by a chorus of synthetic echoes, and she growled. “I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst.”

“The Citadel is part of me,” it explained, then paused, tilting its head in examination of her again, “My appearance disturbs you.”

Shepard let out a derisive snort. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“I apologize,” it said, “I chose a form that I believed would help us communicate. You had fond memories of this one.”

“Too fond.”  She looked down, unable to meet its vacant eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Is this one more suitable?”  It’s voice shifted registers and when she glanced up Thane stood before her.

Hot tears burned in her eyes but she held them back and shook her head. “No.”

“Perhaps you would prefer this?” This time it’s tone was higher pitched, clipped.  Mordin.

“No,” she spat through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer if you’d just pick a nightmare and tell me whether you can help me or not. ”

“Very well,” it said, Kaidan once again as it motioned for her to follow after it toward the beam of light before them. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

She limped after it, listening as it spoke, as it explained its creation, it’s function, the purpose for its very existence.  It was nothing the Leviathan had not already revealed to her, but spun in a way that painted the Reapers as innocent pawns simply fulfilling their duty, wiping out entire civilizations to ensure galactic balance, to protect organic life from its own chaos.

Bullshit , she thought as flashes of destruction played behind her eyelids with each laborious blink.  She remembered the sinking void in her gut as she fled Earth, watching it burn beneath Reaper hands.  She thought of Palaven, the harrowed Turian faces as their military and government collapsed, the anger and disbelief that vibrated in Garrus’ voice and beneath his skin. She recalled Thessia, the most advanced civilization in the galaxy reduced to rubble before her eyes and she, helpless to even salvage one artifact, Liara’s anguished sobs as she trembled in her arms.

The Catalyst and its Reapers were responsible for every lost colony in Batarian space that Shepard had shouldered instead.  Every single face on the memorial wall at the Citadel, every orphaned child and refugee, every life touched by this goddamn war, and the lives of those in every cycle that came before— it was all their fault.  They had corrupted and indoctrinated some of the greatest minds of her time, broken some of the strongest wills.  She wondered what had been said to convince Saren and Benezia. What had the Catalyst become to take hold of The Illusive Man?

The echoes of Sovereign’s boasts of supremacy and Harbinger’s threats of annihilation rang out in her ears as clear as the days they’d been spoken. And this entity, this artificial intelligence with the power and capability to stop it all, expected her to believe they were simply creatures bound to a purpose. The Catalyst truly believed she would help it achieve its pinnacle of evolution.

No, just because it was in a shark’s nature to eat her, did not mean she would allow it to do so. Despite the original intent behind their creations, the Reapers were monsters, and they had to be stopped. The galaxy deserved justice. She took one lumbering step toward the trigger on the right, one step closer to settling things once and for all.

“It will happen again,” the Catalyst called after her, “Machines will be rebuilt, and chaos will continue. Organics and synthetics cannot coexist separately.

“That’s…not true,” she grunted, and took another step, “The geth and the quarians have brokered peace.”

“It will not last.”

“You don’t know that,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides, “The beauty of chaos is that you can’t know that.”

The entity fell silent, briefly considering what she said, then continued. “Perhaps not; however if you choose to destroy the Reapers, the geth will be destroyed as well. The two will not have the opportunity to disprove your hypothesis.”

A pang of guilt pierced her and she halted in her tracks.“All of them?”

“Yes.  The Crucible’s beam is powerful but unfocused.  It will be unable to distinguish between Reaper technology and other forms of synthetic life.”

Another pang of guilt as realization dawned on her. That meant EDI would die, too. Someone who was every bit a friend and member of her crew as anyone else, someone who had put herself on the line multiple times to protect Shepard, to make certain she could get the job done.  EDI, who confessed just before the battle that she finally felt alive. Now, Shepard was forced to weigh her newfound life and the newfound intelligence of the geth race, against the destruction of the Reapers.

What was it Garrus had called it? Ruthless calculus, that brutal math that awaited anyone who spent enough time at war.  Shepard had done plenty of those calculations, had made more than her fair share of difficult decisions, and she’d dealt with the consequences, good and bad.

This time, it was different, more final.  And she was entirely alone.  The future of the galaxy lay upon her weary back, and she was far past the point of compromise.

Shepard wanted the Reapers to pay for what they had done for millennia, wanted to watch them disintegrate in space as the cheers of her fleet rang out over the comms.  She wanted to know with certainty that the war was over.

More than anything, however, and most heavy on her mind,  she wanted to survive. It was a potent wave of selfishness that overwhelmed her as she thought of her friends back on the Normandy, of the relationships she’d forged and that had forged her.  Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again, never hearing their voices. She was sick at the possibility that her last moments with those who had carried her through every storm were hurried and spent in a war torn camp on Earth.

Knowing that they were worried and waiting for her to return, remembering Garrus’ desperate plea that she come back alive, it was more than she needed to motivate her to do so.  For the first time in her three decades of life, she had something to go home to. She had given so much of herself to save the galaxy, and she had more than earned the right to live in it.

There was no certainty that destroying the Reapers would ensure her survival, but it was the only choice without the certainty that she would die.  She was willing to take her chances. She had to. With a trembling arm she raised her pistol, aimed at the glass case guarding the trigger mechanism, and fired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as the glass shattered and her vision faded to white. “I’m so sorry.”

Shepard had been dead enough times to know that sound always came first, the discomforting beeping of medical equipment and garbled chatter ringing out in the darkness as her nervous system attempted to orient itself. Smell and taste came next, a package deal.  This time the antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood barely masked the rank of burnt flesh.

Then the pain set in, dull but constant and everywhere, numbed only slightly by neural blockers and local anesthetic.  She did not need to see her injuries to know how serious they were, how fatal they should have been.  Yet there she lay, once again waking up from something that would have killed anyone else.

And she was alone.  Again.

She began to panic as her eyes opened to the empty, sterile room, setting off the many monitors she was hooked up to.  Her heart pounded violently, each breath she took sharp and shallow as she yanked herself free from the dozens of tubes and IVs constraining her. How long had she been out this time? What covert operation for which secret, extremist organization had found and resurrected her for their benefit? How much more could one galaxy ask of her?

There was a hiss of opening doors and an unfamiliar asari entered the room urgently, arms extended out in front of her.  In one breath she reassured Shepard that everything was going to be all right  and in the next called for a medical restraint, a sedative.  She stepped slowly toward Shepard as one would approach a frightened, feral animal, and two more uniformed aliens entered the room.  Shepard stood tall, despite the ache in her bones and glared at the three of them.

“Ma’am, I know you must be very disoriented right now, and I am happy to answer any and all of your questions,” the asari said, holding her hands up, “But you are in no shape to be out of bed.  I need you to calm down before you hurt yourself further.”

Shepard glanced from the asari to the two salarians on either side of her.  They all wore generic attire that was standard for medical professionals across the galaxy, but their uniforms had no indication of their names or who they worked for.  She crossed her arms and winced through the pain as she argued. “How about you start by telling me where I am, then I’ll decide if I want to calm down or not.”

Just as she finished speaking the doors opened again, this time to faces she knew, and the subsequent wave of relief that washed over her nearly knocked her back into the bed on it’s own.  On the right stood Dr. Michel, who she remembered helping out on several occasions during the Reaper War.  A bit sweet on Garrus, if she remembered correctly. On the left, wearing a smirk and a raised eyebrow, was none other than Miranda Lawson.

“Sit down, Shepard,” Miranda asserted in her trademark tone.  She flashed the hint of a smile and continued, “The residents aren’t being paid enough for you to harass them.”

Shepard’s eyes flicked over to the three aliens who’d been tending to her just moments before.  They were now speaking nervously with the doctor, who muttered something about tests they needed to run followed by some other medical jargon that Shepard couldn’t decipher.  She did as her friend directed and eased herself back down onto her bed, offering a sheepish grin as she did so. “I feel like such an ass.”

“Don’t,” Dr. Michel chimed in as she approached the bed, and began to scan Shepard with her omni-tool, “You have been in a coma for almost a month.  It was expected that you would be agitated when you awoke, especially considering everything you’ve been through.”

Shepard’s chest swelled with something like gratitude.  A month .  She’d only been out for a month, and she had woken up in what she could now tell was Huerta Memorial under the care of a physician she trusted and one of her closest friends.  This was nothing like the last time she died. She looked up at Miranda and asked,“Had to put me back together again, I see?”

“I only helped this time,” Miranda explained as she worked to reconnect some of the IVs Shepard had ripped out, “Dr. Michel contacted me a few weeks ago for a consultation about your cybernetic augmentation.  I was already on the Citadel, so I came in person to oversee the repairs.”

“Is everything working?”

“Mostly,” Miranda shrugged, “Not quite up to specifications, but your injuries are still healing. With time, you should be fine.”

“And hopefully far away from any more life-threatening battles, yes,” remarked Michel, moving to a terminal near the wall and transferring data collected from her omni-tool scans.

Shepard let out a huff, and let herself recline onto the bed, walls crumbling away at the comforting conversation.  She took a breath and let her eyes flutter closed for just a minute, and said, “If I can. If the galaxy will let me.”

“The galaxy’s going to have to,” announced an unmistakable voice from the door, and Shepard bolted upright to face it.  To face him .

She hadn’t even heard the door open, and yet there stood her turian, with all that easy confidence he’d always carried himself with and a bouquet of indistinguishable gift shop flowers in each hand.  Her pulse jumped, a fact the vitals monitor in the corner was quick to inform her and everyone in the room about. She would never live that one down.

“Garrus!”

“Is that cardiac arrest—“ he motioned toward the screen with one of the bouquets— “Or, uh… are you just happy to see me?”

Shepard just rolled her eyes, unable to stop the grin that twitched at the corners of her mouth as he sauntered up to the bedside.

“I wasn’t sure which you’d like better,” Garrus explained, glancing with uncertainty between the flowers in each hand, “So I got both.  There’s also some chocolate and a few books of hanar poetry back at the gift shop if you just absolutely hate the flowers. I can run back down and—“

She laughed and shook her head at him. “They’re perfect.”

“Are you sure?” He examined each bouquet again.  “You might need the poetry to bore you back into a coma.”

“I thought that anthology was quite beautiful and romantic, myself,” Michel remarked, amused.  She approached Shepard again and administered something that relieved the throbbing pain in her head she’d barely noticed in all the commotion. “There, that should keep you comfortable for a time. I will come and check on you in a  few hours ”

“I’ll be going as well,” Miranda said, eyeing Shepard and Garrus knowingly. “Call me if you need anything.”

She turned to follow the doctor out of the room but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and Shepard?  I’m glad we got to see each other again “

Shepard nodded. “So am I.”

With that Miranda left the room, the door sliding shut behind her.  Shepard turned her gaze up to Garrus who was already looking at her, pale eyes scanning every inch of her face intently.  His mandibles twitched and flared in the very specific way they always did when he was agitated or worried.  He shook his head, discarded both bundles of flowers onto the nearby bedside table, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, staring off at the wall in silence.

“Shepard I— I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he said finally, turning to look at her and placing a hand on her leg, “I’d just gone to get some air…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching for his hand and wondering just how many sleepless hours he’d sat by her bed waiting for her to come to. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, lingering there for several long moments.  She brought a hand up to trace the rough ridges of scarring along the right side of his face.  His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and he let out a heavy sigh, as if she’d lifted some invisible weight off of him with just the tips of her fingers.

“You know,” she spoke up, breaking the powerful silence between them, “I think I finally have some scars that’ll give you a run for your credits.”

Garrus laughed, but it was quiet—almost sad— and he pulled back to examine her.

“How bad is it,” she asked, “There aren’t any mirrors in here.”

He laughed again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Hell, Shepard, I don’t know. You always were ugly, so it’s hard for me to say.”

“Okay,” she admitted with a smirk, “I had that one coming.”

The room went quiet again, with the exception of the buzzing and whirring of the equipment around them.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, though— nothing had ever been uncomfortable with Garrus— but it was heavy with unspoken pain and unasked questions for which Shepard wasn’t sure she wanted answers.

“How’s everyone else,” she ventured.

“Recovering,” he answered with a sigh, “Joker tried to outrun the blast, but even the Normandy wasn’t quick enough.  Crash landed on some human colony world. Everyone made it except—“

“EDI,” she said, name bitter on her tongue. She’d hoped the catalyst had been lying about the Crucible’s effect on synthetic life.

“Yes… how did you—“

This time, she was not able to dam up the wave of emotions that crashed into her.  Tears rushed to her eyes, shame and remorse tightening her chest like a vice. She was a soldier, and she knew that sacrifices won wars, but that did not make it any easier.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sniff, looking away from him and attempting to wipe away the tears before he could see them, as if he hadn’t already.

“Well—” Garrus reached out and grabbed her chin, gently, giving it a tug until she brought her gaze back to him. “It’s a good thing I cleared my afternoon schedule, then. Tell me everything.”

And so she did. With a shaky voice, she recounted everything that happened from the time she called the evac for Garrus and Liara to the moment she was struck by the Crucible’s blast.  She told him about The Illusive Man, Anderson, the Catalyst who wore Kaidan’s face, and the impossible choice she was given.  He listened to every word, offered her his hand, and didn’t complain as her grip grew tighter and tighter with each devastating revelation.

When she was finished, eyes swollen and head throbbing, she looked at him and said, “I fucked up, Garrus. I had a chance to save EDI and the geth, but I just… couldn’t do it.  I was so angry and… scared , and—“

“Shepard,” Garrus interrupted her, laughing and shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re about the only person I know who could save the whole damn galaxy and feel guilty because you didn’t save it better.”

“My life isn’t worth more than EDI’s was, and it definitely isn’t more important than the entire geth race,” Shepard argued.

Garrus blinked back at her a few times, then responded.  “It is to me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come, so she clamped it shut and frowned.  Her entire argument fell apart in the wake of his blunt confession. How the hell was she supposed to respond to something like that?

“It was selfish,” she finally managed past the lump in her throat, “It was genocide.”

“Maybe,” he answered, firmly, “Maybe not. We have no way of knowing that anything the Catalyst told you was true.”

“Why would it lie?”

“I don’t know, maybe to save it’s own ass?”  His words were pointed but not directed to her.  “It was clearly trying to get in your head, Shepard, using Alenko like that.”

“But—”

“No,” he snapped, “You made the right call, and no one is going to fault you for it except you.”

“ Garrus …” she began, but trailed off when she noticed him looking down at their intertwined fingers, shaking his head and seeming to struggle with his emotions.

When he spoke up, his voice was hoarse.  “You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t think you owe anyone—not EDI, not the geth, not the Alliance, not the rest of the galaxy— any more than you’ve already given.”

He paused for a beat, then added in a lighter tone, “Except me. You owe me a long retirement on your fancy Alliance pension.”

Shepard snorted out a laugh, despite everything, and reached up to take his face in her hands.  She pulled him closer to her, just so that she could press a kiss against the side of his mouth.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

Just as they pulled apart, the door opened and they both turned to see who had entered. Dr. Michel stood at the threshold smiling at them apologetically.  “I am sorry for the interruption, but—”

“Someone tell Garrus to quit hogging the Commander,” complained an all too familiar voice as he pushed past the doctor and into the room. “The rest of us have been waiting just as long as he has.”

“Joker,” Shepard exclaimed, nearly jumping up out of the bed to greet him.

“The one and only,” he said proudly then held up a small plastic crate to show her, “And I brought you something.  Basically had to wrestle the Alliance brass for it when they declared you dead.”

“What—,” she asked as she squinted at the box, noticing movement in the corner, “Is that my hamster?”

He sat the container down carefully on the table next to the flowers Garrus had tossed aside,  “It’s not two bouquets of useless flowers or anything, but, well…you know.”

“We can’t all be as romantic as you,” Garrus said sarcastically as he stood up and stepped away from the bed, allowing the other man space to approach Shepard.

“Thank you, Joker,” Shepard said with a nod as she sat up in the bed, “And about EDI, I—“

He cut her off with the shake of his head, clearly not ready to discuss it. “Not your fault, Commander.”

Shepard just nodded, sorry, but not wanting to force the issue.  Joker puffed his chest out and saluted her, just as more commotion rang out from the door.  She darted her eyes across the room again to see the flood of other people pouring in from the hallway.

Ash was the first to rush to the bedside, throwing appropriate Alliance protocol out the window as she threw her arms unceremoniously around Shepard.  The embrace was firm, but not so forceful that it caused her aching body any extra pain, and when Ash pulled away, Shepard could see the tears glistening in her eyes. She stiffened up and saluted just as Joker had done, and said “Ma’am.”

Much to Shepard’s surprise, Ash then approached Garrus and embraced him briefly as well, pulling away and then giving him a pat on the arm.

The others followed suit after that, offering words of gratitude that she had saved the galaxy, and relief that she’d managed to pull through.  Tali and Liara had followed Ash’s example and hugged her.  The others didn’t but greeted her with enthusiasm all the same.  Vega mentioned how “epic” it was when the fleet realized she’d made it to the Citadel and got the arms opened while Traynor and Cortez nodded along.  Javik, in his typical fashion stood quietly in the corner but nodded at her with a look of admiration she had yet to see from the Prothean.  Dr. Chakwas and the crew from engineering squeezed themselves in the now cramped space as well. Chakwas approached the bed and gave Shepard’s hand a firm squeeze.

Humbling was not a strong enough word to describe the experience of seeing everyone who’d been on the Normandy with her in that final journey to Earth gathered around celebrating her survival.  They had all meant so much to her, and only now did she realize that she’d meant the same to them.

She’d grown accustomed to being a sole survivor, watching her own back and carrying on alone with each of her mistakes strapped to her shoulders.  She was used to blaming herself with the voices of those she lost, of nightmares and flashbacks and consoling herself back to sleep in the middle of the night.  She had trained herself to be numb because she could not bear feeling guilty.

Now, she didn’t have to.  For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had people who cared about her, people who she trusted, and they had survived. For the first time, she wasn’t alone with her grief and she didn’t have to be numb.  She had friends who would hold her together while she sorted herself out, just as she had done for each and every one of them.

“You okay,” Garrus asked as he approached the bedside again, letting a hand tousle her hair gently before falling to her shoulder.

“Yeah.” She nodded and glanced around the room slowly, taking it all in. “I really actually am.”

[quietrainfan]

Hey! Anyone want some heavy platonic Loceit angsty headcanons I've extracted from the new episode? Well, too bad because it's happening regardless. :)

Yes, also some Unsympathetic Patton. You know what blog you're on. (This interpretation/headcanon shall not die. Not here.)

(Also, this is going to combine my observations and thoughts as well, so sorry in advance if this post turns out as a bit of a mess.)

Alright, so! Orange Side confirmation. How we feelin', Sanders Sides fandom, how we feelin'?

Honestly, the Orange Side theory wasn't something I was really all that into. It was a 'meh, could be cool' headcanon for me personally. But I have to say the way the reveal was handled made me jump in my seat with pure joy. No joke, I audibly gasped when Logan's eyes flashed orange.

It was all downhill from there, I was excited. Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm a sucker for character's eyes glowing when they've reached their limit or are displaying a power they've never shown before, combine that with an unexpected reveal and I'm sold.

Plus, glowing eyes have been a common theme with Unsympathetic content and Dark Side headcanons so you could imagine how the first peak into the Orange Side's existence (or, rather confirmation. we all saw the 'hello' hint, Orange, you cheeky little munchkin.) was his color in Logan's eyes made me feel. It was so cool!!! Ah!

Then Thomas had to tease us again at the end card with our boy Orange's eyes popping up in the darkness, waiting for his chance to be too loud to ignore. Like, the audacity. Who do you think you are, Thomas?! (That was a joke. Sorry, I'm just really pumped.)

Also, Remus got quite a few laughs out of me. Ah, I missed him.

Okay, headcanon time! We're going to do Logan first, then Janus, then combine the two. Sound good? Alright, here we go (Trigger Warning for discussions of alcoholism, please if anything I write here sounds insensitive or inaccurate, let me know and I will edit. Also, no need to read if you don't want to. Stay safe.) :

Logan

Logan knew where to grab for that alcohol bottle.

I mean, I guess that makes sense since he lives there and is naturally the most observant Side. But...that bottle's placement was a little too convenient.

Sure it was played up as a joke and it was funny.

But something about the way Logan threw his coffee into the sink and quickly replaced it with the wine stuck out to me.

I've joked about Logan and/or Janus having to "drink to cope" due to sharing the single brain cell Thomas has amongst all the chaos. But seeing that in an actual episode, even as a gag, is kind of...different.

Let me explain.

This may be a common thing for Logan that he struggles with.

He wakes up early to be the first one to help Thomas start the day, naturally. Logan goes to make his cup of coffee and there's always the lingering urge to take a sip of wine before anyone can see because he just...can't face everyone without needing just a little bit of it to cloud out all the gross, petty, negative feelings he experiences every day around them.

He's logic. He can't be drinking and risk any more harm to Thomas's function.

So, it's a constant battle with coffee vs wine, coffee vs wine, coffee vs wine-

Most of the time Logan is able to resist and go with the coffee.

It doesn't make him feel good in the slightest. If anything it makes him feel even worse knowing he'll be more alert that day.

Logan hates that was even a thought at all. He needs to be alert. Otherwise everything will fall apart. He is the rock in the system and without him everything will crumble.

Such a selfish mindset. He needed to focus.

Other days Logan just doesn't have it in him to discard the wine regardless of how much he wants to.

He knows what the day holds for him. It was all so repetitive at this point. Logan knew when he wasn't able to get through it despite it all.

That didn't stop him from shaming himself for caving. He should be able to handle this. He's made so much progress with resisting it up to this point but today he through it away again because he just had to, right?

Sometimes Logan finds himself "cheating" by hiding a couple drops of wine into his coffee on days when he chose the coffee but later felt particularly bad about...a lot of things, into his second cup.

Logan more often times chooses neither. The temptation for clouding out the others was just too strong and was a waste of time.

Logan is beyond tired of the others.

Every single action they have agitates him now. No matter how minor it is.

Roman's loud voice and constant references makes Logan's toes unconsciously curl beneath his shoes. Even a silent warm smile and wave from the prince fills Logan with an unpleasant tingle in his knuckles.

Virgil's neverending foreboding and unnecessary nasty remarks that he doesn't even bother to filter provokes Logan's new habit of biting his tongue. Any kindness he ever gives him makes his stomach twist.

Patton's nicknames, poking for for a laugh, his "sweet" way of shoving away any objection he may have, how casually he behaves as if he isn't part of any problems- how quickly he's prepared to "bounce back". Logan feels like every word, action from him something steps on a guitar cord in the back of his mind that makes the ugliest, loud, screeching sound. He feels this strange warm fuzzy ache he can't define. All he hears is that cord playing faster and faster the longer he stays in their presence. Logan no longer trusts himself alone with Patton.

Logan thinks if he just separates from the others long enough, the ugly strumming noise will go away.

But he's so wrong.

Logan can hear it even when he's all alone. When it's finally silent, he still can't get rid of it.

It's loudest when Logan is alone in his room. Logan has lost count of how many nights he's spent clenching his head, quietly sobbing, and praying for it to just go away already.

Logan often feels like he's losing it.

On nights where the sounds are particularly louder than usual, he swears he can see orange shadows creeping around him, lights of the color flashing on and off, he sometimes even sees it seeping in and out of the cracks of his door like a thick fog. At times he'll even wake to it glowing absurdly bright through his window.

It's just the sunrise. Logan tells himself. He has to believe that. Everything else looked normal, after all.

What's worse is Logan doesn't know how long he's been hearing this sound or seeing the strange lights.

Patton knows about Logan's late night and early morning struggles.

But surprise, surprise, he pretends as if he's nonthewiser.

If either Virgil or Roman asks about Logan, Patton will answer: "Oh, that silly billy's probably got his head in one of his astronomy books again! I wouldn't bother him right now."

Knowing full well he's having an emotional breakdown in his room that gets worse every day.

Knowing about the little sneaks of alcohol in his hot morning beverage. Might even speak about yummy drink combinations when they hang out in the living room, while Logan is present, specifically and even only on the days Patton knows he's cheating with his bad habit, while he's still drinking it.

The further Logan is to the edge, the better. Patton is still bitter about the events of Redux ending in his favor, after all. He needs leverage from somewhere.

When Thomas left to see Nico, Logan heard the cord again. His chest tightened and though he could feel the tears welling up, he kept them down.

Thomas hasn't been very happy lately. He had to let him have this.

No matter how loud those cords get.

Janus

I noticed that Janus was either unseen by the others or unacknowledged by them.

Janus was near all of them but far enough that he was separated.

He could've just popped up at the end without them noticing but...that's less angsty therefore less fun so-

Janus has been the instigator for bringing Sides that have been hidden away to be brought to light for a long time. If the assumption that Janus let Remus out is true.

He's always been hinting at upcoming events that are sure to come if Thomas continues to ignore certain aspects of himself.

He knows. He knows our Orange boy is getting worse and soon will be too loud to ignore. Janus wants to protect Thomas but that's becoming harder every day. Thomas is making it harder.

Janus will reveal the Orange Side eventually. And very soon. Hell, that's looking like less and less of a choice considering Logan's...outburst.

I think Janus has this painful awareness that he can be seriously hated for doing his job. After all, he's always the one who's forced them to acknowledge uncomfortable truths about Thomas.

He's the one giving them all of those hard pills to swallow and especially after Remus, it is definitely overwhelming and exhausting to be met with.

They question their roles more and more because of how used they are to the fixed mindset Thomas has had for such a long time.

That can't feel good.

Janus knows that his job may cause more hatred to fester the more that's revealed.

Janus is being kept at arms length and he knows that won't stop any time soon.

But he's a clever snake. That won't keep him from keeping an eye on Patton.

(Find it real suspicious that Patton was all mushy with Janus in that end card but still is at a big distance from him.)

Loceit

Janus will sometimes find Logan in the common room with his head in his arms, sprawled out against the coffee table. His glasses being discarded from half his face, unmistakable tears lazily dripping out of his lifeless eyes.

Janus would wordlessly go to the sink and grab a glass, filling it with water.

Janus goes over to Logan, giving him a gentle rub on the back. He urges him to sit up. It takes Logan a few minutes but eventually does.

Janus hands Logan the water, supporting the back of his neck as struggles to get it down, reminding him to take his time.

Janus takes his glasses and gently sets them on the table. He hands Logan some tissues.

Logan lifelessly takes them and tries to clean his face. But he always ends up crying into them.

Janus moves Logan unkempt bangs from his face before moving his head to his shoulder. Janus manifests a warm blanket over Logan and uses a bit of his abilities to soothe the shorter man's pain, tenderly putting pressure on his neck.

Janus and Logan have a talk. Logan always asks why he bothers to stop and comfort him.

"You've helped me through a lot, Logan. Not returning the favor is out of the question."

That was always his answer.

Janus and Logan do this often.

Janus opens up about sometimes needing a bit of a drink himself from time to time. Though mostly that consists of tea more often than not, he sometimes has a glass of wine or two to relax on days when it's particularly hard.

He feels ashamed of it. Janus has to be the strongest out of everyone, especially the Dark Sides. Allowing things to faze him was the worst case scenario. At least, to that degree.

But Janus understands that isn't his fault and urges Logan not to blame himself, either. While he hated that weakness he occasionally submitted to, he wasn't going to let the rare slip up to define the worth of his role.

Logan thinks that Janus really is the strongest out of all of them just for saying things like that and he's being too hard on himself.

On nights when things become too much Janus will sit with Logan and share a drink. They try to have as many conversations without wine as possible but sometimes Janus says "screw it" and sits with Logan with one or two drinks.

Just having Janus there helps Logan choose his coffee in the mornings and feel as if he's being heard even a little bit.

Now if only those cords could actually quiet down, that'd be even better.

[lalahbug]

Guidance - Zuko x Reader Chapter 6

Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender Word Count: 3,232 My Masterlist

Warnings/disclaim: General 18+ Angst

Author’s Note: under story ___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting.

Story under cut, 6 of 8, Guidance Masterlist

        A few weeks had passed, ___ was healed and quickly became the new mother figure of the group. Teaching about survival, chi blocking, and helping with most of the chores. Of course, she also played with the group and lectured them like a mother as well.

        ___ and Aang were meditating together, during a sunrise, which Aang wasn’t too happy about after being up most of the night traveling. Aang peaked at her as she exhaled deeply, relaxing further, still keeping her posture. 

        “Staring at me isn’t going to help your mediating, Avatar.”

        “You didn’t even open your eyes; how did you know?” He pouted but started meditating again.

        “Your breathing went normal instead of trained.”

        “How do you do that?”

        “Do what?”

        “Hear so well, know when I’m doing something I’m not supposed to do.”

        “I’ve had heightened senses for a long time. But as for knowing when you’re doing something, we’ll chalk it up to Mother Instinct.” She chuckled softly. “You’re really not in the mood to meditate, are you?”

        “No!” Aang groaned before falling backward.

        “Okay, practice your breathing with me for a bit then I’ll let you go.”

        “Okay!” Aang agreed with a smile while sitting up. 

        Aang and Katara were practicing some waterbending, while ___ watched their movements.

        “Why don’t you come join us? Aang could use the opportunity to fend off two waterbending foes.” Katara smiled and splashed some water at Aang.

        “Thank you, but I don’t know many waterbending moves, I’d be an easy target. I can only whip water and create waves.”

        “That’s right, being from the North Pole, they never taught you. But didn’t you learn on your own?”

        “I only got the water whip and the wave, that’s all I learned on my own.”

        “Why didn’t you say anything? We could have taught you.” Aang urged.

        “I’ve never been a good waterbender, there’s no point in teaching me. I’m an average healer and I can do pretty movements with a full moon, but that’s it. My strength is chi blocking and fast reflexes.”

        “Well, I think you could be a good waterbender. Why don’t you practice with us? You can learn some new moves and there is no pressure if you can’t do it well. Because like you said, your strength is chi blocking.” Katara urged, ___ shrugged before disrobing a bit, and getting into the water with the two masters.

        One day before the invasion, The Day of Black Sun, and Aang wasn’t able to sleep. ___ was up with him, just after sunset.

        “You can’t stay awake before the invasion. You need to be rested. But I think if you’re alone, it’ll be worse. So, would you like to go over the chakras to help you with the Avatar State?”

        “I think I know them; I just can’t do the last one.”

        “Ah, you mean the Thought Chakra? Is it because of Katara?”

        Aang blushed a bit before sighing. “Yes, but also, I don’t know how to let go of Earthly attachments when I have to protect them.”

        “The Avatar is bound to this earth to protect it. You must learn to balance these or they will be your downfall. You let Katara go completely at Ba Sing Se, you were then attached to cosmic, too attached to cosmic energy. As the Avatar, you must find balance with your cosmic energy and your Earthly attachments. You can open the Thought Chakra, by learning to balance your attachments. Earthly, Avatar, cosmic, love, spirit, and even your nomad teachings.”

        “What about my nomad teachings?”

        “There will be a day where you might have to sacrifice your beliefs for the greater good, to keep balance in the world. But because of your teachings, I know you’ll find a way to balance the good with your morals.”

        “You’re talking about the Fire Lord, aren’t you?” Aang curled up and placed his weary head on his knees.

        ___ smiled at him gently, examining the bags under his eyes. “You can face him, you can beat him, we all believe in you, especially as he is powerless during the eclipse. But, what if, you can’t get to him in time. Don’t get me wrong, Sokka’s plan is amazing. Things don’t always go as planned. If you can’t get to him in time, you will have to fight him someday. How will you restrain him? Or will you have to take his life? I worry about the outcome of this plan a lot. From my talks with Roku to how devious the Fire Nation is. I just hope you know, if this fails. It’s not your fault. There will be some other factor that makes it so you can’t get to him in time. I have no doubt about you facing him, just our timing.”

        “It’s terrifying to even think of facing Ozai, but hearing the faith you have in me helps. Hearing that you don’t expect me to defeat him tomorrow, really helps. But your question haunts me. How will I restrain him?”

        She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I believe in you Aang, the world does. But in the end, you are just one kid, and you will need to listen to words of wisdom from your past lives. From ancient sources, and learn to bend life and energy itself if you are to defeat Ozai without taking his life.”

        “Bend life and energy? How do I do that?”

        “I’m not sure, I only read about it in the spirit library. You will have to hope that an ancient source shows you.”

        “Well, with you and the Spirit World to access, I think I’ll be able to find it if needed.”

        She smiled at him before meditating with him. She knew of the group's plan to make a bed for Aang so he could finally sleep, she was just keeping him company in the meantime.

        “___?” She hummed softly in reply, still meditating. “What if we see Zuko during the invasion? What will you do?” She opened her eyes, a sorrowful smile formed as their eyes met.

        “Depending on where he is in his journey, I’ll either have to disable him or listen to him.”

        “What do you mean?”

        “My first night in the Spirit World with Roku. He let me know of my future, to help me mentally prepare for it. He told me a beautiful tale of me falling in love, with his great-grandson. But he warned me, his great-grandson has the ability to be good or bad. As Roku and Sozin are both his great grandfathers.”

        Aang gasped, “Zuko’s mom is the granddaughter of Roku?”

        “Yes, that’s why he is at war within himself. Between his two natures. He also didn’t have the healthiest of families to help him cope with it either. His uncle, although wonderful, found his path in life a bit late. I hope Zuko will find that path one day too, but I can no longer be the one to guide him, he must find it himself. But only time will tell if he will find it soon or if he will live a long life trying to find it.”

        “Do you still love him?”

        Her eyes fell to her stomach and the bump there. “I do, but when he took another woman because I was unconscious for weeks, I feel as though maybe my love might have been blinded by the fairy tale Ruko told me. For he never mentioned a child. He only mentioned I would have to choose to forgive Zuko or not, and that it would be very difficult for me. I love him, but I'm not sure if I can forgive him just yet."

        "It must be hard, not knowing if he loves you or not, yet still having this child."

        "It hurts not knowing, but it's not too hard. I'm not worried for some reason, not when it comes to this baby."

        Aang had a flash of the small baby named Hope that Katara had helped deliver a few months back. "Babies are a beautiful thing, especially when you have someone to share it with."

        "Katara asked me to stay until the baby is born at the very minimum, so in a way I will, you guys are the closest thing I have to family right now. So, I'll share that experience with you."

        "So, I get to be an uncle?" He smiled.

        "You'll be the best uncle!" They giggled softly and she smiled at him fondly as the group approached them, ready to help Aang finally sleep. 

        After the invasion, Aang wanted nothing to do with the planning for the next steps, next attack. ___ shut herself away from the group and the others with them now. She should have been left behind with the other adults, but they wouldn’t hear her protest, since she was pregnant. 

        Walking along one of the many corridors of the Western Air Temple, she hummed softly to herself, enjoying her solitude, wanting to fix her mental state before joining everyone. No one needed a pouty pregnant woman around, all because they didn’t listen to her. They had her and the baby’s health in mind, they weren’t trying to make her feel more useless or weak. So; she needed to be alone to fix the brewing thoughts before they burnt anyone needlessly.

        She walked until she felt lost and sighed and started to head back to the group, for dinner. But when she arrived everyone was sulking and arguing about something.

        “What’s wrong?” ___ asked while getting some food after Sokka said something about not adding animal cruelty to the list.

        “I’ll tell you-” Katara started, ready to vent to someone else.

        “Wait,” Toph cut off Katara. "___ how would you feel, if Zuko came here asking for forgiveness and to teach Aang firebending?”

        She understood what had happened just from Toph’s question, her heart sped up, the broken pieces throbbing, she took a breath to reply. “Aang needs a firebending teacher, and Zuko, well he’s a good firebender. I don’t know how I feel about him asking for forgiveness, but if you thought he was sincere, Toph, I would let him stay. Because if you think he was sincere the whole time, it hopefully means he’s finally found the correct path.” She looked to Aang with a sad smile, reminding him of their conversation when he was so sleep-deprived.

        “How?” Katara asked softly. “How can you just allow him here? Forgive him and trust him? Especially after what he’s done to you?”

        “I don’t forgive him; I don’t trust him. But the options of firebending teachers are pretty limited to Aang. Only time can tell if he can earn trust and forgiveness from any of us. We have to look past ourselves. The world needs the Avatar, the world needs Aang to learn firebending. If we still can’t trust him after he’s with us and he’s taught Aang, then you can give him the boot and send him packing.”

        “I hate when mother is right,” Sokka grumbled.

        “I am not your mother,” ___ snapped. “I’m a friend. I’m tired of being treated like some soft pregnant woman with motherly love. I’m a fighter. My pregnancy doesn’t change that. I will only let motherly change take me when the world is no longer at war. I can’t soften and hold everyone’s hand through this. You’re all kids to me, but the world can’t have the Avatar, a master of waterbending, master of earthbending, and a sword master, be kids. You have to keep the goal in your mind.”

        “You’re still mad at us for making you come with us? Instead of letting you stay with the other adults, aren’t you?” Aang asked softly.

        “Yes.” She exhaled sharply before taking a deep breath. “But I know you did it because you care about me,” she rested a hand on her stomach. “About the baby. But you wanted me here, so I’m here. And I think you should listen to what Zuko has to say without emotion.”

        “All I know is that while he was talking to us, he was sincere. Maybe you’re all just letting your hurt feelings keep you from thinking clearly.” Toph said in agreement with ___.

        “Easy for you to say, you weren’t there when he had us attacked by pirates.” Katara spat.

        “Or when he burned down Kyoshi Island,” Sokka added.

        “Or when he tried to capture me at the fire temple.” Aang finished.

        “Why would you two even try to defend him?” Katara said so frustratedly she was shaking.

        “Because, Katara, you’re all ignoring one crucial fact. One ___ has already told you!” Toph stomped up to Aang and poked him in the chest. “Aang needs a firebending teacher! We can’t think of a single person in the world to do the job. Now one shows up on a silver platter and you won’t even think about it?” She shook the ground with a couple more stomps.

        “I’m not having Zuko as my teacher!” Aang walked away from ___ and Toph.

        “Aang-” ___ started before Sokka cut her off.

        “You’re darn right, you’re not buddy.” Sokka stood tall, finalizing his backup with Aang.

        “Well, I guess that’s settled,” Katara said smugly. ___ sighed before looking at Toph.

        “I’m beginning to wonder who’s really the blind one around here.” Toph stormed off, ___ followed behind her.

        Toph and ___ were walking through the forest, to find Zuko.

        “You didn’t have to come with me,” Toph sighed.

        “I know, but I would like to talk to Zuko too. I think I know him well enough to tell when he’s lying, whether you can detect it or not.”

        Toph giggled pointing to ___’s stomach, “I would hope you knew him well enough.”

        “Oh shush,” she pushed Toph playfully, but it was clear she was a bit exasperated by the comment.

        “Do you think Zuko would try to trick us all; like he did to you and Katara?”

        “Zuko didn’t trick me. I don’t think he meant to trick Katara either. I think he loved me in his own way. He was good in Ba Sing Se. But the allure of home was stronger than the good.”

        “But now that he’s here, you think the good called him back?”

        “I’m hoping that. I’m hoping he found his true destiny.”

        “I’m hoping you’re right,” Toph said with a sigh.

        While moving through the brush the women alerted Zuko.

        “Who’s there?” His voice was groggy, the sound of it stung ___’s heart. As they got closer, he yelled. “Stay back.”

        “It’s me!” Toph shouted back, but it was too late, Zuko had already lashed out fire in his fear, Toph even tried to make herself an earth shield. She fell as the flames licked the soles of her feet “Ow! You burned my feet!”

        Zuko was up and running towards her as she started to crawl away. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake!” He cried while chasing after Toph, but sudden strikes to his body made him collapse.

        “Get away, Zuko!” ___ shouted while scooping up Toph.

        “___?” He gasped, trying to sit up, she only chi blocked his right side. As she started to walk away, he called out to them. “No, please, come back! I’m sorry!” He tried to get up, but the weight of his right side would not shift and he fell back. He groaned along with his heart ache seeing ___ walk away and ignore his plea, his apology. “Why am I so bad at being good!” He cried to the sky, wishing to be able to rewind time.

        He’d go back so far if he could, but he pleaded now silently inside his head. “Please let me go back, even just 5 minutes.” He exhaled in defeat, wondering what the girls had wanted to say, but now he’d never know.

          Days passed and the threat of Combustion Man was gone, Hokada and Suki back. While sitting around the fire with everyone, Zuko served tea again, while he did so, he noticed ___ left the group. Excusing herself to go lie down. And the night where he burned Toph’s feet came to mind. She came with Toph, what did she want to say?

        After his failed joke and everyone had settled their laughter. “Does ___ leave the group often after dinner or is that because of me?” Zuko asked softly, silence rang afterward. Katara and Aang shared a soft look.

        “Before the invasion, I was restless, ___ was meditating with me. I asked how she would react if we were to run into you since, at the time, you were still an enemy, a threat.” Aang sipped his tea before continuing. “She simply said she'd either disable you or listen to you. She believed in you even then, she just wasn’t sure when you'd find your correct path in life.”

        “But when she thinks about you, hears your name, or even just briefly has a polite encounter with you. Her heart beats sickeningly. Like the broken pieces are trying to pull together.” Toph added since she was able to hear and feel ___’s heartbeat.

        “I want to explain myself, talk to her. But I want to do it alone.”

        “You should be thankful she even acknowledges you exist,” Katara spat, still angry.

        “I am, she’s always been forgiving. But I don’t know how forgiving she’ll be with me.”

        “___ still loves you,” Toph encouraged him.

        “But before we allowed you in the group, she did say only time would show if you deserved trust and forgiveness,” Sokka added, Suki elbowed him. “What? He should know the truth, the good and the bad.”

        “Thank you, that helps. Maybe she’s not ready to hear my apology, because she doesn’t forgive me or trust me yet.”

        “Make sense, you engaged her, impregnated her, broke your promise then left her for another woman because she was basically in a coma,” Katara stated with venom.

        “I never left her, but I was too cowardly to tell my father no to the arranged marriage. Scared to not be his perfect son again.”

        “Mai still seems to love you, since she helped with the prison break,” Sokka said.

        “Another heart I broke, by being a misleading person. She loves someone within me that I’m not. She doesn’t understand that I’m trying to save my country, my kingdom. The world fears and hates the Fire Nation. I need to try and heal that and help the Avatar bring balance back into the world.”

        “I think ___ just needs a little time, she was for having you here from the get-go with me,” Toph popped some more food in her mouth. “She’s just not ready to deal with you. Since she’s been having some health issues with the baby, every time we have stress, she gets sick.” Toph said sadly.

        “Well with the invasion being over, Combustion Man gone. Hopefully, things will calm down.” Katara said before standing up. “I should go check on her and the baby before we sleep.” She stood and left towards the way ___ had left earlier.

        Zuko sighed and sipped his tea. He would need to be patient a bit, wait for some alone time with his love, and keep an eye on her troubled health with the baby.

Author’s Note:

Hello, I know I’ve been gone for awhile, but I’m getting better mentally and personally. I can’t promise when the next chapter will come out, but I’m hoping by the end of May. 

I’d like to thank everyone that’s liked previous chapters and stayed with me on this. This is still my indulgence, anime fanfics, but after this series. I might go into show/movie fanfics (like Marvel and Supernatural), make a list of who I’d be willing to write for and open a for request for a bit. 

Also, for the one lovely who wanted to be added/tagged for new chapters, here you go; thank you for your love on this <3

@eridanuswave​

[agerefandom]

Restrained

Fandom: Death Note

Words: 4,150

Characters: Regressor!Light Yagami, Caregiver!L/Ryuzaki. Brief appearances from Soichiro Yagami, Shuichi Aizawa, and Watari.

Summary: Set during Light and Misa’s imprisonment (episode 16-17). Classification/Regressors Are Known AU: Light was classified as a regressor when he was fifteen, but has fought the identity ever since. L is classified as a caregiver, but has never used those skills further than calming people in interrogation situations. Things come to a head in the second month of Light’s imprisonment.

Warnings: Imprisonment, irresponsible use of restraints, mentions of death and murder, nightmares, panic attacks, involuntary regression, hidden regression being revealed non-consensually. Ominous ending. 

Author’s Notes: I usually take issue with Classification AUs, because regression is a coping mechanism and not a fixed part of someone’s identity. Regression can change, and regressors can also be caregivers, and the idea that it could be ‘classified’ as part of someone’s political identity is kind of distressing. All of that said, it’s also a very comforting trope: it’s nice to imagine that you were ‘meant to be’ a regressor, naturally given that role, and that there are natural caregivers who want/need to take care of you. So, there are pros and cons to this kind of universe, as long as you remember that it’s an AU for a reason! Anyways, that’s my soapboxing done. Please note the warnings before reading! 

Light was not a regressor.

It didn’t matter what the letter he received at age fifteen said. Didn’t matter that his age range was listed as ‘2-3’ and a permanent caregiver was recommended. Light Yagami was a neutral, collected, and precocious teenager. He was mature for his age, and always had been.

Admittedly, Light occasionally sucked his thumb to help him sleep. And he convinced his mother to buy him more expensive sheets because he liked to run his hands across the texture. And maybe he cast side-glances at the adult playgrounds all around the city, at the regressors who were happily running and playing on the swings.

But Light Yagami was not a regressor. He got top marks. He wore stiff, professional clothes. He didn’t cry, not even when he stubbed his toe. He turned his nose up at sweet drinks and packaged candy. In short, at seventeen, Light was a model young man.

Which was when the notebook fell outside his classroom window, and everything got a lot more complicated.

--

Could a regressor do this? Collectively bring the world to its knees, the news outlets humming with one story? Could a regressor kill hundreds, save the general population from the evil in its midst?

Light Yagami was Kira, and Kira was not an age regressor.

--

Light Yagami was not Kira.

Light was trapped in a cell, his arms shackled behind his back, and he was absolutely certain that he wasn’t Kira. What kind of idea was that, marching in and saying he thought he was subconsciously Kira? Absurd. He wouldn’t do that kind of thing.

He yelled at the ceiling, pleaded with Ryuzaki, and received cold answers in return.

How had Light sat here for a week, believing that Ryuzaki had been right to lock him away? It was absurd: he couldn’t have committed the murders without knowing at all, it just didn’t make sense.

“You told me to keep you in there, no matter what you said,” Ryuzaki repeated calmly, his voice crackling through the cheap speakers outside of Light’s cell. “I’m only doing what you told me.”

“Well, stop!” Light shouted, tugging uselessly against the leather cuffs that held his arms behind him. His shoulders ached from the position. “Listen to me now, I’m not Kira!”

“We don’t know that,” Ryuzaki said. “Until we can be sure, you will stay in that cell. I’m sorry, Light.”

Light felt tears well up in his eyes, and he jerked his head down to hide it. With his bangs hiding his expression, he tried to wrestle himself under control.

He felt scared and helpless and he just didn’t understand what he was doing here. Let me out! a voice was screaming inside him, younger and just as frightened as he was. Please, I can’t take it anymore!

What was he thinking? He was Light Yagami, part of the taskforce dedicated to catching Kira. He could withstand this. He would have to.

He didn’t bother to hide the tears as he raised his eyes again to the camera.

“Fine. I’ll stay. But you’ll see that I’m not Kira! I don’t know what’s happening, but I believe that my innocence will be proven one way or another.”

“That’s exactly what Kira would say,” Ryuzaki drawled into the microphone, and then there was a short sound of feedback as the conversation cut off.

Light rocked back to lean against the side of the bed, feeling exhausted but satisfied. He’d made his statement, and he had fought off the despair. He was Light Yagami, and he would deal with this imprisonment with all the dignity he could.

--

This was awful.

Light had never been so bored and anxious in his life. The days stretched on, with only Ryuzaki’s occasional check-ins to keep his mind busy. Out of lack for other things to do, Light started sleeping more than usual. His days were hazy, short bathroom trips out of the cell and the clatter of the food tray his only reference points for time. The lights shut off for seven hours every night, the cameras equipped with night vision to watch him toss and turn in his restraints.

There was nothing to do but ruminate, worry, wonder. Light tried to run through lectures in his head, even tried his hand at mentally writing a story. He wondered if he could convince Ryuzaki to play chess with him over the speaker system, but found himself worrying about whether that would make it seem like he wasn’t taking his imprisonment seriously.  

It had been a month, and Light was suffering.

The nights were hardest. In the dark, Light cried, trying to stay quiet. He couldn’t bite his thumb, he couldn’t feel his soft blankets, and sometimes he couldn’t sleep for the tug of the restrains at his wrists and shoulders. He wanted to kick his legs, flail around, scream at the top of his lungs until they let him out. But he was Light Yagami, and he had dignity. Even with cameras fixed on him twenty-four hours a day, even with his wrists and ankles contained, even under the constant scrutiny of Ryuzaki and the other members of the task force.

He almost made it to the end.

--

Things that Light didn’t know:

-it had been a month since Kira had begun killing again -his father was in a matching jail cell, several blocks away -the task force had been pressuring L for weeks to let Light and Misa go, convinced by the new wave of murders that the two were innocent -L had a plan, and was simply waiting to contact Light’s father to play his part

(Light would never know most of these things, because before they became relevant, everything fell apart.)

--

L sat in the same place he’d been sitting for weeks, watching the same scenes play out on the same flickering screens. Misa sagged against her restraints, Light laid curled up on the bed, and Soichiro sat in his chair, staring down at his hands.

Nothing had changed, but everything was different.

Light and Misa were Kira, or at least they had been. L had never been more certain. Now they both seemed utterly convinced of their innocence, and L wasn’t comfortable with the implications of that. Were they truly ignorant of their role? Had their ability to kill been passed onto someone else, or had the two of them been unwitting puppets to some new and yet-unseen player?

Misa took a struggling breath, and went limp again. Light shifted. Soichiro got up and began to pace. His cell would fit eight of his steps before he had to turn around and begin again in the other direction.  

L missed nothing. But the pieces weren’t coming together.

He tapped his fingers against his knees, a syncopated rhythm as his eyes flashed from one prisoner to the next. Watari had brought him a plate of fruit, not yet touched, with icing sugar sprinkled over them. They would make L’s fingers sticky, and he didn’t want to get juice on the controls. He would have to eat with one hand, and operate the microphones with his other. He was just about due his check-in with Misa-Misa.

Just as L began to reach for the berries, a movement on-screen caught his eye. He didn’t currently have the audio on for the cells, but from the visual, he would guess that Light just woke up screaming. L has had a few of those nightmares. They weren’t pleasant.

L switched the audio on, and listened to Light trying to calm himself down. He was talking out loud, a mutter only loud enough for the microphones inside his cell to pick up on. (Light always yelled to the camera when he was talking to L, as if he weren’t aware that the cell was bugged well enough to hear every last breath he took. They could take no risks with Kira, when they still didn’t know how he was committing the crimes.)

“I’m okay,” Light was muttering. “Don’t… don’t do this. I don’t need anything. I’m okay.” His breathing caught, paused, and then resumed. “I’m okay. Please, please- don’t.” His voice was trembling, and L leaned closer. He’d seen Light crying, of course, trying to hide it by turning away from the cameras. But this seemed… different. Light was on the edge of something, and if L was lucky, it might be some kind of confession, fuelled by a terrible dream that brought all of his crimes rushing back with the sudden weight of guilt that Kira never felt.

Yes, L had enough self-reflection to know that he was kidding himself. But it had been a long month and a half.

He remained crouching, one hand poised above the plate of strawberries and the other hand hovering above the microphone that would let him speak to Light. And he listened.

“I don’t wan’ do this,” Light whispered to himself, his words slurring together in a way that L had never heard from the other man. The distressed voice hooked its claws into his chest in a way that was both foreign and familiar. Was this… “I don’ wan’ do this,” Light repeated, and then burst into tears.

It wasn’t anything like the quiet, hidden tears of the night-time. Light was sobbing, pulling at his restraints, tossing on the bed. Unable to wipe them away, tears and snot made a mess of his face. L watched as the teenager struggled to his knees and pressed himself against the wall, as if he were trying to get some kind of comfort from the pressure. The tears wouldn’t stop, even as words started making their way through the sobs.

“Lemme out, I wan’ out, I can’t, I can’t. It’s too dark, I can’t. Please, I’m too… I can’t feel my hands!” Light wailed, collapsing in on himself, his shoulders straining against the cuffs.

L was dimly aware that his hands had dropped to his sides. He knew he was staring. He knew that Aizawa had come running to stand behind him, alerted by the cries coming through the speakers. His ears were ringing, and he could feel Light’s sobs in his own chest.

The truth was unavoidable: Light Yagami was a regressor, and L had not known.

How was that possible?

Light was registered as age-natural on his official documents. L had watched him for weeks, and he had shown no signs of regression, not at home when he was unaware of being observed, and not here in the prison cell. Until now.

This was a harsh involuntary regression, from the looks of it, and the part of L that had made them stamp ‘caregiver’ on his own documents was aching.

“Oh my god. Is Light a regressor?” Aizawa said behind him. “That looks like regression, right?”

“It isn’t on his file,” L said, pleased that his voice sounded even. He hadn’t been around a regressor in distress for a few years, and he’d forgotten how much it made his chest hurt. Knowing that he’d been the one to put Light in that situation made it worse. Rationally, he knew that Light being a regressor meant nothing to the investigation. In fact, it made L even more certain that he was Kira. To conceal his headspace that thoroughly, even under investigation, made it clear that Light was no ordinary teenager. That must have taken an immense amount of willpower and planning.

“You have to let him out,” Aizawa said. “You can’t hold a regressor in a place like that, and his innocence has already been proven.” Light was still sobbing, his harsh breaths providing an undercurrent to their conversation. “Ryuzaki, you can’t possibly let that continue.”

“I… think he knew this might happen,” L realized. “This is what he meant when he asked me not to let him out, whatever happened. He knew that he would regress under the pressure.”

“All the more reason to release him! He still doesn’t know that Kira is killing again, it’s not fair. You’ve put him under way too much stress. Let me talk to him.” Aizawa reached for the microphone, and L struck his hand away.

“No. The last thing he needs is more sensory input from the speaker system.” Aizawa recoiled from the physical interception, eyes wide. “And you could jeopardize the investigation,” L added, slightly belated.

“You can’t do this. I’ll call the rest of the team,” Aizawa threatened, reaching into his pocket.

“There’s no need for that,” L sighed. He knew that the rest of the team would agree with Aizawa. The legal system was more lenient for regressors, and keeping them in solitary confinement was widely considered cruel. “I’ll go myself.”

Just because Light couldn’t be held in the cell anymore didn’t mean that L was prepared to let him go without twenty-four-hour supervision. Luckily, he had a set of unusually long handcuffs that he’d already been prepared to use after Light’s release. He could just speed that process along… and tell Watari to order some more regressor-friendly accessories for their room, of course. Maybe pad the cuff that Light would wear, so he didn’t accidentally hurt himself.

L shook his head, pushing his chair back from the table with a sigh. His caregiver mind was getting in the way again. Light was Kira, regressor or no. He wasn’t keeping Light close so that he could take care of him, but so that he was unable to hurt anyone else.

“We’ll discuss Misa’s release when I return,” L added over his shoulder as he headed for the door, reaching into his pocket to call Watari with the car. Light’s prison was a short drive from the base, and the sooner L got there, the better.

--

Sure enough, the drive was agony.

L stared out the window, the seatbelt Watari had forced him to wear digging into his chest and disrupting his thoughts. He was trying to make plans, trying to think back to all of his interactions with Light and wonder if he should have known. Was that why Light had always sharply refused any kind of sweet drink, even something as simple as fruit juice? Was he afraid that he might slip into regression? Was that why he had been crying at night, quietly regressing just enough for his childish fears to come to the surface? How confused was he, how disoriented in the cell? He seemed to know he was trapped, but did he remember what he was accused of?

L barely noticed when the car came to a stop, but when Watari opened his door for him, it took genuine effort not to go running into the building. Instead, L moved even slower than he usually would. Each gesture would be planned. Each word intentional. Just because Light was a regressor, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. L had to be on his guard, even more because of his natural caregiver instincts.

He made his way down the cold concrete stairwell, Watari a few paces behind him. Hands tucked in his pockets, breathing slow and natural. No worries about what he might have missed in the two minutes he’d been away from the screens. Had Light hurt himself? Was he safe? Was he still crying? L should have brought water, he’s sure to be dehydrated-

They stepped onto the cell block, and L had a brief conversation with one of the guards to obtain the keys. He’d already texted ahead, and they knew to expect him.

Watari stayed behind, just within earshot as L padded down the line of empty cells to the one that held Light.

It was strange to see the cell in person. For the first time, L could see the camera that Light had shouted at so often. He could see the details of the walls more clearly here, the chipped tile of the bathroom corner and the scratches in the concrete that didn’t come through on the long-distance video feed.

And there was Light, curled into a ball on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms still tied behind him, much in the same position that he had been napping in before his nightmare.

L had approached soundlessly, and Light’s eyes were closed. He didn’t open them until L put the key into the lock and turned it.

“N—no, I don’t-” Light stuttered, and then looked up. “Ryuzaki? Ryuzaki!” He tried to get up, but the cuffs on his ankles made him stumble and fall. L heard his knees hit the concrete with a harsh crack, and Light teared up again. “No, no, don’t come in. M’sorry, don’t come in.”

“I’ll let you out of the cuffs,” L told him, his hand on the door but waiting to open it.

“No, I don’t want it,” Light managed. “Just… go.”

“Light, how old are you?” L pressed.

Light made a sound that resembled a squeak, and very slowly raised his eyes to L’s.

“How old are you right now?” L asked again. He watched Light’s expression twist from surprise to embarrassment to conflict, then Light started crying again.

“I don’t wanna be,” Light sobbed. “I don’ wan’ it.”

And there went L’s chest again, twisting and aching with the sound of a regressor in distress. He regulated his voice, unwilling to let it sound too caring. It came out flat instead.

“There’s no shame in regressing, Light. Two percent of the population isn’t an insignificant number. You’ll be more comfortable with your arms free.” Light shook his head, tears flying with the gesture.

“No! Don’t come in!”

“How old are you, Light? You’re young, I can tell that much. Probably in the toddler range, if I had to guess.” From Light’s glare through the tears, L had hit the nail on the head. “I thought so. Stop fighting me. I was going to let you out soon anyways.” Well, L hadn’t been meant to say that. But he could probably use that to his advantage.

“But… but you think I’m Kira,” Light mumbled. Interesting: he did have his full memories, then. Very little disorientation for such a young age range.

“I do,” L admitted. “But the taskforce doesn’t. They want you back on the team.”

“Me?” Light blinked up at him, and his eyes were even wider than usual, framed with perfect dark lashes, and L was in agony being separated by bars. This regressor was going to be the death of him. “But… I thought the bad things stopped ‘cause I was here.”

L was fascinated by the limits of Light’s mental reasoning while he was regressed. He would have to do some experimentation at a later time, but for now…

“I lied. Kira has been active for almost a month. I wasn’t convinced it meant you were innocent, but it makes a good case.” L watched that news hit home, but in a very different way than it would have hit an adult Light.

“You lied? Why? I thought… I thought I was bad, maybe, but you were lying!” Light tried to wipe his tears on his shoulder, only partially succeeding. “I don’ wanna know why. Probably a good reason, ‘cause you’re L and you do all the good things.”

Hmm. It seemed that Light’s certainty that he wasn’t Kira didn’t extend to his regressed self. Perhaps he was speaking more candidly in this headspace.

“I’m not fond of unnecessary cruelty,” L sighed, hooking one hand through the bars. “If I had known, Light-”

“You never woulda had me on the task force,” Light said, quite viciously. “Never ever.”

“That’s not true.” L traced one thumb against his lips. “I’ve known regressors who are exceedingly intelligent. Everything would have proceeded the same.”

“Even though I’m three?” Light asked, and L fought the urge to smile. Information, at last. Three. He stored that away.

“Even though you’re three,” L confirmed. “Your input is valuable to me. In fact, I would like to invite you back to the taskforce after you’ve recovered from this imprisonment.”

“Yes!” Light shuffled forwards on his knees, wincing at the movement. He probably bruised them earlier when he fell. “Yes, please! I wanna help catch Kira! And all the bad guys!” His eyes were shining with excitement and the tears from earlier. Looking down at him, L’s mind caught in a loop.

Light Yagami was Kira, but this… this was not Kira. What that meant about Light, or Kira, or the nature of Light’s regression, L couldn’t say, but he was certain of one thing.

“Can I come in now?” L asked.

Light visibly hesitated, then sank back onto his heels and nodded.

“Thank you.” L left the keys in the lock as he swung open the door and entered, making his way to Light briskly. It was easy enough to get the cuffs off his wrists, and Light whined when his hands were free, struggling to move his shoulders back into a natural position. “Give it time,” L advised, pressing at his spine with experienced fingers. Massages were one of his lesser-used skills, but easy to pick up with his wide knowledge of the human body. “They’ll hurt less in a few minutes.”

He wasn’t expecting Light to shift forward and wrap his arms around him, but that was exactly what happened.

L froze, his hands raised in the air as if in surrender. He’d comforted regressors before, at crime scenes and over interrogation tables. A few of the children at the orphanage were regressors, and he interacted with them when he visited. But none of them had dove into a hug like this. L was a detective, a mentor, a little too strange and intense to be approachable. Now there were arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, and L didn’t know what to do.

Falteringly, L returned the embrace, the tips of his fingers resting lightly on his own forearms. Light had lost weight over the last month, and his body felt almost frail against L.

“Had a nightmare,” Light whispered.

L wondered if Aizawa was listening, back at the base. He wondered if Watari had wandered closer, after hearing the cell door open. He wondered what kind of things Kira dreamed about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” L asked, and didn’t lean back from the embrace.

“It was bad,” Light said. “I was running, and there were hands, and a fence, an’ there were… bodies. On the fence. And they were… they were…” L could feel Light shaking, and he held the regressor just a little bit closer.

“Just a dream,” L said. He wondered how much blood was on Light’s hands, how much of it he remembered. “You’re safe now. It was just a dream.” L held Light in his arms, the ache in his chest finally fading as he looked down at him. There, the regressor was safe, and L could finally relax. Light’s breathing slowly evening out, his grasp on L’s shirt finally loosening. “You’re safe.”

Light blinked up at L sleepily, and then his eyes slid closed. A natural reaction to stress, and having a caregiver close by. Even if L hadn’t disclosed his classification, his actions combined with Light’s instincts had likely made it clear. L cradled Light in his arms, like a puzzle piece fitting into place, and watched him fall asleep. He would have no more nightmares with a caregiver so close by, and even if he did, L would be there to calm him down.

L knew that this was trouble. Light was Kira, and Kira was death. L’s instincts as a caregiver could only blind him further as he continued in the investigation. If he were being rational, he would attach Light to someone else for the rest of his surveillance period. Prevent the caregiver/regressor bond that had been formed between them from strengthening into something difficult to break.

But L didn’t like being rational. He followed his instincts, and they were always right.

Right now, his instincts told him two things.

I will not let go of Light Yagami.

This will be the death of me.