#i miss being able to self destruct this freely

[basementg]

remember how we used to party up all night? sneakin out looking for a taste of real life drinkin in the small town fire light (pabst blue ribbon on ice) sweet sixteen and we had arrived walkin down the streets as they whistled hi hi stealin police cars with the senior guys teachers said we'd never make it out alive there she was my new best friend high heels in her hand swaying in the wind while she starts to cry mascara running down her little bambi eyes lana how i hate those guys/and thats where the beginning of the end begun everybody knew that we had too much fun we were skipping school and drinkin on the job (with the boss) sweet sixteen and we had arrived babys table dancin on the local dive cheerin our names in the pink spotlight drinkin cherry schnapps in the velvet night yo we used to go break in to the hotel glimmerin we'd swim running from the cops in our black bikini tops screaming get us while we're hot get us while we're hot (come on take a shot)

[dotts-inkings]

Stitches don't heal AU overview - minus final arc ideas @maskedbutsilly :3

Before

So it starts like a decade post-apocalypse. Lorelai is the head of a settlement of people (definitely not lmanburg mhm mhm) and doing pretty well at it actually. People are happy. Connor at this time is travelling with Schlatt I mean Jay, and they two are in the business of inflitrating and taking down settlements n ramshackle cities for hire and for fun. They go in build trust then tear the settlement down for profit.

So Connor and Jay find themselves outside Lor's place, as Jay has history with Lor and wants him dead. This spawns a split in the settlement's loyalties, as the J + C team are very charismatic n lay down lies about Lor's ability to lead, about his past that very few know, basically just fucking Lor over at every turn from the outside (as Lor banned them from being able to come in). 

Lor around this time gets bit by a zombie and, already being accused of being an all-around poor individual, gets really paranoid that his people will turn on him. He hides the bite and gets deathly ill over the course of a few weeks, all the while battling J+C, inside dissent, and his own self-worth issues (as he can't help but listen when everyone around him is questioning his worth). Towards the end, when he thinks he's about to turn, he runs into the wilderness taking only a token to remember his son by and a cloak to die in.

Connor and Jay find their way in when Lor runs, and that night, torch the whole place. 

Survival

Lor survives the bite. In the weeks after he runs, he feels the worst hes ever felt-- sick to the point where he can't walk, colder than anything even in june, and starved. He doesn't know why he didn't turn completely, but he blames it on his dad, that good-for-nothing jerk. 

But Lor doesn't come out the other end unchanged. He's nearly dead- blood flow reduced to a bare minimum, eye corneas blackened (hides with tinted glasses), temperature regulation all wack (clothing clothing clothing for days), wounds dont heal (stitches don't heal they only bind meat together), and of course his body also rejects all food except human flesh. 

He wanders for a long, long while before he meets anyone that won't kill him within the first day of knowing him.

Lor and Connor (unknowing of their history together) meet face to face for the first time in a run-down barn on the edge of some surprisingly well-maintained farmland. Connor and Jay's whole deal had gone south very quickly when Connor started getting ambitions of his own, wanting more than to be some asshole's crony and trophy husband. Connor escaped Jay and hopped from city to city, trying to make his way, until he made some of the wrong enemies and was nearly killed. He avoided people for the most part after that, only coming into contact to get goods to stay alive.

They meet when Lor stumbles upon Connor's temporary resting spot- Connor startling into waking and reflexively driving a blade across Lor's chest. This ends up with the two of them travelling together, Connor feeling guilty and Lor enchanted by Connor's failgirl vibe. Lor hides his weird zombie-ness from Connor. Connor, after learning Lor's name, hides his complicity in the destruction of Lor's home.

They wander together for a good while. Theyre like the worst little dudes youve ever seen- they can't stop aggravating each other, but are drawn to each other because the other is the only one who's been able to tolerate and even appreciate the other for their flaws. 

Lor after all this time feels apathetic about most things, callous towards the bad, and cracking jokes at the good. Connor on the other hand finds himself caring too much- he finds a stance to argue on just about any topic, and has killed when his conversation partner pisses him off too much. Lor feels deeply about the past he shares freely with Connor, how he misses his son, his friends. Connor would prefer to forget it all and bury it before his only friend finds out his secret. They pick at each other.

At some point down the line, they get into a relationship. And shortly after, Lor finally breaks the whole zombie thing to Connor-- its kind of hard not to notice when youre kissing a guy with zombie-cold lips, and Lor knows enough about normal people behavior to know thats kind of a stupid thing to hide from your partner. Connor reacts poorly, of course, but better than Lor thought. Connor doesn't attack him or run. Instead he blows up- Lor eats people??? Lor is a zombie, just like the shambling wrecks all around them, and he expects Connor to believe that Lor's not planning to kill him? Or use him to kill others? Has Lor been sneaking away to eat human the whole time theyve known each other (yeah)? They get closer together, but Lor revealed too much and Connor can't deal with the knowledge.

Death(?)

Its a tense few days later when Lor and Connor are passing through a dead city. Its overrun by hordes of zombies, who pay no mind to Lor, but seem all too happy to hunt Connor down. Theyre just doing a supply run, but it gets bad fast, and theyre overcome. They break into a locked building, shattering a window (and Connor slicing his leg open on the glass). The position isn't tenable. They know they have to find a way through the horde somehow but Connor, limping and smelling of blood, can't think of any way out. He knows Lor will make it out safely, but there's no way for Connor to survive here. Lor has an idea. 

They'd split the hordes attention. If one runs first, most of the horde would focus on that one, giving the other time to escape. The only problem is that zombies aren't attracted to Lor, he smells like death. Lor looks down at Connor's bandaged leg wound and warns that what he's about to do will probably freak Connor out, but its the only thing he can think of. He replaces Connor's makeshift bandage with his cloak, and wraps the cloth over his shoulders. 

Smelling of blood, Lor runs out the window and takes most of the horde with him. Connor follows soon after, but is caught by surprise when a small group of zombies grabs at him just outside. Slowed and weakened, he manages to fight them off, but at a cost. As he limps out of the suddenly cleared city, he finds his arm aches something fierce. Connor already knows what he'll find if he looks down at it. 

Looking back into the city from a hill on the outskirts, he sees a large shuffle of motion at its center, and wonders if Lor is still caught in the horde, if he escaped or was torn to pieces. Alone on the hill, Connor hopes Lor escaped.

[poorlittleyaoyao]

Okay, I have officially gotten to the post-timeskip era of the show in my rewatch, so time for some overarching thoughts!

Basically, I owe my past self an apology, because a lot of things I'd assumed I missed the first time around due to being overwhelmed with information/ relying on Netflix's iffy subs/ not paying close attention... are simply not present in CQL canon and/or aren't explained.

Sunshot, for example. I came away from the show thinking Sunshot had only lasted for a few months, and up till now had felt very silly because it's a massive multi-year war, right? NOT IN THE SHOW IT ISN'T. Sunshot begins in earnest in response to Lotus Pier's destruction; it is introduced alongside the core transfer, which occurs 1-2 weeks after Lotus Pier's destruction. When WWX returns from the Burial Mounts three months + 1 week later, he hangs out with everyone in the Unclean Realm for around a month before they make a final push against Nightless City. No other military action is shown during this time. Based on all the timestamps given, the active combat portion of this war took place over a period of less than 6 months.

(the following is said with the full understanding that I might sound like an insufferable CinemaSins video)

The consolidation of the Massacre at Nightless City and the First Siege of the Burial Mounds to one terrible, horrible, no-good very bad couple of days also diminishes it. All the Wen remnants--every single one of them!! nobody is left there when WWX wakes up!--just decide to let themselves be executed on the off-chance that WWX will be left alone with his sought-after cursed object and get to happily rejoin society after accidentally killing his brother-in-law. Why on earth would they all agree to that, especially without consulting WWX first? WQ and WN alone, sure, but ALL of them? Even A-Yuan's caregivers? WQ herself says that the jianghu gentry already decided WWX is guilty no matter what proof WWX offers! How will this solve anything!

(On the topic of the Burial Mounds: I assume that the reason the Burial Mounds are inhabitable and people are freely able to come and go without getting obliterated by ghosts is that WWX tamed the place during his time there earlier. Otherwise, it isn't "WWX spent 3 months cultivating resentment to survive until he was powerful enough to escape thanks to his hard-fought refinement of the Yin Tiger Tally" and more "WWX spent 3 months doing evil ghost science in a desolate yet fully habitable haunted forest just because.")

I also didn't get what the big deal was about WWX, because he... didn't really do anything? And again, I figured I must've just missed something, but no! He does atrocities at Yiling as he pursues Wen Chao and then he just sits there dodging concerned questions from loved ones and punching JZX over soup until the last minutes of the final battle, during which he summons some evil clouds that make people fall down. That's it. And then everyone, himself included, acts like he's the strongest and scariest dude ever. Part of the problem is that they only have like 50 extras in any of the battle scenes so there's no sense of scale, but even if there WERE hordes of CGI dudes... that is one battle, one time. Declaring himself an instrumental part of Sunshot is an overstatement, and it also raises the question of why he didn't use Chenqing or the Yin Tiger Tally sooner. He does nothing but use Chenqing as a baton until things get truly dire. I'd be suspicious of him too, if I'm honest!

And Wen Ning! Wen Ning, the oh-so-scary Ghost General, kills like a dozen guys one time and people think he's a terrifying death machine. This could have been chalked up to overblown rumors--oh, WN is just a little guy! he is just sitting there with his turnips! it's so messed up that people think WWX's trusty soft-spoken friend is a mindless tool for violence! UNTIL QIONGQI PASS 2.0, where WWX uses him as PRECISELY THAT. Why is WN coming with him to Jinlintai anyway, if not as a weapon? He certainly wasn't invited as a guest! Does he really think JGS is going to let the not-zombie who killed his employees come to his grandson's party when JC isn't even willing to let WN attend the surprise soup picnic?

Speaking of Qiongqi Pass 2.0, I do not understand why, if the whole thing was a nefarious scheme orchestrated by JGY to kill his brother and cause turmoil, WWX and WN were allowed to return to the Burial Mounds. SMS has the ability to control WN, and WWX can't fly on a sword. Just use WN to subdue WWX, capture them both, take the Yin Tiger Tally from WWX, and gain your father's esteem for obtaining the cursed object he wants and bringing his favorite son's murderers to justice! Come ON, JGY! If you're going to be extra evil, at least be clever about it! You aren't even at your breaking point yet!

I think the adaptation changes--the Yin Iron stuff, the not-zombies, XY working with WRH, the fairy statue backstory with WN's soul being easily detachable--actually do work in the front half of the show, where it's not following the text as closely. These things go together decently on their own! But from Sunshot onward, the new lore and changed characterizations that can't be fully discarded clashes with novel canon plot points that are too major to skip. It's a weird reversal of what happened with the first FMA anime, where the first half more or less follows the manga with some core changes baked in, and the second half deviates based off those changes since it outpaced the manga and didn't want to spoil it, resulting in two high-quality but fully distinct canons. Here, with the story unfolding chronologically, we have a first half that deviates with a lot of new content, and a second half that has a text to follow, resulting in ????

I'm still having fun, but I knowwww thinking about literally anything is gonna be such a mess from here on out. It's a testament to how much I like the actors' work and the expanded time with the supporting characters (and how much I do NOT vibe with Book Wangxian lol) that this is still my preferred canon.

[bthump]

What are your thoughts on Griffith’s potential recovery post torture in a no-eclipse or thwarted-eclipse au? Like, if they successfully escaped the God Hand or something, of course he doesn’t Have to get back to his old self to find some happiness, but supposing that Guts sets out to find a way to undo at least part of the physical damage. Obivously it’s fantasy, so any kind of magical healing could happen simply so long as we decide that it can. But based on canon lore, what are the most interesting options in your opinion?

I actually have a couple of answers to this I've already considered due to fic ideas that never got written lol. The first is basically an AU where there's no Eclipse but everything else is exactly the same, they're on the run from Midland with Griffith post-torture. They run into Puck's magic troupe, since they're in the area, and Puck gives healing Griffith a go. He's able to heal Griffith's like, open wounds/flayed skin for the sake of my peace of mind and germ theory lol, but can't do anything about Griffith's cut tendons or missing tongue. But Puck suggests that if they meet a witch she might be able to help.

So they go out to try to find a witch. During the journey they deal with their issues to some extent, Guts and Casca break up, Griffith accepts his love for Guts despite how much it fucked him over and could still fuck him over, and Guts accepts that even if Griffith doesn't get magically healed he wants to stay with Griffith forever and he'd be happy to hang up his sword to take care of him.

So they find a witch and she can't heal Griffith either lol because tendons can't just be knit back together bc of their elasticity yadda yadda yadda medical excuses, but she makes them those magic rings that the RPG group uses during the troll fight so they can communicate freely and easily.

I'm into this idea as an alternative to magic healing that's still a pretty good like, magical disability aid that would help Griffith a lot and fits as a narrative reward for dealing with their shit.

The other idea is that the behelit is Guts' rather than Griffith's but it's just an apostle behelit not a godhand behelit, so Guts sacrifices the Raiders for the power to fix his mistake and becomes a monster with magic healing abilities, and heals Griffith.

But this idea is very dark and fucked up so healing Griffith just means Griffith feels obligated to go back to self-destructively pursuing his dream, now with an incredibly powerful monster to help him take over Midland by force through inciting rebellion to make it possible. And apostle Guts is even more intensely obsessed with Griffith because he's the fixation he became a monster for, and Griffith is obsessed with Guts extra hard after the year of torture, and Guts is now sociopathic, and Griffith is super traumatized, and it's just a gigantic mess all around.

I have a more thorough write up of this idea here with a followup here if you're interested in more. It's less about the specifics of the magical healing and more about the fall-out of Griffith being fully healed after the year of torture.

Thanks for asking!

[starl3ng]

Duplicitous Desertion

6—Remember

Angel and Kylo get into an argument. Tragedy strikes… and they nearly lose it all. 

Ao3 | Tip Jar | Next

Content: Kylo Ren/Fem!OC, MDNI, sexual content, eventual NSFW, self-indulgent, slow burn, canon-typical violence, mentions/descriptions of injury and death, general angst

4.1k words

Despite Angel standing in front of a room full of skeptical men and women in high-collared suits who squinted at her wet hair and flushed cheeks, she seemed to have convinced most of them of the idea of introducing more melee weapons to their troops. She’d answered questions, cleared confusion, and managed to even make her sketches look more than just a little impressive. However, despite her relative success, she was barely containing her anger.

She stood, trembling, practically steaming beside Kylo Ren in the elevator. Angel knew full well she could shout at him like she had in the storage closet, even though every fiber of her being told her to shove him against the wall and deliver him a solid punch. Like she even could—towering man that he was. 

Oh, this was the thing she hated most about working under men like this; she couldn’t ever speak her mind when she was angry, which she often was at these kinds of men. 

“I can feel your emotions,” he blurted out. “You are frustrated with me, you feel conflicted with how to express it.” He paused, the elevator dropping to another floor. “You have permission to speak freely.”

Angel’s head swivels on her shoulders as she fixed Ren with a look that could only be bloodthirst. If he wanted ‘freely’ he’d get it. She wouldn’t miss the chance to rip into him about this. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? Not only were those my second drafts—and mind you I never show a crowd something that’s just a second draft—but you pulled me into a storage closet when I was fresh out of the shower, had me strip, and had the balls to turn and look, too. What are you, fifteen?” She bares her teeth, cheeks burning red again. In her anger, Angel wasn’t far off from a little teapot. After a deep breath, “and not only that; you had the gall to be angry with me about something you didn’t even warn me about. Ohhh.” A dark laugh leaves her lips as she makes a motion with her hands that’s not too far off from a threat of strangulation. She cuts herself short, hissing and turning from him, fists clenched. 

At many times it seemed like Ren was about to interrupt her, a finger held then withdrawn, arms crossed and breath ridgid. However, when she finished, he let a few more seconds of silence pass. “I was not able to see you yesterday for—more personal reasons. However, I was told I would be attending a meeting and figured I would see if I could secure some time to talk. I did not even think if you would be prepared or not. You always seem so prepared and thorough around me, I assumed this would be no different!” he shouted defensively.

“I’m only like that so you don’t lop my head off in a fit of rage! Your reputation is death and destruction! You scare me!” She shouted back and immediately regretted it. Insulting him and calling him a fifteen-year-old boy was nothing in comparison to calling him a monster—though the two weren’t far off. 

The thing was; she hadn’t even meant it and didn’t even believe it herself. Yes, he scared her, and he was a monster, but she couldn’t help but remember the muted, panicked sobs she’d heard back on Varkana. They rang in her ears now and her expression cooled from anger to trepidation. That man sat behind this mask, which glared at her, cold and unfeeling. She wondered what expression he was making now.

The elevator buzzed as its doors slid open and he was rushing to get out, fists pinned to his side as his breaths turned into grunts as he moved. He was making his way to his quarters, boots thumping on the polished floor, lights flickering around him. His pace, while loud, was not incredibly fast.

“Wait,” Angel says under her breath as she steps out of the elevator and hurries after him. “Wait! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!” She reaches out, fingers grasping at his billowing cape. She tugs, planting her boots on the reflective black floor in an attempt to stop him. 

Ren stops, though not because of her strength, but her determination. “Why then?” He says as he gestures to where she tugged his cape. “If you fear me then why do you follow me? Why do you touch me? Why pretend to enjoy my presence?” It was like he had not even heard her apologize, not that that took back how deep her words had probably stung an already old wound.

Angel’s quiet for a long moment in the empty hall. Nothing but the muted hum of the ship itself filled the air. “… I don’t know.” She did. Obsidian locks and ivory skin and a soft, tender voice that struck too close to the heart plagued her memory. “But I’m not pretending. There are times when you’re… pleasant, sir.” 

He tugged his cape back from her hands and, without another word, began to walk away again, leaving the entire hall with an empty and uncomfortable sense of rejection.

—

Angel did not see her dark knight for a week after that. Days simply passed while the two troopers who had been assigned to her before brought her bigger and higher quality parts for her to begin making prototypes.

Not once did he come to see her progress, not once did he stand there awkwardly and stare. His presence, while frightening at times, was Angel’s only comfort in this giant, metal maze.

Eventually, Angel had prototypes for each variation of weapon. They lay out on her desk now as she looks over them. Already, they’d been tested. A day or two ago she’d convinced the two stormtroopers that stood guard outside her door to give them a try. It was hardly the same as feedback from Ren, but every time she ordered a trooper to retrieve him, he wouldn’t come and the trooper would come back trembling. 

Angel grimaces as she picks up the most lowly rated of each weapon to set them aside, leaving her with the three that she’d probably be perfecting for the next week or so. Tapping her fingers to her upper lip and sighing heavily from her nose, she gets to work. 

She’d need a hundred more parts. The knife in particular was more mechanical than a simple blade. From the rivets in its metal, it blew burning hot steam. Angel had watched the way it tore apart the inside of a dummy when it was thrust in deep. But it just didn’t feel right, to her. Of course, not right in the fact that this would thoroughly kill someone, but that there was something that needed tweaking from the design. And the sword—it was basic and made from a metal highly resistant to a plasma strike—but it was just that; a sword. She’d thought about serrated edges, but suspected it would be too easy for them to get caught and then stuck. Angel tilts her head this way and that. Something mechanical then? Something like a moving saw blade?

Finally, her eyes fall to the lance. It was retractable and remained relatively small. Could be clipped onto the side of a stormtrooper’s belt, but Angel worried about accidental protractions that would cost her superior men. Some way to safeguard the mechanism but still make it quickly accessible… ugh!  

She couldn’t think today. Angel rummages around her room for her sleepwear. She couldn’t do anything if he wouldn’t come and look at her stuff. She was hesitant to even try to approach his chambers, given… everything. There wasn’t much she could do in terms of apologizing. She’d already done that. 

Angel unzips her uniform’s top and slides it off her shoulders, undoing her bra moments later so she can tug on the long-sleeved version of her pajamas from back on Varkana. 

Varkana… 

Angel slides her silken pants up and gathers her uniform into her arms. He was deeply upset back then. She remembered how the objects in his room had rattled and her skin prickled at his uncontrollable use of the force. Angel didn't even understand what had been going on then. In fact… she doesn’t know anything about him other than just grazing the surface. 

She plops onto her bed, exhausted despite not working hardly as hard as she did when Ren made his usual rounds of her quarters. She turns her cheek into her sheets, closing her eyes just for a moment despite still needing to turn her lights off. The room felt empty without the sound of his pacing boots or his awkward questions or his peering. Always snooping over her shoulder. Angel laughs into her sheets quietly. It dies and fades into a sigh. 

When Angel wakes hours later, disoriented and in the bright lights of her room (which she’d forgotten to turn off) it’s because a blaring alarm is ringing in her ears. The white light flickers off, replaced by pulsing red. She tumbles from her bed, bare feet meeting the cool floor as she grabs her blaster from her table and rushes to the door. 

Her heart is racing and her mind is scrambled, still disoriented from sleep. When the door slides open, it’s nothing but chaos. “What’s going on?!” She shouts, but everyone’s too busy to answer. Stormtroopers rush down the hall and Angel knows to go against the flow if she wants to find safety. So, sticking to the wall, she runs down the corridor, bare feet squeaking on the smooth floor. 

Amongst the shouts and slamming of footsteps, as well as the occasional announcements over the ship comms, there was one thing that stood out over all the chaos; a presence, the familiar chaotic buzz that seemed to follow Ren. It grew closer, more intense as Angel moved forward until their eyes met across a hall.

He had no mask. Drenched in red alarm lights and sweat, his hair was damp and stuck to his skin as he ran for her, keeping to the side wall of the hallway as troopers continued to rush by. “Angel,” he said as he secured a hand on her shoulder, his grip strong, yet not angry. He leaned close to her, shouting over the chaos. “I'm taking you into battle. You will follow me and do as I say. Two personal guards are already waiting in the bay.” He began to push her through the crowd, now following the direction of flow.

Angel barely recognized him without the pitless eyes of his mask. The man who dragged her along now was entirely different, raw emotion bleeding off him, barely contained. She tried to shake it off—to focus on what was important right now—which was survival. “Battle?! What’s happening?” She stumbles into pace, running alongside marching troopers bathed in red. The grip on her blaster tightens. 

“The Resistance is—“ As if proof to his words, the entire ship shook, lights fading for a moment as soldiers flew every which way. The now maskless mystery was the only one who remained mostly steady, his grip tight on Angel to keep her upright. “The Resistance is bombing us. Believe me that it is safer out there with me than in here alone,” he hissed as he continued to push forward. That energy around him was growing more chaotic, growing loud then silent then loud again as if it had no consistency or rhythm. 

The fear that has been creeping up Angel’s spine grasps her core with an iron fist. Death was her worst nightmare. To be lost. To be forgotten. To be cut short or cut down, as her parents had been. “There’s no way! I-I can’t fight! I don’t know how!” Her voice trembles. She was supposed to be the person in the background, the coward, the trembling lackey; and now she was charging into battle beside the most feared man in the galaxy. She prayed she’d just heard him wrong. 

“No, you are just flying with me, I'll do everything else, you just need to sit tight and listen to anything I tell you,” Ren said as he reached his hand up to an elevator whose doors were halfway closed. The doors sputtered, then opened as he continued to hold his hand out until he pushed the two of them into the elevator crammed full of soldiers in white armor.

He pressed Angel against the wall, closing her body with his as he placed an arm above her head and leaned in close.

Angel’s relief was quickly wicked away when she was pressed up tight against Ren in the cramped elevator. It was suddenly very awkward and very quiet as the elevator began to move. Angel’s pale gaze flicks up, staring into his abysmal black one. Her breath is caught in her throat as her eyes dart around his face, expression one of shock and tinted cheeks. 

She saw him in full clarity now. Bared to her; the glitter of saliva on his full lips, the long, dark lashes he possessed, the way his dark hair curled around his face, messy with sweat, and every beauty mark that littered his pale complexion. “Oh my-” it slips out of her accidentally, cut off by a lurch of the elevator as it stops and shudders its doors open. The troopers pour out. 

Ren seems to suck in a breath of relief as he leans away, now having the space too, and follows the troopers. He picks up into a run, boots tapping on the polished floors of the docking bay. He pointed to a TIE fighter that stood out from all the rest, black, larger wings angled up at the roof. With two smaller black TIE fighters beside it. “We are getting in that one.”

“There’s no way we’re both fitting in there!” Angel shouts as she runs after him, weaving between trooper and trooper. Her bare feet are stinging at this point from the cold floor. She ignores it to keep pace with him, sweat making her bangs stick to her forehead. 

“I'm not leaving you on this ship, we will make it work,” he said as he neared a ladder that led to his ship. He waited for Angel to catch up and gestured to the ladder. “Go ahead and climb up, there is a small cavity to one side you can settle into while I climb in.”

Angel clamored inside, crouched and cramped, she crams herself behind the only seat in the TIE fighter. Outside, the shouts of the stormtroopers get louder. 

Kylo Ren skillfully scales up the ladder after her, climbing into the ship and taking his seat. He flipped on two switches, then another over his head, and four more on a side panel. Lights flashed on and the engines began to make a low slow purring. From the wide front window, the two TIE fighter escorts on either side of his ship followed in starting their engines. He flipped on a comms switch.

“This is Kylo Ren, requesting take off from bay three,” he waited a few seconds before a voice came through in response. Outside the window, a metallic cable snapped off of the back of the TIE Silencer’s wing. “Alright, hang tight,” he said as the ship pulled forward, its wings moving from pointing up to pointing toward the mouth of the bay. He continued hitting buttons and flipping switches before grabbing the steering and launching the ship forward and out.

Angel was sent moving at a speed faster than she had ever been in her life.

Space was a mess. Fighters traveled every which way while blasts from the Star Destroyer’s protective turrets traveled through the endless starry darkness. Soon, the other two TIE pilots were at their flanks.

Angel had never seen war before. Not from up here in space. How anyone could keep track of a single thing that was going on was a mystery to her. “Holy shit.” She grasps the back of his seat for purchase, nails digging in. “Are you absolutely sure we’re not going to die out here?!” She shrieks, falling to one side momentarily. 

“Certain,” says Ren as he begins to speed forward toward a squad of three X-wings, clicking two red buttons on top of his steering handles as he flies by. The flash of an orange explosion spelled out their fate. He flew around the explosion and turned himself back so his fighter was facing the Star Destroyer. When he flipped on his private comms, static echoed in the ship until he spoke, “Stay on the offensive, however, stay around the destroyer and protect the turrets. I don't know about you both but I want to have a ship to return to when this is over.” The two on the channel let out a laugh, then gave him a quick ‘roger that.’ For some reason, when Ren was flying he seemed looser, more relaxed, and less uptight. Even his escorts felt it.

They sped towards the large, metal ship, Ren getting low, weaving along the top of the ship’s hull, shooting at anyone who tried to come near the turrets. 

Angel held on for dear life, sweaty limbs not leaving much in terms of grip. She often slid to one side and banged into the wall. 

He was a good flier, great, even. That didn’t stop the nausea from slowly creeping in. Angel closes her eyes and cups a hand over her mouth, the other gripping tight—knuckles white—to the back of Ren’s seat. “Sir, I don’t think I was built for this,” her voice groans out in warning. 

Ren cussed, eyes tearing from the battle in front of him so he could point to a red box in the back. Somehow, the ship stays completely steady without his full attention. “There’s a bag in there you can use,” he said as he put his full attention back into flying and shooting. “I brought you with me in case they had bombers. That Star Destroyer is from the time of the Empire. It's old and the Resistance have had years to master how to take them down. If I left you on that ship, you would have been a sitting duck.”

The ship shook as he opened fire on an X-wing, swerving to avoid debris.

“Oh, fuck me!” Angel shouts, shoulder slamming into a wall. Behind him, there’s the rustling of her frantically gathering the bag from the red box. “Yeah, yeah, well, this duck is gonna puke.” And… she does. 

Her pilot does his best to maneuver gently, however the TIE-Silencer was designed to be a quick and highly maneuverable weapon with deadly precision. Even if he was the best flier in the galaxy it was still hard to not swerve in a battle like this.

“Sir!” One of the pilots radioed, “Five Resistance bombers just came out of hyperspeed.”

Ren’s fist slammed on the dash of his ship, his breath fluctuating with irritation. He radioed back, “Stay close to me and prepare for a retreat to the nearest planet. This Star Destroyer may not be worth wasting fuel on.” 

Though it did not seem possible, the ship accelerated even more, blaster firing without so much of a minute of silence between rounds. Other TIE fighter ships soared overhead, also trying to focus all their force on taking down the bombers which were already heading for the hull of the ship.

“What?!” The bag rustles and Angel stands to her feet, nausea suddenly gone as her heart hammers in her chest. “No!! My stuff is on there!” She leans over Ren’s shoulder, watching the carnage unfold with wide eyes. 

“It’s just a giant target. Unfortunately, this model’s shields are dated, no match for the new tech that the Resistance has gotten their hands on.” He did a fly-by of one of the bombers, instead of using his normal guns, he flipped a switch down by one of his legs, sending two bright shots of plasma hurling towards the oddly shaped ship. As he flew past the end of the ship, his shots hit and released an explosion that not only blew up the ship but caused the debris to crush another one next to it.

Then, they flipped around to watch a pair of bombers that had gone untouched make their approach, releasing their bombs.

Angel felt a ringing silence fill her ears as she watched the bombs fall far before colliding with the surface of the Star Destroyer. Bright light filled her vision as the explosions went off, one after another until the Star Destroyer was a groaning mass tipping off kilter. 

Angel’s quiet behind Ren, shock setting in as she slides down to the floor and remains silent.  

Kylo Ren runs a quick scan of planets nearby, finding one to his liking. “Set a course for Akiva. We will take refuge in the capital city of Myrra until a new ship is sent for us from the First Order,” Ren says to his two escorts as he types onto a screen on the armrest of his seat. “I’ll buy you what you lost. That ship is done for. No use sticking around,” he said as he glanced back to where Angel was collapsed.

Her head was bowed, temple resting on the back of his seat, sat on her knees and deathly still. 

There were things—irreplaceable things—that couldn’t be bought with all the money in the galaxy. Angel’s notebook with her blueprints was one thing, but there was something else. Her last hold on the memory of her mother and father was the old, raggedy, worn, stuffed puffer pig that always sat beside her pillow. She could picture it now; charred and floating through space somewhere in the rubble. 

A terrible sob rips from Angel’s throat as she leans forward, fist slamming on the metal floor of the ship. “No! No! No! You can’t replace it!” Her sobs were louder than the voice that came through the radio. 

Kylo Ren pressed a button on the main board of his ship and stood, walking to crouch in front of Angel. “I need you to calm down,” he said as he stared into her eyes from out of those long lashes. While his face seemed calm, his words hit as insensitive.

After another sob wracks her shoulders, Angel blinks her bleary eyes open to stare at the toes of his boots. They glisten in the golden light of the burning Star Destroyer. When she lifts her head, pale blue eyes that bubble with tears stare into his. Those eyes look born from Hays Minor—in fact, Angel looks like a child of the planet itself. Like she’d been dug up, lifted directly from its frigid soil and in the planet's attempt to keep her, it had licked frost across her skin. 

She blinks and snowy lashes collect her tears and stick together in clumps. It’s when one of those tears falls and drips down her cheek does Angel move. Her hands plant on the floor on either side of Ren’s boots and she leans in to let her head bunt against his sternum. There, she shivers and her tear drips onto his boot with the tiniest patter. “Do you…” her voice is thick and muffled and her forehead pressed against his heart. “…r-remember your mother and father? Did they ever tell…” A sniffle, “…You they loved you? Do you remember… why?” 

Ren looks away, either in relation to her questions or to her tears. He slowly sits, crossing his legs. “Yes. I remember them,” he said with a breath. “I hear them, almost constantly,” he muttered as his jaw clenched. Whatever had happened to his parents, it was clear he had a hard time discussing them. “They did love me. They told me so many times.” He was hissing now, through grit teeth as if in pain. He sucked in a breath and looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “I'm going to make you feel better, alright?” Ren said as he held out his hand to hover just out of reach of the side of her head. “I'll wake you up when we reach the city.”

He brought two of his fingers over the top of her head, still never touching her. The movement was similar to flipping a switch on the control board of his ship, only he flipped some sort of switch in Angel. 

All at once, her vision was clouded with black, and her body slumped in a relaxed state on the floor.

Next

[magical-girl-coral]

I just realized I never into detail about my disabled Orihime hcs, oops.

In my au, Orihime suffers from chronic pain and fatigue post winter war. She healed so many people that she subconsciously started using her own life force when her reiatsu ran out and ended up in a week long coma. Even after several weeks of recovery and physical therapy, the ache in her bones didn't go away and everyone had to accept the fact that is is now here for good.

Orihime was lowkey banned for an entire year from practicing her powers on her own out of fear she will accidentally use her life force again. Chad was both there to be a training partner and lookout should she show signs of self destruction. On her average days she just needs leg braces and stretches. On the hardest ones she needs a wheelchair. Those days are the heaviest to go through. They make her feel like a burden cause her school isn't wheelchair friendly so she ends up missing lessons and relying on her friends for homework.

Her pains can come out of nowhere. One week she can walk freely without any help and the next morning she can't get out of bed from the pains. Sometimes it's in the beginning of the day and other times it's right down the middle. It became difficult to find a job, but thankfully the boss at ABCookies was compassionate towards her situation and the bakery was already wheelchair friendly.

Orihime used to be a decent dancer before her diagnoses and she deeply, deeply misses being able to dance without a "timer". It's one of the main things she mourns the most.

Orihime lets all her friends decorate her crutches with stickers of their choice. Her favorite is the limited audition chappy sticker Rukia gave her.

Uryu knitted hand grips for all of Orihime's equipment when she complained how the rubber hurt hands. She cried when he showed them to her as birthday gift.

Orihime can't use painkillers cause have a huge addiction risk, especially for her thanks to her alcoholic parents and her lack of emotional tability. She instead does physical therapy and uses cream that relaxes tightened muscles.

Kisuke build Orihime her wheelchair personally. It's easily foldable and moves in response to her spiritual pressure and even can have a remote control attached to it on the absolute worst days.

He also invented a type of wheelchair that can float by adding two tanks contained with pure spiritual pressure in the back. But that one heats up easily and can burn her skin so it;s still in development during TYBW.

[samuhelll]

spires: yhara, the mouth & sepulcur, keeper of souls.

yhara, the mouth, is as her title suggests. as the mouth of Death, she is responsible for conveying his command, judgement, and rules with no biases and without interpretation. as she is his only means of communication, she is fastened by his side at all times and has been from the dawn of all creation. will be for all eternity.

it is believed that the original yhara was "excised" for dissenting to the destruction of another Spire, badulf, the failed usurper, and as punishment, she had her voice removed and fashioned into a music box, her body destroyed and remade with the only thing she left behind: a cut of Death's tongue. this new yhara, the current yhara, inherits none of the original's memories.

now, used and powerless, voiceless in every way except through the music box of her last self, yhara is barred from having any autonomy or thoughts of her own, existing solely as Death's mouthpiece. inside, she yearns for the day she is able to roam and feel as freely as sam does. she yearns to remember who she was.

sepulcur, keeper of souls. (pr. like the word "sepulcher") sepulcur's title, too, speaks for itself, although sepulcur's ultimate purpose is to construct a new moon out of all the collected souls in an attempt to revive the Maiden — Death's decree. sepulcur can be found in a rotting, impossibly tall watchtower where he is surrounded by the blinding powder-white lights of the souls, exposed every second of his isolated life to the smearing murmurs of their laments in life, their woes and their stories, their wishes and whom they miss.

this ceaseless exposure, being fed the whispers of the dead ad nauseam, have caused him to go mad, his memories and sense of self all merged and confused with those of the departed.

(i imagine sepulcur to look similarly to mi//colash of bl//oodborne [below] with a cage for a head.)

[slvrarrwswrites]

We Said Friends Forever, But I Made Myself a Stranger

Rating: Teen Fandom: Formula 1 Individuals: Pierre Gasly, Charles Leclerc, Christian Horner, Max Verstappen Tags: alternate universe, angst, self-doubt/imposter syndrome, working too hard to escape your problems and as a form of self-punishment, somewhat self-destructive behavior, depression probably, 2019 F1 Season, 2020 F1 season, Piarles if you squint, mentions of covid quarantine Word Count:��11,672 Playlist: Spotify Summary: Pierre and Charles have been best friends for almost as long as either of them can remember, but as time goes on, Pierre feels them slipping further and further apart as Charles’ stars continue to rise as his own remains the same. Notes: This fic very loosely follows the early part of Charles' time with Ferrari but instead of being a Toro Rosso and Red Bull driver, Pierre is a sim and reserve driver for RBR. 

At the end, there’s mentions of covid as it pertains to the 2020 season (delay to the start of the season, quarantine, mask wearing, no fans at races etc.), so just a heads up!

Read on Ao3 Instead

September 2019 Italian Grand Prix; Monza, Italy

Pierre watched from the crowded Monza pit lane as, for the second time in two races, Charles stood proudly on the middle step of the podium, his eyes shining brightly as he hoisted his first place trophy up in the air, the Tifosi in the stands screaming and setting off cans of red colored smoke in celebration, flags emblazoned with the prancing horse waving freely. His heart ached, the pride he felt for his best friend unable to outweigh the wish that he was the one up there celebrating, that he was the one Hamilton and Bottas were soaking with champagne. Instead, Pierre was the lone Red Bull employee standing behind a pack of Mercedes staff who were cheering for their drivers as they relished in the satisfying feeling of a job well done.

As the drivers traipsed off the podium and their assembled teams began to disperse, Pierre made his way back to the Red Bull garage, head down. He knew that some kind of lecture from Horner to the rest of the team was imminent, especially after such a mixed result, but being able to see his best friend celebrate a victory in person was more than worth it.

As a sim driver for Red Bull, Pierre spent most race weekends at the factory, where he tested various setups in various scenarios and relayed his feedback to the team, but it meant that he was rarely able to spend a weekend at the track. As such, he'd missed Charles' maiden victory, having watched the celebration from the race day command center with the other factory employees who provided support to the onsite staff. But despite the separation, as soon as the on screen celebrations had concluded, Pierre was on the first flight to Nice, not caring about the cost of the ticket or the cab ride to Charles' Monaco apartment where he waited patiently on the doorstep until his best friend returned.

The pair had celebrated into the early morning, finishing off the bottle of champagne Pierre had picked up at the airport and a bottle of wine from Charles' kitchen as they chatted about the race until the sun had risen, the light reflecting brightly off the water as they made their way to bed. It was only as Pierre was grabbing his stuff to drag into the guest room did Charles say the words that still echoed in Pierre's mind, haunting him weeks later. "It'll be you up there one day, Calamar."

Pierre and Charles had grown up together, two kids with bad haircuts and the same dream. Although they were fierce competitors on track, they were even better friends off it and they rose through the ranks together, trading wins in karting races, before making their way through F3 and F2 together, always by each other's side, always inseparable.

But, in 2017, things began to change. Charles got the call that he would be joining Sauber's F1 Team for the following year with the unspoken promise that if he performed well, one day he could find himself in one of the coveted Ferrari seats, the bright red iconic even to those who knew nothing about racing. For Pierre, his only chance to drive an F1 car came from his stint as a test driver during pre-season testing before heading off to Japan to compete in Super Formula.

However, even after a successful season in the lower category, the call that came wasn’t the one Pierre wanted. He did his best to hide his disappointment when Helmut had told him that there weren’t enough seats and Pierre would be sidelined yet again, and instead they wanted him to move to Milton Keynes to work as a sim driver. Despite being worried that the new role would be detrimental to his career long term, he accepted after a week of weighing the pros and cons, praying that a close connection to the F1 team would pay off in the long run.

By 2018, Charles had moved to a top team and was the rising star for Ferrari, their Il predestinato, bringing with it the promise of Ferrari's return to dominance after so many years spent behind Mercedes and Red Bull. And Pierre, well, it seemed like his dreams of even getting back on track were slipping away. 

F1 celebrations were something Pierre hoped he never got used to, but he wouldn’t deny how awkward he’d felt arriving at the venue Charles had invited him to a few hours before. Ferrari’s staff and guests had taken over the VIP section of the club, the more secluded area somehow noisier than the crowded dance floor as the alcohol flowed freely. Winning was always fun, but winning at your home race with a promising young talent like Charles, who was poised to become the new face of Ferrari, meant the team was in high spirits and celebrating hard.

Charles had greeted Pierre loudly when he’d seen him, the young man extracting himself from a conversation with a small group to hug his best friend, a drunk Charles clinging tightly to Pierre as he chattered about how happy he was Pierre was there and how excited he was to celebrate together. But soon enough, Charles was swept away by members of his team who wanted to celebrate with their race winner and Pierre was left alone, watching from a distance.

Pierre left the club just after midnight, leaving behind a drunk Charles who was still surrounded by a handful of members of his team and an assortment of admirers who were willing to do whatever it took to get close enough to bask in Charles’ aura.  He opted to walk back to the hotel Red Bull were staying at instead of taking an Uber, the cool night air pushing away the last hazy remnants of a night of celebration. He hadn’t really partaken in the bottles of champagne and shots of various liquors that had been in steady supply that night and had remained fairly sober despite the fact that everyone around him was happy to drink in honor of Charles’ victory. As a result, his mind was clear as he walked through the quiet streets of Monza, the stillness of the night only interrupted by passing groups of people, their laughter fading away as Pierre continued through the city.

His room was quiet, lights from the street below softly illuminating the furniture, the faint light guiding Pierre as he made his way over to the bed, the Frenchman not bothering to turn on the bedside lamp. He was exhausted, but knew with how his mind was racing that sleep was going to evade him again. It had felt good to celebrate with his friend, but the selfish part of him had wished that Charles had finished in any place other than first. The fact that it was Charles’ second win, one of many that was expected to come, meant that the veneer of winning hadn’t worn off just yet; couple that with the fact that it was his second win in two races and that it was Ferrari’s home race meant that the post-race celebration was wilder that usual, even by F1 standards.

The rational part of Pierre’s mind knew that Charles deserved this, that Charles deserved everything, but to witness his best friend accomplishing everything they’d ever dreamed of first hand made Pierre’s heart ache with a jealousy that had no place in the midst of such a joyous occasion. But jealousy was a nasty thing and instead of continuing the celebration into the early morning, Pierre was sitting at the edge of his bed, head in his hands, once again lost in thoughts of what could have been.

Twenty-three wasn’t old by any means, but with every passing season, the chances of Pierre getting a chance at an F1 drive were getting slimmer and slimmer. Rookies were getting younger every year, teams were putting their faith in younger drivers thanks to the success of drivers like Max and Charles, and Pierre knew that there was a promising group of Red Bull Academy drivers who were gunning for the same seat Pierre sought. His chances at a seat with another team were even slimmer, most had their own driver academies and even if a seat became available, it was doubtful any team would take their chance on an unproven talent without serious scrutiny.

Pierre told himself that he just needed to keep working hard, needed to prove his worth and that eventually an opportunity would come. But late at night, when self-doubt had firmly settled into the furthest corners of Pierre’s mind, he knew that he wasn’t good enough for Red Bull, he wasn’t good enough for Formula 1.  

He wasn’t good enough for Charles.

And here, alone in a hotel room in Milan with the weight of his dream threatening to tear him apart from the inside, he wondered whether it was time to find something else.

The rest of the season continued to pass with little deviation from Pierre’s regular routine. Races came and went with him doing whatever he could from behind the scenes to help the team be successful, but as it became clearer and clearer that there was little hope for Red Bull to catch Ferrari in the Constructors Championship, he spent less time testing various setups for Max and Alex to use during race weekends and switched his focus to testing concepts for next season’s car.

Long hours in the simulator left Pierre exhausted. Sim work wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as throwing a real car around tight corners or sending the car hurtling down impossibly long straights despite the ever evolving technology that made the experience more and more realistic and the nature of the work meant he went through more set up changes in a few hours than any driver experienced during a weekend, leaving him mentally drained by the time he left the factory for his Milton Keynes flat.

With every passing day, the self-doubt that had intensified after Monza threatened to consume him and the rare compliment from Christian or Max’s praise for his work during meetings did little to reassure him that he did belong here, that he was worthy of some kind of role within the team, even if it wasn’t the one, he so desperately wanted.

Subconsciously, he began to withdraw, throwing himself into work, into doing whatever he could to prove his worth. Weekdays were spent working to get everything perfect, running scenarios over and over again until he was able to pull whatever he could from the car, while off weekends found Pierre in the gym or running along Caldecotte Lake until his lungs burned and his muscles felt like jelly. By night, he was too tired to do anything more than throw together a quick dinner before collapsing in bed with exhaustion, only to wake up and do it all again.

His mother expressed concern one day over the phone, mentioning to Pierre that one of his brothers had told her that he hadn’t reached out lately, unusual for Pierre as his family was the most important thing, but he brushed her off, using the excuse that he was being worked harder than ever (true) and once the season was over, he’d have a chance to take a break (half true). The excuse had worked for now and she’d bid Pierre good bye with a plea that he not work himself too hard and he agreed with no intention to keep his promise.

Texts from Charles went mostly unanswered, his best friend sending him photos from various circuits or funny memes that encapsulated their relationship perfectly. In return, Pierre only responded when necessary to ensure that Charles wouldn’t get suspicious and ask if something was up; Pierre had always been a bad liar, especially when it came to Charles, so it was easier to pretend like everything was fine when in reality, for the first time, Pierre just wanted Charles to leave him alone.

Maintaining the charade was easier than it should have been, the success Charles had had all year continuing as the season began to wind down, making him a hotter and hotter commodity with little time for his mostly anonymous best friend. While Charles was out basking in the glory of success with one of the top teams in Formula 1, Pierre was struggling to not drown in his own self-doubt and while his motives for keeping Charles at arm’s length were selfish, he also didn’t want to bring down his best friend when he was deservedly relishing in everything life had to offer.

But despite how well Pierre was able to keep his issues under wraps, it all threatened to fall apart at the last race of the season. Aside from the usual race weekend prep work, there was little that needed to be done that couldn’t be pushed back until after the season’s end, which meant that as soon as the week was over, Pierre was on a flight to Abu Dhabi. There was little at stake that weekend, Mercedes had taken both the Drivers and Constructors Championship a few races before and so long as Max finished ahead of Charles in the race, he’d be guaranteed 3rd place in the Drivers’ standings, achieving his best finish of his career. Things had been so bad lately that Pierre had considered skipping the last race all together, but despite all his personal problems, he was still a racecar driver at heart and didn't want to pass up the opportunity to watch the race from the garage.

It was hard to quiet the voice in the back of his head that whispered that this might be his last race as an F1 employee. The team was happy with his work and even if it were a mere facsimile of what he wanted to be doing, he was still a valuable resource that wasn't easily replaced. Rationally he knew that there was little chance he’d be let go at the end of the season, but even the most straightforward logic was no match against one’s own self-doubt, and Pierre rationalized his thinking by convincing himself that being surprised was better than hoping for something and ending up disappointed. 

December 2019 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; Yas Island, Abu Dhabi

Pierre arrived late enough in the evening that all there was time for was a quick check in with Christian before heading up to his room. Max had sent him a message asking him if he wanted to play FIFA when he got in, but Pierre had declined, giving the excuse that he didn’t want to disrupt Max’s pre-race routine despite knowing that Max didn’t strictly prescribe to such measures like most of the other drivers. For the same reasons, Pierre didn’t bother to text Charles to let him know that he was also in Abu Dhabi, knowing that his own presence would probably be a distraction. There would be plenty of time after the race for them to catch up. 

The lead up to lights out was uneventful for Pierre, who spent most of the afternoon chatting with Alex and Max during their downtime between meetings and press obligations before they had to retreat to get ready for the race.  

The race itself was fairly uneventful, but there was a buzz in the garage after the podium ceremony, the energy distinctly distinguishable from the normal post race chatter. Max’s second place finish secured his third place finish in the Driver’s standings, the highest finish for a Red Bull driver since Daniel three seasons prior. That success coupled with the relief that the long season was finally over was palpable as the mechanics and pit crew chatted about their off seasons plans as they packed up the garage. 

Once the last of the post race photos had been taken, Pierre made his way back to Red Bull Energy Station, weaving his way around various members of the paddock and carts of equipment, not in any hurry to get out of there and end up in the post race traffic that flooded the area as fans made their way away from the circuit. On a normal day, most of the crowds and cars would have dissipated by the time Pierre was ready to leave, the lengthy post race debriefs every team conducted ensuring that even the most dedicated fans would have made their way home by the time their favorite drivers left. But today, there was little need for such a meeting, not when it was the end of the season and the new year would bring a new car and new challenges. No, instead, Pierre was all but dragging his feet not wanting to be alone with his thoughts.

He almost didn’t hear the shouting of his name until he was almost to the glass doors that were the only thing separating him from the chaos of the paddock and temporary salvation. “Pierre, wait!”

A hand closed around his elbow and he looked up to see Charles standing next to him, face still sticky with champagne from the podium celebration, red race suit mostly unzipped, the upper half hanging off his body, the only salvation he could find in the hot Abu Dhabi air.

Charles looked as exhausted as Pierre felt, but there was a relaxed look of satisfaction on his face. Pierre knew that he wasn’t satisfied knowing that third place in the standings had been in his grasp, he also knew that Charles could also see the big picture and would find his overall result at the end of the season a kind of victory itself. He’d proven that his promotion to Ferrari wasn’t premature and that he deserved to represent the future of the team.

“I didn’t know that you would be here this weekend,” he said, voice louder than usual as to be heard over the elevated noise of the paddock.  

“I got in last night,” Pierre shrugged, glancing at Charles’ hand that was still wrapped around his elbow.

Charles let him go, frowning now, a look of hurt flashing in his eyes.

Normally the wounded look would have made Pierre’s heart lurch, he hated hurting Charles, his best friend had experienced too much pain for someone his age that he never wanted to be the one to ever add to Charles’ burden in anyway, but after the year he’d had, Pierre was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next week, even if it meant ditching his best friend. 

“But you didn’t say anything,” Charles repeated earnestly, as if wanting to believe that Pierre wouldn’t have intentionally left him in the dark, not when it had been months since they’d seen each other and even longer since they’d had a proper conversation.

“I’m here for the team,” Pierre shrugged, for Max and Alex, hanging unsaid in the air between them and Charles took a step back, the look of hurt now reflected on his face, no longer fleeting but permanent.

Pierre knew that the rivalry between Charles and Max had fizzled out a long time ago, that the intense hatred that they felt for each other as kids, as rivals going head-to-head in go karts had turned into mutual respect as they had grown and matured as both drivers and people. But at the same time, hearing that your best friend had chosen someone other than you still stung and upon hearing this, Charles looked away, his hand nervously running through his hair. 

Despite everything, Pierre still wasn’t that cruel and even in his exhausted state he didn’t want to permanently damage his relationship with Charles even if, in the moment, it would have given him some satisfaction to hurt Charles, to make him feel the pain that Pierre had been carrying around with him for months. But logic won out and he did his best to bury the feelings of inadequacy that had been plaguing him, instead, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t Charles’ fault that Pierre felt like a failure.

“I was going to text you after the race.” A lie, but not one so outrageous that would give Charles a reason to doubt him. His mother always told him that he had an honest face; maybe it was the product of being the youngest, the baby of the family, or maybe it was part of the endless optimism he used to have— a quality that he seems to have lost as he’d grown older, more jaded. “You wouldn’t have been able to see me until later anyway.”

That part was true. Between final strategy meetings, race prep, and the chaos of it being the last race of the season, coupled with the fact that Charles still had his final place in the standings to fight for, there was no way the two of them would have been able to spend any significant amount of time together; and even if they could, there’s no way either of their teams would have appreciated them hanging out, not with Charles and Max being so close in the championship.

Charles nodded, the look of hurt still on his face, but seemingly willing to accept Pierre’s excuse. “We must go out then,” he said, stepping back to make his leave. “Later of course.”

“Of course,” Pierre echoed despite the bone deep exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. There was the end of season party that Red Bull would be hosting too, but that would be so busy that he’d only need to make an appearance if he wanted to; be seen by all the right people before sneaking off to crash in his hotel room for a few hours before flying back to the UK. Most of the Red Bull staff would be so drunk that it really didn’t matter if he was there or not. He could sleep on the plane, use the time between Christmas and the new year to catch up on all the rest he’d missed out on over the last few months. He wouldn’t have much to do then, it would just be him alone with his thoughts.

Despite the bitterness and jealousy that had made a home in Pierre’s chest, Charles was still his best friend and he missed him. Missed the ease that came with knowing someone better than you knew yourself, the ease of being able to talk about anything or to sit in silence, both equally as comfortable. He missed the feeling of being known, of being understood, of being loved and appreciated unconditionally knowing that he didn’t need to keep proving over and over that he was worthy of that love and appreciation. But most of all, Pierre missed the silence that came with being with someone who knew you as well as Pierre and Charles knew each other. The thoughts of self-doubt, of uncertainty, it all went away when they were together because none of that was important so long as they were friends. Pierre wanted that feeling back, he just wasn’t sure if he was worthy of it.

“Dinner?” Charles suggested, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the chaos of the paddock behind him. He’ll be all but required to meet up with the rest of the team later to celebrate the end of the season; Pierre could come along if he wanted, but they both knew that he shouldn't if he wanted to remain in Horner and Marko's good graces.

Pierre nodded. “And drinks.”

Charles scoffed. “But of course, mate. That is a given.”

A genuine smile tugged at the corners of Pierre’s lips, the first in who knows how long, and the sensation made his cheeks burn at the exertion. “Text me when you’re finished.” He gestured generally at the paddock around them knowing that even though the season was now over, Charles probably had a million and one things to do before he left the track.

“Of course,” Charles repeated with a grin of his own before heading back toward the Ferrari motorhome.

Late December 2019 Red Bull Racing HQ; Milton Keynes, UK

Pierre was no stranger to Horner's office; he'd spent many days sitting in the brightly lit room with its big windows and photos of historic Red Bull moments hanging from the walls. The man behind the desk didn't have a commanding presence when you first looked at him, but looks were deceiving and in Pierre's experience, it never did anyone well to underestimate Christian Horner. He wasn’t as scary as dealing with a post race phone call from Helmut, Horner dealt with drivers on too regular of a basis to ever be an effective boss with such a domineering personality, but that didn’t mean he was a pushover. Not in the slightest.

No, this man could make or break Pierre’s career and he knew better than to cross him.

"We've been looking at the data," Horner began, sliding a tablet across his desk for Pierre to look at. Displayed on the screen was telemetry data that compared his sim times with the actual times of the two Toro Rosso drivers. He flipped through the graphs as Horner continued, "and you've done an excellent job in the sim, we'd like to give you the chance to prove yourself."

Pierre's head shot up, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Horner said nothing, instead watching Pierre with that intense look, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Once he was sure he had Pierre's undecided attention, he continued. “A spot has opened up, and as part of Toro Rosso’s rebrand into Alpha Tauri, and we want to promote you into that seat.”    

Horner was smiling at him as Pierre hesitated, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was the end of December and all of the driver lineups had been confirmed for months at this point, including Red Bull and the newly named AlphaTauri. Objectively, Pierre knew that there probably wasn’t anyone as qualified as he to fill in the role on short notice; as far as he knew, none of the rookie drivers had enough license points to qualify and none had logged nearly as many hours in the sim as he had, but that didn’t explain why a seat was suddenly open and who he’d be replacing.

When neither of them spoke, Pierre half shocked into silence, half waiting for further explanation, he finally said, “You’re joking. You’re pulling my leg.”

His reaction made Horner laugh, but even with the ease that his boss was demonstrating, Pierre was still on edge, not sure what to expect or how to respond. Recognizing that Pierre was in a state of disbelief, Horner opened a drawer and pulled out a file folder and set it on the desk in front of Pierre. "This is the initial offer, take it to your team and we can schedule a date to discuss the full terms and details. Welcome to Formula 1, Pierre." 

Pierre took the folder, not daring to open it just yet, his grip so tight on the shiny Red Bull Racing folder that he was probably creasing the pages within, his fingerprints smudging the otherwise pristine navy-blue surface. “Was there anything else that you wanted to discuss?” he asked, still not believing what was happening, certain that there were other reasons why he had been summoned to Horner’s office.

But in response, his boss shook his head, a knowing smile on his face, the look of a man who had given the same news to several drivers before Pierre and knew that sometimes it took some time to sink in. “Go home and take the rest of the year off, Pierre. Call your family, get spectacularly drunk, do whatever it is you want to do to celebrate. Come back in the new year ready to work.”

He nodded and stood, Horner following suit and offering Pierre his hand in congratulations, which Pierre shook, still a little dazed by the news. “We’ll set up a meeting for you to meet with Franz and the two of you can make plans for you to meet the rest of the team.”

Nodding again, he cleared his throat, not quite trusting his voice, but pressed on. “Thank you so much, this is a dream come true.”

Horner smiled, not quite as unnerving as Marko’s, but there was still something behind it, something shark-like that even after all this time as part of the Red Bull program, Pierre wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Enjoy your holiday, Pierre.”

He waited until the lead up to Christmas to tell his family, he and his brothers and their families all crammed under his parent’s roof to celebrate the holiday, accidentally elbowing each other at the dinner table, his youngest nephew screaming with delight at something only he could comprehend.

His family had been elated at the news, all of them jockeying to try and hug him, maneuvering around the dining room table difficult with so many people, their voices growing louder and louder as they all tried to make their congratulations heard. Some of his younger niblings didn’t quite understand what was going on, but they cheered and screamed too, wanting to be part of the celebrations, their shrill voices rising above everything else.  

The reaction of his family made everything feel real, like the volume of the rest of the world had been on mute while Pierre glided through it, unsure of where he was or what he was doing; but now, now it was like the knob had been turned up to eleven, the joy and praise of the people he loved most, of the people who would love him unconditionally breaking through the fog that he’d been lost in for the last several months. His family who had given everything up for him to chase this dream, the ones who would cheer him on on victory and would console him in defeat and yet would love the all the same no matter where he finished, these were the people he raced for.

His dad joked that Pierre better get him and his mom paddock passes for his first race, his brother teasing him, asking Pierre if he’d be able to steal the keys to his new F1 car to take it for a spin, fully knowing that formula cars didn’t use keys. Across the table, one of his sister-in-law’s and his mother were asking another of Pierre’s brother’s about AlphaTauri, how well they did last season and how well they could expect Pierre to do in the car they’d developed.

It was overwhelming, their reaction, and for as much as he loved them, for as much as he wanted to celebrate this accomplishment with them, the people who had seen how hard he’d worked, who’d seen where he came from and where he was going, but looking at the table at all of them, there was still something that had settled in Pierre’s chest long ago that even all the love and support of his family couldn’t quite shake it. As much as he wanted to relish in their praise, to selfishly be the center of attention even if just for a night, what he wanted more was to make his escape to his old room and curl up in the small twin bed he’d long outgrown, seeking out the silence and the loneliness that he’d grown accustomed to.

When things had settled down and dinner had been consumed, he helped his mother clear the table and clean up the kitchen as his brothers and their families went into the family room, using the time to get the kids settled, the anticipation of opening presents was so exciting that it threatened to overwhelm them and evolve into a full-on meltdown if not handled properly. As he diligently scraped the plates clean and arranged them neatly in the dishwasher, his mother paused to look at him.

“What did Charles say when you told him? He must have been elated.”

Pierre looked down at the plate in his hands under the guise of continuing to clean as to avoid his mother’s eyes. Charles had been the second person he’d wanted to tell as soon as he’d gotten out of sight of Horner’s office, the first being his parents, but he’d waited, rationalizing that it would be better to break the news in person. Waiting the extra week plus to see the pride and excitement his parents and the rest of his family had been more than worth it and, in his mind, he rationalized that waiting to tell Charles would be the same.

Continuing to look down, he told his mother this, missing the sad but knowing smile she gave him.

Charles had mentioned hanging out during the winter break before things got too busy with car launches and testing, the time between the end of the season and the start of the next getting shorter and shorter as more and more races were added to the calendar. He had initially mentioned the time between Christmas and New Year’s when things were as busy; most of the factory staff was taking a much needed break before the ramp up to the new season and the drivers were scattered to the four corners of the earth, some at home, some with family, some on vacation relaxing before they were expected to get back into the car and do it all over again.

Except there was no all over again for Pierre. It was going to be a brand new experience and he was equal parts excited and terrified that he’d mess everything up. When he took to the track in Barcelona in a couple months, it wouldn’t be his first time in an F1 car, but he knew that this was his chance to prove himself, to prove to Red Bull, the people in the paddock and to the fans that he belonged in F1. He knew that Red Bull could be a little ruthless with it came to drivers, even in a sport as competitive as F1, the organization had a reputation for tossing drivers aside when it looked like they weren’t getting up to speed quickly enough, and he was determined that he wasn’t going to be another driver who was talented, but not talented enough for F1. No, once he got that seat, he was going to keep it.

With that in mind, he threw everything he had into prepping for the new season. He studied track layouts until they were committed to memory, practicing every track on next year’s calendar on his home sim until he could drive them with his eyes closed, his dreams filled with visions speeding down the main straight at Paul Ricard, the home crowd cheering for him, distinguishable even over the sound of the engine. He worked out even more than he did before, now under the careful eye of a performance coach, his shoulders getting broader, arms thicker with corded muscle.

He pushed himself more than he had before, but instead of spending countless hours at the factory testing setups and running simulated runs for the benefit of other drivers, he was doing it for himself, ensuring that when the season started, he would be ready for anything.

But with all this extra work, it meant that he didn’t have time to hang out with Charles. This season's other new drivers, Pierre’s former friend turned rival Esteban Ocon returning after a season without a seat, and newcomer Nicholas Latifi had a head start of several months to prepare for the upcoming season while Pierre was stuck playing catch up. Every time that Charles texted, asking if Pierre could fly out to Monaco to escape the rain and fog of the UK in favor of a slightly warmer climate and the weak winter Mediterranean sun— even if just for a weekend— Pierre always declined, worried that a day he wasn’t working on racing would be a day he’d fall even further behind. 

Pierre hated to blow off one of his best friends like this, and he suspected that now that Charles wasn’t dealing with sponsors and flying off the new countries several times a month, he was starting to catch on that Pierre was disengaged from their friendship, but even the knowing that his friend was no longer buying his excuses, Pierre was still making them. He rationalized his behavior by telling himself that they’d have more time to catch up this season when they be at the same place almost every weekend, but the voice inside his head kept telling him that if he kept blowing Charles off like this, he might not have a friend to hang out with come the start of the season.

All of this could be avoided if Pierre were honest and told Charles why he was busy, but for some reason, he hadn’t yet told him about his promotion to F1. Rationally, he knew that he should tell him sooner rather than later; AlphaTauri and Red Bull had yet to announce anything and as far as the press were concerned, AlphaTauri’s line up was still the same one that was announced part way through last season. There was no reason not to tell Charles, the deal was already complete, modifications to the original offer had only taken a few days to negotiate and the ink on the contract had been dry before the holidays. Pierre knew that his best friend wouldn’t have wanted to hear it from anyone but him, but there was something about admitting it before it was announced, like there was the possibility that it could all be taken away before it was put into the world.

Telling his family had been one thing, but telling someone who knew you better than you knew yourself? Telling someone with whom you’d shared your hopes and dreams with since you were small children? For some reason that was far scarier.

His introduction as one of the drivers for the newly branded AlphaTauri had been announced at the launch of the new car, the press immediately running to be the first tweet out the news, journalist speculation fueling fan theories as to why things had changed in a matter of months. Immediately after the brand new white and navy livery was revealed, the press was all over him, asking questions about the upcoming season, looking for any clue as to why he would be in the car instead of who the team had originally announced.

Pierre wasn't used to the media wanting to talk to him. Sure, he'd given an interview here or there after winning the GP2 championship, had appeared once or twice on the French broadcast to promote the team and talk about the drivers, but other than those short stints, no one really cared about the mostly anonymous driver who had been sidelined for the last few seasons. The experience was overwhelming, the crowd of reporters jockeying for position as they swarmed him, the number of people and cameras so packed together that he couldn't see the room beyond.

He gave prepared, measured answers, careful to not reveal more than what the team wanted him to say, the media strategy having been carefully crafted by the team of PR specialists that Pierre had never needed to interact with until now. Daniil had been helpful, they had similar senses of humor and used it to their advantage, much to the amusement of the various journalists who were covering the event, but even their improv and off the cuff statements didn’t give away too much. 

After what seemed like an eternity later, Pierre was free, the weight on his chest finally lifting as he escaped to the green room, finally able to change out of his race suit, the methodical, familiar motion of separating the Velcro at his neck then pulling the zipper down until he could shuck off the fabric was a comforting feeling that he hadn’t realized he’d missed until now. It wasn’t the same as peeling out of the suit like it was a second skin, the light fabric drenched in sweat after a good, hard race, but that was coming, all Pierre had to do was be patient.

There was a short media debrief that he needed to attend before he could head home and take care of the mass of notifications that no doubt had flooded his phone over the course of the last several hours, but first he wanted to post something to social media, his official announcement to the fans who had stuck by him as he’d waited for this opportunity. The dizzying number of WhatsApp messages, texts, and Twitter notifications coupled with a handful of missed calls and voicemails were all ignored as he opened up Instagram.

“FORMULA 1!!!!!!!” he typed out quickly, a photo of him standing proudly next to the new AT01 having been sent to him by someone from the PR team specifically for this purpose. “So excited to represent @AlphaTauriF1 this season! Thank you to the team and to @RedBullRacing for making a dream come true! #LetsGetToWork”

It was a pretty standard post as far as announcements went, it didn’t express even a fraction of how excited and nervous he was, but even if he had thousands of words to convey how he was feeling, he’d never be able to put into words the elation at finally achieving he’d been working toward for most of his life.

He sighed, remembering that this hadn’t been just his dream and that Formula 1 had been a dream he’d shared with others, including Charles with whom he still hadn’t told about his promotion. The guilty side of him wanted to wait until after the debrief, until after he’d gotten home and eaten to give him the chance to soak it all in, but that was a lie.

Pierre was still hiding from Charles, was still doing whatever he could to avoid him and had been doing so since Monza the previous year. The fact was that he’d been lying to himself for nearly half a year, pushing one of his best friends aside as he buried himself deeper and deeper into working, using his job and ambition as an excuse to avoid taking a step back and reflecting on how much he’d lost himself in the past year.

He was punishing himself, there was no denying it, but what was a little more pain at this point? He’d probably hurt Charles more than enough lately, so maybe he deserved it. The sooner confessed and let Charles be mad at him, the sooner he could apologize and beg Charles for forgiveness. His friend had a gentle heart and while mad, would probably forgive Pierre, but Pierre wasn’t sure if he deserved it.

Against his better judgment, he swiped down on his phone, scrolling through notifications until found what he was looking for.

Missed Call Calamar 🦑(5)

Pierre shook his head and swiped away the missed call notification. It was just like Charles to call him multiple times and not leave him a voicemail despite knowing that Pierre was probably talking to the media, but usually when Charles was excited or upset, logic often went out the window. 

Knowing that there was no escaping it now, he switched over to his texts, ignoring the notifications with messages of congratulations from other drivers and colleagues, seeking out his thread with Charles.

From Calamar 🦑: ???????!!!!!!! From Calamar 🦑: What the fuck Pierre, I had to hear the news from Arthur???? From Calamar 🦑: How long have you been keeping this a secret??

His fingers hovered over the keys, not quite sure how he should respond. Pierre couldn’t deny that he’d been avoiding talking to Charles about anything, not just the fact that he’d be on the grid this upcoming season. He’d been relying on the fact that AlphaTauri had waited until just before the car launch to announce that there had been changes to their diver duo, not revealing who would be in the car until everything was announced, the new team, new branding, and new driver combining to hopefully be the most exciting reveal leading up to testing in a few weeks.

Theoretically, he could justify not telling Charles because he had been afraid that any leak would have jeopardized his seat. It seemed more often than not that the rumors that seemed to come out of the paddock were true— or at the very least, had some basis in fact— and Red Bull had wanted to avoid the PR disaster of having the fact that they had to replace one of the drivers on their junior team during the offseason.

Without racing as the focus, any minor scandal that occurred in the off season could have the potential to blow wildly out of proportion as journalists and fans have little to talk about or discuss, resulting in wild speculation fueled by conspiracy theories and the barest of facts to back up their claims.

While Pierre could make up such an excuse, doing so would mean telling Charles— albeit indirectly— that he hadn’t trusted him to keep his promotion a secret, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

The truth was Pierre hadn’t wanted to tell Charles. At first, he didn’t know how to, but then he came to the realization that the prospect of telling Charles about his promotion filled him with a dread that he couldn’t describe or pinpoint the reason behind. He wasn’t excited to tell him that the dream they had shared as kids was becoming a reality and it made him feel like a horrible person. Pierre knew he couldn’t tell Charles all of  that without his best friend demanding they immediately meet face to face to work things out, so instead, he’d done what he’d gotten good at in the last year: throw himself into work to escape his problems.

Choosing on taking the cowards way out once again, Pierre fumbled to write a quick response, hoping that Charles was so happy for him that he didn’t dig too deep into Pierre’s reasoning.

To Calamar 🦑: I signed the contract a little over a month ago and have been drowning in pre-season prep ever since 🤣🤣🤣 To Calamar 🦑: I feel like I haven’t had any time to think let alone do anything else 🤪

It was a feeble excuse, although not entirely untrue, but it would have to do.

It was strange, facing the fact that you’d been running from something, but even with acknowledging that he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t something that Pierre wanted to examine too closely right now. He was on the verge of being able to call himself a Formula 1 driver, something that he’d been working toward since he was a kid, and he didn’t want to taint the memory of finally making it by spending too much time examining his behavior the past few months.

No, his dreams were finally starting to come true, and he knew that if he just waited a little longer, everything was going to be fine.

How could they not be?

February 2020 Testing; Barcelona, Spain

The bright Spanish sunshine did little to warm Pierre up as he jogged from the garage back to the joint Alpha Tauri/Red Bull hospitality building, the sleeves of his race suit swinging freely from his hips as the click of a camera’s shutter followed him as he exited the garage.  

His first session in the car had gone better than expected with him ending up in the top five for the day— at one point even taking the fastest lap of the session— a feat he hadn’t expected when he got in the car that morning, but there was still work to be done. He’d spun early on, not quite to grips with being back in a racecar, but overall, the team had been pleased with what he had shown in the morning session and he was excited to get back out on track.  

“Pierre!”

Max was heading toward him with his hand raised in greeting, dressed in his Red Bull polo, his racing gear not necessary today with Alex taking over driving duties for both sessions. He stopped, waiting for the other driver to catch up to him so they could walk inside the motorhome together, but Max didn’t seem to be in a rush to get inside just yet, choosing to lean against the railing that separated the hospitality building from the rest of the paddock despite the chill that hadn’t quite abated in the late afternoon sunshine.

“You looked good out there. How did it feel, being in the car for the first time?”

Pierre shrugged with a laugh, “I think my arms are going to fall off and my shoulders and neck are killing me.” Max joined in on the laughter as Pierre rolled his shoulders and neck with a grimace to emphasize his point, his muscles protesting at the movement, but for now it was the good kind of pain, the kind that hit you after a long workout. “All the working out I did over the break doesn’t seem to have helped me in any way.” 

“It doesn’t matter how often you work out, I think,” Max explained. “You can do all the exercises in the world, but nothing compares to the actual G-Forces in the car and it takes actually driving to get used to it.”

Max trailed off and raised his hand high in greeting, focused on someone walking through the paddock. Pierre half expected it to be Daniel who was often by Max’s side during the weekend despite the pair no longer being teammates, but Pierre followed Max’s gaze and saw Charles leaving the Ferrari garage with Sebastian and several members of their team, his eyes locked on Pierre and Max not listening to what looked like a lively conversation between Sebastian and one of their mechanics. Pierre tried to work up the courage to call out to Charles, to do something familiar, but as soon as he realized Pierre was looking at him, Charles looked away and continued following his teammate into the Ferrari motorhome.

Guilt swirled in the pit of Pierre’s stomach, but he did his best to try and push it away. It was his fault that he and Charles weren’t talking, but he couldn’t worry about it now, he had a job to do. 

Next to him, Max’s forehead furrowed in confusion, trying to take in what was happening. “What’s wrong with him? Is Ferrari’s car shit again?”

There were times, even after he’d known Max for as long as he had, that Pierre wasn’t sure if Max was joking or not. He wasn’t sure if it was a Dutch thing or a Max thing, but despite having a great sense of humor, his jokes and criticisms were often said in the same blunt tone and this was just another occasion where Pierre wasn’t sure if he should laugh, not that he was able to.

Charles hadn’t reached out after Pierre had texted him his excuse as to why he hadn’t told him that he’d been given a seat, and Pierre was beginning to suspect that Charles had started to put the pieces together and had realized that Pierre had been purposefully avoiding him.

He wanted nothing more than to have his best friend by his side, to be able to share this experience together, but Pierre was so deep in his self-loathing it consumed him, and at this point, he was more afraid of Charles' rejection than anything. He'd rather have his best friend mad at him than not be a passing thought in Charles' mind, so he kept to himself and didn't offer an explanation. 

By the time Pierre was free to leave, the sun had set and a chill had settled over the shadowy paddock, the yellowish light coming from the lights mounted on the sides of the garages casting long shadows along the pavement. He shivered, wishing that he had his sweatshirt but it was probably stashed away somewhere in his driver’s room with Pyry who was waiting for him so they could drive back to the hotel and go over tomorrow’s schedule.

He started jogging in that direction, wanting to be out of the cold and hoping that by getting his blood flowing he could get some feeling back into his fingers, but as he rounded around a tire cart, he ran into someone, sending them both to the ground.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” a familiar voice said and Pierre looked up to see Charles pushing himself up off the ground, unaware of whom he’d just run into.

“I— yeah,” Pierre mumbled, wanting nothing more in that moment to disappear. Of all the people, it had to be Charles. He debated on not getting up, on staying on the ground, waiting to be swallowed up, but he couldn’t, so instead he sighed to himself and slowly got to his feet. He sensed rather than saw the moment Charles realized who he’d run into, his body stiffening as he recognized Pierre.  

“Sorry,” was all Pierre could offer, still not looking at Charles, instead checking his hands for any scrapes or bruises, flexing his arms and rotating his wrists to see if he’d hurt anything as he’d fallen.

“So you do know how to apologize,” Charles said bitterly, his tone making Pierre look up at him in shock. “I’d thought you had forgotten.”

Pierre had dealt with a moody Charles before, knew that there were times that Charles could be petulant, more like a spoiled child than the twenty-something man he’d grown to be, but he had never been on the receiving end of his anger. And more than anything, he knew that this time Charles’ anger was justified, that he deserved Pierre dropping to his knees and groveling, begging for Charles’ forgiveness, but Pierre was too much of a coward to give him what he deserved.

Instead, he mumbled a quick “See you later, Charles,” and turned away, heading back toward the joint Red Bull/Alpha Tauri hospitality building, unable to see the anger and betrayal in Charles’ eyes any longer.

September 2020 Italian Grand Prix; Monza, Italy

Pierre was sticky with champagne, his race suit heavy, soaked with his sweat and the remainder of the podium celebration that he’d participated in from the top step mere minutes before. The crowd below in the pitlane had dispersed, mechanics going to pack up the garage— cargo needing to be shipped to the next track before they could head off and enjoy what little was left of their weekend— drivers having disappeared to clean up before having to endure yet another race debrief where every detail was picked over as the team of strategists and engineers tried to figure out where they could make up time, even a tenth of a second meaning the difference between a good result and a disastrous one.

He knew that he too would need to join them, to leave the podium behind, trophy in one hand, magnum bottle of champagne in the other, the black and gold hat crowning him the race winner fit snugly around his head, but he couldn't make himself do it, not yet. He needed a shower, needed to pluck off the confetti that clung to his clothing, needed to replace the mask that smelled like champagne and stuck to his face like a second skin, but he continued to sit, soaking it all in.

Footsteps approached him, probably someone from F1 or track management here to tell him that he needed to leave the podium and return to the team, but they didn’t. Whoever it was took a seat next to him on the top step and waited silently.

He looked up to see Charles, dressed in his Ferrari polo and a pair of jeans, looking at the empty grandstands and the main straight where a year ago fans cheered as he stood on this very step and hoisted his trophy high into the air, confetti raining down around him— the King of Monza, the Ferrari Prince, il Predestinato. There had been no cheering fans this time, not for Pierre, just what seemed like the entire paddock in the pitlane below, everyone seemingly excited for him and in many ways, Pierre preferred it that way. It was the people he worked with or alongside who knew what struggles he’d gone through while waiting in the wings, waiting for his chance to prove what he was made of, and it was those people who understood best what it meant to him. With no fans in attendance, he was able to relish the moment a little longer, able to soak it in and finally start letting go of all of the stress that had been weighing him down. He wouldn’t have any other way. 

Part of him wondered what Charles was doing here next to him. They hadn’t spoken to each other that weekend and hadn’t been speaking much at all, not since their awkward encounter in Barcelona several months prior. Even when they had been forced to quarantine in their homes, when Pierre couldn’t go home to be with his family and was left alone in his small Bologna apartment they hadn’t bothered making up, both drivers stubbornly choosing silence in what had to be one of the most isolating times of their lives. Charles had filled up his time by streaming with some of the other drives, namely George, Alex, and Lando, the four of them forming a little F1 streaming gang while Pierre opted to keep his gaming away from the prying eyes of fans, only a few old friends and former GP2 rivals he was still close to as witnesses to his inability to pick up shooting games.

“I was cheering for you,” Charles said after a long stretch of silence, his voice barely audible over music blasting in one of the garages, loud enough to be audible from the podium platform. “Seb and I both asked to delay the briefing so we could watch you win.”

Sebastian was the only other winner in the Toro Rosso/Alpha Tauri team’s history, and like Pierre, he had claimed his first victory at Monza some twelve seasons earlier, back when Pierre and Charles were still in karts and could only dream about racing in Formula One. Pierre had looked up to Sebastian as a child, had watched him claim his four Championships and had dreamed of doing the same; maybe it was too early to hope to follow in his footsteps, to hope that his career could reach a fraction of the success Sebastian had achieved, but Pierre hadn’t gotten here by dreaming small.

But for now, it was enough to know that Sebastian had been rooting for him.     

Guilt twinged Pierre’s stomach when he realized that he should be happy that Charles had been rooting for him to, that even after Pierre had pushed him away, Charles still cared enough to want Pierre to win, that he still wanted Pierre to fulfill their childhood dream, F1 Drivers, race winners, World Champions. Despite what countless people had told them, despite the kids at school that had bullied Pierre and had told him that he was wasting his time, that he wasn’t good enough, the two of them had managed the improbable and achieved the first two. They were here, together, both winners at Monza.

“You shouldn’t have,” Pierre said stubbornly, “I don’t deserve your support, not after everything.”

Charles huffed, “Yeah, maybe, but I did it anyway and you can’t do anything about it now.”

Pierre didn’t have a response to that, so he continued to sit in silence. He knew that if he didn’t take advantage of this, of the olive branch Charles was offering, then their friendship was probably as good as dead. But despite knowing that this was his last chance, there were so many things that he wanted to say that he didn’t know where to start; he was frozen, terrified of saying the wrong thing. So, he continued to sit there, soaking in the moment.

“I don’t understand, why didn’t you tell me you’d been offered a seat?” Charles said, breaking the silence again.

Pierre had asked himself this same question countless times over the past few months, particularly on the nights he had been alone and unable to fall asleep, his only company being the thoughts that still swirled around in his head, the ones that hadn’t been silenced when he had finally achieved his lifelong dream.

“I—” Pierre hesitated and licked his lips, not sure where to start, but where was a better place and the beginning? “Last year,” he said finally. “You won here, do you remember?”

Charles looked at him, confused, and Pierre continued. Of course, Charles remembered winning at Monza, they both did. “I stood in the pit lane, watching you get your trophy.” He gestured to the long straight below them, remembering what it had been like to look up Charles, to see the red, white, and green confetti raining from the sky as the loyal Ferrari fans sang along as the Italian anthem played, flags waving widely as the sea of supporters cheered for Charles, their future champion.

“I was jealous.”

There were a million words that he could say, countless ways to explain why he had acted the way he had, but when it came down to it, the root of why he had distanced himself from Charles was because he had been jealous.

Jealous that his best friend had achieved his dream of racing in F1 and that he had found success, that he had made it to a top team that believed him, who was willing to favor him over a proven race winner and champion, that he had not only made it, but that it was more than possible that he could add his name and signature to the Championship Trophy, that his legacy would be cemented alongside the greats of the sport.

“Watching you up here, lifting up the trophy above your head. I wanted that for myself.” Pierre looked down at his feet, knowing how selfish it sounded, but if he wanted things with Charles to return to some kind of normal, he needed to be honest, needed to be willing to have the difficult conversation that he’d been avoiding for a year. If Charles still hated him after Pierre bared his soul, then so be it, but now that they were here, he wasn’t going to allow himself to leave the podium without knowing one way or another.

“I was happy for you too, of course, and I hated myself for being jealous because you deserve all the success in the world.”

Pierre felt fingers wrap around his wrist and he looked up to see Charles watching him, eyes wide with concern. Knowing that maybe, just maybe Charles didn’t hate him gave Pierre the courage to keep going.

“I guess it probably started before Monza, jealousy doesn’t come out of nowhere, no? But that weekend was when I first realized. I went home after and didn’t want to feel anything. I kept pushing myself, working longer hours, doing more at the factory because I didn’t want to be alone, or have enough time to stop and think about how miserable I was.

“I didn’t want to bother you with my problems because you were so happy, deservedly so, so I kept it to myself thinking that it would go away and I guess it never really did.”

“But we hung out in Abu Dhabi, you seemed okay then,” Charles frowned, brows furrowed in confusion. “A little tired maybe, but we all were.”

Pierre smiled ruefully and shook his head, remembering what had ended up being the last time he and Charles hung out together. There were times that night that he had been able to forget that it felt like he was drowning in his own emotions— and in those brief moments of respite, things with Charles had felt normal— but when the conversation lulled, and especially after the two had gone their separate ways at the end of the night, remembering the moments of peace made Pierre feel even worse. It was like he was punishing himself for his brief moments of happiness and whatever good feelings the night had left him with had quickly dissipated.

“I never thought I was that good of an actor,” he chuckled, “but maybe if racing doesn't work out, I should give that a try next, no? I never thought I was good at keeping secrets from you.”

Charles’s frown deepened. “Don’t joke like that.”

His tone surprised Pierre, who wasn’t used to Charles speaking with this much force. Charles was usually more easy going, assertive at times when he knew what he wanted, but never sharp, not even when he was angry; at times he could be petulant, more like the youngest sibling rather than the middle child that he was, but even with all their years of friendship, Pierre had never heard Charles sound so defiant.

“You belong here, with us,” Charles gestured aimlessly around them, at the podium, down toward the paddock below, then finally at the trophy still clutched in his hands, the twin of the one Charles had lifted high above his head the year before as Pierre had watched him, jealousy curling in the pit of his stomach as confetti rained down and the crowd cheered for their hero. “That is proof.

“You won a Formula 1 race, Pierre, only about a hundred people can say that they’ve achieved that in like 70 years of racing. No matter what happens after today, you’re a part of history and they can’t take that away from you. Our names are forever tied to this sport; we made it together, just like we planned. You deserve this, you earned this through hard work and determination and never giving up. I’m proud of you.”

The look on Charles’ face— the fierce determination in his eyes, the stubbornness of his pout— reminded Pierre of when they were kids, dreaming about making it to Formula 1, of the times they stayed up while on vacation together and dreamed about racing alongside each other. As they had grown older, those dreams never wavered. When Pierre had been told that he’d never amount to anything, that it would be better if he just gave up, Charles had reassured him that they were going to make it, they were going to be the ones who defied the odds.

And he had been right.

Despite setbacks and hardships, despite the timing not being quite right at first, they had made it. It may have taken Pierre a little longer than it had taken Charles, but they were here, together, competing at the highest level of motorsport just like they had dreamed.

Pierre didn’t have the words to express to Charles how much he meant to Pierre in that moment, how grateful he was for Charles’ unwavering support, even in the wake of Pierre’s treatment of him over the past year. He knew that he’d have to work to feel like he’d truly earned the forgiveness Charles had given him so easily, but the fear that Charles hated him was easing knowing that after everything, his best friend was still by his side.

“You’re beginning to sound a lot like Sebastian,” Pierre said instead of what he was feeling. “Rattling off all those statistics, I think he’s rubbed off on you.”

Charles scoffed, but the way his eyes lit up betrayed his attempt at looking annoyed; Pierre knew that Charles idolized Sebastian, and that any comparison would be taken as a compliment and that this time was no different. “Mate, come on. He makes fun of me for knowing nothing about this sport, but anything is nothing compared to him.”

Pierre laughed for what felt like the first time in ages, head tipping back as he felt his chest expanding— not just from the gasping breaths that he was taking as Charles grinned next to him, proud that the joke had landed— but from the weight of jealousy and bitterness that had made a home there in the past few months starting to melt away. He knew that things weren’t going to get better immediately, that winning a race and more importantly, the knowledge that Charles was right there fighting with him, for him wasn’t going to fix all his problems, but it was a light at the end of the tunnel, a lifeline that he could cling onto when things were rough and it was more than what he’d thought he’d had when he had felt so alone.

But the laughter, as good as it had felt, was short lived; Pierre’s mask was still soaked with champagne and the damp fabric was sticking to his face as he inhaled, making breathing more difficult.

“We should do something to celebrate,” he said, cheeks still wide with a smile. “Not go out obviously, but—”

“Dinner,” Charles said firmly, cutting him off. “We can order room service and catch up.” That determined look was back in Charles' eyes, and even if he had wanted to, there was no way Pierre could have said no to him. When Charles got his mind set on something, there was no convincing him otherwise.

“I’ll text you,” Pierre promised, standing from the podium, his trophy clutched in one hand, champagne in the other.

“Mate, you better, or else I’m going to come find you.”

Charles stood too and wrapped an arm around Pierre’s shoulders, hip checking him as the pair of them walked off the podium. 

[melonnade]

OC-TOBER #1 - fave oc

Gosh, I could talk for so long about this haha. I think I’m going to try to dump some lore with every OC-tober post, since I don’t think I talk about them very often.

Currently, like right now, I’d say my favorite OC is probably Xiang Wanyi? I feel like after reading all the mxtx books and Clear and Muddy Loss of Love, I’ve really been on a xianxia/wuxia kick lately and this choice reflects that. For a long time, my favorite was Haneul and it’ll probably go back to being Haneul in a couple months since my taste in OCs always seems to come back to morally-ambiguous women, but XWY has just been so fun to think about. I’ll throw in a quick sketch and then add more info under the cut!

The whole OC creation journey for XWY has been really fun for me because the entire thought process has been like, “haha, wouldn’t it be fucked up if [x] happened?” And then I just kept adding stuff. I think making OCs is a lot funner when you just let yourself be cringe—this guy has probably the most tragic backstory of all my OCs.

The base concept of XWY is that he’s not the real XWY—he’s an orphan kid who accidentally murdered a man who was unfortunately very important. Luckily for him, the guy has no close relations and will not be missed. Unluckily for him, if anyone finds out that the guy is dead, he will undoubtedly be tracked down and executed. So the solution is to impersonate him!

This was kind of supposed to be a comedy at first, where XWY runs into people who should’ve been familiar with the real XWY, and has to improv to try to stay in character. But over time, he’s gotten so used to pretending to be someone else that he feels more like XWY than who he used to be.

Before the main storyline even starts, XWY gets a found family, loses them, and is betrayed by a parental figure. And yet despite this, out of my ‘main’ OCs, he has the most positive outlook on life. To him, if you have the opportunity to help someone, it is always worthwhile to do it, no matter who it is. Futile or not, fleeting or not, those brief moments of happiness matter. He doesn’t hold grudges—you only have one life, after all, so why spend it remembering things like that? It’s because his backstory is so tragic that he’s able to smile so freely. He’s living on borrowed time and it’s only luck keeping him from being discovered, so he wants to live his life the best he can before it all comes to a close. I think this makes him super fun for me because that’s not a mentality I tend to explore a lot with my OCs. A lot of them are more practical and realistic. Haneul, for example, has probably the most similar upbringing, but she has a really nihilistic, self-destructive outlook. He’s like a fresh breath of air, and he’s got probably the most interesting relationships out of all the other OCs I’ve made for this particular universe.

I might end up going into greater detail about his backstory and how exactly he ended up in this position in the future, but that’s the gist of him for now. I think the crux of the favoritism just comes from how it’s really enjoyable to allow yourself to just do whatever! He’s the result of that, and also his design is just really fun to draw.

[goldentemplariumcrow]

Because I miss my Voltron verse for Dio...

Isu Dio who survived the war that made the Isu come to Earth; who fought, died and was brought back to life for his value as a weapon of mass destruction; who couldn't find a place for himself in the new society the Isu created on Earth, because he just couldn't get past the horrors of his actions and became afraid of his own abilities; who saw the crumbling of the Isu Civilization as corruption seeped through the cracks of their laws and systems; who watched the destruction and end of their time when the first Solar Flare, the cataclysm that followed it and sweeped the proof of their existence from the face of the Earth; who had to decide what to do to protect his little brother and himself in the wake and rise of humankind; who deemed it fair to put himself and his little brother into deep stasis and hidden in order to keep themselves safe; who woke up milenia later and tried to assimilate himself into the new world again by concealing every last bit of his true self to look as close to human as possible, down to the point where he locked away his own memories of the time before his awake; who found himself pulled into another war despite all his efforts to avoid it; who was forced into killing again; who is exhausted and still scared of himself, of the weapon he's become, but sees no other use or way for himself, because being a weapon is all he's ever been good at.

Isu Dio who doesn't see any value in himself and has a hard time accepting love and help even though he gives his own freely; who has learned through his own experiences that he's meant to he unlovable, but craves it more than the life force that sustains him; who misses knowing what touching another being without fearing that he might kill them feels like; who wants to be seen as a living being with wants, needs and dreams rather than a stoic, distant creature beyond any comprehension in his thoughts; who wants to love and be loved in return without fear of being used for ulterior motives.

Isu Dio, a monster, a killer, a cold blooded bastard who should never be trusted... A mask that he put on once and was never able to take off, because his whole existence became part of it as a way to get by. A survivor of wars and disasters. A lost lover in forever mourning for what could've been. A soul just trying to find his other half.

[sleepy-aletheas]

I love that their problems stems from: "I'm trying to talk in your communication style!" "No, I'm trying to talk in your communication style!", just pointing at each other, missing the point by a mile to the left on both sides. They're so silly.

It also shows how each other's pride work, and why it gets so easily wounded if it's them: they are equals. No one has as a good grasp of one than the other. No one bothers diving deeper, stick around closely for too long. No one can really work that well with either of them if it's not them.

The need to dance around Kaveh's pride and insecurities by being evasive and pivot every time the conversation turns more vulnerable so that he doesn't shutdown. Because even if Kaveh is proud of being an empath, being seen as emotional is usually seen as a detriment and a weakness (doesn't matter if one simply has an easier time living through their emotions and showing them, or simply having emotional intelligence). So he tries to come off as emotionally resilient and strong. And that's why he's clawing at any opportunity to be wholly independent. And if he can punish himself for feeling too much too openly, that seems like a bonus for him pre-parade.

And then they gotta dance around Alhaitham's penchant for sating his curiosity and straigh-forward approach that rubs a lot of people the wrong way too easily. He's emotionally intelligent enough to stop probing, but that is clearly more of a learned skill, honed by past boundaries being broken and living through the consequences, than a more natural advantage and inclination when not to poke the bear. And since people deem his behaviour as self-serving and cruel, it is easy to assign any and every other negative characteristic to him, because he doesn't bother correcting people.

So Kaveh chalking everything up through the lens of past unhealed and unresolved hurt, any kind gesture showed by Alhaitham will be automatically thrown out as "oh, this is a means to an end", if not for the desperation to cling to the broader public's opinion of Alhaitham so he won't be excluded from the masses, then it's also a self-soothing in a self-destructive method to reassure himself that his emotions are valid in the state they were left in. Because it would hurt more to realize he was fighting an invisible enemy that didn't exist to begin with for absolutely no reason, and wasted time being miserable.

Him also throwing his own insecurity of not fitting in onto Alhaitham's asocial behavior is such a human thing to do. He means well by trying to rile Alhaitham up to go hang out with people, but it's a misguided effort that usually pushed people to double down and isolate than actually make them fix something that isn't broken. He himself fears isolation and not belonging somewhere, and seeing his younger junior that is deliberately, freely choosing not to fit in, it must be terrifying and a complete wonder how that can work and not destroy a person.

And then we got Alhaitham, who saw what happens if he doesn't budge on something for no reason but being right in the wrong moment with the wrong tone, and now he's trying to figure out how to do it "right". Kaveh being so loud about how others communicate, what they need, the emotional capacities - it makes sense that Alhaitham catches on how Kaveh expects everyone to act, but also is self-aware enough that Kaveh won't believe him being able and willing to meet Kaveh in the middle. So Alhaitham is going around the problems and emotional talks with poking fun and pointing out flaws in logic, because Kaveh at least takes in stride criticism from him to challenge, than throw away the olive branch because of a misguided mischaracterization.

It's also why Alhaitham pushes Kaveh to realize that his self-worth doesn't hinge on the broader public's opinion. If someone's opinion could matter, it's friends and family, and people we surround ourselves with. They are there for us, and we are there for them. Kaveh breaking his back for strangers won't fill in the gap all his insecurities carved out, but his friends that love him for his silly self will stay by his side, he just has to stop punishing himself.

So Kaveh realizing that there even was a misunderstanding; Alhaitham realizing that there was a different misunderstanding than he misunderstood there was, seeing them now??? Absolutely beautiful, I wanna chew on bark. It's always the geniuses that have the best and most frustrating miscommunication going on. I love them.

A Parade of Providence haikaveh analysis + predictions

HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO A PARADE OF PROVIDENCE!!! <3 as such I thought it would be fitting to talk about a parade of providence and how this affects Alhaitham and Kaveh's relationship in light of Cyno's story quest 2!

Through Alhaitham’s efforts in researching Sachin’s involvement with Kaveh’s father and repeatedly commenting on Kaveh’s internal conflict, it is established in A Parade of Providence that, ultimately, Alhaitham wants betterment for Kaveh – however, this is at odds with his enjoying of Kaveh, as in, Kaveh being a part of his way of life which he seeks to maintain. If he is direct with Kaveh about his intentions, he risks complete rejection, both in Kaveh rejecting him, and in Kaveh rejecting himself.

Thus, it is evident that a new method of understanding one another must be established – and this is demonstrated in the note Alhaitham writes to Kaveh, in a language only the two know. Kaveh is unable to fully comprehend Alhaitham’s meaning, however, due to his misinterpretation of Alhaitham’s character.

As Kaveh views Alhaitham as an egoist who looks down upon his altruism, all of Alhaitham’s words and actions are interpreted through this lens. However, this event has the potential to cause Kaveh to question this. Not only within Kaveh’s uncertainty of Alhaitham’s intentions regarding the meaning of his notes on the idealist denying themselves happiness, but through Alhaitham’s understanding of their relationship.

Alhaitham states to Kaveh that the issue that they disagree over, is not the “correctness” of their philosophies, as Kaveh believes. There is a silence within the text here, which is cause not only for the player to question, but predominantly Kaveh to question. As Kaveh asserts: “What topic of conversation could be more sacred among scholars than… differing philosophies?”, being that their opposing viewpoints are the basis for their interaction, whereas Alhaitham has initiated the interaction due to informing Kaveh on his findings on Sachin: “I didn’t come here for the conversation. Well, not this one at least”.

The basis of this interaction for Alhaitham is a personal interest in Kaveh, whereas Kaveh believes it to be about their conflicting differences. This sentiment, too, is applicable to the standing of their current relationship, where Alhaitham is personally interested in Kaveh’s existence and all that he offers, whereas Kaveh understands Alhaitham to be averse to the conflicts in their natures. For Alhaitham, then, to state that the reason for their disputes not hinging on the “correctness” of their respective philosophies, is an address to Kaveh for him to question what, then, is the reason for their disputes.

Kaveh has understood the contextual clues which Alhaitham has provided, however, his perception of Alhaitham disallows him from fully understanding. He questions Alhaitham’s intentions in writing him the note; he recognises that Sachin’s research into nihilism do not intersect with Alhaitham’s egoism, and therefore, Alhaitham would have no interest in looking into him, and yet, Alhaitham has done so, only to unveil Sachin’s connection with Kaveh’s father. Kaveh thanks Alhaitham for doing so, however, he has seemingly not truly understood why.

Adding to this, if Alhaitham does not keep Kaveh around out of arguing the “correctness” of his egoism, what is Alhaitham’s reason for doing so? This question is posed for Kaveh to recognise and, eventually, answer. By reflecting on his own perception of Alhaitham, Kaveh is closer to understanding Alhaitham’s intentions, and thus, his own betterment – depending on whether he accepts, or rejects, Alhaitham’s concern. Ultimately, it is Kaveh’s choice whether he seeks to absolve himself from guilt, although Alhaitham is integral as a catalyst.

Communication is the key here, as for Kaveh to better understand Alhaitham, Alhaitham must better express himself in order to truly be heard. This links into the core principle of their characters as mirrors; what they lack in themselves is present in the other. With Kaveh being identified as an empath, he believes good communication is the key to mutual trust, and with Alhaitham viewing conversation as a means to an end, the two have conflicting methods of dialogue, and thus, this results in misunderstanding.

For Alhaitham to effectively convey his meaning, he must do so on Kaveh’s terms. However, such methods of conveying goodwill can be counterproductive due to Kaveh’s internal workings, thus, Alhaitham resorts to actions.

By researching into Sachin, despite his initial disinterest, Alhaitham further expands his view on the world, and his objective truth, through the catalyst of sensibility – Kaveh.

His notes on the idealist denying themselves happiness at the risk of losing themselves to these inherently conflicted ideals resonate with Kaveh due to how he cannot assign a negative intention to Alhaitham’s action. By using less derisive language to convey his meaning, along with an empathetic interpretation of Kaveh’s idealist, this contradicts Kaveh’s perspective of Alhaitham as a detached egoist, and therefore, Alhaitham’s meaning is called into question. Sensibility present in actions appears to be an effective way of Kaveh questioning his perspective of Alhaitham, as this meets Kaveh in how he communicates his care of Alhaitham.

It is relevant to discuss that Kaveh held a gathering for his friends after winning the Interdarshan Championship, and in this, also invited Alhaitham, although he was not present due to him being in Aaru Village. Despite this, Kaveh orders dishes to take home for Alhaitham, which Alhaitham notes to the Traveler. These actions convey Kaveh’s thoughtfulness for others, however, it is noted that this is not necessary to do so in Alhaitham’s case, as Kaveh has established a “mutual” dislike between the two of them. This, however, is established due to Alhaitham’s wounding of Kaveh’s pride, as Kaveh’s feelings towards Alhaitham are inherently more conflicted.

Since Kaveh undertakes these actions out of his sensibility, it is relevant to discuss his critiques on Alhaitham’s chosen separation from others. In this event, Kaveh complains about Alhaitham missing out on the gathering in order to find a “hidey-hole to read in”, only to reveal that his complaint serves as cover for concern, when he states: “You need to change your ways, you know. You can’t survive on books alone”.

This aligns with Kaveh’s critique of Alhaitham’s egoism in terms of separating oneself from others in order to better serve oneself, however, here it is a clear indicator of concern, rather than critique. As Kaveh understands meeting with friends as important to one’s livelihood, by Alhaitham avoiding doing so, he believes Alhaitham serves to damage himself. Sensibility, and the ability to value others’ company, to Kaveh is a means of looking after oneself, and Alhaitham denying this, thus, concerns Kaveh.

This demonstrates that the concern the two have for each other does not stem from their belief in the “correctness” of their respective ideologies and enforcing it onto the other, but rather what the other lacks which threatens their development. Both, through their understanding of the world due to the respective philosophies, want to provide what they believe the other lacks in order for the other to be a better realised individual.

The issue, at its core, is not whether they are wrong or right about their beliefs, but rather if their beliefs can benefit the other instead of harming them.

Kaveh’s callback to his initial reaction upon meeting Alhaitham (that, at first, their views “aligned” and were “complete”, being a false judgement, and that instead their differing philosophies could adjourn new speculation (Old Sketchbook) in the line: “What topic of conversation could be more sacred among scholars than… differing philosophies?”, conveys that new speculation can be found in the balancing of their philosophies. Evidently, the idea of ‘balancing’ their philosophies can be seen in their positive influence over each other, in them providing solutions to the other’s problems.

Overall, the question of whether Alhaitham and Kaveh can balance each other out, can maintain a harmony of opposites, exists in the sole premise of their existence: “Rationality and sensibility, language and architecture, knowledge and human feelings... Things that can never be integrated are what constitute the two sides of the mirror”.

Through Kaveh continuing to live with Alhaitham; Alhaitham’s assertion that Kaveh separating himself from the crowd not being a negative in terms of pursuing his ideals; and Alhaitham undertaking different methods of communication for Kaveh to better understand him, A Parade of Providence establishes that both of their fates lie within each other. This creates the promise of a narrative which follows the two reaching a mutual understanding potentially to be explored in future events.

(This is a reworked excerpt taken from my Haikaveh essay posted in March, before Cyno's Story Quest 2! If you're interested you can check it out here or as a pdf <3)

[sophierequests]

Hi!! I really love your writing and I wanted to request something!!

(I’m sorry if my English isn’t that good, it’s not my first language)

Kaz Brekker x reader, where the reader is best friends with Wylan and Jesper. And they love to talk about how Jesper and Wylan always go on a date or something when it’s their anniversary

And Kaz overhears these conversations and feels bad because he can’t really do anything with the reader on their anniversary, because their relationship is still a secret

The fic should be a Hurt/Comfort please! Thank you so much!!

you always turn my head around

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Requests

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x gn!Reader

A/N: AHHH THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD REQUEST THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so sorry that this is so long, I just added so much hurt that I completely neglected the comfort part. Also thank you for the compliment!! And btw, don't apologize for your English, I'm not a native speaker either, so we're all in the same boat! ^^ I hope you like this!

Summary: Being best friends with a lovey-dovey couple is hard. Especially if your relationship has to be kept a secret and your partner isn't really too fond of touch. Can love be stronger than guilt?

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4.2K (I'M SO SORRY TO WHOEVER REQUESTED THIS)

Warnings: mention of touch aversion, vomiting, nausea, self-deprecating humour and thoughts

Kaz truly did hate himself sometimes. He hated the way he turned out to be. Cold and ruthless, a criminal and even a killer. Loved or even liked by few, hated and targeted by many. He hated the way he had to shy away from physical touch. How he felt the bile rise up in his throat when people touched him longer than a few seconds, no matter who the person touching him was.

He hated how his traits affected the people around him, the people he loved. How he couldn’t openly talk about your relationship, not even with the people he considered friends, for fear of you being killed. How he couldn’t hold your hand in public or even in private. He hated the destruction he caused.

He loved you. He truly did. It took him almost three weeks to process your words when you first told him about your feelings. Even though you were aware from the beginning, that the relationship had to be a secret, for your own sake, you still stayed. Unmoving and always respectful of his boundaries.

You didn’t leave him, no matter how hard it was to only be able to love him behind closed doors. Kaz often wondered why you haven’t already left him. He was aware that you could find anyone better than him. But you didn’t.

It wasn’t easy to be with Kaz sometimes. Loving him was easy. Hiding said love was not. You knew that he tried his best to show the missed lacking physical affection through other ways. Leaving hidden gifts in your room, late-night talks in his office and other affectionate gestures were things you were completely fine with. He even tried to work on his touch aversion for and with you, but you’d never expect anything that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Hiding your relationship from the outside sadly also included people you considered friends. None of the Crows knew about the two of you, Kaz made sure to shut down every rumour before they even formed. Conversations like these did hurt. A lot. He never meant what he said to the others. But the fact that he was capable of just denying every tender moment the two of you shared pained you immensely.

It didn’t really help that most of the other Crows could just freely display their affection. Nina and Matthias never had to hide when they kissed or whispered sweet nothing's to each other. They never had to outrightly deny their affection for the other. They didn’t need to worry about their relationship being the next target for Ketterdam’s scum.

It also wasn’t ideal, that your best friends, Jesper and Wylan, never seemed to keep their hands off each other. They were the ideal couple, showering each other with affection, always trying out new ideas for dates, and just being comfortable with their relationship.

Even though, you often felt envious of their relationship, you were always excited to listen to them gushing about their cute little dates.

Today was one of these dates. The three of you were sitting in a booth at the Crow Club, talking and laughing, just like old times. And there was a good enough reason to do so: The two recently celebrated their three-year anniversary, and of course, Jes went all out.

“First, we went to his father’s farm, you have no clue how weird it was to meet him again, after officially being in a relationship with his son.” Wylan chuckled, a slight flush appearing on his cheek, whilst retelling the story. None of you were sure whether it was because of the alcohol or the memories.

“Oh Wylan, Colm is an angel! I doubt that you, of all people, have any reason to be scared of him.” you chimed in, thinking back to the first time when you met the red-haired farmer.

“That’s what I’ve been saying the whole time! I think that he even enjoyed his presence more than mine!” Jesper called out dramatically, leaning in closer to his boyfriend.

The three of you laughed, both Wylan and you shooting a playful apologetic expression at the Zemeni boy.

Your laughter also alerted another person of your presence.

Kaz had made his way down from his office and was immediately greeted by hearing your voice. At first, he was glad to see you happy, laughing and having fun. He was constantly surprised by the positive attitude you kept up. It seemed to be only a matter of time, until the ugly dullness of the Barrel sucked all the life out of you. It never did.

But once he saw the dynamic you were in, his mood darkened. He knew exactly what was going on, already dreading the guilty feeling creeping up on him. Against his better judgement, he decided to listen in on the conversation, settling down at the bar and ordering a drink.

“After meeting up with his dad, who is an awesome baker by the way, he showed me where he grew up.” Wylan mused happily.

“In great detail.” Jesper added smugly, earning a jab in the ribs from Wylan.

“Gross.” you commented, rolling your eyes playfully.

Kaz cringed, knowing exactly what they were talking about. Their anniversary. He had generously given them extra time to celebrate it. Not on his own accord. You had to convince him. But he still did it with more or less no complaints.

He had thought about your own anniversaries. All of them spent in the solitude of his office, talking and drinking. They were enjoyable, but he always had the feeling that it just wasn’t enough. You never complained, sometimes even saying that you couldn’t accept the gifts he neatly presented you. But it just felt wrong. Just because this sort of arrangement was the most suitable for him, didn’t mean that it was what you deserved.

The conversation between the three of you kept on going, the two lovebirds talking about visiting family, having a picnic beneath the shining night sky, and so many more affectionate memories they could look back on.

The man at the bar listened to every word. He caught your longing glances, yearning for a similar life, and it made Kaz sick. As mundane as this sort of life may seemed to him, secretly, it was one of the few things he wanted to be able to offer you.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t go back to his parents’ farm, back to Lij. He couldn’t introduce you to his parents, seeing you get all nervous in hopes of making a good impression. He couldn’t just take you to some desolate place to watch the stars, hands intertwined and only needing the other's presence. He couldn’t even take you on a date in Ketterdam, in fear of you being Pekka’s next target.

After his third shot, he stopped listening, remaining seated until he felt a familiar, comforting presence on the bar stool next to his.

“Hi, I didn’t see you coming down, you could have joined us, if you wanted.” you whispered lowly, a small smile on your lips.

He didn’t respond, only nodding in response. You were used to this type of response, but you didn’t mind it much.

What you did, however, mind, was him standing up after finishing his last shot, giving you another quick nod, and wordlessly striding back to his office.

On other occasions, you might’ve been inclined to follow him. But after hearing your friends gush about their lovingly tender relationship, you just didn’t feel like running after him.

He would come around eventually.

Is what you told yourself.

The exact opposite happened. Over the next few weeks, Kaz got more and more distanced. He wasn’t ignoring you, but there was definitely something going on. You weren’t able to get anything out of him that would have helped you to solve the enigma that was Kaz’s mind.

Even a few days before your own anniversary, his behaviour didn’t seem to budge. At this point, you weren’t even sure, if he’d like to celebrate it. You felt like a little child, desperately chasing after an unreachable crush.

Kaz on the other hand, was utterly and completely helpless. He wanted to do something for you. Something special. But sadly, this wasn’t like cracking a lock or stealing a man’s wallet. He couldn’t rely on only his own skills, but he had no other choice than to do so. He couldn’t ask the Crows for help, but neither could he ask you. He was locked in an eternal limbo of self-doubt, anxiety and utter desperation.

“Y/N, look! Wylan brought me flowers!” was the first thing he heard, when he walked down to the kitchen area, where you were currently sitting, “My favourite flowers!”

Kaz halted in the corridor, again, only eavesdropping from a fair distance.

He thought about your favourite flower. Did he actually know what your favourite flower was?

“You two are so cute, guys. Is there any reason for the flowers?” you asked, hoping to not have forgotten any important dates.

“Yes, there was.” Wylan answered, “Every day is a good enough reason to bring my boyfriend flowers.”

Jesper and you groaned playfully, causing Wylan ‘s cheeks to flush a bright red, which was only enhanced by Jesper kissing him.

“You two are teeth-rottenly sweet, do you know that. Ugh, gross.” you joked, but Kaz knew that you didn’t mean it.

In fact, this was one of the things he’d love to do for you. That he’d instantly do for you if he was a different man under different circumstances.

“You could have that, too, if you wouldn’t have a crush on the human embodiment of a bag full of kruge.” Jesper joked, giving you an eyebrow wiggle.

You didn’t speak for a second, not knowing how to respond to that.

“Do you know something I’m not quite aware of?” you finally spoke, slightly irritated by this turn of events.

“Oh come on, love.” Kaz cringed at Jesper’s nickname for you, but even more at the uncomfortable feeling of them suspecting your romantic involvement, “We both know you have a thing for him.”

“I’m not quite sure, who you are referring to.” you answered dryly.

Wylan huffed, giving you an incredulous look.

“You so do.” he said in jest, giving Jesper a mischievous look, “Which one of us could it possibly be?”

“I do not have a crush on Kaz.” you lied, swallowing the uneasy thoughts of having to deny liking him, “And even if I would have a crush on him, it would be none of your business.”

“It is our business, Y/N.” Jesper interjected, his voice turning a bit more serious than before, “We are your friends, best ones even, and it’s so brutally obvious that you like him. We just think, that maybe you should reflect on that again.”

You furrowed your brows suspiciously, now genuinely worried about what they might have to say.

“Y/N, Kaz is not the guy to bring you your favourite flowers or take you out on dates. I doubt that he’s even the guy to be affectionate with the people he likes. We just want you to be cautious. He’s our friend too, even if he’d never admit it, we know him quite well by now.” Wylan added meekly.

“Guys, I really appreciate your concern, but I can promise you there are no romantic feelings between me and Kaz. We are just friends and that’s it. And now shush, or he might hear you and come down to break your fingers.”

With that, Kaz also decided that he heard enough, and moved on to climb the stairs to his office. He didn’t like to acknowledge it, but hearing you deny your relationship with him, also made him nauseous.

After another day of Kaz ignoring you, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You took a plate of the dinner, which he decided to skip, and excused yourself to bring it up to his office.

When you entered, you saw him sitting at his desk, flipping through stacks of paper, supposedly without any sense or reason. He looked tired, hands lightly trembling when he picked up a different page.

With a clank, you put the plate in front of him, careful to not get anything on his work. You were standing next to him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. But when he only sighed in response, you were close to just leaving.

“Thank you, but I am not hungry. I have work to do.” he said coldly, not even looking up to you.

“And I bet you’re not tired either, Kaz.” you disagreed, shoving the plate closer to him.

“Excellent observation, Y/N.”

“Why are you like this Kaz? You didn’t eat breakfast, you’re ignoring me and I would bet every coin currently in my pockets, that you haven’t slept a lot either.” you pressed on, voice softening, but still laced with exhaustion.

“I don’t think we should continue this.” he answered, expression suddenly completely sombre.

“I agree because I am definitely not in the mood to argue with you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“No. I meant this.” he said, pointing a finger between the two of you.

The realisation of what he meant hit you harder than you thought.

“Kaz, you can’t be serious? Why?” was the only thing you could say, as you felt your eyes becoming glassy.

“I think we need a break.” he repeated sternly, his eyes avoiding yours, “This is not good for you. I should’ve known. It was inevitable, honestly.”

You wanted to scream, cry, do legitimately anything else than just standing there, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t and wouldn’t allow yourself to lash out at the man, who just broke up with you, without any warning or explanation.

“Is this truly what you want?” you asked, as a last attempt to save your relationship - he didn’t answer, “Alright. I don’t if you care enough to know. But if that’s your solution, then fine. Good night Kaz.”

That was the last thing you said to him, before leaving and rushing to your room. Over the chair next to your bed, hung the coat you had got him for your upcoming anniversary. It was designed with your own embroideries of crows and other little designs you liked. Now it posed as a constant reminder of your own stupidity.

Kaz also didn’t take it well. He knew that he had no right to be frustrated since he was the one breaking up with you. But he couldn’t shake the thought of the tears building up in your eyes and then you storming out of his habit, knowing that you were about to break down. The plate next to him added another layer of guilt to his conscience. He, in fact, was hungry, but he couldn’t bring himself to swallow the food, the bile rising up in his stomach stopping every attempt. He truly fucked it up this time.

So, when your anniversary came up, you decided to mingle with your friends instead of locking yourself in your room, as you actually had intended. This meant, that you spent the day with Jesper, Wylan and Inej, Matthias and Nina only occasionally joining you.

When Kaz intentionally strode past you, Inej decided to speak up.

“Where are you going?” she asked him suspiciously, cocking one of her eyebrows.

“A new collection of diamond jewellery has been stored in one of the mansions in the Financial District. I’m going to take a look at it. I’ll be back this evening.” he said curtly, making Jesper stare at him in annoyance.

“The last time you went to ‘look at something alone’ you got caught and Y/N had to save your ass. You should take someone with you.”

“Maybe Y/N would like to come with you.” Wylan added smugly, blissfully unaware of your discomfort by that suggestion, “They haven’t been in the best mood lately and a good mission would probably help them get back on track.”

This comment made you want to scream out what you were actually thinking right now, but you knew that you had no good reason to decline this offer, without coming clean about your previous relationship. So you kept quiet, hoping that Kaz would be quick to decline.

“Is that so?” Kaz asked, his face devoid of any emotions, “Alright. Y/L/N, meet me in five minutes downstairs.”

With that, Kaz limped out of the room, the steady clicking of his cane being the only thing left of his presence.

You stared at the spot, where he previously stood, in disbelief. Had he already managed to push every amount of care he had to the back of his mind? Didn’t he also feel uncomfortable?

Maybe Inej had been right all along. Kaz doesn’t say goodbye. He just lets go.

Standing up wordlessly, ignoring the wink Jesper gave you, you walked upstairs, having to change into something more fit for a mission into the Financial District. This was not how you wanted your day to go.

He was already waiting for you downstairs, impatiently fiddling with his cane. When he caught sight of you, he nodded and continued walking, without saying a word.

The two of you walked silently for a few minutes until you noticed, that you were walking in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” you asked, slowing down slightly.

He didn’t answer.

“This is not the way towards the Financial District, Bekker. Where are we going?”

Again, nothing.

You stopped dead in your tracks, staring daggers into his back, forcing him to turn around to face you. The look on his face clearly irritated.

“Just follow me. I know what I’m doing. Tr-” he began, being immediately cut off by your frustrated voice.

“If you ask me to trust you, I’ll leave right then and there. Your trust is worth nothing to me any more.”

“I’m not telling you where we’re going. You either follow me, or you don’t. It’s your choice.”

With a defeated groan, you moved towards him, now walking next to him. Again, without saying one word.

You walked for quite a while until you slowly seemed to pick up on where you were actually going. In mere minutes, you reached the rough, rocky coast of the Fifth Harbour. The place where the two of you met for the first time after you arrived from Ravka.

He walked towards one of the steel benches that were sloppily placed on the rocky ground, sitting down slowly. You realized that the muscles in his leg were twitching again, an indication that the pain got worse. You sat down next to him, waiting for him to say something. To explain whatever he was doing, but he just left you in silence.

“Listen…” both of you started almost simultaneously, turning around to look at each other.

“You first.” he offered.

“What a gentleman…” you mocked in response, “Kaz, I have no clue what you plan on doing, but I don’t have the patience for playing one of your mind games. Especially not today. You know exactly why.”

The man sitting next to you closed his eyes, nodding.

“I know. And I understand, that you have no reason to even be here. I just realized that I owe you an apology.” he confessed softly.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. Kaz Brekker doesn’t apologize. He never did.

“I’m sorry for how I talked to you in my office last week.”

“You mean for breaking up with me? Right before our anniversary? Right after ignoring me for no reason?” you retorted angrily, “The only thing I want from you is an explanation.”

“I heard you talking to Wylan and Jesper. In the Crow Club and that time, when Wylan got Jesper flowers.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“You deserve someone who could give you that. Someone who’s not afraid of touching you. Someone who wouldn’t make you an assassination target. Someone who isn’t me.”

Now you knew what was happening.

“It doesn’t feel right depriving you of that, Y/N. You don’t deserve this. I never stopped caring for you, and I doubt that I’ll ever will. But I can’t give you the things you need. At least not yet."

“You have no clue what I want.” you muttered, eyes fixed on the shore.

“Y/n…”

“No Kaz. You didn’t even ask me what I actually want. I don’t care about what you can’t offer. I never did. If I had fallen in love with you with the intention of being in a relationship like the one of Wylan and Jesper, that would’ve been a pretty fucking poor judge of character.” you said before he could say anything more self-deprecating, “The thing that I actually needed was you. No matter how. I knew what I was getting into when we started dating. You were always enough for me. This has always been enough. ”

Kaz sighed again, staring back at you, as if he was looking for something in the depths of your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” was the only thing he said in response, “I never intended to hurt you like this.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that.” you chuckled.

“I suppose so.” his voice almost remorseful, “Can we…”

“Fix this?” you completed his sentence, a fresh wind of hope creeping into your chest.

“Yes. Fix this. Fix us.”

“Do you want this?” you asked, scooting slightly closer to him, still giving him enough space to feel comfortable.

“More than anything else.”

"You should be glad that I love you, because you're really testing me sometimes." you laughed, looking up to see something resembling a smile on his face.

"I am glad that you love me, because I do love you too." he said reassuringly.

It almost took him over a year into your relationship to tell you that he loved you, so him saying it made your heart leap into your stomach.

Before you could become any more vulnerable, the first drops of rain caused you to look up at the by now almost black sky.

Kaz stood up with a huff, reaching out his gloved hand for you to take.

You were hesitant at first, wanting to ask him if he'd truly be alright with it, but after a loud rumble of thunder, you took it without any hesitation.

Arriving at the Slat, mildly soaked, you avoided the other Crows as good as you could, since they were still held to believe that the two of you were on a job.

The best solution for you to hide seemed to be staying hidden in your room. There, Kaz let himself fall on your bed, closing his eyes with a content hum.

You wanted to let yourself fall right next to him, but before that, your eyes landed on the leather jacket still hanging on your chair.

"Kaz, I have something for you." you smiled, picking up the heavy fabric and holding it in front of you.

He opened one eye, looking a bit puzzled, but after he realized what you were holding he sat up.

"You didn't need to do that." he whispered, taking the gift from your hands and eyeing it carefully, as if he feared that he would rip it by just looking at it.

With a hint of hesitation, he pulled off his gloves, letting his fingers trace over the sturdy surface, stopping at the embroidery.

"It's beautiful. Thank you, love." he admitted, his voice having an unfamiliar softness to it.

"I embroidered that myself. Thought it would add a bit of character to it. Your old coat looked so washer out." you informed him, a soft blush rising up in your cheeks, after seeing him handle your work with so much care.

"It's stunning, I love it." he smiled, his voice trembling a bit.

He placed the coat next to him carefully, smoothing out any bumps. One of his hands reached into his own coat pocket, where he retrieved a small black box from. It was wrapped in a delicate red ribbon, complimenting the dark, lush black design of the box.

You looked at the box in surprise, you didn’t really suspect that he would’ve got you anything. Especially after he broke up with you.

“This is for you.” he said, holding it in front of you.

“You got me something?” you asked, a huge smile forming on your lips.

“Open it. I want to see if you like it.”

After removing the red ribbon cautiously, you opened the box slowly, revealing a stunning silver necklace. The pendant was in the shape of a crow, similar to the brooch he gifted you when you officially became a Crow.

“Kaz, this is so pretty! I love it, thank you!” you beamed, pulling the necklace from its container, wanting to wear it immediately.

“Wait, let me help you.” he said, before standing up and taking the jewellery out of your hand.

He stepped around you, gently placing the gift around your neck, clasping it behind your back.

You felt his fingers barely ghost over your skin after he closed it. You wanted to pull away, fearing that he might shut down from his touch aversion, but instead, he let his fingers gently rest in that position for a few seconds longer.

At that moment, you knew, that things were going to be okay.

[redrobin-detective]

*crawls through you bedroom window* actually sorry I’m not done talking about the tragic, complicated clusterfuck which is Ben and Rook’s friendship/partnership. Because of how it was set up and their own personalities at the time, it was doomed to fail. I mentioned previously how neither got to know/understand the other and I retract that because it’s not entirely true. They did get to bond in a way that you almost have to when you’re in life or death situations together but they never talked about it and so each went on thinking they weren’t important to the other.

The whole nature of their partnership reeks of impermanence. Max obviously knew ahead of time that Gwen and Kevin were leaving for college and had time to prepare. Ben being on his own, reckless and stupid, was not an option. I wonder how many candidates they went through before they got to Rook. They chose someone who excelled at Plumber training, who knew the rules Ben never bothered to learn backwards and forwards. Someone who would balance out Ben and keep him reigned in. Someone who was obviously destined for higher management so why not give him the best field training possible? Rook, if not Ben, was certainly aware that it was a temporary thing. Ben was 16 going on 17, soon he wouldn’t need a partner anymore; this was the last attempt at training wheels. I imagine the partnership dissolved not long after Omniverse ends, when Rook becomes Magister and probably has new training and responsibilities. Ben, almost an adult by human standards and hopefully positively molded by Rook’s influence, is deemed ready to be on his own. 

So imagine you’re Rook, you’re a newly graduated Plumber who was ready to take on the universe. You’re informed you’re heading to Earth and you will be working one on one with your idol, the Ben 10, the one who inspired you to leave your traditional, isolated homeworld. You meet your hero and while he’s got the watch and the quips, he’s also a child in a culture you don’t understand. You’re disappointed that your hero isn’t as perfect as rumor and propaganda told you. You’re angry and frustrated and you don’t bother to hide it, Ben almost seems to retaliate by being more obnoxious. The more time you spend with Ben, you realize there’s a method to his madness. He wins more battles than he loses, what Rook at first took to be Ben’s flaws turn out to also be his strengths. Seeing Ben in action snarling and laughing in the face of certain destruction, he realizes that Ben is, at the same time, a stupid, idiot kid who barely has an idea of what he’s doing but also twice the hero Rook thought he was. Suddenly Ben 10 isn’t just a poster in his room or a radio show to listen to in the dark, he is a real person and that makes him even more worthy of admiration.

And Rook does admire him, quietly. Ben keeps up his walls and Rook lets him because who is he to try and really befriend Ben 10? Rook is just one of billions of Plumbers in the universe, Ben is the universe’s savior. I bet before Rook ever stepped foot on Earth it was drilled into him that Ben Tennyson was to be protected at all costs, that Rook’s life was nothing compared to Ben’s. Rook already comes from a very restrained and private culture, he won’t initiate anything beyond what is needed for to the mission and to save his partner. It is enough for him to be able to work alongside his hero (even if said hero is thoughtless and ridiculous and has no sense of self preservation and he drives Rook insane but by gum does he respect the hell out of Ben when he isn’t contemplating murdering him). When the time ultimately comes for Rook to depart, he will be sad but not mention it. Because he imagines he is only a blip on Ben’s radar, a temporary partner before Ben goes onto bigger and better things. He never tells Ben that his loyalty wasn’t to the Plumbers, to Ben 10 but to the scrawny, sleep deprived kid who always remembered Rook’s favorite smoothie flavor. 

Now imagine you’re Ben. You’ve saved the universe at the cost of your privacy, chance for a normal life, general sense of safety and sanity. You’re quickly losing track of what part is you and what part is the myth about you. Two of your three major support systems abandon you without notice. Over the years of AF/UAF, Gwen and Kevin saw all your brokenness, fears, vulnerabilities, watched you go from dumb kid to hero. You didn’t have to tell them these things, they saw them happen and just knew. And now they’re gone and you only have your grandpa who you love but is also sorta of your boss now. He tells you you’re being assigned a new partner, someone chosen without your consent, someone you’re expected to trust your life and secrets with. Fine, this Rook fellow will do. He can watch your back but he’s not having any pieces of your broken heart. 

You fight, both bad guys and each other. The two of you have such opposite styles that you clash. He may have training and discipline but you have experience and incredible power. You fumble and bicker and somewhere through it all find an understanding. Suddenly the rumble of his voice is familiar as Kevin’s once was, his logical approaches and teasing barbs slot in where Gwen’s used to be. It’s not bad, you tell yourself. You know this isn’t forever, that it’s not real, but it’s not bad. Because you know first and foremost that Rook is a Plumber and you are not. You also know he is a fan and you are acutely aware how short you fall from the perfect hero ideal. Ben laughs, clinging harder to the arrogant hero façade and pretends Rook’s disappointment doesn’t crush him. If someone who’s forced to work with him doesn’t like Ben, then how can he be the beloved savior everyone tells him he is even though he doesn’t quite know how he got there? He’s just a kid doing his best and soon buries himself in his perceived role.

Time passes, Ben and Rook have been through so much. Against your will, he’s seen some of your broken parts. He sees past your cracks, sees your guilt and grief and bone deep fear. But he doesn’t seem upset, even more disappointed by the failure hero. He is kind, friendly, understanding. Not enough that Ben feels comfortable to open up but he relaxes, just a bit. Rook isn’t just a forced upon partner, he’s now a friend. But he knows Rook is only here because he was ordered, he feels Rook’s annoyance with him and believes his kindness is only out of duty. It’s fine, he’s used to everyone around him bleeding him dry of everything he has and then some. Just another part of being a hero. He’s not Kevin or Gwen but he is Rook and he is grown on you because Ben is always an open soul, one who wants to receive some love he gives so freely. You finally feel steady, like you can stop pretending so much and try and find some peace and happiness in your dangerous, chaotic life.

Suddenly so fast, you’ve saved the universe once more and Rook is moving on. It’s like Gwen and Kevin leaving all over again. Rook himself seems excited to move up the ranks, to get more tassles on his uniform. He is a soldier at heart, you are not even if you play the part of one. You are a child only you’re not anymore, while you were busy saving everyone again and again your childhood was stolen from you. Now on the edge of adulthood, you’re told it’s time to take responsibility. You want to scream you’ve been doing that since you were 10 years old, that someone else can do  it for a change. You want to beg Rook to stay, to drag Gwen and Kevin home, to hide your loved ones away with you and not have to confront the big, bad universe alone. Instead, you do what you always do. You swallow all your fears, your wishes and hopes and shake his hand goodbye and wish him well. You don’t tell him you’ll miss him, neither does he. 

Rook and Ben part as the strangers they never stopped being even if both of them aches at the loss of the close proximity, of the friendship. Both are very much aware that the relationship was weak, transient, that it might have been something more if they gave it more attention. However, too many things were between them and both of them genuinely believed the other didn’t care as much. The rest of their lives they remain friendly, distant but polite. It’s not much different from when they fought side by side even if they wish it different.

[earl-grey-love]

I think my attraction to Roy is interesting because it's an outlier. He's not my classic type at all.

Yeah there's a crossover but my taste (in men) is far more like Jack, Ken or Howard. They're well-dressed and good looking (like Roy), but they're emotionally intelligent, quietly confident/self-assured, and passionate people. They care about themselves and others, while sporting that "classic hollywood" look. They're also featured with blue colour-coding. At first glance they don't stand out other than the fact they're pretty. Which in the case of those three their attractiveness is stated in canon. Weirdly their personalities are portrayed as turn-offs though. At least according to other cishet men in their sources.

Howard cus he comes off as a prick due to being wealthy. Ken cus he's too "soft" (aka feminine). Jack cus he hates abuses of authority and speaks up freely.

Then we have Roy. Who fucking sucks. His entire personality stinks. He's not nice, he's cares about nothing (except money), and he completely lacks confidence or self-assurance. The total opposite of everything I like. Aside from the "classic hollywood" look of course. But that too is what everything else is: a defence mechanism.

Roy is very much a character who doesn't like himself. Which is why he acts the way he does. He thinks he's the worst motherfucker ever, so he acts like it. Fulfils the expectations. At least after the "Im so cool, successful and sexy" projection doesn't stick or dissolves under any scrutiny. Which always deeply upsets him btw. Once someone calls him like it is, he gets extremely nasty. 90% of the times he's at his worst is when he's been hit somewhere he's insecure about.

Which is his money, status, appearance, funniness or personality. Basically anything. None of this an excuse for his behaviour, of course. (As a sidebar, I do want to say that I don't condone an ounce of his beliefs or actions. He's actually pretty much my polar opposite in terms of those). However, I would argue that if he did have confidence in himself, he would be my type. Which is exactly why "My Roy" is completely different from canon. I fixed him okay.

The reason I think this is because he's kind of like, if the traits in the "decent guys" kinda went wrong. In order for Roy to be as horrible as he is, he needs emotional intelligence. How else can he read people so well? Like how he's literally the only person who recognises that Cole isn't happy in his personal life. And he kinda chases Cole to be honest about it. For the wrong reasons, sure. But Roy wasn't left much choice after how icy Cole treats him (for good reason!). A lot of their interactions honestly come off as missed opportunity to me. They could've helped each other grow if they tried lol.

Anyway - Roy is also passionate. Yeah he pretends its about money, but I don't really buy that. I'm more talking about the things he actually puts energy into... which is people. There's a reason he name drops tons of people we don't even meet. How he's able to introduce people thoughtfully (such as Johnny Stompando, Cole and Dr Fontaine), using their personalities as well as what they do. And why he pulls in favours to get Cole as his partner. I genuinely think he perceives Cole as a kindred spirit and then is disappointed. He was right though. Cola was just too proud to admit it.

Roy also gets vividly upset when Candy gets stabbed because he thinks thats a horrible way to die. (I have further thoughts on this tidbit as well 🤔, but thats for another time). He immediately covers up this genuine horror with pretending to be upset about his money. Nice slip of the mask babe. One of many.

The only thing he's missing is the confidence to act on these passions/people skills in a way that isn't self-destructive. I don't think he was ever loved. Either by family or the person its implied he fell in love with. The thing he used to comfort himself with was the "American Dream", and even though he technically achieved that (minus the wife), he's not happy. Which is why he's such a foul cynic. His entire persona he created perpetuates his loneliness too. The man is stuck in a self-fulfilling prophecy. And it's sad.

So Roy is the outlier because he's like if my type never self-reflected or had therapy. And that is what compels me. Not what is, but what could be. Obviously "i could fix him" is not a real thing I'd ever try or recommend, but this man is pixels. My precious pixels...

(also the whole queer coding that can imply internalised homophobia alongside all his other problems)

[myfriendskickass]

so like...they aren't doomed to go extinct. I don't know where on earth the wiki got that from because it is neither in the original manga Japanese text, nor the Viz translation, NOR the original Japanese anime. Maybe the dub added it?

I am being nitpicky for my worldbuilding for my own purposes so for me, the original Japanese text of the manga takes precedent, with the Japanese audio of the anime only used for filling in gaps that the manga doesn't touch on. The english translations and dubs and extra character profile books do not count to me. (YMMV on this take and you are allowed to have different opinions, I'm just saying where I'm coming from.)

The narration states that every 100 years, koorime give birth to 1 daughter, who is a parthenogenetic clone. If a koorime has sex with a man of another species (so...any man basically) during this reproductive period (implying that they are only fertile for a short time every 100 years), she will always give birth to a boy, that boy will always take after their father in species, and always cause mass destruction due to being really foul tempered and murderous. Also, the mother always dies in childbirth.

So, in order to prevent koorime from mingling with other species, they all moved to Hyouga, floating glacier in the sky, to stay safe.

What the koorime peanut gallery says VERBALLY is that Hina (hiei and yukina's mother) was a horrible slut and went and had sex with a man, and that this was the first time since moving to Hyouga that there had been twins before that involved a boy. (Could also be taken as the first time since moving to Hyouga that a boy was born at all, too, but they also seem pretty shocked about the twin thing.)

My personal take on this is that Yukina is the normal parthenogenesis baby and that Hiei is the fertilized egg and that Hina just ovulated 2 eggs. Anyway.

Hiei is established to have been able to hear things in utero, Hina dies in childbirth, the koorime elders are discussing what to do, and they toss Hiei off the cliff. The elder explicitly reminds Rui that boys have destroyed their people before. Yukina tells Hiei about what she was told about him by Rui, tells him about how the childbirth hiruiseki stones work, mentions she wants her brother to kill them all etc.

When Hiei gets to Hyouga himself, after getting the Jagan, he mentions that the koorime all look pitiful and depressed, finds his mother's grave, figures she's at peace, and finds out Yukina exists and has been missing from Hyouga for 2 years.

So basically, the thing I am hung up on is like...what is the Koorime society overreacting about and what is actually true? Total isolation seems like a very intense solution to the problem of "maybe if we raised boys better, they wouldn't turn out so violent" (which is an angle I think is interesting so I kind of want to run with it)

The parts I am stuck on basically are:

when the koorime say boys caused the destruction of their people, are they referring to ONLY the fact that they tend to all be violent assholes who love murder and murder koorime with glee straight after being born or are they also including death by childbirth as part of the destruction?

even if, best case scenario, this is a self fulfilling prophecy of the koorime's own making (boys turning out violent because they get scapegoated and treated like shit, creating a cycle), at the bare minimum, giving birth to a boy is always going to kill the mother, and since their population seems to be fairly stable, that is still a risk of a decent chunk of the population, if they let koorime mingle with other races freely. This is a genuine problem they need to solve (at least in their eyes), that breeding with other species dooms the mother, at the very least.

they also seem to be extremely obsessed with the numbers of their population. The elder is adamant that Yukina be raised as one of them. Also, don't forget btw that the narrative establishes that they can live for fucking thousands of years and if they're having a baby every 100 years, even if they lose fertility at some point, that is a lot of kids.

Figuring out if the death by childbirth thing is a genuine threat or not is what I am struggling with - are the Koorime lying/exaggerating the damage? The fact that this is given to us in narration and not dialogue makes me think it's true, not hyperbole. It's implied that the koorime elders were alive before they moved to Hyouga, too.

And if the death by childbirth thing is true, it makes it kind of difficult to really portray the Koorime as 100% wrong, even if their methods are wrong/overkill. Because Hiei really did turn out to be a violent little shit. Giving birth to a boy really did kill Hina. And if this has happened in the past to them, moving to Hyouga is actually the reasonable course of action.

(another thing I am toying with is that all boys turning out evil is due to supernatural forces because koorime are youkai aka spiritual creatures, which would also explain the death by childbirth thing, but I feel like there's more juicy narrative potential in "this could have been at least partially prevented if we treated boys better." The anime handles it a little better by having Hina kill herself instead, but that throws more wrenches in my plans for other reasons so I stick with the manga version of events.)

somebody should talk yu yu hakusho with me because there's koorime/hyouga worldbuilding (manga canon) i have been trying to decipher

[lovinkiri]

If The Roles Were Reversed || One

UA!Dabi x Reader

UA!Shigaraki x Reader

UA!Toga x Reader

UA!Twice x Reader

UA!Compress x Reader

Author's Thoughts: Okay so I was just thinking, what if the LOV were seniors in UA, and emotionally stable enough to not be villains, and ekvekbd

Warning: Swearing, Scratching, etc.

EVERYONE IS 18+

Touya Todoroki (Dabi)

People couldn't help but stare at the two of you. You knew it was because of your boyfriend though, who was used to the stares by now.

"What happened to him?"

"They really let guys like that in the hero course? Look at the scarred face."

"The whole course looks like a group of villians, I'm not surprised."

You went to speak out. I mean, it wasn't his fault his quirk was self destructive. Though he was taking courses in Quirk Control, the scars he'd gotten before enrolling in UA stuck.

But before you could utter a word, Dabi sighed and wrapped an arm around you, giving the gossips a look that could scare a pro.

"Don't worry about it, babe. It's alright. I just wish they'd say it to my ugly scarred face." He spoke loudly and sarcastically, raising his voice even more towards the end.

You huff and glare at the already scared freshmen. "I just wish they'd take a look in the mirror themselves."

And now they were scared and offended.

You look back to Dabi and sigh. "You know you're sexy, right Touya?" You raise an eyebrow, Dabi snickering at how serious the question was asked.

"Can't look that bad if I've got such a cute little thing on my arm." He smirked, watching as you immediately got flustered.

"Y-Yeah, c'mon." You pull him to class, Dabi chuckling.

Upon entering the classroom, he immediately looked to Shigaraki. "Hey, Crusty."

Shigaraki glared at the Dabi. "Morning, Crispy."

With Shigaraki, you let it slide. You knew this was their way of being friendly to each other. Then Toga came bounding over, hugging you from behind.

"Hi, Touya! Morning, Y/n!" She grinned. Dabi scoffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's Dabi."

"You let Y/n call you Touya!"

"Are you Y/n?"

"No.."

"Okay then, Crazy."

"Crazy?!"

You laugh and smile. It was never boring, being with Dabi.

Tomura Shigaraki

"Tomura!"

He sighed and looked at you, drowning out the rest of the hero course. You walked over with your lunch and plopped down next to him, slapping his hand away from his neck. "You're scratching again. I know it's a bad habit but-"

Tomura rose an eyebrow, wondering what caused your silence. Then he followed your gaze to his hands.

Before he could speak, you broke out into a grin. "You got your new gloves! Now we can hold hands!"

Sighing once more, he shrugged. "I don't get why its such a big deal. You were more excited than I was."

He was lying. He was secretly just as excited. The thought of holding your hands, running his fingers through your hair, holding you without having to be careful of his fingers. He couldn't wait.

You kissed his cheek and laid your head against his shoulder. "Can we hold hands later?" You asked looking up at him with irresistible eyes.

"You don't have to ask, you know." He grumbled as he wrapped an arm around you. The rest of the hero course let out either genuine or sarcastic awww's.

"Its not fair. How did Shigaraki start dating before any of us?" Toga asked with a pout. Dabi snorted in laughter. "They like 'em crusty and flaky."

Tomura glared at him. "Better crusty than charred and burnt." He retaliated.

Dabi gave a lazy grin. "Oi, I'm not burnt. I'm crispy."

The entire table, not including Tomura, devolved into laughter. Tomura rolled his eyes, laying his cheek against the top of your head. "Idiots. They're all idiots."

You smiled. "Please. You love 'em."

"Tch. Whatever." He huffed.

Himiko Toga

You waited by the school gates patiently for Himiko. You knew she was probably getting some new upgrades to her hero costume, so you didn't mind.

"Y/n, Y/n!"

You turned and Himiko jumped into your arms. Thankfully, you were able to wrap your arms around her and steady yourself. This wasn't the first time so you had practice.

Grinning, she wrapped her arms around your neck. "Hey, your reflexes are getting better!" She pointed out.

You smiled and chuckled in at the remark. "Thank to you. You seem more excited than usual."

"Oh yeah! I got this awesome new upgrade." She said proudly. Pulling away from the embrace and instead holding your hand, she started to pull you along.

"Yeah? What is it?" You asked, tilting your head. Himiko proceeded to go into a detailed ramble about her upgrade, her free hand making exaggerated motions.

You couldn't help but admire how her eyes seemed got so much brighter. It was obvious she was excited to test it out.

Others who weren't used to seeing you guys around stared, but minded their business as you glared at them. You weren't gonna let anyone bring her down. Knowing people already whispered about how odd she seemed in the school hallways, you'd decided she didn't need to hear that outside of school too.

"And so it'll be easier to shift between forms!" She finished, looking at you, looking for your approval.

Kissing her cheek, you chuckled. "That sounds amazing. And it was your idea?" You grinned as she enthusiastically nodded. "Yeah! Of course, you inspired me! Remember last week when you said it'd been cool if I could switch between forms more freely?"

Your expression morphed into confusion. "Huh? That was a month ago."

She shrugged. "A week, a month, a year! It's all the same!"

Laughing softly, you nodded. "Sure, Himiko."

Jin Bubaigawara (Twice)

Jin smiled as you pulled his mask on, trying to nuzzle into your hands.

"Jin- I can't get it on when you do that." You chuckled, a smile tugging at your own lips. "I don't see why you couldn't put your own mask you."

"Because I like it when you're near me! Stop asking questions." He responded, pulling you closer by your lower back.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you quickly pecked his lips before fully getting the mask on. "You a sweetheart, you know that?"

He nodded. "I know!" Then quickly shook his head. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Right. Well, be careful at training today. I think they're gonna make you fight Dabi." You warned. You knew Jin was strong but Dabi was something else. Losing usually made him fight harder. And sometimes, he lost himself.

"Oh please, that's nothing. Nothing but a death wish! He's still pissed at me for spilling juice on him at lunch today!" Your boyfriend began pacing, holding his head dramatically.

His head whipped to you as you started laughing. "Why are you laughing? Last time we sparred, I had to sleep with an ice pack on my ass! For a week! And he was sleepy!" He pressed, mocking betrayal once your laughter continued.

"I-I'm sorry, Jin! I'm just remembering that pillow you had yo sit on in class. You know, as to know irritate the burns on your butt." You covered your mouth to stifle anymore sounds of amusement.

Jin whined at the memory, placing his hand on his ass. "It's not funny, babe!"

You grinned and cleared your throat, taking a breathe. "Alright, alright. But you were just distracted that day. And the voices are a lot easier to ignore when your mask comes off in combat now, aren't they?"

Walking over, you gently placed your hand on his cheek. He immediately leaned into your touch, almost cat like. "It's so much easier to focus now. But it can be kinda difficult with you lookin so damn good while watching me!"

Jin leaned down, attempting to kiss you from under his a mask. You laughed and tried pulling away, hands on his chest. "J-Jin!"

"Oi, are you done yet? It's our turn Jin!"

Gulping nervously, Jin lifted his mask a bit to give you an actual kiss. You returned it, humming softly then pulled away. He shrugged. "In case I die."

Then there was an burst of heat. "Get over here, Jin!"

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress)

Atsuhiro smirked at the villian before him, twirling his cane ever so casually. "Tsk, tsk. You've got a flashy quirk, but there's no flare."

What was supposed to be a training retreat turned into a surprise attack. These villians never knew when to give up.

He quickly dodged another attack and gave a mocking hum, as if he were thinking. "Oh I know!" He hit his fist against his palm. "You're missing the element of surprise! You're completely predictable!"

Laughing as the villian the got angry, he shrugged. "Unlike me!" He dodged once more before shooting out a marble that you'd been compressed in for a while.

Once free, you launched an attack to the villiain. "Surprise!" You grinned as you foot connected into the villian's back, the impact sending him tumbling into a tree.

Atsuhiro caught you in his arms and you spread yours out. "I see, you haven't met my lovely assistant, have you?" Sitting youdown, the two of you prepared for another attack.

"Delaware Smash!" The villain cried out, running to the both of you, dodging Atsuhiro's efforts at compressing him.

You managed to dodge, but Atsuhiro wasn't so lucky, taking blow after blow before colliding into a tree.

"Hiro!" You yelled out, running towards him. It was when you held a hand out that you halted. "Now, now, Dear, worry not. It is not who's in trouble."

The villain's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. That's when you noticed a marble rolling from compresses hand. It would seem the villain noticed to but it was too late.

Before anyone could react, Spinner was there dishing out attacks. Atsuhiro stood, leaning against the tree. Running over, you helped him to balance himself.

"You had Spinner this whole time?" You asked in surprise, eyes wide. He chuckled softly and gave a small bow. "As I said, the element of surprise is very important."

"Boss! The heroes are here!"

The villain glared at us, dodging Spinner and jumping from place to place. "This isn't over." He mumbled before bounding off.

Spinner went to go after him, but Atsuhiro had his cane in front of him in a second. "Let them be."

Spinner opened his mouth to protest but sighed and nodded.

You guys soon grouped up with the rest of the class, only to see Toga on the verge of tears.

"Himiko, what's wrong?" Spinner asked, you guys rushing over. Holding back a sob, she looked up.

"They kidnapped Shigaraki!"